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Yonghoon loved fansigns.
There was just something about the reality of people wanting to see them, talk to them, something about their bright pink faces, and their wide eyes, crinkled with delight or edged with unshed tears, that made him feel like what they were doing was worthwhile. It didn’t compare to playing a show, not much did, but it was comforting, being able to gently grasp someone’s cold and clammy hands. It made it all seem real, not just a fever dream he woke up to every day.
Still, it wasn’t easy. His ass was starting to go numb from the uncomfortable chair, the lights were bright and hot, and he could feel himself sweat, probably running his makeup. Next to him, Giwook’s leg had started to bounce under the table. On instinct, he put his palm on his knee to still it. It got him a look, half-grateful and half-exasperated.
He made a conscious effort to make his smile more genuine, sharpening his focus as a fan sat down in front of him, wringing her hands. They chatted and he tried to be charming, hoping that it came across as effortless.
The mention of their brother group shook him, knocked his smile sideways into something openly fond.
“You’re going to an ONEUS fansign next?” he repeated after the fan, scrawling his signature with the ease of practice. “When you see him, tell Youngjo I miss him.”
The fan giggled and promised, and then she moved on. Yonghoon didn’t quite manage to shake the shadow of his smile for the rest of the day. It lingered in the edges of his mouth, in the crease of his eyes, for long enough that the others noticed and teased him about it.
*
It became like a game after that. A fan would come to their fansign and tell him they were going to be seeing Oneus soon, and Yonghoon would take the opportunity to ask them to convey little messages to Youngjo when they saw him.
“Cheer up!”
“I miss you.”
“Stop saying nonsense.”
Little words that he could text or call with, but never did. Because Youngjo was somewhere halfway across the world, having concerts in America or releasing singles in Japan, and when he was home in Korea, Yonghoon was in Japan. Both their schedules were packed, which Dongmyeong tolerated with increasingly high strung anxiety that he’d never, ever, convey to his brother. At least the twins made time to talk. Yonghoon didn’t presume he had that claim on Youngjo’s time.
It felt like they were perpetually missing each other, phones full of blurry selfies and unfinished conversations that ended when one or both of them drifted off to sleep.
Sending messages through other people was a poor substitute. He had no way of knowing if they ever reached Youngjo at all, much less if they meant anything to him. He kept doing it because it made him feel better, even if it earned him Dongmyeong’s suspicious glances and Kanghyun’s gentle worried voice.
It was fun and weirdly reassuring, and the fans seemed to like it, so he kept doing it.
*
As ever, Yonghoon forgot to factor himself in the equation.
He was signing a picture and the room was hot and muggy, the fansign nearing its end, and he was starting to think about what to eat later. The fan said something that felt familiar and he answered on auto-pilot.
“I was kidding! I love Youngjo a lot.”
“Really?”
“For real!”
The fan squealed and he shared a laugh with her, words turning to ash in his mouth. He felt shaky and suddenly freezing cold. Harin quietly put a hand on his back, probably sensing his distress. It felt like everyone could hear his heart, the way it’s beating double time in his chest.
No one from the staff said anything to him on the way to the van. He huddled in his seat, a picture of misery that was intense enough that it had Giwook leaning into his space for once, smiling cutely, and Yonghoon could barely dredge up a smile.
Kanghyun sat down next to him, closer than he would normally. It was an unspoken offer and Yonghoon leaned against him gratefully, at least somewhat soothed by his presence. Dongmeyong was texting on his phone and Yonghoon reached out to put his hand on his elbow, suddenly worried.
“Don’t tell him,” he said and Dongmyeong looked at him, concerned and affronted at the same time.
“Hyung, I would never,” he said, softening his tone when he looked at Yonghoon’s face. “If it helps, I think the fan just chalked it up to you being you. I don’t think they’re going to be reading too much into it.”
“Is there something to read into though?” Giwook piped up, earning Dongmyeong’s elbow to his stomach, the two of them devolving into a whispered argument that Yonghoon didn’t have the capacity to decipher. Instead, he bit back the groan building in his throat and leaned on Kanghyun’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
He didn’t have any new messages from Youngjo on his phone. He didn’t know why he expected any different.
