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(everyday) you're all up in my head

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1.

they say it’s a one in a million chance to have your soulmate turn out to be someone you already know. so why it doesn’t come to him as a fair surprise, when a bandmate whom hansol’s already taken as a figurative life partner, actually turns out to be a literal one, he doesn’t really know. it’s cool, yeah, but nothing new? he’d always figured boo seungkwan would be someone he’d have forever, right next to him until the end of time.

so if anything, it’s a sound of a delayed epiphany that shatters the silence after they find out. “ohhhh,” hansol says anti-climactically, then adds “that explains so much, don’t you think?” two seconds later.

even just yesterday, hansol’s locked himself up in his dorm room, trying to come up with lyrics when there’s an unknown source of happiness bubbling inside his heart. two minutes later, his phone vibrates with a notification in the seventeen kakao group chat; a picture of seungkwan holding out a crumpled yellow bill with a text that pops up shortly after, ‘just found fifty bucks on the streets, yo.’

“shit,” seungkwan cusses, being slightly more dramatic. “this means i don’t have sixth sense and i swore to kim mingyu that i did.” he then crosses his arms and glares, “but excuse you? your vibes are ridiculously soft right now, i can’t even feel anything. where's the excitement? the glee? am i not good enough for you, or what?”

hansol grins, because under a layer of his own relief, there’s that familiar warm current that dances over and about his heart. except that it’s so much more vigorous and powerful than usual, that he wants to burst out laughing from all the unbearable tickles.

“chill, will you?” hansol wraps his arms around seungkwan’s shoulders, “you can just use words to tell me if you like me, boo.”

seungkwan elbows him hard, making hansol wince in pain as he shields his ribs. as seungkwan walks away and the toasty, full sensation inside of him chills instantly and falls out into emptiness, hansol shouts after him, “can’t make plans to kill me, i'll find out about them anyways!”

seungkwan spins around, the red blush still swimming over his round cheekbones as his jaw drops.

“well, that’s creepy as fuck.” he says.

“creepier than trying to grind peanuts into my smoothie?” hansol quirks a brow, and seungkwan quickly scuttles out of the room to settle next to jeonghan.

 

2.

seungkwan says it’s unfair how hansol can sense him twice as better than he can. 

“my energy just isn’t as obnoxious as yours.”

hansol responds idly one day, and regrets it for a week because his chest tightens unpleasantly whenever he feels seungkwan’s struggle of trying not to feel.

“sol, thanks, man.” seokmin flashes him a blinding smile one night after practice, “i took honey butter chips from seungkwan’s secret stash and he didn’t even try to stop me.” he whispers excitedly, “do you think i can get away with eating all the tangerines on his bed? borrow his charger for the night?”

hansol thinks that the better part of his heart feels like it’s buckled down by force, like he’s downed an entire liter of coca cola and can’t belch anything out.

‘ew, oh my god,’ he hears (feels? it’s not exactly seungkwan’s voice he’s hearing inside his head, but some strong compelling feeling in his gut) of seungkwan gagging, ‘must you be so—”

and seungkwan stops abruptly, making hansol’s heart muscles stretch and contract unnaturally. it’s not the physical discomfort, but a sense of guilt and responsibility that makes hansol want to cry (and say sorry, many times). he reaches seungkwan’s room before he can figure out how he’s going to do it, the surging embarrassment disallowing him to sort out the jumbled thoughts. but before he could knock, the closed door flings wide open and seokmin suddenly bolts out screaming.

“i said i’m sorry!!” he shrieks, trying to squish his large body behind a much smaller soonyoung on the couch. “i didn’t even get to touch your tangerines!”

“there better be a cabinet full of honey butter chips by tomorrow morning, hyung.” seungkwan glowers, and hansol can see an invisible flame that’s engulfing seungkwan’s entire form and simultaneously, his no longer constricting heart. seungkwan starts yelling all over the place, expression switching by the second with his hands flying everywhere, and hansol’s heart feels so free (it also burns from rage, but mostly free).

