Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s Hongjoong who suggests it first.

“You could stay here, you know?” he says when Seonghwa tells him in passing that he’s considering going back to Korea with Yunho, Mingi and San.

They have almost a full week between the last date in the States and the final show of the North American tour in Mexico. Seonghwa could go and see his parents. He could sleep in a bed that remembers his shape, in his parents’ guest room that is nominally Seonghwa’s bedroom whenever he visits. He could eat his mother’s cooking, and go to the beach, and try to teach Norangi and Hayani to sing the tunes he whistles back to him.

It’s the longest they’ve been out of the country since their debut, and Seonghwa longs to hear the familiar language and see familiar-looking faces around him.

“I’ll rent us a nice place,” Hongjoong continues, his expression a little shy, a little hopeful. “I mean, like, really nice. With a big pool and everything.”

You barely ever swim, Seonghwa wants to say.

He remembers, back when they were still trainees, a few months before debut, how he sat behind Hongjoong on Hongjoong’s bed and rubbed a soothing ointment into his back after the chlorine in the pool water left him with a horrible rash all over his torso and arms.

“I don’t know…” Seonghwa says. “I—can I think about it?”

Hongjoong peers up at him with a smile. “Sure. I’ll book the rental anyway—I mean, I’ve already done some research into nice places to stay in LA, so…” He laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But yeah, if you want to stay, I’ll save a bedroom for you, how about that? Yunho was going to stay, too, but since he’s going back home now, I invited Mingyeomie to stay with us instead.”

Seonghwa smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll let you know soon, okay?”

The truth is, it’s been a little difficult to be around Hongjoong these past few months. In a way, it’s Seonghwa’s own fault, for wanting things he can’t have and getting his hopes up over and over again, just to have them crushed like a dry, brittle leaf in the palm of his hand, looking as the dust flies away with the wind. He should’ve known, watching the play of light on the waters of Lake Como, that some things weren’t meant to be.

“Of course you should accept, Seonghwa-ya,” his mother says when he calls her the following day. It’s late in Korea, but she’s picked up anyway after the second ring. “You deserve a nice little vacation, my baby. Your dad and I will still be here when you come back to Korea, you know? And you should let Hongjoongie spoil you a little. Didn’t you say he promised to rent a house with a nice, big pool? And isn’t he allergic to chlorine?”

Seonghwa can read between the lines well enough. Sometimes he wishes he were a little less honest with his mother, but he can’t help it. She’s been Seonghwa’s closest confidante for his entire life. She knows about the feelings he has tucked away into the deepest corners of his chest over the years, the truth of it choked out late at night in a teary whisper, a shared secret that she’s kept as close to her heart as if it were her own.

“Mom…” Seonghwa protests. He wants to say, it’s not like that, but the truth is that he doesn’t know anymore. The lines between them have been blurred for a while now in a way that makes Seonghwa doubt his own footing, constantly second-guessing his next step.

“Don’t mom me, Seonghwa-ya,” she says. “Hongjoongie offered first, and you deserve it. And you know how hard it was for you to get used to the time difference this time around. You should stay in LA and take some time to rest and recharge in peace, I really mean it. And then we’ll arrange for you to come home once you’re back in Seoul, okay? I’ll buy some abalone and make jeonbokcho, how about that? And I’ll marinate some crab, enough that you’ll be able to take some back for everyone. Does that sound good?”

Seonghwa smiles into the phone despite himself. “Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, it sounds good, mom.”

“You should go on one of those helicopter trips along the coastline,” she suggests then. “My friend tells me you can even see whales and dolphins from all the way up above, and wouldn’t that be really fun?”

“It would,” Seonghwa says. “It would be a lot of fun. It’s just…I don’t know. It’s been awkward. But also not really. Just a little bit off sometimes when it’s just the two of us, you know? Not like things are bad between us or anything. It’s just weird and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

His mother considers this for a moment. “Well, maybe this is your chance to get some clarity,” she says. “Running away from it won’t make it less of a problem.”

Seonghwa pouts even though she can’t see it. “I hate it when you’re right.”

His mother laughs. “I’m right quite often,” she says. “Sorry, my love.”

Seonghwa groans, but he’s smiling now, too. “Okay, okay, I got it. I’ll stay with Hongjoongie in LA. You’re right. Maybe we just need to spend some time together when we’re not working and it will stop being weird.” He sighs. “I don’t know, maybe it’s all in my head and there’s nothing actually off between us. Maybe I’m just imagining everything.”

“Seonghwa-ya…” his mother says, her voice suddenly a lot more serious. “I meant what I said. Take some time to rest, but also take some time to figure it out between the two of you. You’ve been so close for such a long time. Hongjoongie is like family already, you know?”

Seonghwa swallows, his throat a little tight, his eyes stinging. He remembers the touch of Hongjoong’s hand against his face while the wind was blowing in from above the water, icy-cold in the February air. He remembers the way Hongjoong snatched it back as if burned, the hasty step back, the sudden change of the topic. Seonghwa didn’t imagine any of that. He knows he didn’t. But with the way Hongjoong has been acting, it might have just as well never happened at all.

“Yeah,” he says, a little strangled. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Hop in,” Hongjoong says, pointing to the white Porsche convertible waiting for them at the airport. Seonghwa blinks, thinking at first that Hongjoong is making a joke. But it’s the exact same model he drove in the KBS show—the same one Seonghwa oohed and aahed over when they recorded the reaction footage. Before Seonghwa can move, Hongjoong crosses over to the passenger’s side and opens the door in a nonchalant gesture that makes Seonghwa’s cheeks heat up. “Come on, get in.” He nudges Seonghwa forward with a laugh. “Manager-hyung will pick up Mingyeomie from his Airbnb and follow us a little later, and he’ll bring our luggage, too. It’s just the two of us for now.”

Seonghwa swallows. “Okay,” he says, finally taking a seat and reaching over to buckle his seatbelt. “That must have been so expensive to rent, wow.”

Hongjoong shrugs awkwardly. “Well, it’s our vacation. I guess I wanted to splurge a little,” he says. “Besides, I can afford it.”

Coming from anyone else’s mouth, it would sound insufferable. But coming from Hongjoong, it’s just a fact of life. He’s well-off, and he doesn’t mind spending the money he makes on people who are dear to him. Seonghwa has lived through nearly a decade of being on the receiving end of Hongjoong’s gestures of generosity, and the fluttery feeling in his chest accompanies him every single time. From an assortment of Seonghwa’s favorite convenience store snacks materializing out of nowhere on his bed when he was going through a hard time soon after they debuted, to the glittering diamonds of his team ring, Hongjoong has always been there, giving whatever he had to make the lives of the people around him a little bit better, a little bit brighter.

Seonghwa looks around the inside of the Porsche as Hongjoong fiddles with the navigation in his phone, trying to hook it up to the car’s system.

“Where are we going?” he asks. There’s an address at the top of Hongjoong’s phone screen, but it tells Seonghwa nothing.

“Franklin Hills,” Hongjoong says, then points in a direction that tells Seonghwa equally little. “It’s that way, more or less. You can see the rest of the city from up above. You’re going to like it, trust me. There’s a big pool, too, just like I promised. And a movie theater.”

Seonghwa frowns. “Movie theater? Like, inside the house?”

Hongjoong laughs. “Yeah, and a gym. It’s kinda crazy.” He starts the car and moves to reverse. His arm lands on the back of the passenger seat and Seonghwa stills. His heart, ever the traitor, picks up. “I got super lucky, too,” Hongjoong continues easily, “because the place is usually booked months ahead, but there was a last-minute cancellation, so I was able to book it on short notice.”

“Wow,” Seonghwa says, a little stunned. “How big is this place, exactly?”

“Pretty big.” Hongjoong sends him a brief smile, then turns his attention back to the road. “The whole place is like three stories, four bedrooms, each with an en suite. Plus all the other stuff. So everyone should have plenty of space to just relax and rest, you know?”

“Wow,” Seonghwa echoes. He doesn’t know what he expected—Hongjoong doesn’t mind spending his money, after all, but this feels extravagant even for him. “Must have been really expensive.”

Hongjoong gives him another unconcerned shrug as he drives. “It will be worth it,” he says.

Eventually, the road takes them past the flatlands of central LA and up the hills, where it turns into a narrow, winding terrain pass that Hongjoong navigates with the confidence of someone who’s lived here his entire life. It’s attractive in a way that most things Hongjoong does are. For all his occasional silliness, he’s self-assured and confident where it matters, and Seonghwa, who’s lived doubting himself for most of his life, has been equal parts attracted to and envious of that. Less so these days, but he still remembers those first months after he’d met Hongjoong, who radiated confidence and self-assurance even when plagued by doubt.

It shocked Seonghwa at first to hear Hongjoong whisper his deepest fears into the space of their cramped practice room late at night, when it was just the two of them.

“I feel like I’m screwing everything up,” Hongjoong said, looking lost and small and young in his oversized sweats, hair fried from bleach. Seonghwa jerked his head up and his eyes widened. “Sorry, I just—I don’t know how to be everything that everyone needs me to be. I don’t know if I even can be all that.”

Seonghwa took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think it’s kind of a balancing act, you know?” he said and watched in the mirror as Hongjoong turned to look at him, but Seonghwa was unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. “You’re trying to be so many different things, play so many different roles… I think that you can’t play all of them at once. But you can play them at different times. It’s just a question of how you balance that. Does that make sense?”

Hongjoong nodded, then sighed. “It does. That’s…honestly. That helps. Thanks, Seonghwa-ya.”

Now, Seonghwa watches Hongjoong’s profile to his left as he drives them up and up the narrow, winding road. The wind has picked up, too, and with the roof open, Seonghwa’s hair is getting all messed up, tugged this way and that by the strong gusts that blow right in their faces. Still, he closes his eyes and tips his chin up, soaking in the sunlight.

“This is so nice,” he says. The low hum of the engine is mostly drowned out by the wind, but Seonghwa can feel its rumbling in his entire body. “You should get yourself one, you know… When we get back home.”

“Wait, you mean the car?” Hongjoong asks. “Come on.”

That’s not exactly a no.

“You liked it enough to rent the exact same model twice…” Seonghwa teases. “I’m just saying.”

Hongjoong snorts. “You’re just saying that because you want to get free rides in a convertible.”

Seonghwa shrugs and opens one eye to steal a glance at Hongjoong. “It suits you. And you can probably afford it.”

“I can afford it,” Hongjoong says easily, and the squirmy feeling in Seonghwa’s stomach returns. “But I don’t need a new car. Not that it wouldn’t be nice—it just wouldn’t be practical. And honestly, I could never drive with the top down, not in the city anyway, so what’s the point, you know?”

“Mm…” Seonghwa concedes. “I guess. But you’ve thought about it.”

Hongjoong laughs. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” he admits. “It’s a really nice car.”

The road gets progressively more narrow and steep as they navigate the hills that stretch above Los Angeles. Seonghwa wonders what the view is going to be like.

It’s a hot, sunny day, and even with the wind, he finds himself sweating through his jumpsuit. His sunglasses sit perched on the bridge of his nose, slipping a little when his face starts to get sweaty, too. He presses his fingers to the skin there, hoping his makeup hasn’t smudged too much. He’s not wearing a lot, since he did it himself in the morning in a considerable hurry, but there’s a faint layer of tinted moisturizer left on the pads of his fingers when he pulls his hand away.

“How much longer?” he asks.

Hongjoong glances at the navigation. “It’s not that far in a straight line, but because the roads are like this, it takes longer. We’re pretty close, though, maybe ten more minutes.”

Seonghwa nods, tipping his head back again. He’s enjoying the ride and Hongjoong’s company, but he’s impatient to see the house, too. Hongjoong has refused to share any photos, repeating each time that he wanted it to be a surprise.

Seonghwa understands why the moment the villa comes into view. It’s so much larger than he expected, built into the slope of the hill, flowing with the landscape instead of fighting it. There’s a parking space out front that should fit Hongjoong’s Porsche and the manager’s rental. Flower beds line the path that leads to the front door, where a woman dressed in a pencil skirt, white blouse and high heels is waiting for them.

“Mr. Kim,” she says, inclining her head. “Mr. Park. Welcome. My name is Jessica and I will be taking care of you during your stay. I understand that the rest of your party will be joining you later, so I’ll just leave all sets of keys with you if that’s okay. This is my card,” she continues as she pulls out a business card from her purse. Her smile is wide, teeth straight and white. “You can call me at any time, day or night, and I will be with you within five to ten minutes. As I mentioned in my email, in addition to all the other amenities and services we provide, there is also a chef service that you can take advantage of, and we will send over one of our best to provide your meals daily. It is not a live-in position, but all the meals will be prepared fresh for you for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or with the option to make them ahead once a day so you only have to heat them up. Alternatively, we can arrange to have your groceries delivered if you’d rather handle the cooking yourselves. The cleaning service comes by once every two days, unless you request additional cleaning—in that case, just let me know and I’ll take care of it. And if you have any other questions, please, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“Ah, thank you,” Hongjoong says in English, reciprocating the bow. He accepts the bundle of keys from Jessica and drops one set into Seonghwa’s palm. “I have a question. Do you have a chef who cooks Korean food?”

Jessica smiles even wider. “Certainly, Mr. Kim. That can be arranged. I’ll send Beverly over to cook for you in that case.”

“But could we also get…um, the ingredients? Yeah, if we could get that delivered, that would be good,” Hongjoong adds.

Jessica’s smile widens even more. “Of course. Please, send me a shopping list, and I’ll arrange the delivery.” She looks between the two of them. “Mr. Park, do you have any special requests? We’d be more than happy to accommodate them.”

Seonghwa startles. He didn’t expect to be addressed directly, happy to let Hongjoong handle the interaction instead. “Ah, I—I don’t think so,” he says in halting English. “Thank you.”

Jessica gives him a polite nod. “Well, if you think of anything, please, don’t hesitate to reach out.” She clasps her hands together. “If that’s all, then I’ll leave to let you get settled. The air conditioning has been turned on so you can enjoy the indoors once the day gets warmer. There is also a bottle of complimentary prosecco in the fridge, along with a charcuterie board prepared by one of our chefs earlier today, so you can have a light lunch while I arrange the chef service and grocery delivery. I wish you a very pleasant stay, and again, if you need anything, please, give me a call.”

They say goodbye after that, and then Hongjoong finally opens the front door.

“Wow,” Seonghwa says as he steps out of his shoes in the entryway. There are no house slippers waiting for them, but Seonghwa has a spare pair in his luggage.

The inside of the house is bright and spacious, tastefully furnished in a sleek, modern style. It looks even bigger from the inside than it does from the outside, and Seonghwa looks around in awe.

“Hongjoong-ah, where did you even find this place?” he asks, his eyes straying to the amazing view of the city that stretches out from the living space.

“It’s really nice, right?” Hongjoong says, sounding a little smug. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Seonghwa admits. “It’s…it’s perfect.”

When he turns to look at him, Hongjoong is beaming. He’s pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, which sticks up a little in an endearing way where the shorter strands got swept up.

“C’mon, let’s pick our bedrooms before the others get here,” Hongjoong suggests, jerking his chin in the direction of the upstairs. “Then we can check out the rest of the place. It’s kinda bigger than it looked in the photos.”

There are two bedrooms on the first floor and two on the second. The first floor houses the master bedroom and another one that’s almost equally spacious, while the rooms on the second floor are a little smaller but by no means small. The smallest of them is still bigger than San and Jongho’s rooms back home. For Seonghwa, who has lived in the smallest room in their dorms for the last two years, there’s nothing wrong with any of them.