*
In hindsight, Yonghoon can’t say when it happened. He’d noticed the new trainee was good-looking. It was hard to miss with Youngjo, going around with that face all the time. But he’d seen plenty of handsome boys at RBW, at Cube. He’d built up a wall to keep them out. He’s an old hand at compartmentalizing now.
Then, Dongju had joined ONEUS as a last-minute addition, and Yonghoon had been worried. Dongju was theirs in a way no other person outside of the band was, their manager in all but name. It was hard to accept that they might have to share him with other people. Even if they were good people that didn’t mean they knew how to look after Dongju properly.
Youngjo seemed too aloof and self-absorbed to be a good and caring hyung. But Dongju’s addition to then RBW BOYZ brought the groups together more often. They hung out at each other’s dorms and went out to noraebang and shared meals. Yonghoon got to pay the first time but the second time Youngjo stole the check out of his hands with a maneuver so smooth that Yonghoon couldn’t even be mad at him. They shared treating responsibilities from then on.
The groups began to work more closely together, performing and filming together, and Yonghoon felt some of his worries fall away as Dongju slowly blossomed.
As for Youngjo, he turned out to be totally different from what Yonghoon had thought he was. He was handsome, for sure, and knew it in a way that he managed to make endearing rather than annoying. He rambled about making music and got distracted by animals on the street. He carried around pictures of his dog in his wallet and seemed upset when Yonghoon didn’t want to meet it. He told his members he loved them almost as often as Yonghoon said it to his. He never pulled away from a hug first.
Turns out all those barriers around his heart that Yonghoon had been so awfully proud of, meant nothing at all in the end. Youngjo pushed through them so easily they might as well have been made of pillows. Somewhere between warm lingering hugs, midnight conversations, and shared laughter, Yonghoon had fallen, hard. It was fine though. He fell for people often, fell in love with their voices and faces, and the sliver glimpse of their smile on the street. He usually fell out of love just as quickly, and if he was lucky he even got a song out of it. In case the feeling lingered, distance and a busy schedule soon took care of it.
Except that when ONEUS debuted and Youngjo got busier, Yonghoon’s feelings hadn’t gone away like usual. Instead, they settled into a dull ache in his chest, ready to flare up whenever he saw Youngjo’s face somewhere or heard his voice.
Yonghoon was dealing with it fine. Really.
Just fine. Until he went and blurted out his feelings at a random fan at a fansign.
*
Yonghoon came home late after solo vocal practice and a convenience store run. His arms were laden with groceries and he had a hard time juggling them as he toed off his shoes and shed his coat. He called out a greeting but only Harin responded, and his voice sounded weird, almost strained.
His members were all huddled in the living room when he came in, and Yonghoon was immediately confronted with their wide-eyed stares, freezing in place in the doorway. It looked almost like an intervention, the way they watched him with expressions of deep worry on their faces. He was just about to open his mouth when Dongmyeong cut him off.
"He just appeared at the door!” Dongmyeong said, exchanging a deeply puzzled glance with Giwook. “We didn't know what to do so we gave him some tea and put him in your room."
Yonghoon stared for a moment then went to put his bags on the dining table. “Sorry, what?” he asked. “Who’s in my room?”
“Youngjo hyung!” everyone chorused and Yonghoon was glad he’d already put down the groceries otherwise he would have dropped them then.
“Why is he here?” Yonghoon asked, sounding weird even to his own ears.
“We don’t know,” Giwook answered for everyone. “It seemed urgent though. You should go see him.”
Yonghoon nodded blankly and turned away from the groceries. There was spicy ramyeon in there he’d intended to have for dinner but he suddenly didn’t feel hungry at all, his stomach tying itself into knots. His members seemed sympathetic as much as they were confused, but Yonghoon couldn’t really focus on them right now. The ten steps to Yonghoon’s single room had never seemed so far.
A part of him that was dumb was excited, his body suddenly on high alert. The other part, the more rational part, was swinging through worst-case scenarios so fast he made himself dizzy. The door scraped against the hinges when he swung it open and it made him wince.
It was late afternoon, bordering on twilight, and the pink light painted soft highlights on Youngjo’s face, highlighting his cheeks and the slope of his nose. He was asleep, curled up on Yonghoon’s bed, surrounded by his blankets. His jacket was thrown over Yonghoon’s desk chair and his socks were in a pile on the floor next to the bed.
