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The thing about Kim Hongjoong, and this is a positive, usually, is that he is extremely open minded, and extremely driven.
He’ll try anything once. Hell, twice—because you can’t rule anything out after only trying it once, he’s learned that over the years, and so he likes to hold himself to it, sort of live by it. It’s a good way to live, seriously.
He’s done a lot throughout his twenty-something years of being a somewhat overachieving go-getter, from side hustles like DJ sets in Itaewon’s most vibrant clubs, to even that brief internship he had with that designer that was mostly just errands, he’s genuinely tried a little bit of everything.
(Wooyoung says he’s like Barbie, if Barbie was a five-foot-something gay man with a caffeine addiction. Which almost seems like it should be a compliment, but somehow it never sounds like one coming from Wooyoung.)
In any case, ninety percent of the time anyone asks him for anything, or if he wants to try something, to step out of his comfort zone a bit, Hongjoong is going to say yes. And only about one percent of those times does Hongjoong actually regret it.
Usually.
“Oh, fuck my life,” Seonghwa swears, not at all polite given the current setting—dinner, the chicken place that San had been wanting to go to that he will inevitably get Hongjoong to pay the bill for, Jongho halfway through telling a story about something embarrassing Mingi did the other day, in public. He seems to realize this, glancing up from his phone and clamping a hand over his mouth, eyes comically large. “Sorry. Just an email. You were saying, Jongho-yah?”
“Must have been a really shitty email,” Jongho says, laughing the tiniest bit, leaning forward to take a sip of his beer. “You good, hyung?”
“The best part about a shitty email is that you can pretend it doesn’t exist by deleting it,” San says. “I do it every time I get an email about my phone storage running out. That way I don’t have to delete any photos I have of Pokopia instead.”
Yunho hums next to him. “It’s nice that it’s Pokopia and not photos of Wooyoungie like, naked.”
“Oh, no.” San shakes his head, a very serious look on his face. “It’s both. Definitely both.”
“My fault for ever doubting you.” Yunho nods. “Hyung, that email, then?”
“Nothing, it’s fine, just—the shoot I was supposed to do at the end of this week got cancelled,” Seonghwa says regretfully, bottom lip pushed out in distaste. He looks back at his phone. “The other stand-in dropped out, and there’s no way they’re gonna be able to find someone else to fill the spot in time, and now I’m out like, a really good paycheck. Oh, my god, I’m going to die. Wait, sorry, not die. I’m still trying that thing where I’m less dramatic. I am going to wallow for a few days and then I’ll get over it.”
“You’re definitely not going to die, we would never let that happen,” Hongjoong tells him, tries to go for friendly and encouraging, but Jongho gives him a look from across the table like he’s trying not to laugh and like Hongjoong is really, really pathetic, actually, and Hongjoong winces. He clears his throat, however continuing, “But why are they cancelling so early? Friday’s a whole three days away.”
“Yeah,” Yunho adds, “you guys don’t have like, understudies, or whatever?”
“It’s not exactly the kind of job you have an understudy for, Yunho-yah.” Seonghwa looks unimpressed. He’s still frowning, phone however tucked away next to Jongho’s beer now that he actually reaches for to take a sip of, only getting a whiny yah, hyung, in response. Seonghwa throws a hand in Jongho’s direction, brushing him off. “We are not on Broadway, this is—well. You know.”
Porn, technically. They all know.
Because Park Seonghwa is halfway through medical school, nearly at the finish line before he finally starts his residency and stuff, and he’s currently doing every odd job known to man to help pay for it. Which means he walked dogs, and waited tables, and made coffee for influencers and tourists, and now, occasionally, though more frequently than he probably admits, he’s a stand-in for adult film actors. Porn stars. Whatever you wanna call it. Because it pays well, and for the most part, it’s pretty easy; just a lot of standing around, planning out the blocking and the poses and whatever else the crew might ask you for, which is fairly quick money, all things considered.
Hongjoong doesn’t even know how he found the job. Probably through someone else at one of the other many places he’s been picking up cash at. Hongjoong never asked much about it, to be honest. He is not like Wooyoung and Mingi who are so deeply invested in the nitty gritty of it or something, because it’s Seonghwa’s business, and it’s just a job, and Hongjoong also—would rather not go there with Seonghwa, anyway. Just, uh, for reasons.
“That sucks,” Yunho says, empathetic. Dead serious, he suggests, “You guys should unionize or something.”
Jongho leans forward, a determined look in his eyes. “I could help you out if you wanted to,” he says. “I got a guy for that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Seonghwa says, reaching out to give Jongho a gentle pat on the head that Jongho most likely does not appreciate, but does not fight, which is admirable. “I guess I’ll just like, ask Yeosangie if I can pick up a shift at the cafe or something for now. I’ll just barely be making my rent for this month, but whatever. Better than nothing.”
“Just like that?” San asks, pout on his lips as he slumps down in his seat, only somewhat childish. “What if we find a replacement or something? The show must go on. I can come and stand in! I’ll ask Wooyoungie. If it’s for you, he’d say yes. It’s for a good cause!”
“Are you implying Seonghwa hyungie is a cause?” Jongho asks.
“Ignoring that part,” Seonghwa says swiftly, “But you have your actual day job, San-ah, I wouldn’t ask you to do that, anyway. So thank you, that’s very selfless of you, but—”
“I’ll do it.”
It takes Hongjoong a solid six seconds to realize that it even came out of his own mouth. He only processes it when the entire table turns to look at him, a cocktail of amusement, confusion, and pity across each of his friend’s faces. He probably shouldn’t be offering to stand alongside Seonghwa in porn, even if they’re not actually doing anything, but as it’s been previously established, Kim Hongjoong is very driven, and very open minded, and he’ll try anything once, anything twice. Especially if it’s in favor of Park Seonghwa, probably.
“You will?” Seonghwa’s eyes are big, and bright, and so, so hopeful, so devastatingly pretty, too. What is Hongjoong supposed to do? He’s just a fucking guy. “Because I’m sure if I mentioned it to the producers they would be ok with it, I mean, cancelling a shoot is inconvenient for everyone, like, even the lighting people, and the camera guys, and—”
“I’ll totally do it.” Hongjoong needs to stop speaking. He makes eye contact with Yunho who gives him a look like he definitely does need to stop doing that. When he looks back at Seonghwa, he’s starting to smile now, genuine, doubly hopeful, still devastatingly pretty. “I mean, like, it’s no big, right? We’re just—standing around.”
“For the most part, yeah,” Seonghwa says. He shrugs. “But Hongjoong-ah, don’t feel like you have to, I was mostly just like, complaining to complain. Working at the cafe would be fine! I’m getting better at the latte art, anyway.”