“You should take the master bedroom,” Seonghwa says. It’s only natural—Hongjoong is paying for all of this, so he should have the biggest, nicest room with the nicest en suite.

To his surprise, Hongjoong frowns. “But the master bedroom en suite is the only one with a bath,” he says like it’s obvious. “I don’t really care about it all that much, and you know I prefer showering. But you love taking baths, so I think you should take the master bedroom, and I’ll take the other room on this floor, how about that? It’s still really big and has a really nice bathroom.”

The truth is, Seonghwa was a little jealous of the large bath in the master bedroom en suite the moment he saw it. There’s nothing he’d like better than to close his eyes and lie back to soak in a fragrant bubble bath right now. And here Hongjoong is, just giving it to him. Another thing on the list.

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa asks. “You said there’s a jacuzzi, I can just soak there if I want to.”

“No, I’m serious,” Hongjoong says, shaking his head. “Take the master bedroom, Seonghwa-ya.”

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says. “You really didn’t have to do this. You’re already paying for all of it.”

“Well,” Hongjoong laughs awkwardly, “I have to convince you somehow that it was a better idea to stay here than go back home.”

Seonghwa frowns. “Is that what it’s all about?” he asks. “Come on, Hongjoong-ah. I stayed because I wanted to. You don’t need to give me any special treatment. I don’t regret staying. A huge bathroom in a luxurious villa that doesn’t have a bathtub won’t make me suddenly change my mind and book a ticket for the next flight back to Korea.”

“Still,” Hongjoong insists. “It’s okay, I want you to have it.”

Seonghwa capitulates at that and sets his bag on the plush stool at the foot of the king-size bed. “Okay then,” he says. “Come on now, let’s check out the rest of the house.”

It takes them a while to explore everything, from the seating space on the uppermost floor to the gym and movie theater in the basement. The house is spacious and well-furnished, and Seonghwa can’t believe he gets to stay here for free for the next five days. It’s different from a hotel room, and Seonghwa, unused to travelling for leisure, can hardly contain his excitement. Hongjoong looks happy, too, watching Seonghwa get excited about the silliest things, like the pool table on the first floor or the variety of the gym equipment.

“C’mon, let’s see what the outside looks like,” Hongjoong says. He pulls open the French doors leading to the patio and gestures for Seonghwa to go first.

The pool is one of the nicest Seonghwa has ever seen. It’s large and deep, and there are lounge chairs right by the edge of the water, built into the wall of the pool. He could be sitting there, reading a book and sipping a drink while soaking his legs in the water. The jacuzzi could probably fit all eight of them if they didn’t mind the tight fit. The rest of the patio is comfortably furnished, and there’s a big grill nestled right by the outdoor dining area.

“Wow,” Seonghwa says for what feels like the hundredth time today.

“Do you like it?” Hongjoong asks.

“Why do you keep asking that? Of course I like it,” Seonghwa says. “I still don’t get why you got us a place with such a big pool when you don’t really swim.”

Hongjoong looks a little flustered. The bridge of his nose is red, but that could be from the sun. “I wasn’t booking this place just for me, you know,” he says.

“Aw, Hongjoong-ah, are you saying it’s all for me?” Seonghwa flutters his eyelashes, clutching his hands to his heart in an exaggerated gesture, all to distract him from the strange feeling in his stomach. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seonghwa-ssi,” Hongjoong teases and knocks shoulders with him playfully, then immediately withdraws as if Seonghwa’s touch burned. “Manager-hyung likes to swim, too. And Mingyeomie.”

It’s Seonghwa’s fault, really. He was the one to steer the conversation into these waters. And yet, the admission still stings. Of course it’s not just about him. It was a selfish thought that he should never have voiced to begin with, even as a joke.

“We should figure out what to put on the shopping list,” Seonghwa says just to change the topic. “I can write it down, but we should probably have it ready before the chef gets here.”

They’re still at it by the time their manager and Balm arrive.

“Hyung, Mingyeom-ah, come through to the kitchen once you’re done settling in,” Hongjoong says, his voice coming from the direction of the main lobby while Seonghwa busies himself with the shopping list. “I arranged for a chef service so we’ll have all of our meals prepared, but we’re also going to give them a list of groceries and other stuff and they’ll have it delivered here just in case we want to make something for ourselves. Seonghwa is writing it all down, so if there’s anything you want, just tell him, okay?”

He writes down everything he knows how to say in English first, then translates the rest. There’s a functional pantry stocked with rice, noodles and other non-perishables including spices, but Seonghwa adds meat, eggs, vegetables, kimchi and some snacks. Hongjoong leans over his shoulder to peer at the list once he returns to the kitchen.

“We probably don’t need too much, though,” he says. “Since Mingyeomie and I will be mostly gone for the song camp anyway.”

Seonghwa stills with the pen hovering just above the notepad. “What?” he asks. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong leans his forearms against the kitchen island’s marble countertop. “Yeah, we got invited to a song camp this week, so we’ll be gone for most of the day everyday through Wednesday. But hey, even more space for you to relax without too many people around, right?”

He smiles, completely oblivious to the furious churning of Seonghwa’s gut.

“Oh,” Seonghwa says dumbly. “I didn’t realize.”

He should’ve gone back to Korea with Yunho, Mingi and San. Wooyoung, Yeosang and Jongho are doing their own thing—Wooyoung is hanging out with his friend from high school and his girlfriend. Jongho has stayed in the city, getting voice lessons and resting on his own at a smaller place rented out with their other manager. Yeosang is flying to Arizona with Junghyun-hyung, going off on his own to visit the Grand Canyon. No one would miss Seonghwa here if he’d gone.

“We’re gonna be working with so many great producers,” Hongjoong continues, but his smile fades as he speaks, like he’s only now catching up on the change in Seonghwa’s mood. “That’s—that’s okay, right?”

Seonghwa swallows and forces a smile. “It’s your vacation, Hongjoong-ah,” he says, grateful that his voice sounds normal. “You can spend it however you want.”

He resists the urge to avert his eyes when Hongjoong gives him a considering look. Seonghwa’s smile feels plastered to his face, tightening his features like a peel-off mask, but it must be convincing enough, because Hongjoong smiles back and ducks his head.

“Okay,” he says. “Sorry, I just didn’t—I thought you knew.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter though, right? Don’t worry, I’ll find something to occupy myself. Mom told me you can go on a helicopter ride over the coast and see whales and dolphins, so maybe I’ll do that.”

Hongjoong gives him another look. “Are you sure?” he asks.

It’s an impossible question, even if Hongjoong himself doesn’t realize that. Because what is Seonghwa supposed to say? He can’t do the selfish thing. He can’t say, No, don’t go, I want you here. You invited me to stay, so why don’t you want to be here with me? That would upset the balance too much—it would leave him completely laid open for Hongjoong to see, his fragile heart beating in the palm of his hand.

Seonghwa knows how to toe this line between them without either of them getting hurt better than anyone. He’s been doing this for nearly ten years.

“Of course I’m sure,” he says, pushing the hurt down, down where it will settle right next to what he feels for Hongjoong. “I was just surprised, I guess. I didn’t think you’d rent such a nice place just to barely spend time here.”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Hongjoong says. He sounds a little sweet, a little shy. “I told you I’d rent a nice place for us. And it’s not like I will be gone the entire time.”

Before Seonghwa can respond, the manager and Balm come into the kitchen, looking around with awed expressions.

“Hyung, do I even want to know how much this cost?” Balm asks, peering beyond the living space to where the pool stretches, deep blue, on the other side of the window.

“Shh…” Hongjoong says, putting his finger to his mouth and closing his eyes as he shakes his head. “Mingyeom-ah, don’t worry about that. It’s hyung’s treat.”

The thing about Hongjoong’s generosity is that it makes him difficult to read sometimes. It extends to everyone he knows and to so many people he doesn’t, both through his charity work and his relationship with the fans. It comes to him as easy as breathing. It’s one of the reasons Seonghwa feels the way he does about him—another entry on an already impossibly long list.

Hongjoong has always been generous with Seonghwa as well—sometimes more than Seonghwa has thought he deserved. More than he’s thought was possible.

The others have been all too aware of it, too. Once, he caught Yunho and Jongho plotting to send Seonghwa to get Hongjoong’s approval in a matter so trivial that Seonghwa can no longer recall what it was. What he does remember, though, is Jongho’s hushed voice saying, “Come on, you know how it is. What Seonghwa-hyung wants, he gets. Hongjoong-hyung never says no to him.”

They couldn’t see him, hidden behind the corner at the entrance to the kitchen in their old dorm, but Seonghwa froze where he stood, eyes wide and heartbeat picking up.

Since their trainee days, he’d always tried to make sure Hongjoong didn’t play favorites without realizing, that everything was equal between all of them. As much as Seonghwa liked to be spoiled and given special treatment, he had certain responsibilities towards all of them as the eldest, as Hongjoong’s right hand man. Hongjoong was relying on him to bridge that distance sometimes, to be the person who understood both sides and could bring them together on equal footing. Seonghwa didn’t mind. He thought he was doing a good job of it. To hear Yunho and Jongho then, saying so plainly what Seonghwa had always dreaded, was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. He didn’t say a word, just quietly tiptoed back to his empty room, one that he shared with Hongjoong in theory but rarely in practice, and pretended to be surprised when Yunho came shuffling in to ask Seonghwa to intervene.

Hongjoong said yes.

Even now, after all these years, Hongjoong’s care and affection remain just as confusing to Seonghwa. It’s hard to know where they stand sometimes, where the line is that separates friendship from something more. Those boundaries have always been so blurred between them in Seonghwa’s mind; it’s so much harder to keep the balance like that. Seonghwa knows how to do it, his years of experience making it possible, but that doesn’t make it easy.

If he’s being completely honest with himself, everything since their Lake Como trip has felt like one precarious balancing act, the push and pull between them even stronger, making it more difficult to keep an even keel.

Hongjoong planned out the whole day just for the two of them. Just for Seonghwa, who for once didn’t have to worry about anything, free to enjoy his time off to the fullest. Hongjoong booked the tickets and looked up the places to eat, and ordered for them so Seonghwa didn’t have to worry about his English. He was searching for the seafood dish Seonghwa had spied at a neighboring table before Seonghwa even finished speaking. He took so many photos of Seonghwa, and he got so, so close, and something almost happened, but then it didn’t.

There’s still a part of Seonghwa that wonders sometimes, in his more maudlin moments, if someone saw them that day, looked at the matching rings on their fingers and thought they were a couple.

“So…we have a bit of a problem.” Hongjoong’s voice startles Seonghwa, who’s lounging in the shade by the pool, trying to read a book of poetry he’s brought with him on tour and getting lost in his thoughts instead.

Seonghwa looks up, sliding his sunglasses up to his forehead. There’s a soft wind rustling the nearby trees that makes the dry heat easier to bear, and here in this quiet corner, Seonghwa feels quite content with his life right now.

“What’s the problem?” he asks.

“I mean, it’s not really that much of a problem, just—” Hongjoong sighs. “The chef won’t make it here tonight, so we need to cook for ourselves. And there’s nothing in the fridge, so we’d need to go shopping. Manager-hyung found a Trader Joe’s nearby, so we could go and stock up on our own. Wanna tag along?”

“Do we really need to bother Sungjae-hyung?” Seonghwa asks, putting his book away. “We could just take your car and go, just the two of us, right? We’re on vacation. We don’t need to drag a manager everywhere we go.”

The prospect thrills Seonghwa more than he would admit. Usually when they’re abroad, they’re always trailed by a staff member for convenience and safety, but there’s something deep inside Seonghwa that longs for freedom. If he can feel like just another tourist for a little while, he wants to grab every opportunity he gets before it slips from his fingers like a fistful of sand at the beach.

“I guess we don’t…” Hongjoong ponders. “I mean, we are on vacation, you’re right. Maybe we can let loose a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re back in Hongjoong’s rental Porsche, the quiet rumble of the engine accompanying them as Hongjoong navigates the roads carefully on their way to the store. After spending some time in the air-conditioned house and in the shade by the pool, the afternoon sun beating down on them is scorching. There’s sweat gathering at Seonghwa’s temples, pooling in his philtrum, but even as his body feels heavy with the heat, his heart is light.

Next to him, Hongjoong is wearing big sunglasses with black, smoky lenses, and his piercings reflect sunlight each time he moves his head. His hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his tattoo peeks out from under the rolled-up sleeve of his white shirt. He looks so handsome like this, so stylishly laid back. His team ring gleams on his ring finger, mirroring Seonghwa’s own.

They find the store after getting lost the first time round, even with the navigation leading them. Hongjoong pulls up into the parking space right by the entrance, and Seonghwa busies himself finding a cart. They have the shopping list Seonghwa wrote down with them, though he doubts they’ll find some of the stuff they’re looking for here, and he doesn’t know where the nearest H-Mart is.

Unfamiliar as they are with the layout of the store, they spend some time roaming around the crowded alleys, pulling meat and vegetables, as well as an assortment of fruit and snacks into their cart. They have a good selection of produce, and Seonghwa spends some time picking out the nicest-looking mangoes and grapes, carrots and spring onions. Hongjoong, who knows nothing about how to pick out good produce, rummages through the meat aisle and brings back some pork belly and short ribs, along with a cut of beef.

“Do we want ice cream?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, a little too quickly. It’s been ages since he’s had ice cream. Then, his more practical side wins out against everything else. “But only if they sell insulated bags,” he amends. “You know, the cheap kind you can get at the cash register. Otherwise the ice cream won’t make it back before it melts.”

There are, as it turns out, none of those, but Hongjoong disappears for a while and returns with a big pink cooler bag and a triumphant smile.

“Here, look what I found!” he says. “We can get ice cream now!”

Seonghwa shakes his head, pulling to the side to avoid crowding the aisle. Even on a Sunday afternoon, the store is busy. “Hongjoong-ah, that’s ridiculous,” he protests. “We’re not buying a whole giant, much more expensive cooler bag just so we can get ice cream. What are we even going to do with it afterwards?”

Hongjoong, though, is already pulling Seonghwa in the direction of the open freezers. “We can afford an eight-dollar bag,” he says decisively. “And you said you wanted ice cream.”

Seonghwa capitulates after that, equal parts endeared and frustrated. It feels a little like Hongjoong is trying to paper over the sting of the song camp news from earlier, indulging Seonghwa too much because he feels guilty. They get a few different kinds of ice cream, then head out to the register to pay.

The cashier is a pretty, chatty woman in her thirties, and Seonghwa feels a little exhausted by the end of the conversation, her rapid-fire English leaving him desperately trying to catch up. Hongjoong seems to be holding his own, though, and soon enough their groceries are bagged and Hongjoong is swiping his credit card over the reader.

“Thank you again for shopping with us,” the cashier says, then turns to face both of them. “Do you and your husband need help getting your groceries to your car?”

Seonghwa freezes. Next to him, Hongjoong flushes, pink rising high on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not—” Hongjoong stutters. “We’re not— No, thank you, we don’t need help. Yeah. Have a good day.”

They grab two bags each, plus the cooler, where they put the ice cream and all of the meat cuts, and make their way outside.

It must have been the rings, Seonghwa reasons. His heart is pounding madly in his throat, climbing up with every single beat. He’s afraid that if he were to open his mouth, it would tumble right out. There’s a part of him that expects Hongjoong to make a joke about it, to say, Can you believe it? Someone thinking we were married for real, Seonghwa-ssi? Seonghwa expects him to laugh incredulously, maybe a little awkwardly.

Instead, Hongjoong is weirdly quiet as they load their groceries into the free space behind the seats.

“You good?” he asks and dusts his hands off as he looks up at Seonghwa, who doesn’t quite know what to make of this question.

