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Yeonjun has a huge problem.
Quite literally, his problem stretches all the way to an inch above six feet, sporting a mop of black hair and dimples possibly deeper than the whirlpools denting the Atlantic Ocean.
Choi Soobin is a huge problem.
It’s not his fault, no, not in the slightest. He exists, just as Yeonjun does, and the two of them probably even share the same level of worldly significance. It’s what being in the same team entails. So it’s solely and fully Yeonjun’s fault that he lets Soobin’s existence become increasingly more significant to him than everyone else’s, in the way that he becomes hyper aware of every little thing the younger boy does, and in turn becomes equally conscious of the things he does around him as well.
He kind of hates himself for it. He hates that he takes notice of the most inconsequential things like the way Soobin squints his eyes and lets his mouth fall slightly agape when he’s in full concentration watching the playback of their choreography practice. Or the way his bangs trickle slowly back to his forehead after he’d ran his fingers through his hair like he’s a snippet of a shampoo commercial. Or the way his lips jut to a tiny insistent pout when he wants something, clearly ignorant of the fact that Yeonjun isn’t capable of depriving him of literally anything if he so much as asked.
Though sometimes Yeonjun wishes Soobin would ask for things that Yeonjun wants so desperately to give him.
Like, just an example, a kiss.
It’s a fantasy, Yeonjun knows, one that floats relentlessly among his nebulous thoughts. And it will stay as such, safely tucked away behind the walls of his mind. It’s fine. His heart and his lips could probably live with that gentle ache. They have to. Some things are never meant to change, and Yeonjun has to deal with that.
He doesn’t remember how it started, and frankly he doesn’t care to. All he wants to know is when it’s going to end. Because having a crush on your groupmate is the worst kind of problem to have.
“Hyungs, we’re going to get snacks. Want anything?” Beomgyu inquires, half a foot already out the door while Taehyun and Huening Kai both fumble with their shoelaces.
“You know what I like, and soda, please and thanks.” Yeonjun says, not bothering to lift his head from his phone.
“I’ll have what Jun-hyung is having.” Soobin chirps from where he’s stretching on the floor. Yeonjun briefly glances at him, a little surprised he hadn’t set to join the other boys. He’s usually very picky with his snacks.
But he doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he shifts his focus back to the choreography video playing on his phone.
The door clicks shut then, and suddenly Yeonjun is very aware of the fact that it’s just the two of them, both sprawled haplessly on the floor like disentangled string puppets. It’s awfully quiet, especially now that his video has finished playing. And the only thing he really hears is the soft grunt that escapes Soobin’s lips from struggling to reach the tip of his toe.
Yeonjun shifts, now sitting with his legs spread out, one hand holding his phone on landscape while his other arm is angled backwards against the floor to support his back. He loops the video for the third time and pretends it’s the only thing he sees even when Soobin’s shirt rides up from stretching and exposes a sliver of his pale and lean stomach.
Nope. Yeonjun shakes his head to himself. Not today, Satan. He lets that thought feebly comfort him until it can’t anymore. And then he has to repeat the video for the fourth time because his focus is steadily declining with each passing minute.
“Why do you keep watching that, hyung?” Soobin stops to ask.
Yeonjun acts as if he doesn’t hear the question, because right now there’s no real reason as to why he’s been repeatedly watching the video aside from it being an elaborate scheme to avoid eye contact with the bane of his existence.
It’s quiet again, and Yeonjun feels relieved because it means Soobin has decided to mind his own business and not make Yeonjun’s life harder than he already makes it for himself.
But no, that’s apparently not the case, because Soobin somehow interprets his lack of response as an invitation to crawl over and lie down next to him with his head nestled on Yeonjun’s thigh.
Christ fuck. Yeonjun can’t help the way all his muscles tense up, and he prays to the highest deities that Soobin doesn’t notice.
Breathe. It’s not like it’s the first time.
Shit like this happens a lot, and most of the time it’s Yeonjun who initiates it. Because he knows how fanservice works, and he knows the best way to give the people what they want. It’s a carefully ministrated course of action on his part, and Soobin is either fully receptive or passive. Either way, it works. If Yeonjun falters and fades into the blurred lines between what’s real and what’s not, that’s on him.