“Yeah, but this pays way better,” Hongjoong reasons. Yunho and Jongho are both shaking their heads. He looks at San who is positively beaming and decides he will buy only his meal tonight. San’s meal and then Seonghwa’s, too, just because. “I’m not doing anything on Friday until later, I’m around. In fact, I’m yours all day. Or, I mean—I’m theirs all day. The… porn people’s?”
“I don’t think you should be calling them that,” Jongho says.
“We’ll work on it,” Seonghwa dismisses.
He smiles again, big this time, all his perfect, straight teeth on full display. Hongjoong feels his heart tug a little, a good distraction from the anxiety he already kind of feels given—whatever he just volunteered for. Is he going to regret this? Whatever. That’s a problem for future Hongjoong, not now.
“As long as you’re absolutely sure,” Seonghwa says, tapping away at his phone rather quickly now. “Kim Hongjoong, you are a goddamn life saver. I could kiss you.”
“Aw,” Jongho coos, though Hongjoong knows he’s mocking him, evil, “a porno with feelings. That’ll be nice!”
Yunho snorts out a laugh, attempting to curb it by covering his smile with his glass. “I’d watch it,” he says, anyway, just because he sucks.
“I’d watch it if it were Hongjoongie and Seonghwa hyung,” San adds. There’s a beat. “So does this mean you’re still not gonna unionize? I feel like we should revisit that.”
There’s a lot they should revisit, probably.
* * *
So Hongjoong probably should not try everything once, or twice, especially when it’s—being a stand-in for a goddamn adult film with one of his best friends, a best friend he’s had a stupidly sick crush on for the better part of three years or so.
Hongjoong doesn’t even really remember how it started. His teeny, tiny crush. Maybe it was gradual, over time. Strangers to friends to whatever they are now, somewhere in between, at least somewhere in between to Hongjoong.
Seonghwa was Wooyoung and San’s friend first. Hongjoong only met him on special occasions, just a few times a year, and then he started coming around more frequently, talked to Hongjoong a lot more than just the friendly small talk Hongjoong was previously used to, and then one day Hongjoong woke up, and it was like everything had just fallen into place. Like, the sky was blue, grass was green, and Hongjoong had to have Seonghwa, have him more than a friend, it just felt right that way.
So he has spent the last three years and change pining. Silently, and not at all as obvious as he could be—or so he hopes—because he has not a single inkling that Seonghwa may even like him like that, and plus Seonghwa is busy with school and all those goddamn odd jobs, anyway, so Hongjoong does stuff like this instead. He waits around, stupid, lovesick, until Seonghwa needs something and jumps on it.
Hongjoong-ah, could you please stop at the cafe before you get here, I need coffee or I’m going to die. Hongjoong-ah, I left my wallet at home, do you mind grabbing this round? Hongjoong-ah, I need a ride somewhere, are you able to borrow your hyung’s car?
Hongjoong-ah, Seonghwa will say, that’s all he has to say, really, and the answer is already yes, sure, that’s no problem.
Jongho thinks it’s a little sad. San thinks it’s sweet. Hongjoong personally was content in his own patheticness until now.
“It’s not the worst thing you’ve done for him, probably,” Wooyoung reasons, opposite of Hongjoong on the couch, San laid half in his lap like an overgrown cat. Wooyoung has one hand on the TV remote where he’s flipping through the channels and the other in San’s hair. “I mean, is it smart? No. Do I think you should’ve thought more about it? Yes, and for multiple reasons. Should you probably fake the stomach bug and call the whole thing off? Also kinda yes, but I know—”
“Could you maybe not?” Hongjoong huffs, looking up from his laptop, email from the production crew he received this morning pulled up in front of him.
It has a lot of legal nonsense in it—Seonghwa said they have to send it, but not to worry, he’s not signing his life away or anything—along with a waiver, as well as an outline for what’s expected of him, an NDA, etc.. Which was only mildly intimidating, so he came to San and Wooyoung’s place for moral support, because San believes in true love and Wooyoung is pretty good at keeping it real, plus their WiFi signal is a lot stronger than Hongjoong’s, so.
Hongjoong continues, sighing, “I’m already well aware I fucked up. Just a bit.”
“I guess that’s the first step,” Wooyoung says with a shrug. He changes the channel again and lands on a cooking show. “Hey, who knows, though? Maybe this will actually be good for you. You guys will basically be closer than you ever have been. Like, physically, that is. Perfect opportunity for a confession. Nothing says romance like doggy style while a bunch of people work on camera angles.”
“Steamy,” San says. He giggles. “Were you cast as the top or the bottom, by the way? Do you get assigned roles beforehand? Or are they just gonna see you and like, decide? Because if that’s the case, it doesn’t seem fair. And you guys should unionize.”
“I don’t need to unionize, because I’m never doing this again. It was a favor for Seonghwa. Because I like helping him out,” Hongjoong says, firm. He goes back to his laptop, scrolling through a bunch more legal jargon. He scrolls past a clause about roleplaying and decides he mentally cannot do that right now. “And I am not confessing when we are—well. Whatever. That would be a disaster.”
“More of a disaster than you even getting yourself into this in the first place?” Wooyoung laughs, loud, head thrown back and everything. “Can I read the email they sent you now?” He nudges San. “Baby, get me the laptop.”
Hongjoong brings the laptop closer to him, turning his body away from San when he goes for it. The traitor. “San-ah, no,” he says, as sternly as he can manage, but it just comes out like he’s trying to scold a dog. “Leave me alone. I needed moral support and like, a pep talk. Why are you being so judgemental? You’re supposed to just lie and tell me I’ll be fine and that true love will prevail.”
San reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a very serious face. “True love always prevails, hyung,” he says, and something tells Hongjoong that San really means that.
“I’m not being judgemental, I just think you probably should have thought about the consequences of doing this before you blindly agreed to it,” Wooyoung counters. He tugs San back into his space, keeping a greedy hand on a bicep, kneading it like a stress ball. “You can’t even watch hyungie like, eat a popsicle without the threat of a boner.”
“Not true!” Hongjoong denies, though it’s like, half true, he does try to avoid seeing Seonghwa on particularly hot days in the Summer for that specific reason. Which should be nobody’s business but his own. He huffs, slumping down in his seat as he starts scrolling through his email again. Defensively, he tries, “San-ah, make him stop.”
To San’s credit, he does open his mouth to say something, but Wooyoung gets him with a hand to his face first, squishing his cheeks together, killing the words right there. Wooyoung laughs again, just as his boyfriend lets out a weak noise, defeated.
