Chapter Text
It’s been a long, long time, but Ricky’s muscle memory still lets him traverse his Shanghai bedroom/home in the dark, and he smiles. He hugs his mom and his sister and allows a part of him that he didn’t even know was aching to finally rest.
“I made your favorite foods for dinner,” his mom says, setting down the plates. Ricky feels his heart shatter with each clink of ceramic.
He picks up his chopsticks, wooden and worn down from years of use, and doesn’t hide the tremble in his hands or voice as he says thank you.
(His mom is a busy woman. And yet — she took the time to make food for him. Him, her only son, who lives most of his life overseas, who can’t visit as often as he should or wants to.
Ricky cries later that night and tastes salt on his lips and he thinks it tastes like home.)
When Ricky comes back from Shanghai, he feels like he’s been drenched with a bucket of ice water and finds it alarming and calming and familiar all at once. He wishes he could’ve at least come back to dorms instead of a hotel room and right onto a stage, but he knows he doesn’t have the luxury of choice.
“We’re so glad to have you back,” Hanbin says, whisker-smile on full display as he pulls Ricky into a hug. Ricky hugs Hanbin back and for a split second, he feels achingly warm. “So sorry you couldn’t be with us in the Philippines.”
Ricky’s happy to be back. Does that make him a bad son? He’s sad to be back. Does that make him a bad idol?
“I hope you got some good food and rest,” Hao says in Mandarin, patting Ricky on the shoulder.
“Welcome back home from your other home,” Taerae smiles. He says this easily, but his simple words fall onto Ricky like a blanket, ensnaring him in warmth, in a simple truth.
Ricky leans into Hao’s touch and smiles back at Taerae and figures — he’s not a bad son or idol. He’s allowed to call multiple places home.
“You’re back!” Gyuvin calls from the hallway, rushing into the room and nearly tripping over the hotel’s flimsy slippers. “I slept in your bed while you were gone,” he says, ending the sentence with a few pokes to Ricky’s stomach.
“Oh? Did you really miss me that much?” Ricky laughs, swiping at Gyuvin’s hand. He tries not to wonder if his sheets smell like Gyuvin’s shampoo and clenches his fists, the center of his palms always aching —
“No, actually. I just rubbed my greasy hair all over your pillowcase so you’ll get acne.”
“Your hair isn’t greasy,” Ricky says automatically. His face wrinkles as he frowns. “Wait, you did what?”
“You heard me!” Gyuvin grins before skipping away, his voice and Yujin’s voice echoing into the hall as he undoubtedly goes to bother Yujin like he bothers everyone else. Like he bothers Ricky.
“Yeah. So we missed you,” Hao says, amusement written all over his face.
“I know,” Ricky says, fondness written all over his. He doesn’t even bother chasing after Gyuvin; he’ll yell at him later. After they perform.
“I think I had a dream about the Boy in Luv choreo last night,” Ricky admits to Hao backstage, smoothing down his shirt even though there aren’t any wrinkles. The jitters might be getting to him.
“Me too,” Hao says, fake-shuddering. “I love this song, but I’m never going to be able to hear it the same way again.”
Ricky nods in agreement. He thinks it’s kind of sad and beautiful that this is the case. Once you’ve had choreo drilled into your head, your muscle memory will never let it go after you hear the song play. A part of him wonders: would BTS-sunbaenims have been as successful as they are if they had foreign members? Like him? Like Hao? Like Matthew?
“Let’s try our best today,” Hao says softly, his eyes meeting Ricky’s with fire in them.
Ricky shakes his head. There isn’t a point in wondering useless things he can’t change. “Yes. I believe in us,” he says, forever grateful there’s someone in the group he can speak in Mandarin with.
Hao’s smile is genuine when he says, “Me too.”
“So, how was Shanghai? Other than the whole mess of sorting out your visa.” Gyuvin asks this once they’re both in bed, eyes heavy from their performance.
Ricky thinks. He thinks about his mom’s smile and his sister’s laugh and all the food he’s been aching to have for a long time.
“It was good,” he whispers after a few minutes, like it’s a confession, like he’d be betraying everything he’s worked for if he admits a part of him is still in China and always will be.
He wouldn’t have said anything, but Gyuvin is the one asking. And like Taerae had said earlier, he's allowed to have more than one home.
So he clears his throat and adds a more confident, “It was really good.”
“Really good?” Gyuvin echoes, voice tilting in a way that lets Ricky know he wants clarification. There’s the sound of rustling and Ricky turns on his side just in time to see Gyuvin turn too. Now the both of them are facing each other, a stretch of floor between their beds all that separates them instead of a 1.5 hour long plane ride.