This, right now, is that familiar gray area. There are no cameras and no audience, just two souls existing together in one place. Soobin isn’t any closer in proximity than Yeonjun would have him if there were lenses aimed at them. So it really shouldn’t matter. They’ve done this so many times that Yeonjun should just be used to it. He’s not, but he tries to act like it anyway.
Soobin snatches away his phone and peers at the screen. Normally Yeonjun would be annoyed, but he’s so unhinged that he just lets him take it without a word.
“They’re going to teach us the choreography tomorrow anyway.” He states matter of factly. Yeonjun knows this obviously.
“I know. I just like studying in advance. I can’t have Beomgyu one-upping me again during practice.” Yeonjun jokes.
Soobin snickers in response and hands Yeonjun back his phone. “It’s funny when you act all cocky like you don’t purposely mess up the choreo so the rest of us can catch up and not feel bad for having to start over.”
“I don’t—how do you even know that?” Yeonjun tilts his head down to meet Soobin’s eyes, and there’s a good distance between their faces but looking at him from this angle weirdly feels intimate. And it doesn’t help that Soobin is just staring back at him in response.
The younger boy has his chin angled up, bringing his lips much closer to the foreground. They’re so red, like fresh cherries, and fluffy looking like a pillow. Yeonjun wants so badly to know if they feel like it too.
It’s almost like he’s been caught in a powerful trance, like those lips are inviting enough—that he’s suddenly stripped of all his woes and inhibitions it’s so strong that he lets himself do the one thing he’s been aching to do since he came to know Soobin—probably since time began.
So he lifts his leg, the one carrying Soobin’s head, and leans down to kiss him square on the lips.
It’s extremely uncomfortable for his back and neck, but everything else feels like they’re melting into his mouth, like silky chocolate milk. Soobin’s lips aren’t just soft and plush, they’re all the things Yeonjun deems pleasant about the world.
Snap.
Yeonjun’s eyes fly open, a horrified gasp escaping his lips as he abruptly pulls back. Realization has now dawned on him. “Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He casts his hands over his face and inwardly curses himself before Soobin beats him to it. He has his eyes shut tight, but he can feel the way the other boy shifts and sits up. He doesn’t have the gall to be upset over the loss of contact.
“Please don’t hate me.” Yeonjun mutters, begs.
Soobin pries his hands off his face. “Hyung. What the hell, I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you.”
And Yeonjun must be beet red, but when he finally looks up he doesn’t fail to notice the way Soobin’s ears are practically glowing.
“I actually saw that one coming.” Soobin says simply, his gaze fixed on Yeonjun.
“W-what?” Yeonjun stutters, embarrassed.
“I’ve been noticing a lot of things.”
If that means anything of significance, Yeonjun lets it fly over his head like an off-trail paper plane. He can’t let himself translate anything Soobin says into something he needs to hear.
He must have been quiet for longer than necessary because Soobin is speaking again. “I’m not as dense as you might think I am.” He shrugs. “Just saying.”
This time the implication in his tone is much clearer and unavoidable. Yeonjun’s heart races even faster than it already was.
“I...I’m sorry.” He croaks.
“Stop apologizing. It’s okay.” Soobin chews on his lower lip. “I didn’t mind it.”
“The kiss? Or…” Or the fact that I’m completely infatuated by you? Yeonjun opts not to say.
“Both.” Soobin replies with only a hint of hesitation. It’s really more than Yeonjun can hope for.
It’s liberating in a way, now that Soobin knows about his feelings. It’s a huge step. And he doesn’t know exactly where he’s going but at least he’s not stuck. For now it’s good enough. He’s crossed so many hurdles in one go and he thinks he can finally run free. The questions how long he’s going to be running and what awaits him at the finish line might be unanswered, but this is enough.
Before Yeonjun can say anything, the room suddenly erupts with noise from the three other boys announcing their arrival.
“Huening Kai fell off the sidewalk trying to imitate a penguin again.” Taehyun informs them. Beomgyu guffaws beside him.
The aforementioned male just laughs before reenacting the incident, and afterwards the five of them proceed to spread out on the floor to devour their snacks.
No more words are exchanged about what just transpired between the two of them. Instead, Soobin sits closely next to him and steals a bite off his rice crackers. And Yeonjun thinks, just for a moment, that maybe Soobin could want what he wants.
“Soobinie-hyung, do you want some of my soda? It’s peach flavored.” Taehyun offers.
Soobin shakes his head. “No thanks, I want what hyung is having.”