“You know I only tease because we love you and want what’s best for you,” Wooyoung reasons. Which sounds like a shit excuse if you ask Hongjoong. He still doesn’t let go of San’s face, though, San attempting to frown, but barely swatting away Wooyoung’s hand. “I also think this might genuinely be a good opportunity for you to at least flirt with Seonghwa hyungie a little. You don’t even do that.”
“Because we’re just friends,” Hongjoong explains. “I wouldn’t wanna make him uncomfortable or something, that’d be—no.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wooyoung scoffs. He changes the channel again, some romcom that he keeps only for only a second, and then back to the cooking show. “Well, what if I told you—”
Wooyoung stops, cut short by the obnoxious buzz of their door code, right before it swings open haphazardly, followed by a boisterous, “We came as fast as we could!,” and then Yeosang and Mingi are here, looking wildly out of breath. Like they ran here or something. Great.
“Oh, hyung,” Yeosang says slowly. He looks at San and Wooyoung, squinting a little, like he’s mentally trying to send them a message, and then goes back to Hongjoong. “What a surprise. You’re still… here? Doing—regular work, I assume.”
Hongjoong rolls his eyes, throwing a pillow in Wooyoung’s direction that actually just hits San instead. San whines.
“Did you tell everyone I’d be here?” Hongjoong demands. “Like this is—a zoo exhibit or something? Fuck you, I literally needed only support.”
“And what better person to give you a pep talk than Song Mingi,” Wooyoung says. He throws a hand in Yeosang and Mingi’s direction as he adds, “Shut the door, by the way, our nosy neighbor will join us if you don’t. That bastard.”
Yeosang hums. “Is he hot?”
“He’s like, sixty, Yeosang-ah.”
“Doesn’t answer my question, really.”
“For the record,” San says, very dignified, or as dignified as he can as he still lays there as Wooyoung’s personal, weighted blanket, “I genuinely wish you nothing but the best at the shoot. I think there’s something really romantic about what you’re doing for Seonghwa hyung. And I know he appreciates it, too! You’d be such a good boyfriend, hyung!”
“Sannie’s right,” Mingi says, kicking his shoes off as he lets himself in, squeezing himself into the small space between San and Hongjoong on the couch, while Yeosang heads to the kitchen, making himself at home. Mingi throws an arm around Hongjoong, pulling him a touch too close. Hongjoong would attempt to wiggle himself free if he thought he actually could. “Yunho told us all about what happened at dinner the other day. I think what you’re doing is epic. This is modern romance, hyung.”
“Epic.” Wooyoung cackles. “You guys are adorable.”
“I changed my mind, I don’t want any pep talks,” Hongjoong says, pointedly ignoring Wooyoung’s previous statement. He goes back to scrolling through the email, an attempt to busy himself. “All of you guys are making this way bigger than it needs to be.”
“Because there’s nothing big about you starring in a porno with one of our friends, one of which you have like, a massively fat crush on,” Yeosang says when he enters the living room again, holding what looks like one of San’s weird protein drinks. He cracks it open. “Sure, hyung.”
“We are not starring in anything,” Hongjoong corrects him with an incredulous laugh. He turns around to look at Yeosang who just shrugs. “We are just two guys, two friends, practically hanging out. In some… compromising positions, sure, but what are friends for if not—”
“Woah,” Mingi marvels then, laughing the tiniest bit. He’s pointing at something on Hongjoong’s laptop, email still pulled up. “You have to get naked in some shots? That’s some real shit.”
“What?” Hongjoong practically squawks, eyes zeroing in on where Mingi is pointing, and oh, my god, this can’t be happening. “That was not—what’s the reason for that?! We are stand-ins, not the actual stars!”
“I have to imagine it has to do with camera blocking,” Yeosang says, far too serious. He takes another sip of his drink. “There must be like, some appendages that get in the way sometimes, maybe.”
“That was disgusting, Sang-ah,” Wooyoung says with a laugh. “Like, genuinely.”
“You know what, it’s fine,” Hongjoong says, popping to his feet now, starting to pace like, just a little, just because he feels—jittery all of a sudden, and not at all because he’s on the verge of a breakdown and is trying to talk himself out of it. He is fine. “It says there’s a possibility. Doesn’t say it’s like, happening-happening. And if it does—well. I don’t even care.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mingi says. He’s since taken over the laptop, now happily scrolling while Yeosang looks over his shoulder from behind. “Good luck seeing Seonghwa hyungie naked, though. His body is cra-a-a-a-azy.”
Hongjoong lets out a pained noise. And also—why is Mingi implying that he's seen Seonghwa naked? When did that happen? Hongjoong doesn’t want to know, he decides.
“So is Hongjoongie’s!” San says encouragingly. He sits up again, hair sticking up in a few different directions that Wooyoung reaches out to try and tame. “You got an ass that won’t quit, hyung. Flaunt it.”
“Thank you?”
“They’ll probably make you wear those things they use in movies, anyway, I wouldn’t sweat it,” Yeosang says. He’s still reading with Mingi, so Hongjoong kinda wants to believe he just found that little tidbit further down in the email. “Like, one of those socks you put your dick in or whatever. To hide it.”
“Penis sock,” Wooyoung says. He nods like he knows what he’s talking about. “Cozy.”
“Is that what they’re called?” Mingi asks. He pauses. “Wait. I have the laptop. Let me look it up.”
“Do not look up penis sock on my computer,” Hongjoong threatens. He even wags a finger in Mingi’s direction, though it goes unnoticed as Mingi starts furiously typing at his keys. “I need to go home. I have a headache. For reasons unrelated to Seonghwa and more so just—you guys.”
“Aw,” Wooyoung frowns, “but Yunho didn’t even get here yet, you can't leave!”
“Yunho?” Hongjoong groans. “You people are the absolute worst. You might as well invite Jongho, too, while you’re at it. Let's make this public humiliation available for all our friends.”
“He could show up if he wanted to, technically,” Yeosang says diplomatically. “We have a groupchat—Sexy People Born In 1999. He’s the moderator. He read the texts.”
Hongjoong laughs, incredulous. “Why do you need a moderator?”
“Sannie uses it to sext Wooyoung sometimes.”
“That was twice and only because I was in a rush!” San whines, a weak attempt at defense that goes ignored by the rest of the room, except for Wooyoung who pats at his head again followed by a disgustingly endeared aw, San-ah, it could happen to anyone, don’t worry.
“Ok, it’s just called a modesty garment,” Mingi concludes then. He sounds sad about it. “Which is notably less fun than penis sock.”
“Why are we going with penis sock when cock sock is right there?” Yeosang offers. “Prime rhyme. Wait. That rhymed, too. Holy shit.”
“Cock Sock was Mingi’s nickname in college, I’m pretty sure,” Wooyoung says with a shit eating grin, to which Mingi just flips him off, and surprisingly says nothing else.