“i heard them all,” seungkwan shrugs before he brushes past hansol and into his room again. “you had like five different ways to tell me that you were sorry?”

hansol feels his face flare up, and it’s even worse because seungkwan starts smirking like he can feel the stupid embarrassment.

“so… we’re cool?” hansol stifles out, trying to refrain from feeling so many things at the same time but goddammit—seungkwan giggles, writhing his body and scratching over his chest.

“gosh, that tickles.” he says, shaking away the goosebumps. “yeah sure, though i can't believe it took you an entire week to come to my door.”

 

3.

hansol’s completely run out of air in his lungs, flying up six flights of stairs—two per step because the damn elevator takes too long—wheezing out everything that resembles a prayer with whatever breath he has left.

there's been this frightfully cold (so cold), sinking feeling inside of him, and hansol hadn’t been able to figure out what it means. cold sweat breaks out from every pore; seungkwan should’ve never been left alone in their dorm, especially if he was sick, and hansol really wanted to wait until the end of dance practice, but something had felt definitely wrong.

his stomach aches like it’s eating itself but hansol can’t tell anymore if it’s from the actual pain or from his soulmate, and he finally reaches their floor to burst into their dorm and head straight for seungkwan’s room.

“boo seungkwan—!” he stops when he sees seungkwan in bed, perfectly content and conveniently rolled into a blanket burrito, laughing at some show he’s watching on his phone. seungkwan’s eyes go round when he sees hansol by the door.

“oh cool, you really came.” he says breezily, and hansol almost loses strength in his legs and falls to the ground.

“what the fuck was that?” he yells, still panting, “you were vibing urgency? death? you begged me to come??”

“oh yeah, it is urgent.” seungkwan grins. “can you turn off the lights for me?” 

he curls up against the headboard when hansol starts seething, fucking livid, sensing danger and squirming to escape his blankets. seungkwan’s hands clench over his stomach where it’s probably lurching with hansol’s emotions, and his voice gets frantic as seungkwan cries out, “oh my god, i was just trying to get you out of practice!”

they call it even when hansol does the same thing a week later; when seungkwan rushes into their dorm, face pale and drenched in sweat, and hansol asks if he’d seen their tv remote.

“no, you two didn’t call it even,” seungcheol rubs his temples, “i had to ban faking shit and told you guys to grow the fuck up.”

 

4.

they don’t.

 

“it’s not bad, i like it.” jihoon says tersely, “but i just want this part to flow better, so tick off more syllables?”

“okay.” hansol says calmly, scribbling over his lyrics. “that’s what i thought too.”

“lies.” seungkwan snorts from the side. “he thinks you’re a stuck-up asshole, hyung.”

 

“coups hyung,” hansol calls, just after they come down from some outdoor stage in busan, ignoring the panic-stricken look that he catches his peripherals. “kwannie says you’re just being lazy now, making him do all the talking on stage.”

“hansol’s lying, i didn’t say that!” seungkwan’s arms cross the air to make a hasty X, and hansol smiles innocently.

“right, you thought it.”

 

“wonwoo hyung, hansol was lying when—”

“oh, will you both shut up?” wonwoo snaps, “it doesn’t exactly take soulmates to figure out what you brats are thinking most of the time.”

seungkwan gasps audibly, and hansol throws an arm over the shorter male to pull him close.

“you’re right, wonwoo hyung can be like that sometimes.” he says blatantly, and wonwoo narrows his eyes behind his glasses. “listen, this one time…” hansol drawls, closing his mouth.

“wait, really? he, what—?!” seungkwan exclaims in exaggeration, “hyung, is that true? what hansol said?”

wonwoo’s book flings over their heads, and the two start laughing as they run away into the nearest room and shuts the door behind them. hansol looks at seungkwan, both of their chests rising and falling with their backs to the door, and seungkwan’s head turns to meet his gaze.

“okay, fine.” he smiles, and hansol’s heart swells up at the way seungkwan picks up on his thoughts remarkably fast. “let’s call it a truce, soulmate.”

 

5.

“why is hansol being such an ass today?” minghao grumbles, finding a spot next to seungkwan after being snapped at by the younger male.