“Yeah, I think we got everything we wanted,” Seonghwa says, hoping that he got it right. “We can go.”

They don’t talk much on the drive back to their Airbnb. Hongjoong puts on music instead, something soft and mellow, a little melancholy. The golden afternoon turns the sky above them shades of orange and pink, and Seonghwa watches the way Hongjoong’s skin reflects the light, clear and equally golden. Where he grips the steering wheel, the ring gleams and glimmers, as if taunting Seonghwa.

Just like back then in Italy, he can’t help but wonder. What did that cashier see in the two of them that made her say it like it was the easiest thing in the world? Husband. Seonghwa looked like Hongjoong’s husband to someone, and now he’s back here, in the enclosed space of the car, feeling like Hongjoong might as well be a thousand kilometers away.

Their manager opens the door when they pull into the parking space out front.

“Did you manage okay?” he asks, taking one of the bags Seonghwa hands him.

“They didn’t have some of the stuff on the list,” Hongjoong says, “and I don’t know if the kimchi they sell is any good, but we got the most important things.”

“What’s in the other bag?” Sungjae asks, pointing with his chin to the cooler.

“Seonghwa wanted ice cream,” Hongjoong explains easily, shouldering the cooler and picking up the last remaining paper bag. “So we got ice cream. The meat is in there, too.”

“I’ll help you cook,” Seonghwa says, turning to face their manager. “It will be easier with two people.”

“Should I help?” Hongjoong asks as they make their way back inside.

Both Seonghwa and their manager stop in their tracks at the same time.

“No,” they say in unison, which only cracks Hongjoong up.

“Okay, okay, understood,” he says, raising one hand in surrender, but then he grumbles under his breath, “I’m not that bad in the kitchen, you know.”

“You can put the groceries away, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says, placating.

He was hoping to escape to the kitchen to be with his feelings without Hongjoong hovering nearby, but as always, the universe is laughing at him.

It’s a little bit early for dinner, but none of them had lunch and they’re all starting to get hungry. They settle on soondubu jjigae, then marinate some cucumber and blanch spinach for banchan, and prepare the pork to stir fry later. Seonghwa gets the rice going on the stove, since the kitchen doesn’t come with a rice cooker, then grates a zucchini and busies himself making pancakes.

In the peripheries of his vision, Hongjoong keeps hovering like a reminder of everything Seonghwa would like to forget. Each time the ring on Hongjoong’s finger catches light, Seonghwa can hear the voice of the cashier in his head, saying husband over and over again.

Hongjoong still hasn’t said a word about it.

It stings like a splinter stuck under a nail. Does Hongjoong not care about it at all? Is it just Seonghwa whose heart has been sent into turmoil? Hongjoong sounded so flustered when he answered the cashier, but it seems like it’s only Seonghwa who’s dwelling on it now. Hongjoong is putting away the groceries, chatting easily with Sungjae and Balm while Seonghwa mixes the batter for the zucchini pancakes and stays quiet.

The sizzling of the oil in the pan drowns out the sounds of the conversation a little once Seonghwa begins to ladle out the pancakes. On the next burner over, the soondubu jjigae is bubbling away happily, and Sungjae is finishing up the banchan.

Seonghwa quickly flips the pancakes when they get golden enough on one side, then waits to pull them out onto a piece of paper towel to soak up the oil. He cuts them into strips for the ease of eating while another batch fries and arranges them on a plate. Then, as he goes to turn over the second batch, a spray of hot oil lands on the skin of his wrist.

Seonghwa yelps, jumping back before more oil can land on him. It doesn’t even hurt. It was just a speck, not enough to actually burn him. He got scared more than anything else, the recent burn to his hand fresh in his memory.

Hongjoong is there in a split second. “What? What happened? Are you hurt?” he asks, frantic, grabbing Seonghwa by the hand to inspect his wrist. “Come on, get it under cold water, quickly.”

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa says, but he lets himself be led to the sink. “It was just a tiny drop, it didn’t do anything.”

Hongjoong is not listening, though. He turns the tap on and pushes Seonghwa’s wrist under the cold stream.

“Hongjoong-ah, it’s really okay,” Seonghwa says. When he turns to face him, Hongjoong’s eyes are a little wide, his mouth stuck in a worried pout. “Really, I’m fine. Look. The pancakes are burning.”

He turns the water off and dries his hands quickly before rushing back to the stove. By the time he gets there, Balm is already done flipping all the pancakes. They’re a little more brown than Seonghwa would’ve liked, but at least they didn’t get completely burned.

They eat outside, enjoying the flickering lights of the lanterns they set out on the table and around the patio. Seonghwa sits facing Hongjoong and watches him eat more than he eats himself.

“All good?” Hongjoong asks at one point, and Seonghwa quickly shoves a spoonful of rice and jjigae into his mouth. The kimchi is nowhere near as good as the stuff they have at home, but it’s okay for the stew, less so for banchan.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, still chewing. “Enjoying yourself?”

Hongjoong snags another slice of the pancake off the plate. “These are especially good,” he says.

They start the fire pit after dinner and Balm goes back to the kitchen to mix drinks for everyone. Seonghwa ends up with a cosmopolitan, and then another one, sleepy and mellow by the time he’s done with the second drink. Hongjoong switches to beer after his first, the label turning into shreds as he keeps methodically peeling it off the bottle.

It’s a lazy, cozy evening, the air much more bearable than during the day but still warm enough that Seonghwa doesn’t need a jacket. As the evening progresses, they all spread out throughout the house to unwind, and the living space grows quiet. Seonghwa ends up in the kitchen, washing the dishes by hand despite the perfectly functional dishwasher to his right. It gives him time to think, which is a good thing and a bad thing at the same time.

He's determined to enjoy his time here. Even if Hongjoong isn’t planning to be here most of the time, even if he didn’t rent out this place to actually spend time with Seonghwa, that doesn’t mean Seonghwa can’t make the most of the situation anyway. He’s become very good at that.

There’s a part of him that wants to call his mother and put her on speaker while he finishes doing the dishes, but he’s afraid of what words would tumble out of his mouth if he did. He’s been missing her a lot, homesick for her comforting scent and touch. But she was right, too. Seonghwa can always come home once they’re done with the tour, but he can’t come back here and do whatever he wants whenever he feels like it. It’s special that he gets to have all these experiences that so many of his friends from Jinju could only dream of. It’s only right that he takes advantage of it.

He has music playing softly as he works, a slow jam playlist for when he’s feeling particularly sentimental.

When Seonghwa was eighteen and just about ready to give up on his dream forever, he never imagined he would be spending his future like this. The luxury villa and expensive clothes are nice, of course, but it’s the experience of seeing the world and everything it has to offer that really makes Seonghwa feel blessed by the universe. The fact that he gets to do it alongside people like Hongjoong and the rest of the members makes it even more special.

By the time he’s done with the dishes, it’s nearing midnight, and it seems like Balm and their manager have already turned in for the night. Hongjoong must still be somewhere around, because Seonghwa finds his phone, battery at four percent, lying on the dining room table. When he searches the floor, though, Hongjoong is nowhere to be found. Seonghwa quietly peers downstairs, checking the gym and the movie theater, but he’s not there either. Finally, Seonghwa ventures outside just to find Hongjoong, curled up in a lounge chair by the fire pit where the fire has long turned to smolder, sleeping. His long lashes are casting shadows onto his cheeks and his mouth is set in a little downturned pout that makes Seonghwa’s heart clench.

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says quietly. He leans in closer to shake Hongjoong by the shoulder. “Hongjoong-ah, wake up.”

Hongjoong startles awake, blinking, and sucks in a loud breath through his mouth. “Wha’ time ‘s it?” he slurs his words a little, still not fully awake. Then, “I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Just past midnight.” Seonghwa smiles and takes a step back when Hongjoong sits up in the lounger. “You should go to bed. I think we’re all just crashing after all the intensity of the last month.”

Hongjoong blinks a few times more, then rubs his eyes. He looks his age like this, so much younger than he usually seems under the façade of the responsible leader. His hair is sticking up a little at the side of his head, more brittle and dry from the bleach than usual.

“Come on,” Seonghwa says. “I did the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. We can all go to bed now.”

“Why were you doing the dishes?” Hongjoong asks. His voice is raspy, scratchy after the unplanned nap. “There’s a dishwasher and we’re on vacation.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind doing the dishes.” He pauses, then adds, “Could you maybe cancel the chef service? We can just get the groceries delivered. I liked cooking for all of us with Sungjae-hyung. I don’t think we need another person to come in here and cook for us.”

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asks. There’s a small frown marking the stretch of skin between his brows. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I don’t mind cooking,” Seonghwa responds. “I like it. It’s been a while since I was able to cook more regularly. It’s nice.”

Hongjoong pushes himself up from the lounger. “If that’s what you want,” he says. Seonghwa nods. “Okay then, I’ll cancel the chef service.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

They trudge up the stairs together until they reach their floor. Seonghwa turns, directing his steps towards his bedroom, when Hongjoong says, “Seonghwa-ya…”

Seonghwa looks over his shoulder to find Hongjoong shifting his weight from foot to foot. There’s a crease that runs across his cheek from the lounger chair cushion.

“Yeah?” Seonghwa asks. His heart picks up.

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Nothing. Have a good night.”

Seonghwa wakes up to the screeching of birds outside. When he shuffles over to the balcony, he sees a flock of parakeets that have taken over one of the trees. There’s at least a few dozen of them, making unholy ruckus in the early hours of the morning. He grabs his phone and records them for a moment, then snaps a few photos and comes back inside.

It’s early, but not early enough that he would consider going back to bed. In fact, it’s just the right time to start on breakfast. He must be the first one up, he reasons, because the downstairs area is empty when he descends the stairs. The kitchen is just as he left it last night, the dishes arranged neatly on the drying rack.

He starts the rice first, once again cursing the lack of a proper rice cooker. He should’ve checked before they left to get food the previous day; maybe they could’ve stopped somewhere else on the way and picked up a rice cooker on the cheaper end. They could’ve just left it here once they were checking out. It would’ve made everything just a bit easier.

The kimchi soup is next, with a can of tuna added for more protein. Then banchan, and Seonghwa fries a few eggs and some spam after that, just in time to hear the commotion on the stairs. Their manager is the first one to appear, followed by Hongjoong, who’s already dressed like he’s getting ready to leave.

“Oh? Breakfast?” he says when he catches sight of Seonghwa in the kitchen. “What time did you get up to make all that?”

“A little while ago,” Seonghwa says. “A flock of parakeets woke me up. They were making a lot of noise.”

“Parakeets?” Hongjoong repeats, his eyes growing wide. He comes to sit at the kitchen table, legs dangling from the high barstool.

“Yeah, check for yourself,” Seonghwa says, and slides his phone towards Hongjoong. “I took a few photos and a video.”

“You should’ve woken me up,” Sungjae says. “I would’ve helped you.”

Seonghwa shrugs. “I don’t mind. It was nice to just do something with my hands.” With that, he turns to Hongjoong. “What time do you need to leave?”

Hongjoong checks the time, then says, “We have like forty minutes before we have to get going.”

“Just enough time for breakfast, then.” Seonghwa smiles. It feels a little awkward, a little stilted, with none of the easy camaraderie of last night. “You can go sit, I’ll bring everything in a moment.”

Hongjoong tilts his head to the side. “Need a hand?” he asks.

“You can take the banchan and the cutlery,” Seonghwa instructs. “I’ll get the rest.”

Balm enters the living area just as Seonghwa sets the last pot on the table.

“You’re right on time,” Seonghwa says over his shoulder. “Come eat.”

Soon after, the clinking of utensils becomes the only sound at the table as they devour the breakfast. Seonghwa is pleased with how the meal came out, even though he wishes they had more banchan options.

“This is really good,” Balm says, with his mouth full of the kimchi soup. “I didn’t know you could cook so well, hyung.”

“Yah, he cooked yesterday, too,” Hongjoong points out, poking Balm in between the ribs until he squirms.

Seonghwa looks down at the food in his bowl. “I don’t do it often,” he says simply. “And Wooyoungie is the better cook between the two of us anyway. But I’m glad you’re enjoying the food.”

He swallows his envy alongside a spoonful of soup, and then another just for good measure. It’s hard sometimes to watch Hongjoong with other people—hard to observe how much less awkward Hongjoong is around them, how much more willing to get in their personal space without flinching.

It’s not Balm’s fault, of course. Not Hongjoong’s, either. It’s just Seonghwa’s stupid, jealous heart jerking in his chest each time Hongjoong touches someone else with this much ease where he can see.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Hongjoong asks, and it takes Seonghwa a moment to realize he’s talking to him.

“Just resting,” he says. “I might not come out of the pool until my entire body looks like a giant prune. We’re getting the groceries delivered today, right?”

Hongjoong checks his phone. “Yeah, they confirmed the delivery would be here today around noon. I left them your number just in case, since I won’t be here.”

“Okay,” Seonghwa says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Manager-hyung will be here too, right?” Hongjoong asks. “So you don’t have to haul all of this alone.”

“If you need me,” Sungjae says with a nod. “Otherwise I might head out to the beach later.”

“You can go,” Seonghwa says immediately. “You deserve to rest, too, hyung. You’ve worked hard. I’ll handle everything here.”

Sungjae gives him a considering look. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Positive.” Seonghwa nods. “I mean it. I’d rather stay in today, so I can just lounge by the pool and in the hot tub, and I’ll be here to pick up the groceries so you don’t have to stay behind. I’m serious, hyung. It’s a win-win.”

“If you say so…” Their manager capitulates at last, but he still doesn’t look fully convinced. “I don’t have to go, though.”

“Hyung, it’s your vacation, too,” Seonghwa insists. “I can handle a grocery delivery.”

Soon after, Hongjoong and Balm are on their way out while Seonghwa sees them off, standing in the doorway and watching them fold themselves into Hongjoong’s rental Porsche before they drive away. Seonghwa stands there for a few moments longer, then closes the door.

Their manager has already started clearing the table, and Seonghwa goes to help.

“No, leave it,” Sungjae says. “I’ll do the dishes. You cooked. And you did the dishes last night, I’m assuming. Sorry, I was going to load the dishwasher, but then I dozed off before I realized.”

“It’s okay.” Seonghwa shakes his head. “I didn’t mind.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here on your own?” the manager asks again.

“Yes,” Seonghwa says emphatically. “It might be nice to have the whole place to myself for a few hours, actually. You go have fun at the beach, hyung. I mean it. Take lots of pictures.”

“Okay,” Sungjae says. He reaches for the dish soap and finds the sponge. “Now go, get resting.”

An hour later, he says goodbye to Seonghwa, who’s lounging on the chair by the pool after doing laps for the last thirty minutes.

“The delivery will be here in about an hour,” Sungjae reminds him. “If you need anything, just call me and I’ll come back.”

“I’m an adult, hyung. I can handle myself,” Seonghwa says. “Have fun at the beach!”

A few moments later, the front door closes and Seonghwa is alone. Even when they’re touring and he has a room to himself, Seonghwa is never truly, fully left on his own. There are managers knocking on their doors to deliver something or ask a question; there are fans on the other end of the screen when they go live. Backstage, there’s the technical crew and makeup artists and hairstylists, venue staff and guests and logbook cameras. But here, now, Seonghwa is completely alone.

He closes his eyes for a moment, letting his damp hair be swayed by the wind that rustles the leaves on the trees that hug the backyard fence. The view of the hills that stretches before him is pretty. Seonghwa snaps a picture, then sends it to the group chat.

A response chimes a moment later.

Jongho
hyung u have a huge pool????