“Ok, that’s enough of literally everything,” Hongjoong decides. He reaches for his laptop, shutting it before Mingi can taint his search history with anything else incriminating, hugging it close to his chest. He needs to gather the rest of his things. And whatever is remaining of his dignity. “Thank you all for being here today. You have made any doubts I had about the situation like, eons worse.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Wooyoung tells him with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve survived all other side quests in life thus far. What’s the difference now? Just look at it like that. Gay, caffeinated Barbie, remember?”
It still sounds offensive coming from Wooyoung. Which is like, the least of Hongjoong’s worries right now, anyway.
* * *
When Hongjoong arrives to the set on Friday, he is given a strict set of rules, another waiver to sign, and a pirate hat.
“There’s a big market for it,” one of the producers explained earlier, rather lackluster, offering a shrug and absolutely nothing else.
(Said producer had also introduced himself as Dash, and when Hongjoong had asked if he was born with that name, the producer told him to stop asking questions, and Hongjoong quickly shut up.)
“Plus,” Dash had continued, “it’s big enough that it will be a problem in some shots. So you have to wear it. Otherwise you’re fired.”
“I think it suits you,” Seonghwa is saying now, silly, and he’s not wearing a hat, he just looks normal, beautiful, even in the harsh, fluorescent lighting, which only makes Hongjoong like, mildly self conscious, but whatever. At least he learned something today. That there’s like, a whole world out there that enjoys pirate porn, and now he’s privy to it. Great. “You look very authoritative.”
“Thanks,” Hongjoong says, sheepish, lame, but whatever—Seonghwa is smiling, and he hasn’t had to put his dick in any socks yet, so this is fine.
They also haven’t gotten to the actual porn part yet. There’s a whole scene—Mr. Dash gave the two of them the rundown before they got into it—but it starts here, on a boat that looks like it was created for a low cost production of Peter Pan, fake ocean in the distance behind them. Hongjoong doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s not sure it was this. Maybe he should’ve read more of the email they had sent to him earlier this week.
“Maybe I’ll take it home,” Hongjoong jokes, just as another crew member moves Seonghwa a step closer to Hongjoong before he adjusts a light somewhere behind them, otherwise ignoring them. “Make like, Yunho call me Captain or something.”
“Hot,” Seonghwa says. He giggles and it makes Hongjoong’s insides feel like goo. Hot, Seonghwa had said, and meant it about him. About him in a pirate hat, but Hongjoong is desperate enough that he’ll take it. “I wanted to say thank you again for doing this, by the way. You didn’t have to.”
“I know that,” Hongjoong says, giving Seonghwa a shrug and a smile. So modest, he is. “But I like helping you out when I can. Plus, this isn’t so bad. A day with you. On a pirate ship that feels like it was made of popsicle sticks and shitty glue.”
“Right,” Seonghwa says, and his cheeks go round when he smiles again, and—ugh. Goo. Kim Hongjoong, you are so gay. “Well, not many people would have agreed, so still, thanks. And between you and me, I’m kinda happy you did.”
Hongjoong nearly chokes at that—nearly, because he is trying not to embarrass himself completely here—so he pulls it together, offering Seonghwa a light, casual, friendly smile. He tilts his head a little. Hopes he’s achieving flirty instead of like, disastrously confused.
“Really?”
“Duh.” Seonghwa shrugs. “You’re—Hongjoongie. I don’t know. I’m much more comfortable around you than if it were a stranger.”
It’s an easy observation, one that is just friendly, at that. Of course Seonghwa is comfortable around him, they’ve been friends for years. Very good, normal friends. Obviously that’s what Seonghwa means by it. Duh.
So Hongjoong shrugs back. Continues to play it extremely cool as he says, “Of course. What are friends for?”
Seonghwa smiles again, though there’s something else in there now, something in his eyes that doesn’t quite make them sparkle like they usually do, but before he can say anything, Dash interrupts, rather loudly, “Ok, can we have Captain Gay take a step closer? Act like you want to fuck him, please.”
Hongjoong blanches. “Is Captain Gay the character’s name?” he asks, though does take a step closer, nearly so close that Seonghwa is brushing against the stupid fucking hat Hongjoong is wearing, all while doing an excellent job at pretending that he does want to fuck Seonghwa as like, Captain Gay or whatever, and not as Kim Hongjoong.
Dash-With-The-Fake-Name gives him a look, unimpressed. “There are no characters, this is an adult film, man,” he says.
“My bad.” Hongjoong holds his hands up, surrendering, before he looks at Seonghwa with a frown. He whispers, “I don’t think they like me very much.”
“You’re fine,” Seonghwa assures him. He smiles again and this time it’s more genuine. Seonghwa is so beautiful all the time, but he especially is like this, closer, the studio lighting behind his bleach blond hair giving him some sort of angelic glow. “I lied and told them you were taller than you actually are, so I think they’re just pissed about that. Which is a me thing, in your defense.”
“Seonghwa-yah!”
“They can make you stand on a box if it matters so much, it’s fine!” Seonghwa reasons. Which does not really make Hongjoong feel better about the situation or himself, but whatever. Seonghwa shrugs. “It’s not like it’s gonna matter much soon, anyway. We’ll be pretty horizontal for the most part later on.”
Hongjoong feels a horny chill go up his spine at the thought. He kinda forgot about that part. Like—all the fake sex he was supposed to be having with Seonghwa. He got so caught up in the possibility of a penis sock he totally forgot about who he might be wearing it in front of. Jesus.
“True,” Hongjoong manages, does his best to keep his cool, too, giving Seonghwa a half grin that he hopes comes across as normal. “As long as the hat stays on, am I right?”
Seonghwa laughs. It quells the anxiety just a touch.
* * *
There’s probably like, a million and one reasons as to why Hongjoong should not have agreed to this, but right now, the one that stands out the most in Hongjoong’s panicked, horny brain, is this: Seonghwa, on his goddamn knees, practically eye level with Hongjoong’s crotch, looking up at him all—sparkly eyed and downright dangerous.
Hongjoong did not need the visual of what Seonghwa might look like if he were to—well. Whatever. Not worth even thinking about. Because it will never happen, anyway. And plus, because Hongjoong isn’t entirely sure he trusts himself to even go there mentally without something catastrophic happening.
“Would you rather walk in on Sannie and Wooyoung or Mingi and Yeosang?”
“Mingi and Yeosang are sleeping together?” Hongjoong asks. Which is honestly a much better thing to focus on instead of—everything else in front of him, so he’ll take it. “Since when?”
“Since Yunho’s birthday,” Seonghwa says, matter of fact. He clicks his tongue. “You didn’t know this? Where have you been?”