“The food was good, obviously. Seeing my family was really good. I missed my sister.” Ricky blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight and glow of the dim night light Gyuvin put in the corner. He makes out the soft smile on Gyuvin’s face and feels safe to keep talking. “I missed it all, actually.”
“Yeah. I’m really glad you got to see them.”
“Me too. But..." Ricky lets himself take a deep breath. "This might sound weird. But I feel like a small part of me is happy I got to be in Shanghai instead of the Philippines, even though I really wanted to go and perform with you all. I don’t know. I know it was a huge event and everything, and it's unfair I couldn't attend, and I wanted to, but even then...”
Gyuvin flops his head over his bed so it’s nearly hanging off. “You know, it’s okay to feel many different things all at once,” he says. "And have all of them be true at the same time."
“I know.” Ricky lets out a puff of air through his nose. Contradictions and feelings are funny like that. “I missed you too, by the way,” he says, and he reaches out an arm towards Gyuvin, wishing their room was small enough for him to grab at something solid.
“Mm. I know,” Gyuvin says, reaching back.
Both of their arms sticking out are still not quite long enough to bridge the gap between their beds. But it’s close. Close enough.
“You know it’s still not your fault, right? Really.” Gyuvin wiggles his fingers in the air.
Ricky wiggles his. He looks up at Gyuvin. “What isn’t my fault?”
“You being born somewhere else. People discriminating because of that. Visa systems being annoying.” Gyuvin’s fingers are still wiggling, but they still once he clears his throat and lets out an explosive sigh. “You deserve a better company, Ricky-yah.”
Ricky’s chest and eyes burn. “We all do. I’m just glad that I have all of you to help me feel better; that we have each other.”
“Of course. Me too."
“Especially you, Gyuvinnie.” Ricky scrambles to find something else to say before his tired brain runs out of fuel. “You did well on stage today, by the way. I didn’t say this earlier, but you were really cool.”
“Ahh, really?” Gyuvin smiles, bright, his eyes lighting up even in the dark. “I tried hard to put out a cool image.”
Ricky just nods, feeling sleep starting to creep into his bones. “Your hard work paid off.”
He’s already mostly asleep by the time Gyuvin musters a response, but he doesn’t miss the way Gyuvin’s voice grows gentler. It’s a miracle that he manages to fall asleep so fast, but he doesn’t question it, letting the tired ache in his body sweep over his mind in a heartbeat.
He doesn’t hear when Gyuvin whispers goodnight. If he did, maybe he would’ve finally noticed how fond it sounded.
Gyuvin wakes up first.
He usually wakes up before Ricky, whose night owl tendencies tend to make his sleep schedule bleed far into the morning, but Gyuvin will never complain about that. When else is he allowed to stare at Ricky so unabashedly? The privacy of their room and the darkness of their curtains is the perfect shield for Gyuvin’s eyes and all the thoughts churning in his mind.
He feels like he can gawk at Ricky from his own bed, or from Ricky’s bed, without any reservation. He feels like he can get away with more, when there’s nobody but them around, like the ache in his chest can finally take up as much room as it wants to.
Only Gyuvin is allowed to memorize the way Ricky’s bare face squished against a pillow looks. Only Gyuvin can tell you how Ricky’s unstyled hair, long and fluffy, fans across his face and his sheets, how the wrinkles of blankets imprinted on Ricky’s cheek criss-cross over his jaw and nose.
Sometimes, a sneaky bit of sun will manage to squeeze its way through their curtain and cast Ricky in a sliver of light, his dark eyelashes turning amber, his hair turning gold.
(In another life, Gyuvin is the one who’s an artist, and Ricky his muse. In another life, he’d paint the way Ricky looks in the sun.
In this life, he just stares.)
Gyuvin watches as Ricky’s shoulders rise and fall. He notices how the bags underneath Ricky’s eyes are a bit more bruised than usual — no doubt caused by his flight from Shanghai back to Korea and having to perform right after, his mind still reeling from needing to get his visa renewed, from being at home and with his family before being dunked into the world of an idol again.
They all worked hard for their stages yesterday. Hell, Gyuvin and Ricky both did the openings for their respective cover performances, and they’d practiced for hours on end to get it perfect, you have to be perfect to do BTS and EXO right, but there were so many technical problems and they were exhausted and everyone was just — just so tired.
Up, down. Up, down.
Ricky’s breath is still steady.
Gyuvin sighs. He’s more than glad they got to perform so much these past few days, but also beyond elated he gets to be in bed at this hour instead of hauling ass in the practice room.
Like what he said to the camera and to Hao for their ‘MY FIRST MAMA’ video, Gyuvin has a small wish: to spend more quality time with his members. He knows their busy and short schedule of 2.5 years means they don’t get a lot of breathing time but… he’ll take what he can. Always.