Seonghwa laughs. He knows it’s only a matter of time until Jongho, who’s staying at a place in not too far away, comes over to visit.

There’s a nice silk robe in a shade of pretty nude that he got sent by Isabel Marant a little while back, with wide kimono-style sleeves and embroidered in a floral pattern. He wraps himself in it and makes his way to the kitchen, where he’s left a pitcher of water earlier to cool in the fridge. Then, with a sweating glass in hand, he sits at the kitchen island and scrolls through his phone in search of nice pictures to post on Instagram while he waits for the grocery delivery to arrive.

The doorbell rings right around the time Seonghwa narrows it down to his final selection. He got a whole folder worth of pictures from Yunho a few weeks ago, after caving and asking him nicely to send them over. They’re mostly photos from their music show promotion schedules, and there are some really nice ones that Seonghwa has been looking forward to posting.

He puts his phone away, then opens the door to find a man around his age, carrying four giant bags worth of groceries.

“Hey, man, where can I put these?” the delivery driver asks. “I got two more chilling in the car.”

Seonghwa gestures to the entryway, taking a step to the side to allow the man to put the bags down. He then watches as the man returns to his car to fetch two equally big bags. Hongjoong had already paid for the groceries, but when Seonghwa searched for it, the internet said that he would be expected to tip the driver on top of that. He has a $20 bill ready and he hands it to the driver with a quiet, “Thank you.”

The man pockets the bill with a polite nod. “Thanks, man,” he says. “Have a great day!”

It takes Seonghwa a few trips to drag all the bags over to the kitchen. After that, getting everything out and putting it away turns out to be nicely meditative. He can think about nothing other than the most efficient ways to organize the perishables that need to go in the fridge on the shelves, surprised at the same time by some of the things he finds.

It seems like Hongjoong has taken his list as a starting point and added a lot more stuff. There’s more meat than they can probably eat—short ribs, pork belly, ribeye and T-bone steaks—as well as several kinds of sausages, a wide variety of produce, cans, jars, and everything else in between. There are snacks, too, including two big bags of nerd clusters, and a small cream strawberry cake that Seonghwa rushes to put in the fridge.

Once he’s done putting the groceries away, he opens a pack of steaks and makes a quick marinade that his mom taught him the last time he was in Jinju, then puts the steaks back in the fridge to marinate until dinner. It would be a shame not to make any use of the big grill outside, he thinks, and Hongjoong likes steak.

With the meat prepared, Seonghwa moves onto banchan. They have more options to pick from now, and he spends the next hour pickling eggs and radishes, making cucumber salad and starting on water kimchi so it can be ready for the next day. He blanches spinach and bean sprouts, then cracks open a bottle of sesame oil and looks for the pack of sesame seeds that he put away earlier.

It’s nice and quiet in the house, but eventually the silence becomes a little too much. It’s too early to call his mom, though, so Seonghwa puts on music instead and sings along as he works.

The irony doesn’t escape him. Here he is, on the second day of his five-day vacation, spending most of the early afternoon working in the kitchen. He enjoys it, though. Seonghwa doesn’t get to do it often. Most of the time, they’re either eating takeout or whatever the managers cook for them. Now, it’s like Seonghwa is indulging in a little fantasy. Like he’s playing house.

It’s dangerous, he knows. Wanting things a little too much has rarely been good for him. Other than getting to debut, to do what he does with people he loves, whenever Seonghwa had wished for something a little too much, it only left him with a broken heart.

Seonghwa spends the rest of the early afternoon by the pool, swimming or lounging with a book in turns. There’s a big inflatable pool float they found the day before, during their tour of the house, and he just lets himself drift on it for a while, eyes closed. The water sloshes at his sides, licking at his calves and fingertips. The buoying movement makes him sluggish, like a cat on a lazy, sunny day. The sound of water lapping at the sides of the float nearly lulls him to sleep.

When Seonghwa opens his eyes again, he finds he’s drifted all the way to the deep end.

A moment later, his phone chimes with Hongjoong’s message tone. Seonghwa paddles slowly to the other end of the pool, then hops off the float and pulls himself up to the edge, where his phone rests on one of the chairs.

Hongjoong
hey, the producer hyungs want to treat us
to dinner tonight, so don’t wait up!

hope everything went ok with the delivery

Right. Of course.

Seonghwa swallows. The phone in his hand digs into the soft flesh of his palm.

Seonghwa wakes up just past seven. He debates not leaving the bed until late in the morning, but he soon starts feeling restless. Instead of lingering under the covers and getting progressively more frustrated with himself, Seonghwa gets up, dresses into his workout clothes, and makes his way to the basement to use the gym.

He considers the weights stacked by the far wall, then forgoes them in favor of the treadmill. He has his Airpods with him, and he scrolls through his workout playlists until he finds something that he thinks will keep him distracted and motivated enough, then starts up the machine.

He runs until his calves are screaming and there’s sweat sliding down his temples, his back, the line of his sternum. There’s a wet spot right between his pecs, where the light grey tank top is plastered to his skin.

Running is simple. Methodical. He knows what to do. How to breathe. How to place his feet. There are no surprises in that, no puzzles to solve.

Seonghwa runs until he’s no longer able to keep himself upright, then sits on the bench for a good ten minutes, drinking water and wiping the sweat away from his eyes. His flushed face stares back at him from the mirror. His hair is a mess, sticking to his temples and the back of his neck. He’s dripping sweat all over, no matter how hard he wipes.

When he trudges back upstairs on shaky legs, the first person he sees is Hongjoong, sitting at the kitchen island and staring into space. There’s a glass of water in front of him. When he notices Seonghwa, he startles, eyes wide and mouth open like he’s about to say something.

“Good morning,” is what he settles on. The inanity of it grates on Seonghwa.

“Good morning,” Seonghwa says back, clipped. Then, “What time are you leaving today?”

Hongjoong blinks as if surprised. “Song camp is over,” he explains. “Yesterday was the last day.”

“Right,” Seonghwa says, then spins on his heel towards the staircase without waiting for Hongjoong to say anything else.

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look back to watch his reaction. He’s still angry with Hongjoong, and he lets himself feel that anger instead of pushing it to the bottom of his chest, where all the other feelings he doesn’t want to confront lie. He’s earned it—over nearly a decade of putting his feelings to the side, over the years of always being the bigger person, over all this time not rocking the boat.

He loves Hongjoong, but he can’t keep going like this. It’s not good for him. It’s not fair to him.

Seonghwa debates faking another migraine, but that feels childish. Just because he doesn’t want to see Hongjoong right now doesn’t mean he gets to avoid everyone and sulk in his room. It’s a big house. Seonghwa can still be social and stay out of Hongjoong’s way. He knows, though, that the longer he shares the same space with Hongjoong, the harder it will be for him to stay angry, and that anger is the only thing he has left to cling onto.

The time spent in the shower lets Seonghwa calm down and prepare mentally for having Hongjoong in the periphery of his vision for the entire day. How ironic, he thinks, that the only thing he wanted out of this entire vacation—to spend more time with Hongjoong—has now turned into a curse instead of a blessing. But if Hongjoong can’t or won’t make up his mind, Seonghwa won’t be meeting him halfway this time.

There’s been enough of that.

The breakfast is an awkward affair. It seems like both Balm and their manager are aware of the tension. Balm keeps sneaking looks between the two of them, while Sungjae looks the other way.

Seonghwa is quiet throughout the meal. They’re having Western-style breakfast today, with toast and fruit, sausages and smoked salmon and poached eggs, which is the latest culinary skill Sungjae has mastered and won’t stop bragging about. Seonghwa chews on his buttered toast with strawberry jam and says nothing. Hongjoong, despite his halting attempts at filling the silence, is also more quiet than usual, so it’s on Balm and Sungjae to carry the conversation.

Once they’re done eating, most of the party relocates outside, but Seonghwa stays on the living room couch, scrolling through his camera roll to pick photos to post later. In front of him, a glass of watermelon hwachae is sweating on the coffee table, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite despite eating a fairly small breakfast.

The windows of the living room overlook the patio and the swimming pool, and each time Seonghwa looks outside, he catches Hongjoong looking back over his shoulder. He looks hurt, confused.

Good.

Seonghwa made himself clear last night. It’s now on Hongjoong to bridge the gap between them or take a step back, the way he always does. There’s nothing to be gained now from making concessions, nothing that Seonghwa can win by returning the two of them to the status quo. The equilibrium has been upset, and now they both have to live with it.

The sound of the sliding patio door clicking into place startles Seonghwa. He half-expects to see Hongjoong, just for Balm to be standing there instead, looking almost as uncertain as Hongjoong himself.

“Aren’t you going to join us, hyung?” he asks. For a person as bright and sunny as he is, the tension in the air must feel suffocating. Even Seonghwa is choking on it.

“I’m fine here, Mingyeom-ah,” Seonghwa says gently, because he’s not here to unload on people who have nothing to do with the thing between him and Hongjoong. “You should go have fun. You’ve spent most of the week working.”

“He talked about you a lot at song camp, you know?” Balm says then, and Seonghwa freezes. “Hongjoong-hyung, I mean. He would brag about you to the producer-hyungs, how amazing you were. How you could inhabit any genre, any concept. I don’t know—”

“Mingyeom-ah, please, just let it go,” Seonghwa interrupts before Balm can say anything else. He can hear how strangled his own voice is. “You don’t have to come to me to defend Hongjoong. He can use his own words, and he can say it to my face.”

It’s always been like this with Hongjoong, who knows how to speak highly of Seonghwa when he’s not there but is unable to repeat the same thing and look him in the eye. Seonghwa doesn’t doubt the sincerity, but there are some things that need to be spoken face to face. That’s all Seonghwa wants from Hongjoong. For Hongjoong to look at him and tell him what he feels.

Right now, it feels insurmountable.

Beyond the window, he finds Hongjoong in the pool swimming lazily, his t-shirt clinging to his body. Then, oblivious to Seonghwa watching him, Hongjoong makes his way to the shallow end and pulls the t-shirt off before diving back underwater. It lands on the tile with a wet smack that Seonghwa can hear from all the way up here.

“Anyway,” Balm says, and Seonghwa pulls his gaze away from the window, “I’m not trying to defend Hongjoong-hyung or anything. I just thought you should know. He must have been thinking about you a lot while he was away, you know?”

“I do,” Seonghwa says quietly. “It’s just… That’s the whole problem, Mingyeom-ah. He always thinks of me the most when I’m not there. But you shouldn’t get yourself involved. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

Once Balm nods and makes his way back outside, Seonghwa slinks off the couch and heads downstairs, where the home movie theater stands empty. He just needs some peace and quiet—no people, no interruptions. There’s a giant flatscreen that faces the two rows of couches and a whole selection of streaming platforms to choose from. Seonghwa scrolls through the catalog for a few minutes, then settles on a Japanese animated movie he’s been meaning to watch for a while.

It’s nice, because his listening skills in Japanese are a lot better than his speaking skills, so he barely needs the subtitles. He curls up on the spacious couch and watches idly, finding himself more and more genuinely engaged as the film goes on.

No one comes to bother him. That’s nice, too, but there’s a part of him that keeps hoping Hongjoong will show up, ready to talk. But no one opens the door. No one comes to look for him.

Once the movie is over, it’s almost time for lunch. Seonghwa is starting to get hungry, and he figures some chopping and stirring would help him take his mind off the emotional turmoil that returns the moment Seonghwa is free to think. It’s the repetitive movement, the mindless monotony of it that makes his thoughts go fuzzy, out of focus. That’s exactly what he needs right now.

It takes him a moment to realize that he’s started making some of Hongjoong’s favorites without so much as a conscious thought. It’s like his hands know better than his own mind does, his body leaning into what he wants the most.

Hongjoong walks into the kitchen just as Seonghwa lowers frozen mandu into the boiling water.

“Tell the others lunch will be ready soon,” Seonghwa says.

Hongjoong keeps staring at him. He’s still shirtless, his swim trunks dripping occasionally onto the hardwood floor.

“And please, wipe down the floor once you change,” Seonghwa continues. “You’re dripping water all over.”

Hongjoong looks around, alarmed. “Oh, shit, I thought these were dry enough… Yeah, let me just—”

He casts around for a paper towel and Seonghwa hands him the whole roll over the kitchen counter. Hongjoong crouches to clean up his mess and dry the hems of his swim trunks with the towel as well, but Seonghwa is only observing all of it out of the corner of his eye. He keeps busy, keeps moving. It’s time to stir the mandu so they don’t stick together in the water and don’t stick to the bottom of the pot. There is banchan ready to be plated. He needs to find the sesame oil.

“Seonghwa-ya…” Hongjoong says. He takes a step closer, and then another. He’s looking at Seonghwa with pleading eyes.

“Go change,” Seonghwa says. “It’s time to eat.”

He ends up eating very little in the end despite his hunger. The food sticks to the roof of his mouth, gets stuck in his throat. Seonghwa picks on a plate of mandu and eats a few bites of sausage with kimchi fried rice. He doesn’t touch the bibim guksu.

“You should eat more,” Hongjoong says quietly, and the glare Seonghwa sends his way makes him flinch in his seat.

It doesn’t feel as satisfying as Seonghwa imagined it would.

“I think I’m done,” he says. The chair scratches against the floor when he pulls away from the table and rises to his feet. “Will you be okay cleaning up after?”

He barely waits for the others to respond, just turns around and makes his way up the stairs to lock himself in his room. It’s finally late enough in Korea that he can call his mother without having to fear that he will wake her up.

She picks up after three rings. “Seonghwa-ya? Baby?” she says. “Is everything okay? You never call this early when you’re in America.”

Seonghwa swallows down the tight knot in his throat. It clicks wetly, just like right when he’s about to cry. “I don’t know, mom,” he says. “It’s been so weird these past few days. And now I’m—I’m not really speaking to Hongjoong right now, and I’m so angry with him, but honestly I’m more angry with myself.”

He lowers himself onto the ottoman bench at the foot of the bed and leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.

“What happened?” his mom asks.

Seonghwa sniffles. “I don’t know…” he says. It’s so hard to put everything he’s feeling into words. His mother knows how he feels about Hongjoong, but this goes so far beyond that. “Honestly, things have been weird since we went on that trip in Italy. There was a moment when I just thought that maybe, finally—but I thought wrong. I was wrong. Nothing happened, and then he never brought it up again. I know I only have myself to blame, but it’s like—I can’t keep doing this hot and cold thing forever, you know? I know he’s not doing it on purpose, but it’s just… It’s just hard, you know? Always hoping that maybe this time something will change, and then it never does. And honestly, nothing really happened this time. I was just stupid and jealous and then the next day, when I went to San Diego, he was waiting for us when we came back, and he asked why I never answered my messages, and I just lost it. So now we’re not talking.”

His mother sighs, and he can hear the scrape of a chair being pulled out, dragging against the tile. She must be in the kitchen, making or eating breakfast.

“And even now,” Seonghwa continues when she says nothing, allowing him to pour it all out, “I just catch myself wanting to go to him. But if I do it again, we’ll just keep going like this until we’re forty and nothing will ever change, and I will forever wonder about what could’ve been, you know? And it’s really not good for me, mom, because I keep getting my hopes up, but we’ve been like this for so long, and the disappointment hurts just as bad each and every time. And I don’t know how many times I still have left in me.”

He sniffles again, his nose running. He tips his head back, then falls back onto the mattress.

“Oh, baby. I wish I could give you the biggest hug right now,” his mother says with an empathetic sigh. “But I do agree. You boys just have to be honest with each other, tell each other how you feel. That’s the first thing to do. Then you can decide what you want to do about it.”