“Busy,” Hongjoong says. He doesn’t really remember anything particularly spectacular from Yunho’s birthday except that Wooyoung made them go to this ridiculously crowded club, and Seonghwa was wearing these ridiculously tight pants, and—ah, maybe that’s why he doesn’t remember much. “In any case—do I have to answer? Both ideas are making my skin crawl.”
“Yes, you have to answer,” Seonghwa says. He tilts his head all the way up at Hongjoong to give him what Seonghwa must think is a threatening look, but all Hongjoong can do is look away before it settles anything hot in his pit of his stomach. He’s hopeless. “That’s like, the singular rule of Would You Rather.”
“This game is stupid.”
“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says, sarcastic, and then laughs. “Would you rather talk about like, the stock market while I pretend to suck your dick?”
Hongjoong feels his face flush, his eyes get wide. “That’s not—” He stops. When he chances a glance at Seonghwa, he’s smiling, like he knows just how dumbly affected Hongjoong is, like he wanted it that way. Which Hongjoong might actually believe if he was stupid. He shakes his head. “Wooyoung and Sannie, I guess. I’ve basically already seen it, anyway. They have no concept of what could be considered indecent for the public sometimes.”
“They don’t, really, but I’d like to think one day we could change them,” Seonghwa says and then he nods like he’s really thinking it over. “I think I might go the same, though, to be honest. I have nothing to back me up here, but I feel like Wooyoungie and San are more vanilla than we think. Yeosang and Mingi on the other hand? I mean, Yeosangie is a Gemini. I don’t think I could watch that and then still face them the same way.”
“Is Yeosangie being a Gemini supposed to mean anything to me?” Hongjoong asks. Then, “Also, is this you coming out as like, super vanilla, too?”
“Maybe.” Seonghwa shrugs. He grins, and Hongjoong makes the terrible mistake of looking at him again, and this time, he feels his heart tug, disgustingly infatuated. “What’s wrong with vanilla, anyways?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Hongjoong says, probably too urgently, but it was a joke, anyway, Seonghwa knows this, it’s not a big deal. This whole thing is a joke. Like, the game, playing the game in their—current position, all of it. “Me, personally—I’m a big vanilla guy. I even leave the lights on when I do it. Covers on, too. And shirts.”
Seonghwa snorts. “That feels less vanilla and more like—overtly prudish.”
“Are you kink-shaming me, Park Seonghwa?”
“Is that what it is now?”
“Maybe,” Hongjoong says, but Seonghwa smiles again so it feels worth it. “Do you always play would you rather, by the way? When you’re… y’know.”
“Not usually, no,” Seonghwa says. Dash walks over then, straightens out the stupid hat on Hongjoong’s head and then gently suggests Seonghwa scoot a bit closer. Hongjoong holds his breath and braces himself. “Most times it’s just pleasant small talk. This definitely makes the day go faster, though. You know, like, actually being with someone you have something in common with. Someone you like.”
“That makes sense,” Hongjoong says. It sounds awkward coming from him—why does he always have to be so fucking awkward? “I’m sure you meet cool people on set sometimes, though. Like, someone you can get along with.”
“People are cool, sure,” Seonghwa allows. Hongjoong looks down again—why does he keep doing that, is he trying to torture himself—and feels his stomach do one flip, then two when Seonghwa looks back up, pretty, a fatal fucking gaze, really. “But it’s not like I need to meet anyone. I have you… guys.”
“Me guys,” Hongjoong says. Stupid. So fucking stupid. What does that even mean? “I mean—us. Like me, and then our friends. Everyone. Who you like the same amount, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Seonghwa echoes. He smiles, a little evil somehow, and a little pretty, so, so pretty, actually. Hongjoong is so beyond fucked. Then, “Ok. Would you rather have feet for hands or hands for feet?”
* * *
Seonghwa really does have a nice body.
Like, broad, wide shoulders. Tiny waist. Defined arms, defined tummy. Nice long legs. All that jazz. Hongjoong guesses he had to have noticed at some point, he just—doesn’t usually allow himself to truly bask in it.
Which is for the best, probably. If he had noticed sooner, if he had the privilege to feel it sooner, to feel the way Seonghwa’s waist fits in his palms, like some kinda perverted puzzle piece, it probably wouldn’t be any good for like, his day to day, and for having regular conversations with Seonghwa, and like, being a regular person around him. Because right now—
“Are you ok?” Seonghwa asks, turning around to glance at Hongjoong over his shoulder—his very strong, very wide shoulder—and yes, Hongjoong is still wearing his stupid hat, even while he—poses as if Seonghwa is taking him from behind, and—no, Hongjoong has to stop now, otherwise, well. It’ll be like a Melona bar in July all over again. “You’ve been eerily quiet since we started over here.”
“I’m good,” Hongjoong chirps, though it comes out too jolly, out of character. He clears his throat, readjusting the grip he has on Seonghwa’s waist. Tries to keep it light, and friendly, or as light and friendly as he can given their rather R-rated position. “Just, uh, hungry. Like, all of a sudden. Do we get a fifteen or something? Maybe Jongho was right about you guys unionizing."
Seonghwa laughs, something more like a snort under his breath. It’s cute because it’s Seonghwa, obviously.
“There is a break. Usually halfway through after the first run through,” he says. He looks forward again, arms pressed up against one of the shitty, wooden bows of the fake ship, palms flat. His hands are pretty, too. “Now you see how much of a job this actually is, huh. Hard work.”
“I never doubted that it was,” Hongjoong says. He frowns a bit. “All your work is hard work. You have like, a million jobs. And you’re good at all of them.”
“I try with all of them, I’m not necessarily good,” Seonghwa corrects. Hongjoong thinks he can see the tips of his ears turn the slightest shade pink, though, thinks he can hear a smile in his voice even if he’s not entirely seeing it, flattered. “As opposed to you on the other hand. You’re actually good at everything. Overachiever.”
“Even this?” Hongjoong asks, another joke mostly, something to just say, to focus on instead of how warm Seonghwa is in his hands, the way he can feel the heat radiating off him even through the soft cotton of his shirt, ridiculously sinful waist, opening up into a broad back, strong, with perfect posture, poised—
“I’d say this especially,” Seonghwa says. He’s laughing a little, so Hongjoong has to assume he’s also joking. Mostly. “Do you do this often, Hongjoong-ah?”
“Stand in for adult film actors?” Hongjoong laughs back, but he keeps it quiet, if only because he’s still not entirely convinced the production people don’t actually hate him. “Yes. Blossoming career. You didn’t know this?”