Ricky’s breath stutters — his nose is doing that twitchy thing it does when he’s about to wake up. Gyuvin watches as Ricky turns one way before turning back and facing Gyuvin’s bed again, his sheets and hair getting even messier.
Ricky blinks one eye open. “Gyuvin,” he says, almost a question.
“Hi.” Gyuvin hopes his fond smile isn’t too fond in the dimness of the morning. He knows that it probably (definitely) is and Ricky can probably tell regardless.
“I really missed you,” Ricky says, his cheek still squished by his pillow, both his eyes open now. Gyuvin feels his heart turn to mush.
“Oh?” Gyuvin raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t really miss you, though.”
Ricky’s eyes widen, his lips curving downwards into a pout. “What do you mean?”
Gyuvin laughs, the sound breathy and endeared even to his own ears. “Kidding, kidding.” It’s hard not to tease Ricky when he gets so cute when he’s upset. A part of Gyuvin is selfishly glad that he gets to be the one to comfort Ricky right after bickering with him — he wonders if that’s a normal thing to feel, and pauses for a second, knowing that the way he acts with Ricky is a lot like when dumb prepubescent children bully their crushes for no good reason.
“You really can’t do that to me,” Ricky says, still semi-upset, but at least he’s smiling now.
“Do what?” Gyuvin says, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket, his hands and feet itching to get up from his bed and onto Ricky’s, or even the floor next to Ricky’s bed — anything to be closer to him.
Ricky clicks his tongue. “You can’t say mean things like that.”
“But your reactions are so cute.”
“Yah.”
“See?” Gyuvin points, his finger tracing the way Ricky’s eyebrows are narrowing, forming a V-shape in the air as he reaches out. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Gyuvin drops his hand, wishing he were actually poking Ricky, but he doesn't mind making fun of him from a distance. As long as he gets to tease and bicker Ricky at all. (Gyuvin doesn't need much to be happy! This is enough!)
“You’re ridiculous. I’m going back to bed.” Ricky turns with a scoff, his back now facing Gyuvin instead of his face. His lovely face. His lovely face which Gyuvin has not gotten to see enough of in the past 48 hours.
“It’s not even eight yet,” Gyuvin scoffs. They’ve been used to waking up at five or six in the morning these past few days; eight should be nothing.
“Exactly,” Ricky huffs. “Too early for your nonsense.”
“Ahh, Ricky.”
“You’re bothering me,” Ricky says, muffled by his blankets. “Our schedule isn’t until this afternoon.”
“I missed you, Ricky,” is all Gyuvin says in response. “I missed bothering you. I missed you.”
Sighing, Ricky turns around so he’s on his back. He pats the empty space next to him. “Come here, then.”
Gyuvin sits up, his bed creaking. “Really?”
Ricky pats his mattress again.
Gyuvin zooms over to fill the space, nearly slipping on the floor. He relishes in the way Ricky’s bed seems to welcome him, the mattress already familiar with his presence.
Ricky hums. “Can we go back to sleep now?”
Gyuvin scooches closer so their shoulders meet. “Yeah,” he hums back, sounding at peace, his eyes already fluttering shut. Ricky presses against him, a light and gentle thing, but noticeable all the same.
Ricky’s bed is a safe place, Gyuvin had said once.
This isn’t entirely true.
Ricky is the safe place.
But when Gyuvin doesn’t have Ricky by his side, well, lying on Ricky’s bed and pretending that the other half of the mattress is warm and smells like Ricky’s strawberry shampoo and citrusy body wash and coconuty hair essence is good enough for him. Squeezing Ricky’s sheets until they’re Gyuvin-shaped because it means part of Ricky is still part of Gyuvin is good enough for him.
Because even at a small nineteen years of age, Gyuvin knows that a good chunk of himself is Ricky-shaped, so it’s only fair. Why should Gyuvin be the only one permanently altered by their encounter? If the sun melts ice, the ice only shines part of the sun's warmth back, the nature of their relationship reflected in the water, melted and bright.
“I love you,” Gyuvin whispers, his mouth centimeters away from the back of Ricky’s head.
Ricky can already tell that Gyuvin is about to go on an I-love-you-rampage. He says nothing.
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” Gyuvin laughs. "I love youuu." And his eyes are still shut, but he can feel and hear the bed creaking as Ricky turns around so they’re facing each other again.
“Gyuvin," Ricky sighs. He remembers how unsure Gyuvin had been of his performance and makes sure to emphasize: "Cool, handsome, talented, Gyuvin. What am I going to do with you?”