“There’s just…there’s just so much at stake,” Seonghwa goes on, “and I understand why he would feel that it’s not worth the risk, but I’d rather he told me that to my face. I just don’t want to live in this uncertainty anymore.”

His mother takes a shaky breath on the other end of the line, like her heart is breaking for him. “Seonghwa-ya, baby, you need to talk to him,” she says. “You won’t ever know otherwise, and it will always weigh on you that you never asked when you had the chance. And I know that boy like I know my own sons. He would never want to hurt you.”

Seonghwa swallows. His throat clicks. “I know, mom,” he says. “I know. It’s just hard.”

“Whatever happens, please, remember that I love you very much, and you can call me whenever,” his mother says, her tone serious. “Even if it’s the middle of the night for me, I will always pick up.”

Seonghwa’s throat is tight. His eyes are stinging. What did he do to deserve a mother like that? Did he save the country in a past life? It’s supposed to be his first one, and yet it feels he must have done something to deserve this.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, thank you, mom. I’m gonna go now. Love you. Have a good day.”

“Love you too, baby,” she says. “And I’m serious. If you need me, call me.”

Seonghwa disconnects and curls up on the bed, facing the balcony. The sun edges onto the tiled floor, and soon the room will be bathed in afternoon sunlight. He watches the play of light for a moment, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, until he starts drifting off, just to shake himself awake a few minutes later. He rubs at his eyes and props himself up on his elbow, not wanting to fall asleep. He can hear his own breathing in the silence of the room.

His mother was right, he thinks. There’s no other way to resolve this other than talking to Hongjoong. It’s good that he’s waited, though, instead of confronting him in the moment. Seonghwa’s anger is still there, but it’s simmering now rather than boiling over. It’s a little safer for both of them.

Outside the window, a butterfly perches on the balcony railing and Seonghwa watches its wings flutter, mesmerized by the movement. He didn’t even know there were butterflies in big cities like Los Angeles. He hasn’t seen any in all of his time in Seoul.

He watches it a little longer, his eyelids keeping in time with the slow movement of the butterfly’s wings. Seonghwa is not sure what species it is—from this distance, it looks a little orange, and there might be a speck of blue, but he’s not sure. He’s reminded fondly of his time spent in his grandma’s house in Samcheonpo. She had a garden, and when Seonghwa went to play outside, there would be butterflies flitting between the flower beds and bushes. Once, when he was in second grade, Seonghwa fell asleep under a tree in the afternoon during his summer break and woke up to the tickling sensation of a butterfly landing on his thigh. He had tried to stay completely still, but he must have moved at least a little at some point, because the butterfly suddenly took off, startled.

It’s just like that with Hongjoong, too. All it takes is one wrong move from Seonghwa and Hongjoong retreats in haste.

On the balcony, the butterfly is still there, folding and unfolding its wings. Seonghwa blinks, then blinks again, slow and almost mesmerized by the movement.

Seonghwa wakes up, disoriented, to the sound of knocking on his door. He blinks, his eyes blurry, and casts around for his phone to check the time. It’s half past five in the afternoon. He slept for at least four hours.

There’s another, quieter knock, and Seonghwa finally says, “Come in, it’s open.”

The door opens without a sound and reveals Hongjoong standing in the doorway, looking uncertain and determined at the same time.

“Can I come in?” he asks. “I understand if you’d rather not see me right now.”

Seonghwa folds himself into a sitting position on the bed. He feels too soft, too vulnerable like this—barely woken up and still sleep-warm, barefoot and with the strap of his loose tank top falling off his shoulder. It’s so hard to hold onto his anger like this.

“You can come in,” Seonghwa says. “What did you need?”

It slips out before Seonghwa can help it. It’s always like that. Not what did you want, but rather, what did you need?

Hongjoong shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks like he’s about to be sick.

“Can we—” he starts, pauses. “Would you like to go for a drive? So we can talk.”

Seonghwa’s heart is pounding in his chest, suddenly climbing all the way up his throat. He swallows and pushes his hair away from his face. He’s stalling now, like he’s standing on top of a diving platform, terrified to take the plunge.

Whatever happens next, everything between them is going to change, the fragile equilibrium Seonghwa has been keeping in balance for so many years irreversibly upset.

“Okay,” he says, barely recognizing his own voice. “We can go for a drive. Give me fifteen minutes to get ready and we can go. Do you have anywhere particular in mind?”

“Just wear something nice but comfortable,” Hongjoong says. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Seonghwa slinks off the bed the moment the door closes behind Hongjoong, making his way over to the closet space where his non-workout clothes are. He considers a few options, then decides on the jumpsuit. In the bathroom, he slicks back his hair, and on his way out he picks out a pair of sunglasses. If he’s about to ruin nearly ten years of friendship, he might as well look the part.

Downstairs, Hongjoong is waiting perched at the very edge of the sofa. He tips his chin up to look at Seonghwa and his eyes widen like he hasn’t just seen him less than quarter of an hour ago. Like he hasn’t been looking at Seonghwa since they were just two kids with a dream.

“I’m ready,” Seonghwa says, and watches Hongjoong nod vigorously.

“Right, right,” he says. “Let’s go, then.”

They drive with the roof down. There’s wind coming from the ocean, and the sun is still shining, but on the driver’s side, it begins to take on a slightly more purple hue. They still have some time until sunset, but their last day here is coming to a close. Tomorrow, they will pack their bags and meet the rest of the members who have stayed in the States to travel to Mexico together. Yunho, Mingi and San will join them there.

They drive through the bustling streets of Santa Monica and in the direction of Malibu. There are still signs of damage there, life slowly recovering after a disaster. It’s the kind of resilience Seonghwa can’t even begin to imagine.

The car is quiet, save for the whistling of the wind rushing in their ears. Seonghwa looks out to the side where the scenery slowly changes, the space opening up to a seaside ocean drive. The mountains stretch to his right, dry scrub brush and parched earth waiting for the rain that won’t come. To his left, there’s only a barrier separating the highway from the steep descent to the beach. Beyond, the ocean glitters and ripples in waves that kiss the sand on the shore just to retreat a moment later.

There’s something to be said for the constancy of nature—the way the tides come forward and recede in the same, eternal rhythm day after day, the way the seasons change inevitably, year after year.

Seonghwa’s love, too, is a constant, like a tree falling in the forest over and over again, waiting for Hongjoong to hear it.

Overhead, clouds drift across the sky and take on a orange-pink hue that tells Seonghwa the sun will begin to set soon. They’re a little wispy, like seafoam by the shore, and if Seonghwa were to close his eyes and then open them again, he would hardly know which way is up and which way is down. He imagines himself drifting like this, suspended between the ocean and the open sky. There would be freedom in that.

“Where are we going?” he asks and watches Hongjoong get startled behind the wheel. Almost like he never expected Seonghwa to actually speak to him.

“You’ll see,” Hongjoong says. “But it’s pretty, and there shouldn’t be too many people at this hour.”

Seonghwa swallows. “I don’t need you to take me to pretty places,” he says. “That’s not what I need from you.”

“I know,” Hongjoong says. “But I—I wanted to do it. Just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

Seonghwa wants to laugh at that, but he finds his voice stuck in his throat.

“This is exactly—this is why,” he spits out when the horrible knot wrapped around his vocal cords loosens. “You need to stop doing all these things. It just confuses me, and I’m fed up with being confused. So just…don’t.”

Hongjoong stays quiet, which is exactly what Seonghwa wanted, and yet it doesn’t feel like a victory.

They drive for a little while longer, with the hills to their right and the ocean to their left. The traffic gets more manageable the further away they are from the city, and with the oncoming dusk, it looks almost romantic. In another life, this could’ve been the backdrop to their great love story. As it is, there’s only Seonghwa’s anxiety churning in his gut.

He imagines the many ways this could go—the many ways Hongjoong could let him down gently. He doesn’t quite let himself imagine the other possibility. He’s been there before, and he only got burned each and every time. That younger Seonghwa, so full of hope, is the reason they’re here in the first place.

But he knows better now.

Seonghwa watches the landscape pass him by idly, turned away from the driver's side. He’s missing the way the sky gradually turns to a darker shade of purple above the ocean, but he can’t let himself look at Hongjoong now. Not when Hongjoong is wearing the same white shirt and sunglasses he wore in those photos he took with Balm, reminding Seonghwa of everything that has led them here over the past four days. Not when Seonghwa is at the same time so angry and so in love with him.

Eventually, Hongjoong takes a turn left, and Seonghwa spots a sign that spells out Point Dume. After a little while, they come to a stop at a small parking lot located at the top of a cliff, with the ocean whispering below them. The sky is now bathed in hues of orange and pink and purple, and Hongjoong looks golden, illuminated by the light.

It’s beautiful. Seonghwa’s heart lurches at the sight.

“We’re here,” Hongjoong says. “There’s something I want to show you.”

They make their way down towards the beach, walking right by the steep incline where the cliff descends to meet the ocean. Then, just as Seonghwa begins to wonder how they’re going to get down, a staircase emerges before them, a winding path sloping down the face of the cliff.

The view beyond it is breathtaking. Below, a strip of the beach at low tide stretches to both sides. It’s a little rocky, the pebbles polished smooth by the waters of the ocean, the sand kissed wet by the waves. Before them, the ocean glimmers like a pane of stained glass. Above, the sky bursts in the hues of orange, pink and purple.

Seonghwa stares, a little gasp escaping his lips.

“It’s pretty, right?” Hongjoong says. When Seonghwa turns to look at him, he finds Hongjoong already looking back. “Let’s go.”

They descend the staircase, slow and careful down the steep steps. There’s no one here at this hour, the only people scattered further away, down where the stretch of the beach widens and becomes less rocky, more sandy.

“How did you find this place?” Seonghwa asks.

“One of the producer-hyungs,” Hongjoong explains. “I asked about nice places to visit where there wouldn’t be too many people and this is what he recommended.”

Eventually, they reach the foot of the staircase, where the sound of the ocean is stronger, the air salty and crisp in their lungs. Seonghwa watches the movement of the waves, the way the foam licks at the smooth pebbles. His heart picks up now that they’re here, an unsteady beat that crashes into his ribs over and over again.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Seonghwa says with an equally unsteady voice. “And now we’re here. You can talk.”

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa, startled. He looks like he’s about to be sick. The silence stretches between them until it becomes unbearable again. There’s nothing comfortable about it, the moment like the sharp edge of a knife. Seonghwa’s bitterness surges up his throat, flooding his mouth.

“I should’ve gone back to Korea instead,” he says. “It was a mistake to stay here.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen. He takes a step forward. “Seonghwa-ya, what—”

Seonghwa takes a step back. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“You heard me,” he says. His heart is pounding now, unceasing. “I don’t even know why you wanted me to stay so badly. It’s not like you were ever there. If I wanted it to be just me and manager-hyung, I could’ve gone back to the dorm. Or I could’ve gone to Jinju to visit my parents instead. I could’ve done so many things, but I stayed because you asked me to, and then you were never there. So what was even the point?”

Hongjoong swallows loud enough that Seonghwa can hear him over the sound of the waves. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve made more time for you.”

Seonghwa scoffs. “You don’t get it, do you?” he says. Unable to look at Hongjoong any longer, he turns away to face the tide. The ocean licks at his shoes, then recedes again. “It’s always been like this, and I just—I can’t do this any longer. I’m always here. I’m always waiting. Where are you?”

When he turns around, Hongjoong looks like he’s about to cry. The tip of his nose is red, his eyes glassy. “I—”

“The only thing I want is for you to be there,” Seonghwa continues, his own voice breaking. “It’s so simple. So why can’t you do it?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth and closes it—once, twice. He might be saying something, but the only thing Seonghwa can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, the furious thundering of his heart.

“You invited me to stay with you,” Seonghwa goes on, accusatory, “and then you disappeared. I had to find out where you were and what you were doing from the photos you posted in the group chat, because you were too busy for anything else. I’m just so—I’m so confused. You keep acting like you want me close, then you keep taking a step back, over and over again, and I don’t know how many more rounds of this I can take. Are we ever going to talk about Italy? It’s been so hard to pretend like everything is okay when I can tell it’s not, and I just don’t—I don’t understand what I did. I don’t understand why it’s so easy for you to be around other people but not me. You know, back there, I thought for a moment—I thought you were going to kiss me. And I was waiting, and waiting, and waiting for something—anything, but I’ve been doing that since pre-debut, and I’m tired. I’m so tired, Hongjoong-ah.”

Hongjoong is still looking at him, barely blinking. There are tears in his eyes and his mouth is pressed tightly like he’s trying not to cry.

“Why did I have to find out you were talking about me at song camp from Mingyeomie?” Seonghwa asks. “Why is it so hard for you to look me in the eye and say what you feel?”

Hongjoong releases a shuddery breath. “Because it’s you,” he says, his voice choked up and hoarse. He inhales deeply, as if trying to steady himself. “Because it’s you, and I— Seonghwa-ya, you understand, don’t you?”

Seonghwa says nothing. Hongjoong’s eyes are big and pleading.

“The truth is, I don’t have much to say in my defense,” he continues. “You’re right, and it’s not fair to you. I haven’t been very fair to you, have I? I’m sorry about that, too. I’m really, truly sorry. You deserve someone better at these things than I am, and maybe that’s why— Anyway, the why doesn’t really matter. I just need to you to know that it’s never been because I didn’t care.”

Hongjoong swallows and tips his head up, eyes facing the sky above. When Seonghwa’s gaze slips off his face, he sees Hongjoong’s hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. They’re shaking.

“If anything,” Hongjoong continues, “it’s because it means too much to me, and you—you’re everything good in my life. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. How could I compete with the kind of person you actually deserve?”

Seonghwa closes his eyes for a moment and feels a tear slip out, and then another one. “That’s not for you to decide,” he says firmly as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “You don’t get to decide who does or doesn’t deserve me. I do. What more do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to beg? I won’t. I’ve been pathetic enough already, don’t you think, Hongjoong-ah? So obvious, so transparent. I don’t want the kind of love I have to beg for. I want it to be given freely, don’t you understand that?”

Hongjoong nods. He’s no longer looking at Seonghwa. Instead, he’s staring at the ground, his head hung low.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Seonghwa catches sight of a stray tear that drips down his face and onto the sand. “You deserve that. You deserve someone who can give you that.” Hongjoong takes a deep breath, then looks up at Seonghwa and sniffles. “I want to be that someone for you so bad, but—”

“But?” Seonghwa prompts. His heart is so close to breaking.

“But don’t you think it’s too late now?” Hongjoong asks. The sincerity in his voice shatters something in Seonghwa. “I feel like I’ve fucked it all up and missed my chance, and now it’s too late. I should’ve kissed you back in Italy. I wanted to. I was hoping someone would look at us and think that maybe we were there on our honeymoon. Like a little fantasy I could indulge in. How silly is that?”

Seonghwa lets out a shaky exhale. “It’s not,” he says. “That entire time I was hoping someone would see our rings and think we were married.”

Hongjoong’s mouth falls open, forming a little o, the pout of his upper lip round and prominent.

“It’s not too late, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says then. “I just need you to come to me this once. I can’t keep trying to meet you in the middle. I’ve had enough of this balancing act.”

The three steps between them seem at once like a chasm. Seonghwa can feel the waters of the tide breaking against the backs of his shoes, soaking the hem of his jumpsuit. There’s nowhere for him to retreat, and he can’t meet Hongjoong in the middle, either. Not this time. The only way is for Hongjoong to come forward.

“Wouldn’t that be too easy?” Hongjoong asks desperately. “I hurt you. I’ve been hurting you for so long, and now—”

“I told you,” Seonghwa interrupts. “You don’t get to decide this for me. I just need you to meet me where I stand for once and be honest with me. That’s all you need to do, Hongjoong-ah.”