Seonghwa hums, and Hongjoong swears he can almost feel it, feel the slight rumble of it in his chest taper down to where Hongjoong is holding him, a subtle wave of chills shifting through his own body. He does a good job at containing it, though, or at the very least, he doesn’t make a painful, embarrassing noise, which is a win in his book, so.
“I actually just meant this in general,” Seonghwa says. Suggests. Hints, though Hongjoong now knows what he means, especially when Seonghwa—brushes against one of the hands at his hips before he shifts slightly, arching his back the tiniest bit more, hardly there, but enough, enough for Hongjoong, who is now fairly certain his vision is going and he’s blacking out like, entirely. Holy— “But that makes sense, too, I guess.”
Hongjoong thinks it must take a whole seven seconds for his brain to re-fucking-boot or something. It’s complete static up there, really. Goo!
Finally, though, he somehow manages, “Oh! I don’t—I mean, I sometimes, well, it’s not like I’m—”
“Cut,” another one of the producers yells, and Hongjoong has no idea if he’s grateful or not, too many emotions swirling inside him while Seonghwa takes a step further from him, Hongjoong miserably retreating his hands to his sides to hang, loserish and now empty. “I’m starting to rethink the pirate’s hat from here on. Anyone else feel like it got in the way?”
“I mean, from my perspective—” Hongjoong starts, before he is quickly cut off.
“We were not asking you,” Dash says. Obviously, because they’re like, best fucking friends now. There’s a pause. “Just for that you have to keep wearing it.”
Hongjoong sighs. And he does keep it on.
* * *
It’s on his third hour of all this that Hongjoong realizes he very much might die here.
Here lies Kim Hongjoong, his tombstone will say. Son, brother, friend, horny bastard. He died doing what he loved; looking at Park Seonghwa and pretending he was totally not about to pass out. Unfortunately he passed out. Forever. Rest in peace.
Because this shouldn’t be happening to Hongjoong. He should not be privy to the way Seonghwa looks from such intimate angles, like—on his knees in front of Hongjoong, or worse, like this, this, on top of him, long legs bracketing Hongjoong’s hips, on fucking top of him.
“You look nauseous now," Seonghwa is saying. Great. Awesome, seriously. “Are you ok? Do you want me to ask if we can take our break earlier?”
“I’m not nauseous,” Hongjoong denies. Sort of lies, also, because he really can’t be entirely sure that he’s not about to throw up or something, solely out of nerves. He shifts his gaze elsewhere, focuses on the bright overhead lighting of the room and briefly feels like this might be him meeting his end. Maybe he already has. The idea of Heaven doesn’t feel much different than Park Seonghwa on top of him, so. “The lights are hurting my eyes a bit.”
Seonghwa hums, unconvinced. “It’ll do that,” he says, anyway. “It’s not me, is it? Like, am I too heavy or something?”
He shifts his weight the tiniest bit, and Hongjoong does what any other self respecting loser would do and clamps his hands down onto Seonghwa’s waist, ignores the way it fits so beautifully against him again, and shakes his head.
“Of course not,” he says. Does his best to remain calm, and cool, and casual. “You’re fine. You’re nice. I mean, this is nice. I mean—it’s fine. It’s nice to lay here and do nothing.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Seonghwa says, and he laughs a little, and it sounds like a choir of angels and that one beat Hongjoong’s been working on with his soundboard, and Hongjoong loves it, much like he loves a lot of other things about Seonghwa.
And that helps a bit, you know, distracting himself with the much more wholesome thoughts about his, um, friend, like his smile, and then also like, his heart, the way he cares, the way he makes Hongjoong laugh, the way—
“Lets stimulate some movement, can we?”
That’s one of the producers. The one that was so pained before to tell Hongjoong he could finally take the pirate hat off for this scene, an instruction given solely because Hongjoong was fully laying down, if he wasn’t he probably would still be wearing it.
But—stimulate some movement? What does that even—
“Like, um.” Seonghwa pauses. He looks at the production crew and then down to Hongjoong—who probably looks terrified, probably looks like a deer caught in headlights—and then back up. “Do you want me to—”
“Like the actual actors would, yeah,” Dash from Hell confirms. “We have to make sure the set will last. We got this bed from IKEA. On like, super sale. It might be missing a screw.”
“Oh, sure. At least there was a sale,” Seonghwa mumbles, giving them a tight lipped smile, and then he looks back down at Hongjoong, smile softer, laced with something more sympathetic, and—ah.
Here lies Kim Hongjoong. Son, brother, friend, the horniest bastard alive. He died doing what he literally should have never agreed to, with Park Seonghwa on top of him, and he deserves it, death, that is, because he is so beyond stupid. Rest in peace or whatever.
“Gorgeous,” Dash says, just as Seonghwa hesitantly starts moving up and down, hands strained against his own thighs, gaze ahead, cheeks the slightest bit pink. He adds, “Hongjoong-ssi, can you slide your hands slightly behind him. Backs of thighs will work.”
“Sure,” Hongjoong croaks, thinks his voice might crack, too, but thankfully no one says anything. “I’ll just, um.”
His hands are unsure, careful, polite despite everything. Despite the way Seonghwa is quite literally—bouncing in his lap. Slowly, and he’s not like, meeting Hongjoong’s crotch thank fucking god, but wow. Wow. This is simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever happen to Hongjoong in his entire life.
“Seonghwa-ssi, you can drop your hands wherever,” the other producer says. “Chest preferably. We have to see how it interferes with the backdrop.”
Seonghwa just nods, and dutifully plants both his hands on Hongjoong’s chest, and Hongjoong does his best to slow his heart rate, to pray that Seonghwa can’t feel the way it’s hammering through his chest, nervous, betraying him. And like, why is a backdrop so important to a porn video? Who is looking at a fake ocean view when—this is happening?
“Perfect!”
Hongjoong feels like this whole situation is less than perfect, less than ideal for sure, but whatever. Seonghwa is perfect at least. Warm and real and beautiful and like, literally in the palm of Hongjoong’s hands, with his own hands, deft, manicured, slender, splayed out across Hongjoong’s chest.
On particular movements when Seonghwa leans forward, his hands flex, the tiniest, barely there squeeze that Hongjoong feels because it feels like his entire body is on fire, senses completely heightened. Hongjoong still does his best to remain neutral, to show little sign of the turmoil he actually feels inside, because he doesn’t wanna screw this up, he can’t.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Seonghwa asks suddenly, and his voice is quiet, like it’s just for Hongjoong, just between them. There’s a tiny crease between his brow that tells Hongjoong he’s worried. Hongjoong must look like he’s gonna be sick again. Or worse. “We can ask for a break. I don’t mind. They don’t really hate me or scare me, so.”