Anything you want, Gyuvin thinks. He opens his eyes and lets the compliments settle over him like Ricky’s arm does. “I really love and missed you, Ricky-yah. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Ricky’s eyes are big even when they form happy crescents. “You love me?”
Gyuvin nods as best as he can. “I love you. Say it back.”
“…I love you too,” Ricky says, a slight pause as his eyes bounce all over Gyuvin’s face, as though he’s trying to dedicate Gyuvin to memory. A silly thing to do, considering Gyuvin is going to ensure that Ricky will never be able to forget him.
Gyuvin leans in. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Ricky breathes.
Gyuvin presses a kiss against Ricky’s cheek, at the roundest and highest point, obvious when he smiles, like he is right now. “Goodnight, Ricky-yah. Get some rest.”
“You too. You did well yesterday, get some rest.” Ricky is still looking at him, going cross-eyed so they can stare at each other’s eyes properly.
Gyuvin doesn’t say anything back in response. He doesn’t have to. He closes his eyes again and snuggles closer, glad when Ricky’s body melts against his, and suddenly everything is Ricky-Gyuvin-shaped into one. A few seconds pass, and he’s out like a light, already on a path of half-dreaming about strawberries.
Ricky does not fall asleep immediately, his overthinking tendencies canceling out his exhaustion. He shuts his eyes and dwells on how lucky and warm he feels, about how much Gyuvin has truly managed to poke at Ricky’s thick skin until he fit perfectly underneath it.
Ricky is sure of his feelings, and that’s exactly what makes him unsure. Nobody prepared him for how contradictory falling in love with your best friend would be. (Maybe he should’ve asked Hanbin…)
In truth, Gyuvin bothers Ricky. Actually, in all senses of the word, Gyuvin bothers him: he teases Ricky by copying his words when he speaks or mocking his morning voice, exposes him every chance he gets, (like seriously, did the world need to know about his continuous alarms?) and pokes and prods him just to get a reaction out of it, but the thing is — he never goes too far.
And that’s just it, isn’t it?
When Gyuvin touches Ricky, it’s free of expectation.
Gyuvin knows when to back off. He’s talked to Ricky many times before about boundaries and comfort zones and somehow has a sense for when something will make Ricky genuinely stiffen. He is always, always gentle, even at times when he doesn’t need to be, but he’s never too gentle, like he knows Ricky isn’t made of broken glass and doesn’t like to be treated as such.
The very first time they’d met, Gyuvin had offered his hand for Ricky to shake, and when Ricky looked hesitant to take it, Gyuvin just waved and laughed it off and told him that they’d all take care of Ricky just fine, inviting him to sit with a smile. They hadn’t talked after that — Ricky’s fault, he was too anxious — at least, not until Gyuvin mentioned Ricky’s stupid Beats headphones.
Ricky is not very used to all of this. He breathes and feels his chest rise against Gyuvin’s, he twitches and feels Gyuvin’s ankles twitch against his shins in response.
Yet another thing regarding Gyuvin that he’s not used to.
He’s used to skinship, sure. He’s used to seeking the comfort of those around you, of all the young people in this industry with a shared dream, a similar hunger.
Yuehua is a tough place to be in, and he was (and still is) a child, and he was (still is) surrounded by children and young adults, so the touches of comfort they’d give each other were expected and welcomed.
Now, he’s used to Hao’s soft hugs, to Hanbin’s arm pats, to Yujin’s tugs, to Gunwook’s pokes, to Jiwoong’s back pats, to Taerae’s nudges, to Matthew’s bear hugs.
But he is still not used to Gyuvin and his unassuming tenderness.
Gyuvin, for all of his openness, can be a real fucking mystery.
By now, Ricky figures that gentleness is somehow written inside of Gyuvin’s veins, a code that he was born with. Touch is one of Gyuvin’s love languages: multiple slaps on the butt there, a pinch on the cheek here, a big old hug over there — everyone knows this. And yet. Gyuvin will never touch Ricky exactly like he touches other people. All because he knows Ricky will be uncomfortable, even if at first he really wanted to.
Ricky wonders if Gyuvin would still be gentle towards him if he knew what Ricky was thinking all the time. If he knew Ricky’s love, once earned, is impossible to return. If he knew that Ricky’s had one too many thoughts of folding Gyuvin into a tiny little dog and keeping him in Ricky’s back pocket forever.
But, Ricky supposes, if he would want to get absolutely rejected by anyone, it’d be Gyuvin. At least then, the pieces of his heart would be held with care, and probably messily taped up and surrounded by bubble wrap.
I want you to love me the same way, Ricky thinks, pressing closer against Gyuvin. But I also want nothing to change.
That’s the thing about Ricky — he can make up his mind about not making up his mind.
When will Gyuvin ever stop bothering him?