“yeah, he’s gonna be like that for a while.” seungkwan replies brusquely, desperately holding onto reason and trying not to do the same. “you better leave him alone.”

minghao raises a brow. “what happened?”

“i’m on a diet.”

minghao blinks in confusion.

“i had two celery sticks all day.”

“…oh.” minghao lets out, and they both hear hansol kicking chan’s butt in the distance. minghao looks thoughtful for a minute.

“well, uhm, would feeding hansol help?”

seungkwan feels his patience snap, and suddenly there’s an explosion of hansol cursing in english, a string of f-words flying out in all directions.

“guess not.” minghao says in a rush, darting off to save chan.

fifteen minutes later, when jisoo comes back from mcdonalds and throws a bag of double quarter pounder (with cheese) in seungkwan’s arms, he hears hansol mumbling in the room next door,

“chan, i'm really sorry.”

 

“i want chicken.” seungkwan mumbles quietly, his voice getting dispersed into thin air without making it to anybody’s ears. he doesn't talk to save his voice for an hour before a recording, but the sudden desire for chicken is so very strong. “i want chicken.” he says it again, sprawling over the table and eyes glossing over the painted ‘pledis’ on the wall.

i want chicken.

seungkwan thinks it when he doesn’t say it out loud.

“i want chicken.” he thinks, rolling over onto his other arm, pupils losing focus as someone—a blob, is it junhui hyung?—moves from one end to the other end of his view.

“i want chicken.” he thinks again after a long moment (or short, time’s irrelevant when he wants chicken). mingyu enters, ignoring seungkwan mouthing “i want chicken” as he heads straight for the recording studio. there's music, jihoon's voice, and bumju laughing until the door clicks close, and everything’s silent again.  

“i want chicken.” seungkwan yearns.

the entrance slams open and hansol walks in, a dripping umbrella in one hand and several white plastic bags dangling in the other.

“shut up, i brought chicken.” hansol mutters, “your craving was too vague, so i bought three—goobne, bbq, and didi chicken. now please shut up so that i can practice without blurting chicken every two bars, yeah?”

he throws the umbrella to the side, fingers brushing through his hair in an attempt to dry them while seungkwan takes the chicken and sets them on the table. hansol slides into seat in front of seungkwan, resting his chin over his palms and observing seungkwan eat.

“yeah, it’s raining out there.” hansol answers, his aura sucking in all of seungkwan’s thoughts and emotions, no matter how deep seungkwan has them cased, locked, and held. kept away from chwe hansol. hansol pauses, expression stirring, and when seungkwan takes another drumstick, he breaks out into a huge, cocky grin. “aw, boo, are you touched that i went out in the rain to get you chicken?”

seungkwan merely stares at him, mouth busy chewing and cheeks full.

hansol's handsome brows knit into a scowl. “no, i didn’t get any coke.” he grouses, “you only said you wanted chicken.”

seungkwan thinks he has this whole telepathy thing down by now, so he starts mentally complaining about the lack of common sense hansol possesses (i.e. how could he bring chicken, but forget the coke?), when the corner of hansol’s lips curve and he pushes the pickled radishes closer to seungkwan.

“don’t force yourself, seungkwan.”

so seungkwan gives up. hansol picks up a chicken wing. “you’re welcome, soulmate.”

 

6.

everyone else are passed out too, sounds of soft snoring filling the van when hansol wakes up. he rubs his eyes to see that seungkwan is the only one up, sitting on his right and head turned away to stare out the window. seungkwan's ears are bright red as if to be on fire.

the air between them is silent, the sensation within them not much so.

or at least, that’s what hansol’s been told. loud enough to wake him up from his sleep.

“i like you a lot too, seungkwan.”

seungkwan flinches, whirling around and eyes wide.

“what?”

“i can hear you.” hansol reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together. “and same.”

seungkwan's face flushes tomato red. “fuck being soulmates, i can’t ever keep anything to myself.” he bites out, keeping their fingers intertwined anyways.

just moments before he falls asleep again, he hears seungkwan mumble, “same.”

and hansol’s thinking, never stop being my soulmate, boo seungkwan.