He watches, breath arrested in his lungs, as Hongjoong takes a step towards him, and then another one. The narrow stretch of sand separating them is all that remains.

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong says again. “I didn’t treat you very well, and that’s not the way anyone should treat those they love, isn’t that right? You deserve everything, Seonghwa-ya. And I want to give you that if you let me.”

Seonghwa’s heart is a bird, wings fluttering against his ribcage. He can feel his pulse all the way up in his mouth, at the back of his throat.

“Yes,” Seonghwa says. His voice is shaking. “I want that, too.”

Hongjoong takes the last remaining step, looking right at Seonghwa until the tips of their shoes bump, and reaches to touch his face. His thumb traces the faint echo of Seonghwa’s smile line, the corner of his mouth. Hongjoong licks his lips and Seonghwa follows the movement of his tongue with his eyes. They’re both breathing hard.

The setting sun paints Hongjoong in shades of orange and pink. His skin looks golden, his hair like wildfire.

“This isn’t Italy,” Hongjoong says, voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the ocean, “but I still want to kiss you.”

His free hand comes to rest in the curve of Seonghwa’s waist. It’s warm and a little sweaty. Must be the nerves, Seonghwa thinks.

There’s no one else here. No one to see, no one to witness what has been years in the making. Seonghwa parts his lips and tilts his head, his eyes fluttering shut. A moment later, he feels Hongjoong’s breath ghosting over his skin, and then he’s being kissed—a little shyly, a little tentatively, like Hongjoong can’t quite believe he gets to do this.

Seonghwa makes a sound, a quiet whine that gets swallowed by Hongjoong’s mouth. Hongjoong’s thumb is still stroking the curve of Seonghwa’s smile line, his palm cradling the line of Seonghwa’s jaw. He feels safe, secure in this hold. He can smell Hongjoong’s perfume, a little sweet and fruity, a little woody. The scent mixes with Seonghwa’s warm vanilla and they fit together so well, just like everything else about them.

Hongjoong kisses him again, deeper this time, barely giving Seonghwa the space to breathe as he steals the air from his lungs and pulls him closer, arm wrapped tightly around Seonghwa’s waist. The slick slide of their lips leaves noises that are carried away by the wind, drowned out by the sound of the ocean.

It’s only them and the setting sun, and the salty air, and the waves rolling in to the shore.

Now that they’ve started kissing, it’s like they don’t know how to stop. It’s everything Seonghwa has ever imagined it would be, but it’s comfortable, too—familiar like they’ve been doing it for years. They fit well against each other, slotting in neatly like it was always meant to be.

Hongjoong’s hand slips from its gentle hold on Seonghwa’s jaw, and he grasps a handful of Seonghwa’s jumpsuit right at the center of his chest as if desperate to hold on, then releases, smoothing out the fabric as he goes.

“I’m sorry,” he says again when they finally part, his lips brushing against Seonghwa’s. Seonghwa can feel the way Hongjoong’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “I should’ve done this a long time ago, but I—I was scared. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I didn’t know how to deal with that. It was almost too good to be true, you know? I wasn’t supposed to be able to have this.”

Seonghwa kisses him again, just a brief press of lips against lips. “And who gets to decide that? Isn’t it up to us?”

Hongjoong swallows and brings their foreheads together. “I guess it is,” he says. “I really want it to be.”

“Good,” Seonghwa says simply. They each take half a step back, but their hands stay linked between them. “That was the only thing you had to do. Decide that you wanted it enough to take that risk. And I don’t—I know it’s a risk. I know why you wouldn’t… But it’s been years, Hongjoong-ah. I couldn’t keep doing this until we were forty, just on the off-chance you’d decide one day that I was worth it.”

Hongjoong looks like Seonghwa has slapped him, guilty and wide-eyed all at once.

“You are worth it,” he says, and he squeezes Seonghwa’s hands harder. “You’ve always been worth it, Seonghwa-ya. It was me I wasn’t sure about. I was worried I would only end up hurting you, and then that happened anyway.”

Seonghwa leans into him and presses another chaste kiss to his mouth. “I’m not going to pretend that it was okay or that it felt good,” he says. “But I don’t care if it gets hard. I’m not blind to it, Hongjoong-ah. I know who we are, what we do. I know what this means for us. But I just think…I’d rather face all of that with you than on my own.”

Hongjoong’s thumb caresses the back of Seonghwa’s hand and he watches the movement, his chin tipped down. With his eyes still fixed on their joined hands, Hongjoong nods, then looks up at Seonghwa.

“We will,” he says. “I promise.”

Seonghwa kisses him again, just because he can. “I can’t believe you drove me all the way here just to tell me something you could’ve told me in my room back at the house,” he says, incredulous.

“But it’s prettier here,” Hongjoong counters. “And I wanted it to be just the two of us.”

He leads Seonghwa back to the stairs by the hand, and they sit down on the last step, their thighs touching.

“Can we stay a little while longer, then?” Seonghwa asks. “And watch the sunset?”

“We can,” Hongjoong says, leaning in a little shyly to put his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder. Seonghwa tenses out of habit, then relaxes into it and leans to press his own temple against the crown of Hongjoong’s head.

It’s beautiful. Just the two of them, the ocean and the sky bathed in hues of orange, pink and purple.

Eventually, once it begins to get dark, they make their trek back up the stairs to where Hongjoong’s Porsche is parked. They hold hands the entire way up, and Seonghwa’s heart keeps somersaulting in his chest.

It’s only now that the knot inside his stomach has unspooled that Seonghwa realizes how hungry he is. He didn’t have much of an appetite in the morning, and then he slept through most of the afternoon. Now his stomach reminds him of its existence, the loud rumble audible over the hum of the car’s engine. When it rumbles again, almost immediately, Seonghwa makes an embarrassed noise.

“Hongjoong-ah, can we stop for something to eat on our way back?” he asks as Hongjoong drives them towards the city. “I’m starving.”

Hongjoong laughs awkwardly. “Ah, actually…we have a reservation at a sushi omakase restaurant in thirty minutes,” he says. “They’re usually booked months ahead, but they had a cancellation yesterday and I managed to get us a table. I was going to cancel if things didn’t go well, but…yeah.”

Seonghwa is all of a sudden reminded of himself from a couple days ago, saying, I’d love to go out for a nice omakase. That’s another thing about Hongjoong. Even when you think he’s not paying attention, he is. He remembers things about people, and he’s nice and caring, and considerate. Seonghwa’s had so many reminders of this over the years. Two of them are sitting on the top shelf of his display case, still in their boxes. A gift that made his darkest days feel a little brighter. As infuriating as he can be sometimes, that’s Hongjoong, too. That’s the very core of him, thoughtful and kind and, above all, good.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Seonghwa says.

“I know.” Hongjoong briefly glances to the side. “But I wanted to. I—shit, this will sound so cheesy, but I want to do so many things for you, Seonghwa-ya. You have no idea.”

“That’s good,” Seonghwa responds. “I like it when you do things for me. You should do them more often now.”

Hongjoong laughs. It’s such a relief to hear it. “I thought you didn’t want to get special treatment so that the kids wouldn’t get jealous.”

Seonghwa did tell him that once, years ago. He’s surprised Hongjoong still remembers.

“They’re older now,” he counters, “and besides, I’m not just another member now. I’m your—I’m your boyfriend…right?”

Hongjoong smiles, once more looking a little shy, and glances away. “If you’ll have me,” he says. Then, after a beat, he adds, “And Seonghwa-ya…you were never just another member.”

They drive through the streets of Los Angeles as the sky further darkens to the west. Hongjoong drives past Hollywood Hills and further into the city, then looks for a good parking spot for a while.

“We’ll have to walk a little,” he says once they slide into the last free parking spot, right between two much larger cars.

The omakase place is tiny—a red brick storefront tucked in between other businesses, completely unassuming, and completely packed. The only free spots are two seats at the bar, where, standing in front of stacks of ceramics that line the wall, the older man who Seonghwa imagines to be the head chef makes sushi and conversation all at the same time, flanked by two sous chefs.

“Good evening, Mori-san,” Hongjoong says in Japanese with a bow as they enter, and Seonghwa follows suit. “Thank you for fitting us in at such a short notice.”

Mori-san turns out to be a lively, talkative man. They speak in a mix of English and Japanese, and in between bites of food so good Seonghwa can barely believe it, they reveal more about themselves than is probably wise in a place full of strangers. Still, the intimate, friendly atmosphere loosens their tongues more than any kind of alcohol could.

“—so now that we’re done with the concerts here in the States,” Hongjoong says in Japanese, “we’ve decided to stay for a few days longer before we have to leave.”

“You must be very busy, then,” the chef says. His fingers work the rice into shape, and then he places a slice of silvery fish overtop, skin-on and scored lengthwise.

The meal started with a cube of sweet, homemade tofu topped with wasabi and sitting in a shallow pool of soy sauce, served in a speckled, blue little bowl. Then more appetizers followed: marinated salmon roe and sliced abalone, tuna tartare and seaweed in vinaigrette. From there, it’s been more and more, a constant procession as the nigiri began to appear before them: tiger prawn and tuna, and mackerel, and snow crab, and uni, and tamago, and so many others that Seonghwa can’t even think to name them all. What he knows is that, by the end of it, he’s pleasantly full and barely able to fit the final serving of hojicha panna cotta.

“Here, so you can take something home, too,” Mori-san says once they get ready to leave, and one of the sous chefs pushes a box of taiyaki into Seonghwa’s hands. “There’s white peach jam inside.”

They say their thanks with deep bows and spill out onto the street, long past sunset. It’s completely dark now, illuminated only by the lights of the city.

“That was incredible,” Seonghwa says. “The best omakase I’ve had in ages.”

Hongjoong laughs, his eyes scrunching up. “Better than the one you went to with Sannie for your date?”

Bravely, Seonghwa finds Hongjoong’s hand and laces their fingers together. “Yes,” he says. “Besides, that was a friend date. This is a proper date. I didn’t kiss Sannie by the end of it, but I do want to kiss you.”

Hongjoong looks around, startled.

“Not here,” Seonghwa hastens to say. “I know we can’t. But later, I want a kiss.”

“Just one?” Hongjoong asks, a little cheeky.

“Well, it was our first date,” Seonghwa jokes. The truth is, he wants a thousand kisses from Hongjoong.

To his surprise, Hongjoong nods seriously. “You’re right,” he says. “I want to do this properly, you know.”

“Right,” Seonghwa says. It’s the smart thing to do. “Of course.”

It’s been so long since Seonghwa last had sex, he can barely remember what it’s like to be touched by another person. It was a friend of a friend, not too long after they came back from their 2023 world tour, with Seonghwa’s heart a mess from spending so much time with Hongjoong while working on their unit song.

They met up only once. The other guy was a backup dancer for another group and he knew who Seonghwa was, but they didn’t talk about it. Seonghwa blew him, and then the guy fucked him and came all over his back, and they went their separate ways after that. Seonghwa has seen him around since then at music shows and award ceremonies, but they’ve never really acknowledged each other beyond the occasional nod in the hallway.

He was never going to be in a relationship with him anyway.

If that’s what Hongjoong wants, Seonghwa can wait.

They drive back to their Airbnb in companionable silence. Hongjoong has some music on, a soft playlist that Seonghwa mostly tunes out as he watches the streets of nighttime Los Angeles pass him by in a blur of light. Eventually, the familiar neighborhood appears in front of them, and before Seonghwa knows it, they’re back at the house. Hongjoong parks in one smooth move, which shouldn’t be so attractive, and yet here Seonghwa is, finding himself more than a little hot under the collar.

The house is suspiciously empty when they come inside. There’s a lamp that either their manager or Balm must have left on, spilling dim, yellow light over the living space, but other than that there’s no sign of anyone’s presence downstairs.

Out on the patio, the pool glimmers and glistens, illuminated by the lights.

“Come on,” Seonghwa says, dragging Hongjoong out by the hand. “Come on, it’s still so warm. Let’s go outside.”

Hongjoong lets himself be led and Seonghwa, a little tipsy from the sake he had with dinner, doesn’t stop until he comes to the very edge of the pool.

“Come on,” he repeats as he unbuttons his jumpsuit and chucks off his shoes. Soon, he’s standing there just in his underwear, and when he turns around, he finds Hongjoong staring. “It will feel soooo good to get in water right now, I swear. And they cleaned the pool yesterday, so the water is fresh. C’mon, Hongjoong-ah, join me.”

With that, he dives into the pool, sputtering when he resurfaces. He pushes his hair away from his forehead and beckons Hongjoong closer.

“Please?” He pouts. “For me?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, but he’s laughing, too, and Seonghwa knows he’s won. Then he watches, swimming in place, as Hongjoong undresses down to his underwear. Maybe this was a mistake, after all. Seonghwa has managed to forget how sturdy Hongjoong is beneath his loose clothing. His chest is almost bigger than Seonghwa’s, despite the fact that it’s Seonghwa who spends countless hours at the gym, lifting weights. His stomach is flat, a little soft, but when he moves, Seonghwa can see the lines of Hongjoong’s abs flexing beneath his skin. His tattoo stretches across his bicep when Hongjoong pulls his undershirt over his head.

“Come here, the water’s great,” Seonghwa says to distract himself.

Hongjoong laughs, but obediently jumps into the pool and swims over to where Seonghwa treads water idly.

“I’m here,” he says. “What now?”

Seonghwa moves closer. “Now I’m going to collect my kiss.”

Hongjoong’s lips are cold from where he’s dunked himself in the water a moment earlier, but Seonghwa doesn’t care. Instead, he wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s neck and steals a kiss. It’s supposed to be just one, but it easily turns to two, which turn to Hongjoong pinning Seonghwa to the wall of the pool, stealing the breath from his lungs once again. Beneath the water, Seonghwa can feel Hongjoong get harder the longer it goes on.

Eventually, Hongjoong drags himself away. He’s panting and trying to hide it, failing. Seonghwa stays where he is and attempts to catch his own breath.

“How was that?” Hongjoong asks. There’s a kind of false bravado in his tone, like he thinks being cheeky about the kiss will make Seonghwa forget that he got hard just from some making out.

“Pretty good for a first date kiss,” Seonghwa teases. It surprises even him how easy it is to be with Hongjoong like this, now that they’re on the same page. It’s new but not awkward. They’ve been best friends for years, and the easy, familiar comfort is still there, underlying every gesture.

“That’s a relief,” Hongjoong says, laughing. “I wouldn’t want to find out now, of all times, that I suck at kissing.”

Seonghwa laughs. With his arms stretched out, he’s holding onto the edge of the pool. He considers the distance between them for a moment, then kicks off, toes pointed, and nudges Hongjoong in the center of the chest with his foot. He then drags it down his abdomen—down, down, until he reaches the waistband of Hongjoong’s underwear. Just a few centimeters more and he’ll be able to press his sole against the line of Hongjoong’s cock.

Before he can get there, Hongjoong gets a hold of Seonghwa’s ankle and pulls, not strong enough to make Seonghwa lose his footing, but strong enough that he can feel it.

“Yah!” he says. “Stop teasing.”

It’s quickly becoming apparent that they’re both playing with fire. Seonghwa wants to push it, wants to feel Hongjoong above him, beneath him, wants to feel him inside. But Hongjoong said he wants to take it slow, so Seonghwa can wait.

Eventually, they drag themselves out of the pool, carefully turned away to hide the state of them as they retrieve their clothes. Seonghwa is half-hard, the bulge obscene in the wet underwear that clings to his skin. Hongjoong must be doing no better. Thankfully, there are towels by the jacuzzi, and they wrap them around their hips to make their way upstairs.

