Chapter Text
There’s a massive grey lump curled up on the floor next to the mirrors when Jihoon walks into the basement, two iced Americanos in his hands. He rolls his eyes, walking towards it. It’s Soonyoung, of course – the oversized grey hoodie is too familiar to him; he’s worn it so many times. Even the blue sweater he’s wearing now is Soonyoung’s.
“The floor is dirty,” he says, stopping an inch from where Soonyoung’s head should be. For a moment, he debates kicking him lightly just to check if he’s still alive, but he doesn’t want to get into trouble for his slightly violent tendencies.
A muffled groan escapes from the lump that is Kwon Soonyoung. “Just drag me around to clean it up. I am never using my legs again.”
Jihoon really wants to kick him now, but they also still need him to teach Clap’s choreography later, so he doesn’t. Instead, he sits down carefully, trying not spill the coffees, then places them down on the floor. “What time did you get here?” He himself had barely gotten any sleep, choosing to take naps in the comfort of his studio instead. The other members still had a whole hour of glorious rest before they were meant to come to the company and start recording.
“Four,” Soonyoung grumbles. It’s almost five-thirty now.
Jihoon sighs, using his sweater paws to nudge the other man alive. “Were you working on our choreography?” A silent shake of the latter’s hood-covered head answers him. “Hm.”
“You didn’t come home last night,” Soonyoung mutters. Jihoon hears a little pout in his voice, but he brushes it off instead of reacting to it. Sometimes, he has no choice but to do so – Soonyoung acting cute is a weakness he will never admit. To anyone.
“I was trying to record some instrumentals,” he replies. “Took me longer than I expected it to, so I just slept here.”
“’S’not good, Jihoonie,” the other chides. “Your limbs will start to ache and they’ll start to hate you and then they’ll decide they never want to dance for you again.”
Jihoon raises a brow. “You’re projecting now, Soonyoung.”
With a dramatic sigh, Soonyoung groans, “You’ll be in the middle of practicing one day when they give out on you. Being folded in on themselves all the time because of that throne of yours you like to compose on. I’ve sat in it so many times to know that it’s as comfortable as Minghao’s chin when he leans it on my shoulder - have you ever experienced that, Jihoon? It’s crazy sharp as hell. Not very comfortable. Anyway –“
“I’m fine,” Jihoon cuts him off. He picks up one of the coffees and takes a sip, grateful for the cold taste. More than often, it’s the ice that wakes him up rather than the caffeine. Or at least, that’s what hits first. He has a long day ahead of him, so he supposes he’ll be going through more than just one cup of it. Soonyoung, too, which is why he’d bought it.
He adds, “hey, come on,” and tries to roll Soonyoung over. When he does, he can only see about a few inches of the other man’s forehead because he’s tightened up the hood to cover the rest of him. “Drink the coffee and rest up before the others get here. But sit up because the floor is dirty. You might get sick.”
Rather reluctantly, Soonyoung pulls himself up into a sitting position. Now he’s directly facing Jihoon, and their knees touch as he brings himself closer. The cups of coffees are in between them, safely secure in the nest their legs make.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Soonyoung grumbles.
Jihoon reaches up to pull his hood down, and Soonyoung shakes his messy mop of hair out of from his eyes. “Why not just sleep for a bit longer at home?”
The latter shrugs and picks up his coffee, taking a sip. “Because I woke up to find your bed empty. Realised you were here, working your ass off because you’re annoying like that. I thought I should at least be doing the same.”
Jihoon shakes his head. “You use your body more than me when you work. It needs more rest, stupid.”
“I’m just learning from the best,” Soonyoung replies with a snicker and another sip of his drink. “It’s not my fault your work ethic is rubbing off on me.”
Rolling his eyes, Jihoon nudges one of his knees with his. “Stop practicing for now. Just rest. You’ll need it.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Soonyoung completes his silly Spongebob Squarepants theme tune imitation with a salute, and Jihoon fights another one of his eye rolls as an automatic response. He should really learn how to turn that off, he thinks. But then again, Soonyoung should really learn to stop being cute. “When am I recording with you?”
“Last,” Jihoon deadpans. According to his planner, they were scheduled to record their duet together after finishing up a few retakes of some verses in Clap, but seeing how tired Soonyoung is – how tired they both are – he figures he can change a few slots around. Team Rocket can take their place with the first few verses, instead.
Soonyoung nods, putting his cup down. He starts stretching his arms and neck on the spot, and Jihoon watches him wake himself up. He admires Soonyoung’s drive a lot, but he’s not one to admit that aloud. If he’s always first in the studio – if you count not having gone home for the night – then Soonyoung is always second. He thinks about it more than he wants to, how Soonyoung works hard with a burden on his shoulders that matches the weight and size of Jihoon’s.
He does it with minimal thought and less hesitance than usual, but Jihoon pushes one of his hands out of his sweater, placing it on top of Soonyoung’s where it still rests on his coffee cup. Soonyoung smiles at him, and Jihoon fights the burning sensation creeping into cheeks and ears.
“Thank you, Jihoonie,” Soonyoung whispers. He entwines their fingers together, and the sensation of a hand holding his and him holding a hand – Soonyoung’s hand – makes him feel warm all over. The gesture wakes him up, and the barriers slowly come down. Soonyoung makes him feel just little bit more brave.
Jihoon simply nods, admiring the feeling rising in his chest and the way his heart flutters. He ducks his head down, suddenly too embarrassed. It’s not like they haven’t done this before, but it’s always mostly Soonyoung who initiates any kind of affection first. The rare times Jihoon musters up courage to do it always feel like the first – unfamiliar and strange, but he never stops wanting more.
He clears his throat, eyes focused on their hands. Soonyoung’s hands are always dry from forgetting to moisturise. Sometimes they’re calloused from using them too much in their choreography. Jihoon wants to reprimand him for not taking more care of himself, but he holds back. That can wait for another day.
Moments like these, in an empty room in quiet hours, are Jihoon’s favourite kind of intimacy.
“Don’t work too late,” Soonyoung tells him. “Come home tonight.”
Jihoon nods. Now he wonders if Soonyoung can hear it – the way his heart wants to pound out of his chest. Wonders if he can feel the room burning up with Jihoon’s mix of emotions. Most of all, he wonders if it’s all the same for him, if it hits him this hard so suddenly, if he can feel what he does to him.
Jihoon is tired and sleep-deprived, but his heart is full, and Soonyoung is holding his hand so carefully tight. There is nothing else like this, he decides. No lyrics are enough to describe this simple bliss, no melody enough to match it.
Right now, they are simply Jihoon and Soonyoung, caught in the moments right before they become the composer and the choreographer for the day; the first stage in a never-ending cycle where they can be each other’s before they give themselves to the world again.