“No, no, I’m great,” Hongjoong tries to convince him. He forces a smile. He thinks it comes out normal, but then again, he’s starting to feel a little dizzy. It very much could come across as serial killer instead. “I don’t need a break. Why would I need a break?”
“Because your heart is beating so hard I’m scared you might go into actual cardiac arrest,” Seonghwa points out. He laughs, just one short chuckle, and Hongjoong feels the embarrassment seep into his bones, of course Seonghwa felt it, goddammit. “Are you hot? We could ask them to crank up the air.”
Hongjoong should say yes. He should lie to make it normal, just say he’s hot, that he’s feeling a bit dehydrated, he’ll be fine in a minute, he just needs a breather, sorry, Mr. Dash and staff.
Instead, however, “Do you think I’m hot?”
Seonghwa makes a face. Surprise, and then confusion, and then one of the other producers asks if Seonghwa could start moving faster, so he does, and Hongjoong sort of wishes he could disappear entirely.
“I don’t know,” he finally says. He’s not out of breath, but his voice is shakier as he moves quicker, makes him sound stupidly attractive. Seonghwa flexes his hands again though this time it feels more deliberate, a real, slow grope of Hongjoong’s chest. Oh, my god. “I think you feel warm where you’re touching me. Is that what you meant?”
Hongjoong has no idea what he meant. He has no idea why he said yes to all this. Why he offered himself up in the first place. He knows he said he’d try everything twice, but this is something he should have never even tried once. Are they still gonna ask him to put his dick in a sock? This is awful.
“Yes,” Hongjoong says, half like a question he’s trying to convince himself he knows the answer to, half like a cry for help.
“So you are hot,” Seonghwa concludes. He’s smiling again, though differently than usual, a little more in a way that makes something evil stir up in Hongjoong’s insides. The bed makes a mildly concerning creaking noise and Seonghwa gets another handful of Hongjoong’s chest. “It is warm here, definitely. Also, my thighs are starting to hurt. A workout I did not ask for. I’m heating up, too.”
A nervous laugh startles its way out of Hongjoong before he grips Seonghwa’s thighs a little harder, doing a bit more to keep him moving, helping him through his up-down movement. One of the producers says something about the two of them doing wonderfully, and then another one says something about the discarded pirate hat, and then Hongjoong tunes them out entirely just in case they’re going to tell him to wear it again.
“Better?”
Seonghwa gives him a smile that Hongjoong can tell he initially tried to conceal. Half, a bit crooked, but there, and still adorable.
“Better, yeah,” Seonghwa confirms. He laughs again, it comes out more like a giggle, really, and Hongjoong feels his heart skip a beat or two, which must mean Seonghwa feels it, too. “Another reason why I’m glad I’m doing this with you. You’re much more polite than the people I usually work with.”
Hongjoong feels his ego inflate a tiny bit. Just a small, humble amount.
If he was smooth, or bold, or if he wanted now to be the time for a confession, he could work with that. I’m always polite in bed, he could say. You could find out, I could take you to dinner first, or—wait, fuck, that wasn’t all that smooth either.
“Just doing my job,” Hongjoong says instead, lame. Then, in a moment of bravery, “If no one else is treating you with basic decency, then maybe they should be fired, anyway. Like, if it were up to me.”
“Maybe,” Seonghwa sings. The bed makes another squeak. “Are we still talking about only in here, by the way?”
“What would we—” Ah. Is Seonghwa insinuating something? Referring to a situation in which he might be in a similar position, only less clothes, no clothes, the real thing. Hongjoong feels his palms go sweaty. He prays Seonghwa does not comment on it. He swallows hard around nothing as he mentally hypes himself up enough to ask, “Are you saying you’re getting the same shitty treatment outside of here, too?”
Seonghwa shrugs. Coy. Beautiful, as usual, too.
“Mediocre,” he corrects. “Not necessarily shitty.”
“Mediocre isn’t any better,” Hongjoong points out. His blood is pumping so loud between his ears he doesn’t even know what he sounds like. Pathetic, probably, but. “You shouldn’t be settling for that.”
“I’m not,” Seonghwa says slowly, and he dips down a little, presses further into Hongjoong’s chest, back arched the slightest bit. Hongjoong looks past him at the lights instead to focus on something else for a split second. Thinks about awful, unsexy things, things not related to Park Seonghwa, but instead like, actual unions or the stock market or the way San got violently ill after drinking too much at Yeosang’s birthday last month, and— “I’m too busy pining after oblivious idiots, anyway.”
There’s a beat.
For a moment, it feels like everything stops, everything is frozen, and it’s just them. Hongjoong, and then Seonghwa, still on top of him, still beautiful. The obnoxious pumping of his blood stops ringing in his ears. His mouth goes dry. His palms are still sweaty, but he’s much less concerned with that, instead is suddenly very aware of the way Seonghwa feels around him, the way he smells, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the deep brown of his eyes when Hongjoong finally looks at him again, the curve of his cheeks.
He’s so beautiful. All the time, and especially now, and Hongjoong is stupid, and he knows he shouldn’t have said yes to this whole thing, but how could he ever say no to Seonghwa, Seonghwa who’s always kind, who makes him laugh, who laughs right back at Hongjoong’s bad jokes, who he’s been infatuated with for the better part of three years now. Three years, or forever, what’s the difference, Hongjoong feels like he’s known him his whole life, anyway.
And so, stupidly, without even thinking—
“Seonghwa, I think I’m in love with you.”
“Cut, cut, cut!”
There’s some subdued chaos coming from Hongjoong’s right, the producers, and the rest of the staff, and oh, Hongjoong must have just said that out loud, everyone must have heard him, which means Seonghwa heard him—Seonghwa who stops moving entirely, plops himself directly into Hongjoong’s lap, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock, stunned to silence.
Which could be worse, all things considered. He could have been wearing the pirate hat.
* * *
The production crew makes them take their break early on account of Hongjoong’s rather untimely confession.
Seonghwa and him sit on the curb outside in the parking lot, engulfed in the July heat, a safe distance apart, respectable. They haven’t said anything since inside. Since the producers basically banished them away for the time being, creases in the shitty IKEA bed and an abandoned pirate hat the only evidence they were there.
Hongjoong supposes he should say something. The hardest part is like, already over with, anyway, really. The confession. Telling Seonghwa he’s in love with him and all that. How much worse can it get? Actually, scratch that—Hongjoong is afraid to even ask.
But he should say something. He doesn’t think he could face Seonghwa the rest of the shoot otherwise. Or ever.
“So,” he starts, exhales, shaky, terrified. “Uh. Do you think it was something I said?”
“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says, somewhat scandalized, but he laughs, and it sounds normal to Hongjoong at least, a bit incredulous, but genuine nonetheless. “That was—well.”