At the landing, before they go their separate ways, Seonghwa pulls Hongjoong closer and steals another kiss.

“Hongjoong-ah…” he says, making sure that his eyes look extra big and soft. “Could we sleep together tonight? Just sleep in one bed? Would that be okay? My bed is so big, we could both fit easily.”

Hongjoong hesitates just for a moment, then releases a deep breath and says, “Okay, of course. Just let me shower and change?”

Seonghwa nods. “Yeah, let’s shower and change, and we can sleep in my room. I have a spare charger if you need one. You don’t have to bring your own. Just give me twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.”

Hongjoong shakes his head, laughing. “You and your long showers, Seonghwa-ssi…” he says so fondly that Seonghwa’s heart clenches.

Seonghwa spends the next thirty minutes scrubbing and grooming, just in case. He likes to be thorough anyway, but tonight he dedicates some extra time to making sure that he’s as clean as he can be, then dries his hair, slips into his silk pajamas, and waits. After a little while, there’s a quiet knock on the door and Hongjoong peeks into the room through the crack.

“Hey,” he says. “May I come in?”

Seonghwa pats the empty space next to him. “Come here,” he says. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

It feels so domestic to get ready for bed together. They scroll through their social media for a while, Seonghwa lying with his head pillowed on Hongjoong’s chest. Hongjoong is wearing a pair of shorts and a very thin, oversized t-shirt, and Seonghwa gets distracted each time his cheek brushes up against Hongjoong’s nipple. He doesn’t seem to be the only one, either, because each time it happens, Hongjoong squirms beneath him.

“Am I bothering you?” Seonghwa asks, ready to move, but Hongjoong holds him tighter.

“No, stay,” he says. “I like having you here. You smell nice.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa says. His cheeks heat up.

They stay like that for a little while longer, until Hongjoong stretches and rests his phone to the side, where Seonghwa has prepared the spare charger for him.

It’s more difficult to stay composed with the lights out. Seonghwa is hyperaware of every single movement, every rustle of the sheets, every deep breath. He’s lying on his side, with Hongjoong behind him, close enough that he can feel the heat of his body. Then Hongjoong tentatively moves his arm under the covers to wrap it around Seonghwa’s waist and pull him closer.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. His breath tickles the sensitive skin on the back of Seonghwa’s neck.

Seonghwa nods, then presses closer against Hongjoong’s body. They fit well like this, too. Their knees are slotted together, and Seonghwa can feel the rise and fall of Hongjoong’s chest as he breathes, his own breathing evening out to match him. The hand pressed against Seonghwa’s abdomen is warm and solid, fingers splayed wide. Hongjoong’s thumb is running idle circles against the sliver of bare skin where Seonghwa’s pajama top has ridden up. His pinkie is brushing up against the waistband of Seonghwa’s pajama shorts. It’s torture to be lying there in the dark, quiet and still, when all Seonghwa wants is to let Hongjoong’s hand slip beneath the waistband, where he’s growing hard again just from the proximity and the soft touches.

Looking to ease off some of the tension, Seonghwa pulls back, which only brings him closer to Hongjoong. That’s when he realizes his mistake. The moment Seonghwa’s ass connects with Hongjoong’s groin, Hongjoong makes a sound like he’s dying and attempts to squirm away, but it’s too late. Seonghwa already knows that Hongjoong is hard, too.

From behind, he hears the sound of swallowing, loud like a firecracker in the silence of the room.

“Sorry,” Hongjoong says, low and raspy.

“No, don’t say that,” Seonghwa whispers back. “It’s flattering.”

“Mortifying,” Hongjoong corrects. “I just…it’s been a while. A really long while, actually, so—”

Seonghwa takes a steadying breath, then rolls over to the other side in Hongjoong’s arms. Like this, he can see Hongjoong’s eyes, big and shiny, and he can just about make out the rest of his face.

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa says. His hand finds its way to Hongjoong’s sternum and stays there for a moment. Like this, he can feel the frantic beating of Hongjoong’s heart beneath his palm.

“It’s not,” Hongjoong whines. “I can’t sleep like this…”

Seonghwa licks his lips. “I could help,” he says. “I’m good with my mouth, you know.”

Hongjoong inhales loudly.

“My hands, too,” Seonghwa continues, leaning in closer. Their lips are almost touching. “It’s very sweet that you want to—I don’t know, court me, but we could just… That would be okay, too.”

They fall into the kiss with the kind of ease that shouldn’t be there, not so soon, but their mouths find each other in the dark and easily slot together. It’s slow and hot and slick, Hongjoong’s tongue licking at Seonghwa’s lips, coaxing them open. Under the covers, they’re pressed flush against each other, their hips grinding together in a slow rhythm. Hongjoong’s hand on Seonghwa’s hip is a burning brand, and Seonghwa needs more.

He fists his hand in Hongjoong’s t-shirt and coaxes him to take it off, then follows with his own pajama top.

“Hongjoong-ah, don’t you think it’s a little unfair,” Seonghwa says in between pressing kisses to the underside of Hongjoong’s jaw, “that your chest looks so good when you don’t even put in the time at the gym? Why am I the one lifting all the weights when you are out there looking like this, huh?”

Hongjoong laughs and hides his face in the crook of Seonghwa’s neck. “Don’t say it like that,” he pleads.

Emboldened, Seonghwa allows his hand to sneak down the smooth skin of Hongjoong’s abdomen, right past the soft fuzz of his happy trail growing back in after shaving, and palms his cock through his sleeping shorts.

“Oh god, you’re so big,” Seonghwa whispers, a little in awe. His mouth waters.

He’s seen Hongjoong completely naked before, but never when he was hard. He’s always known his cock was big, but he didn’t account for just how much bigger it would be erect rather than soft. The prospect of having it in his mouth—of having it inside him—makes Seonghwa even more turned on.

“Let me blow you, please,” he says, rubbing the flat of his palm against the shaft, fingers curling around the length. Hongjoong makes a soft, desperately whiny sound in the back of his throat. “I’ll make it really good for you, I promise. I’m very good at this.”

“Fuck, you can’t just say things like that,” Hongjoong rasps out. He’s lying flat on his back, his face staring up at the ceiling, but the contours of it are blurry, difficult to see.

Seonghwa pulls away for a moment and flicks on the light, then turns the brightness down to the lowest it can go. It’s just enough for him to see what they’re doing, but not too bright, either. Hongjoong’s eyes flicker to the side, then back to Seonghwa.

“Please?” Seonghwa asks again.

“Yeah… Yeah, of course I want to,” Hongjoong says. “Just look at you.”

He brings his hand up to cradle the side of Seonghwa’s face, his thumb running alongside Seonghwa’s lower lip.

“Shit, this is so embarrassing but I—I used to have dreams about your lips,” Hongjoong says, covering his eyes with his forearm. “I don’t remember anything else, just that, and then I had to avoid you for a day or two because I’d get so…yeah.”

“My lips?” Seonghwa says and flicks out his tongue to wet them. He watches, smug, as Hongjoong follows the movement greedily with his eyes. “And does the real thing live up to the fantasy?”

“Stop, this is so mortifying…” Hongjoong whines. “Why did I even tell you that? What is wrong with me?”

Seonghwa kisses him in response. His hand is lazily working the length of Hongjoong’s clothed cock, and he can feel the sticky wetness around the tip where he’s leaked through his underwear. If Hongjoong is already this turned on and desperate, he’ll fall apart in no time.

“Well,” Seonghwa says, a self-satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I better give these lips something to do, then.”

He shuffles down on the bed and gets himself situated between Hongjoong’s legs, then presses a string of kisses to the length of Hongjoong’s cock that strains against the fabric of his shorts. Above him, Hongjoong makes a broken sound the moment Seonghwa laps at the head through the cotton, his tongue dipping into the slit. Hongjoong’s hips jerk in his grip, desperate and clumsy with it. But Seonghwa takes his time. He runs his hand along the shaft, cups his palm over the balls and massages, while his mouth makes a mess of Hongjoong’s underwear. He’s leaking all over, the briny, salty taste of it flooding Seonghwa’s mouth.

“How are you so—” Hongjoong whispers. “This is too much.”

Seonghwa closes his mouth over the cotton stretched around the head of Hongjoong’s cock and sucks. Then, he pulls back a little and says, “Hongjoong-ah, I barely even started.”

When he looks up, Hongjoong is flushed all the way down his chest, and he’s breathing rapidly, his eyes screwed shut.

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says, slowly peeling off Hongjoong’s sleeping shorts and watching as his cock springs up, long, thick and deliciously veiny all over. It’s probably on par with the biggest one Seonghwa’s ever seen in real life, and he can’t wait to feel the stretch all the way down his throat. “Hongjoong-ah, won’t you look at me when I suck your cock?”

Hongjoong takes a deep, shuddery breath. “I can’t,” he whispers, raspy and ruined. “Or I’m gonna come.”

A full-body flush spreads over Seonghwa at the admission.

“That’s okay, you can come,” he says. His hand is on Hongjoong’s cock, spreading the precome over the shaft in a slick, wet glide. The noise is obscene. Seonghwa has never been this hard without even having been touched. “And then I can get you hard again so you can fuck me.”

Hongjoong’s eyes shoot wide open at that, his lips parted in shock. “For real?” he asks. “But I don’t—Seonghwa-ya, I don’t even have anything… I mean, condoms, lube, or—”

“I don’t give a shit about condoms,” Seonghwa interrupts. “How long has it been since you slept with someone? A year? Two years? More?” He watches Hongjoong nod wordlessly. “Same for me. So yeah, I don’t give a fuck. You can fuck me raw. And I have lube in my suitcase. I like to finger myself sometimes after a show. It relaxes me, helps me fall asleep.”

Hongjoong says nothing for a moment, staring at Seonghwa, dumbfounded, but his cock dribbles all over Seonghwa’s knuckles, so much so that for a second Seonghwa is convinced Hongjoong came just now. But no, when he looks down at his hand wrapped around Hongjoong’s cock, it’s just more precome dripping down onto Hongjoong’s stomach.

Seonghwa spreads it all over the length of Hongjoong’s cock, accompanied by a squelchy, wet sound. He then leans over and presses a soft kiss to Hongjoong’s stomach just to lap at the little puddle in the next moment, and he keeps up the kisses while his hand keeps stroking Hongjoong’s cock. He knows he’s teasing, can feel how tense Hongjoong’s thighs are where they bracket Seonghwa’s hips. Then, as if to take pity on the way Hongjoong has been squirming under his touch, Seonghwa finally fits his mouth over the head of Hongjoong’s cock.

His eyes flutter shut as he licks at the slit, tongue coming off slick with precome. He presses a wet kiss right there, smears the slickness all over his lips, messy and wet, then dips his head lower. The weight of Hongjoong’s cock on his tongue, the way its girth stretches Seonghwa’s mouth is a heady sensation that leaves him breathless. Seonghwa has always enjoyed giving head, and he knows he’s good at it, but watching Hongjoong unravel like this under the simplest touch is another feeling altogether.

Seonghwa sinks down on Hongjoong’s cock in slow, deliberate increments. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let impatience take over. Instead, he tongues at the veiny underside as his cheeks hollow out when he begins to suck.

It’s been a long while since Seonghwa had a cock in his mouth, but muscle memory is a curious thing, and soon his throat relaxes as Hongjoong’s cock bumps into his soft palate and slips in deeper. There’s a soft, wet, obscene click when it happens, and Hongjoong’s head springs up, like he’s shocked to see Seonghwa swallow him down like that.

“Shit,” he hears Hongjoong grit out. His thighs are shaking. Seonghwa sucks harder, takes him deeper, until it almost becomes too much. “Fuck, Seonghwa-ya, slow down a little… I can’t—”

Seonghwa doesn’t listen. Instead he looks up at Hongjoong and holds his gaze as he continues the greedy movement of his mouth. It feels so good. Hongjoong’s cock fills his mouth completely—any bigger, and Seonghwa would be struggling to fit him inside. The stretch is delicious, and he imagines the same kind of stretch when Hongjoong is inside him. It’s been so long since the last time Seonghwa got properly fucked. His fingers are not enough, and his secret toy is stashed away in his bedroom back at the dorm. Seonghwa would never be brave enough to travel with it.

He speeds up his movements, then eases off a little, replacing his mouth at the base of Hongjoong’s cock with his hand while he focuses more on the head. Hongjoong seems to be particularly sensitive there, and Seonghwa plays with his slit, curls his tongue around the underside to watch Hongjoong shake.

“How are you so good at this?” Hongjoong breathes out.

Seonghwa sucks harder around him and takes him all the way down to the root, nose buried in the hair between Hongjoong’s thighs.

Small, desperate sounds keep spilling from Hongjoong’s mouth. His hand finds the bulge of Seonghwa’s cheek, full of his cock, and Hongjoong gasps, like he can’t quite believe what he’s touching.

Seonghwa knows he looks good like this. He keeps the eye contact and keeps his lips tight around the length, his tongue working the veiny underside. It’s wet and obscene, spit and precome pooling at the corners of Seonghwa’s mouth, but he swallows it all down.

His vision swims a little—his eyes must be glassy, shiny in the low light of the lamp. Feeling Hongjoong tense up beneath him, Seonghwa wraps his hand around the base of Hongjoong’s cock again and strokes him with purpose, lips pursed around the head until Hongjoong lets out a broken moan and comes all over Seonghwa’s tongue. Seonghwa swallows all of it, tongue pressing against the slit to milk the last of it right into his tight, wet, waiting mouth.

“How are you so perfect?” Hongjoong whispers, sounding dazed. Seonghwa can’t even be sure if he realizes he said it out loud.

When he finally pulls away, Hongjoong is still breathing heavily like they’ve just finished a high-intensity set at a festival. He’s sweaty and flushed, and his hair is a mess.

Seonghwa’s pajama bottoms are in a similarly sorry state—soaked through with precome and sweat. He pulls them off and then he’s naked before Hongjoong, who stares at him openly, his eyes hungry.

“That’s…” Hongjoong says. “You look— You’re so beautiful.”

It sounds so awed, so honest, it punches clean right through Seonghwa’s sternum. He kneels in the middle of the bed, still getting his bearings. He will be hoarse in the morning, but that’s okay. Their next rehearsal is not until the day after tomorrow, and it was still worth it. His lips must look red and swollen now. Well-used.

“You said you’d fuck me,” Seonghwa says quietly. “Do you still want to?”

Hongjoong runs his fingers through his hair, darkened with sweat. “Yeah,” he whispers. “If you still want that, too. We don’t have to if—”

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says seriously, “please, fuck me. I’ve been thinking about it this entire time. You felt so good in my mouth. I can’t even imagine how good you’re going to feel inside me.”

A broken sound falls from Hongjoong’s lips. “Oh my god,” he says, hiding his face in his hands. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Seonghwa laughs as he slips off the bed. “It’s the truth. Just wait a moment, I need to get the lube. Do you want me to prep myself, or do you—”

“I’ll do it,” Hongjoong rushes to say. When Seonghwa returns with the small bottle of lube, he reaches for it without hesitation. “How do you want to—”

“On the side, please?” Seonghwa says. “I want to feel you behind me.”

He positions himself, lying on his right side, his left leg raised to give Hongjoong easier access. Seonghwa’s cock is resting against the crease of his thigh, hard and leaking. He always gets so wet when he’s turned on, and he can’t remember the last time he’s been this aroused.

Hongjoong slots himself behind him, almost like they’re spooning, and runs a hand over the jut of Seonghwa’s hip. The movement is slow, deliberate. Soothing. Seonghwa feels safe like this. He feels taken care of.

Slowly, Hongjoong keeps rubbing circles across Seonghwa’s thigh, the meat of his ass. Then he pushes one cheek to the side and touches the tight furl of Seonghwa’s hole with a dry finger. Seonghwa shudders. The slow build-up is exhilarating. Hongjoong is not rushing through it; he’s making sure that Seonghwa feels every single thing.

The kiss to the back of his neck is feather-light. Then comes another one, and another, Hongjoong peppering Seonghwa’s skin with kisses as he opens the lube and pours some onto his hand. His fingers return, more slippery this time, and he rubs tiny circles around Seonghwa’s hole before slipping his middle finger inside.

Seonghwa makes a punched-out sound and moves his hips to sink further down onto Hongjoong’s finger.

“You can start with two,” he says. “I like the stretch.”

“Okay,” Hongjoong says. “Whatever you want.”

He pulls out of Seonghwa, then returns a moment later with two fingers. They’re shorter than Seonghwa’s own, but they’re thicker, wider, and the stretch feels amazing. Seonghwa floats, pleasure like a cotton cloud inside his head, as Hongjoong fingers him slowly, methodically, while his mouth never leaves Seonghwa’s skin even for a moment. The kisses turn more wet, open-mouthed and desperate as Hongjoong continues. Seonghwa can feel Hongjoong’s warm breath on his neck, his shoulders, the soft, vulnerable place right behind his ear.

“It feels so good, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa breathes out. He hikes his leg up higher and rolls over a little more onto his front to make it easier for Hongjoong, whose body now covers him like a blanket. “You feel so good.”

Sweat is beginning to gather at his temples and in his philtrum, in the dip of his collarbone. Seonghwa can feel it trickling down the column of his spine.

He makes another sound, loud and broken, and Hongjoong hushes him.

“Shh, we wouldn’t want the others to hear us, right?” he says.

Seonghwa whimpers when Hongjoong finds his prostate and presses down to massage the spot. There’s a loud sob growing inside his chest, and he desperately twists his head over his shoulder to kiss Hongjoong. It’s a little off-center, wet and messy, lips misaligned and tongues clumsy, but it feels so good and Hongjoong swallows the sound eagerly.

He adds another finger after a while, and Seonghwa groans into the pillow, nearly blinded by pleasure. His own fingers are a lot more slender, and even with three inside, he’s nowhere near this full. His toy, too, is pretty modestly sized, and it’s been so long since he felt stretched out like this. He can’t even imagine how good it will feel when it’s Hongjoong’s cock inside him.

“Enough, that’s enough,” Seonghwa says frantically a moment later. He looks over his shoulder. “Do you need to— Oh.”

The question whether Hongjoong needs a little help before they can go dies on his lips. Hongjoong is hard again, his cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Seonghwa wants it in his mouth again, but he wants it inside him even more.

He watches as Hongjoong grabs the lube and spreads a generous amount over his erection. Then Seonghwa turns over onto his front and gets on his knees.

“Like this, okay?” he asks.

He wants to feel Hongjoong’s body draped over him, pressing him into the mattress. He’s been hard this entire time, and now he can really feel how much he’s leaking, with his cock trapped between his stomach and the bed.

“Fuck, Seonghwa-ya… You have no idea how good you look,” Hongjoong says with awe in his voice. “Your back is insane.”

Seonghwa knows that he looks good—his shoulders are broad, his back muscles defined. He’s worked hard to have them. He arches his back more, tempting Hongjoong to get closer. He’s still smooth after his last wax appointment, and he knows his ass must look good, too.

“Come on, Hongjoong-ah,” he coaxes. “Please.”

When he glances over his shoulder, he finds Hongjoong looking overwhelmed. He’s jerking himself off slowly, his eyes roaming Seonghwa’s back, the curve of his ass.

Seonghwa reaches behind himself and spreads himself open. “Please,” he repeats. It’s so shameless, but he doesn’t care. He’s far past the point of any decency.

He watches as Hongjoong swallows, then gives himself one last stroke before leaning in. His fingers return briefly with more lube, and then he pushes in, the blunt head of his cock slipping inside. He’s slow with it, breathing hard. Seonghwa groans at the stretch, too loud and open, and Hongjoong echoes, his cock sinking into Seonghwa in tiny increments.

“This is—this is too much…” Hongjoong says, and he sounds wrecked. “It feels so good. God, you’re so—”

In response, Seonghwa arches his back even more and clenches around Hongjoong a little, just to feel him jerk behind him, his hips pushing forward desperately. He’s still holding back despite all of it, and Seonghwa is too impatient to let it stand. He pushes back to meet Hongjoong’s shallow thrust and hears him curse behind his back.

“Come on, Hongjoong-ah,” he pleads. “Just fuck me. I can take it, I promise. I like it a little rough.”

Hongjoong releases a deep breath as he sinks all the way in. Seonghwa moans—loud, too loud, and bites down on his bicep to keep himself from making more sound. It’s so good, so full, and Seonghwa can barely think; he can only feel. His entire body is on fire, every single nerve ending alive, and it opens before Hongjoong easily, eagerly.

“Oh, god,” he hears Hongjoong whisper. He’s unsure if Hongjoong even realizes that he’s spoken.

He folds over Seonghwa, his body draped over him as he begins to move. His thrusts are gentle at first, but when Seonghwa meets them greedily, he picks up his pace. His forehead rests between Seonghwa’s shoulder blades, pressed against his sweaty back. Like this, he can feel each time Hongjoong exhales shakily, almost like he’s sobbing.

“Does it feel good for you, Hongjoong-ah?” Seonghwa asks, and Hongjoong only moans in response.

He’s so deep inside, and it feels good and full, and just as it should be. They move together, body to body, until Seonghwa’s thighs begin to tremble. He’s sweating all over, dripping from his nose, his chin, and he never wants it to end.

“Come on, come on,” Hongjoong urges once the shaking of Seonghwa’s legs grows stronger. He rolls them over to the side without pulling out and reaches out to bend Seonghwa’s leg at the knee, guiding him with a hand at the underside of his thigh.

The change in position makes Seonghwa cry out again, Hongjoong’s cock rubbing up against his prostate on every single stroke. There’s an indent on his bicep now in the exact shape of his teeth, but it’s the only thing that keeps him from making too much noise. There are so many other sounds that fill the room anyway—the slick slide of Hongjoong’s cock inside him, the occasional squelch of lube that drips and smears between their bodies, the wet slap of skin against skin, their labored breathing.

It's the best thing Seonghwa has ever felt and he lets himself have it, unabashedly, with abandon. Hongjoong’s hand rests protectively on Seonghwa’s hip, supporting the stretch of his leg. He keeps pressing open-mouthed kisses to the line of Seonghwa’s back, his nape, his exposed shoulder. His warm breath ghosts over Seonghwa’s skin.

Eventually, though, it’s no longer enough. Seonghwa wants to see him, wants to kiss him properly, wants to watch him fall apart.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Seonghwa whispers. “Pull out for a moment. I want to ride you.”

Hongjoong makes a sound that’s more like a whimper and dutifully slides out of Seonghwa, then rolls over to his back. Without wasting any time, Seonghwa settles himself in his lap and reaches behind to grab Hongjoong’s cock.

He savors the sensation as he sinks down—slowly, slowly, until his ass hits the sharp juts of Hongjoong’s hips. They both moan, and Seonghwa leans forward to kiss the sound from Hongjoong’s mouth.

“Oh, god,” he breathes out, the change in angle pushing all the pressure onto that spot inside him that makes him see stars.

He knows he won’t last long now, but he rolls his hips slowly, dragging it out for as long as he’s able. Hongjoong looks like a mess beneath him, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. Seonghwa must look no better. He can feel himself flushing all over, like a fever he can’t sweat out. He moves faster now, hips working frantically as he fucks himself on Hongjoong’s cock, who keeps meeting his movements with his own thrusts.

“I’m so close,” Seonghwa whispers, a desperate plea falling from his lips.

Hongjoong reaches out, his hand closing around the length of Seonghwa’s cock as he begins to stroke him. Seonghwa nearly cries out in relief. His own movements become more desperate, uncontrolled, and with a broken cry he spills over Hongjoong’s fist. His orgasm washes over him like a wave, leaving his body trembling through the aftershocks.

Hongjoong helps him through it, supporting his waist as Seonghwa shakes himself apart, then moves as if to pull him off. Still barely coherent, Seonghwa clamps his thighs around Hongjoong’s hips and says, “No. Inside, please. Just come inside.”

Hongjoong groans, his hips jerking frantically under Seonghwa’s weight. He must be so close now, and Seonghwa meets him thrust for thrust, clenching around him until Hongjoong stills for a moment. He holds Seonghwa in place, sensitive and stretched around Hongjoong’s cock, as he comes with a broken moan.

Seonghwa falls forward and watches his sweat drip down his nose, to slide down the slope of Hongjoong’s pectoral. They’re both breathing hard, their chests rising and falling rapidly as their bodies cool. Eventually, Hongjoong’s cock slips out of Seonghwa, who rolls over to the side, sticky with lube and come.

“I need a bath,” he says. “We both need a bath.”

Hongjoong laughs, sounding delirious, then presses a kiss to Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Well, it’s a good thing, then, that your room has the big fancy bathtub, isn’t it? I bet it could fit both of us. It’s not even that late yet. We have time for a bath.”

Hongjoong is the first to get up. He pads barefoot across the room and disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, Seonghwa hears the sound of running water hitting the bottom of the bathtub. He stays where he is for a moment longer, wondering if tomorrow he will wake up and realize that none of this ever happened, that it was all just a silly, naïve dream.

He tears up stupidly, wiping at his eyes when Hongjoong reappears in the en suite door.

“Hey, the bath’s ready, so—” he starts. “Seonghwa-ya, is everything okay? Why are you crying? Did I—fuck, did I hurt you?”

He crosses the room in three long strides and sits at the edge of the bed, his face full of worry.

Seonghwa furiously rubs the tears away. “No, no, you didn’t do anything,” he promises. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.” When Hongjoong keeps looking at him, equally expectant and encouraging, Seonghwa goes on, “I just had a silly thought, like—what if I wake up tomorrow and it turns out all of tonight was a dream?”

He can’t stand the way Hongjoong looks at him, wide-eyed and guilty.

“No, no,” Seonghwa rushes to reassure him. He sits up on the bed and cups the side of Hongjoong’s face in his palm. “I know it’s not true. I know that. I just…today has been really emotional, I think, and I’m just coming down from it now. But I know it’s not—I know this is real. I know that.”

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong says. “For putting that doubt there. I should’ve—I don’t know. I should’ve been braver.”

Seonghwa pulls him in by the back of his neck, kissing him. “We’re here now,” he says. “Just…if you wake up before me in the morning, wait until I wake up too, okay? So the bed won’t be empty when I open my eyes.”

Hongjoong nods. “Okay. Of course. I can do that. Now come, our bath is ready.”

They lounge in the water and make out lazily until it turns tepid, then dry themselves off and slip naked under the covers. Surprisingly, despite everything, they didn’t make that much of a mess. There’s a part of Seonghwa that itches to change the sheets anyway, but he can live with them for one more night.

“You know…” Hongjoong says quietly as they cuddle, Seonghwa’s head pillowed on his chest. He’s running his thumb idly over Seonghwa’s knuckles, back and forth. “I heard you talking to your mom earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I came to talk to you and overheard a bit of your conversation. She must not be the biggest fan of me at the moment, huh?”

Seonghwa lets out a breathy laugh. “I think she was a bigger fan of you than I was in that moment. My mom really treats you like her third son already.”

He feels more than hears the way Hongjoong’s breath hitches.

“Was that why you decided to talk to me?” Seonghwa asks. “Because you overheard me talking to my mom?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. The movement ruffles Seonghwa’s hair. “No, I was already coming to ask if we could talk,” he admits. “But after I heard you…I needed some time to think about all of that. Again, sorry for eavesdropping. And I’m sorry for everything else, too.”

“You can stop saying sorry now.” Seonghwa traces abstract shapes over Hongjoong’s chest. His eyelids are getting heavy, the warmth of Hongjoong’s body putting him to sleep. “I know you, remember? I know you better than anyone else. We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe you were truly sorry.”

“Okay,” Hongjoong says. “I just wanted to make sure that you understood.”

“I do,” Seonghwa says. “I’ve been in love with you for too long not to understand.”

Hongjoong stops breathing for a moment. He stills completely under Seonghwa, who wonders if it was too much, too soon. They should be honest with each other, though, and Seonghwa’s feelings have been a constant for the better part of the decade. The least he can do is admit it out loud.

“I—” Hongjoong starts eventually, breaking the silence. “Me too. Seonghwa-ya, I—”

“I know,” Seonghwa reassures him. “I know that, too. And we can sleep now, and when we wake up, it will still be real.”

“It will be real for as long as we’re alive,” Hongjoong says, and Seonghwa’s heart leaps into his throat. “I promise.”

“Good,” Seonghwa says, a little overwhelmed. “I’ll keep you to that.”

When Seonghwa wakes up in the morning, Hongjoong is there, sleeping with his mouth slightly open. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. He’s kicked his duvet almost entirely off during the night and rolled over onto his back, an arm thrown loosely over his stomach.

Seonghwa stretches, then burrows into Hongjoong’s side, jostling him enough that he opens his eyes.

“Wha—?” he asks, clearly still not entirely awake. “Seonghwa-ya? What time is it?”

“Early enough,” Seonghwa says. “We don’t need to be up yet.”

“Mm…” Hongjoong hums, then yawns. He looks at Seonghwa and pulls him in closer. “See? Not a dream.”

Seonghwa laughs quietly in response. “Not a dream,” he agrees. He’s silent for a moment, then says, “Hongjoong-ah… Thank you for inviting me to stay.”

Hongjoong sucks his lower lip into his mouth and worries it with his teeth for a moment before saying, “I always want you with me, you know?”

“I do.” Seonghwa kisses the corner of his mouth. It’s a sweet, familiar gesture. He’s seen his mother do this to his father countless times.

“Maybe one day,” Hongjoong says then, “we can go somewhere like this, just the two of us. No managers, no one else. Just you and me.”

Seonghwa listens to the steady beating of Hongjoong’s heart, his head resting against his chest.

“I’d like that,” he says. “I’d love that. You know, in a way, this was almost like a movie. Our big Los Angeles romance. Don’t you think it’s cute?”

Hongjoong laughs. “You’re so corny, Seonghwa-ssi.”

Seonghwa digs his finger in between Hongjoong’s ribs and watches him yelp. “You knew that before you confessed.”

In response, Hongjoong rolls them over and smothers Seonghwa’s neck in kisses until he’s squirming under him.

Eventually, they have to get up and pack their suitcases. Seonghwa feels lighter than he has in a long time, and he’s in such a good mood during breakfast that Balm and Sungjae keep exchanging looks over the dining room table.

From there, it’s just a matter of picking up the rest of their belongings and loading their luggage into the cars, and then they’re off, leaving the villa behind in the rearview mirror. Seonghwa’s heart is a little helium balloon bobbing around his chest as he sits next to Hongjoong in the passenger seat of the Porsche. They’re driving with the hood down, wind in their hair and sunlight reflecting off their sunglasses. Hongjoong looks comfortable behind the wheel, driving with one hand. The other, when he’s not shifting gears, rests on Seonghwa’s thigh, warm and solid.

It's like the equilibrium of their relationship has settled into a new state of permanence overnight, the scales no longer tipped to one side. The seesaw is no longer swinging, and when Seonghwa looks over his shoulder, the footprints in the sand only go forward and no longer back.