“Right,” Hongjoong says. The hardest part is over, he reminds himself. It was not the confession he wanted, and it was not the confession Seonghwa deserved, but it happened, and it’s too late, now he just like, has to live with it. “Bad joke. I’m sorry. For like, the joke right now, but also—for inside. For making you uncomfortable. For making the entire room uncomfortable?”
“It was sort of a funny joke, if I’m being honest,” Seonghwa mumbles, looking at his shoes against the pavement, feet kicking at a pebble. “And you don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do,” Hongjoong says, shameful, and very adult, because he put himself on the line at like, the worst time possible, and now he will deal with the consequences, thank you very much. “I was—impulsive and rash. And I mean, beyond the surface level issues, that was supposed to be work, a professional environment, you work with these people frequently, and I like, could have ruined it.”
“First of all, there is nothing professional about it,” Seonghwa interrupts. “Pretty sure one of the PD’s is wearing a shirt that says Orgasm Donor.”
“That’s high fashion.”
“Is it?” Seonghwa laughs. “But second of all, what surface level issues are you even talking about?”
“You know,” Hongjoong says, vague. He shrugs, glances at Seonghwa for a second before he looks back out into the parking lot, avoiding his gaze. “Like. I mean, between us. I didn’t—it’s not very cool to tell your friend you might be—in love with them. So I’m sorry. And I don’t want this to like, change things between us.”
Seonghwa hums. Silence for a second, although it feels like an eternity to Hongjoong. A painful, embarrassing eternity.
Then, “What if I want it to?”
“What?” Hongjoong asks. He braves looking at Seonghwa now, giving him an expression that cannot be anything but confusion. “What if you want what to what?”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes, pushing up off the pavement to stand, fixing Hongjoong with a look. It doesn’t feel like a threat entirely, but Hongjoong does feel his heart rate pick up again, and his palms go sweaty once more. He stays very still.
“What if I want things between us to change,” Seonghwa says slowly. Crosses his arms across his chest. Sits into his hip.
“Oh,” Hongjoong says. Still confused. Because he just told Seonghwa he might love him, that he definitely likes him, and before that, Seonghwa was—oh, my god. Wait. The oblivious idiots. “Oh, my god.”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, pointed, rolling his eyes again. “Oh, my god. It’s you, Hongjoong-ah. You are the oblivious idiot. Remember that?”
“Oh, my god,” he says again. He stands this time, a weird feeling spreading throughout his body, something like adrenaline, or nerves, or love, love—Hongjoong is going to die. He is absolutely going to die. Of joy this time, though. Like, so much fucking joy. “I didn’t—how long have you—? But why would you—I mean. Me? When you’re—you?”
“I’ve been flirting with you for like, a year and a half now, Kim Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, and Hongjoong still kinda feels like he’s dreaming, but the blush on Seonghwa’s cheeks looks real, and the nervous tapping of his foot does, too, and oh, my god, Hongjoong likes him so much. “You are ridiculously, insanely dense. I almost died.”
“I thought you were working on being dramatic,” Hongjoong points out. Seonghwa just frowns at him, middle finger pointed in his direction. Then, sweeter, familiar, “Besides, you wouldn’t die, we would never let that happen.”
“Nearly did,” Seonghwa says anyway. “Who knew all it was going to take for a confession would be—bouncing on your lap as if we were—”
“Ok, no,” Hongjoong stops him, cheeks already heating up as he thinks back to their previous position, how Seonghwa looked, felt, and no, wait—he needs to stay on track. “This is insane.”
“A little bit, yeah,” Seonghwa agrees. He reaches for Hongjoong’s hand, sliding his own into it, shyly, but warm, there. “But also—”
“But also,” Hongjoong rushes to finish, squeezing Seonghwa’s hand the tiniest bit tighter, pulling him closer, “I want to—actually try it out. Being… with you. Like, officially. In a way that means I could take you on dates. And hang out with you in places that don’t require me to wear a pirate’s hat. If that’s ok with you.”
“Oh, but I liked the hat so much,” Seonghwa teases, and then they’re super close, close like they were inside, except now it’s just—him and Seonghwa, no crew, no god forsaken hat, or shitty backdrop, just them. Hongjoong drops Seonghwa’s hand to fit both of his around Seonghwa’s waist, just like they were before, only this time it feels real, gives Hongjoong the good kinda butterflies. “What if I wanted you to wear it?”
Hongjoong scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’d have to ask nicely,” he jokes.
“You’d have to make me, then,” Seonghwa says, low, and Hongjoong actually doesn’t know if that’s a joke or not, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it, not when Seonghwa is leaning in even closer, eyes trained on his lips. “Hongjoong-ah.”
He hums. His heart is beating unbearably loud again.
“I’m gonna kiss you, ok?”
Hongjoong thinks you should try everything at least once, but always twice, unless it’s Park Seonghwa, then you should like, try it forever. Kissing him feels like that, anyway—soft, languid, smooth, and Seonghwa tastes a bit citrusy, and Hongjoong likes it, wishes it weren’t happening for the first time in the parking lot of a rather exotic production studio, but this is fine, no, this is great.
So he does just that; kisses Seonghwa, once, twice, three times, feels the tiniest bit of Seonghwa’s tongue in his mouth before he betrays himself with a terribly embarrassing moan, and Seonghwa pulls away, cheeks pink, lips glossy, eyes dark, deep.
“That was—”
A door swings open behind them, loud, the metal of it creaking obnoxiously. Seonghwa frowns, craning his neck to look behind Hongjoong, who turns to face Dash-Who-Hates-Hongjoong, hands on his hips.
“Your break is almost over,” he says unceremoniously. “You guys need to report to wardrobe for the next part of the shoot.”
Hongjoong blanches. “Wardrobe?” he asks. Only slightly panicking. “Is this like—for the penis sock, or whatever?”
“The what?” Dash shakes his head, hands to his temples like he truly doesn’t get paid enough for this. Hongjoong wonders if they’re always this hostile over here or if he just got lucky. “They’re making you try a different hat, dude. Please don’t ever say the words penis sock ever again. Or we’ll fire you. I’m serious. You have five minutes.”
The door shuts then with another clang. There’s another beat.
“So,” Seonghwa says, dragging out the syllable, “do I get to ask what a penis sock is, or—”
“Blame our friends,” Hongjoong says gravely. He shakes his head. “Do you wanna make out until we have to go back in?”
“I wish you were wearing the hat,” Seonghwa says with a sigh, one that Hongjoong rolls his eyes at, admittedly amused. “But like, yeah. Duh.”
Yes, Hongjoong thinks, try everything at least once.