The breath Yonghoon exhaled was a gasp. He stood in the doorway for a full minute, staring at the way Youngjo’s under-eye circles were so dark they almost looked like bruises. He was bare-faced and the sweep of his eyelashes across his cheeks was breathtaking.
Yonghoon made himself move, withdrawing, intending to return to the living room, trying to think of a lie that his members would accept, being especially careful with the door so it wouldn't creak this time.
“Don’t go,” Youngjo said, voice slow and raspy. Yonghoon froze in his tracks.
“Oh,” Yonghoon said because he couldn’t think of anything else. Youngjo's eyes were open and he blinked sleepily at him, stretching under the blanket. Yonghoon had to look away.
"You wouldn't have woken me up?" Youngjo asked, smiling softly. Yonghoon swallowed heavily and stepped fully into the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound that echoed.
"You looked like you needed the sleep," Yonghoon replied. He didn’t remember ever feeling this awkward around Youngjo, even back when Youngjo hugged him in the dressing room of a music show and he popped a boner in tight leather pants.
"I didn't come here to sleep," Youngjo said, sitting up on the bed. It made Yonghoon want to ask what he was there for but saying it so bluntly felt rude and he wasn’t so far gone that he could excuse himself being rude. His parents raised him better than that.
"Oh," he said instead. He was standing in the middle of the room still, briefly considered sitting down in his desk chair, but Youngjo’s jacket was there and he didn't want to move it.
"I got your message," Youngjo said, softly, "from the fan."
Yonghoon swallowed around a dry throat.
"Oh, was she at your fansign already?" he asked.
"I saw the video," Youngjo said, uncharacteristically serious.
"Oh, shit," Yonghoon said because it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that there would be video, even if in hindsight it made a lot of sense. "Is the company mad?"
Youngjo shook his head. "They probably would have talked to you if they were," he said. "Did they say anything to you about the other videos?"
"I didn't even realize there were other videos," Yonghoon said. It was starting to sink in, how much trouble he could be in.
"Well, there are," Youngjo said quietly. "I watched them all."
"Oh," Yonghoon said, at a loss. He was still standing in the middle of his own room.
Youngjo sighed softly. Yonghoon chanced a look in his direction. He looked sad.
Youngjo sat up so he was leaning against the headboard, the duvet pooling around his waist. He was still fully dressed but the sight of it was setting off some conflicting feelings. He patted the space next to him on the bed. "Come sit down," he said.
"Do you maybe want more tea?" Yonghoon asked, starting towards the door. He was suddenly desperate to be anywhere other than there, in his room, aching for some time to collect his thoughts, to regain his wits, rebuild his walls.
"I don't," Youngjo said firmly, cutting him off and patting the space next beside him. "Come sit down. Please."
Yonghoon went. He sat up next to Youngjo against the headboard, on top of the sheets. The bed wasn’t big and he could feel the warmth of Youngjo’s thigh against his.
There was a minute of silence between them. Yonghoon tried not to fidget.
“Sometimes,” Youngjo started, “I think we’re too much alike, hyung.”
Yonghoon snorted. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this. In fact it was the love for open affection and praise that kept him strung along in Youngjo’s wake all this time.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. Youngjo shifted next to him and Yonghoon became uncomfortably aware of their legs pressed against each other, separated by the sheets.
Youngjo sighed. “It means that I keep viewing your actions as if they’re the actions of other people instead of considering them as your own,” he said.
“You’re being cryptic,” Yonghoon pointed out, confused. Youngjo’s profile gave him no answers, backlit by the fading afternoon light, the rest of his features cast into shadow.
“I guess I am. I’m sorry,” Youngjo smiled, a flash of white against the dark. “The things you said, the messages, I thought you were joking. That you had somehow caught onto my feelings for you and were teasing me about it.”
“Your feelings for me,” Yonghoon repeated, dumbfounded. Youngjo turned to look at him, smiling.
“Dongju threatened to throw a full carton of takeout at my head when he heard me say that about you,” Youngjo said, laughing quietly to himself. “And then he treated me to a full rant about your virtues as a person and as a hyung. He gave me the cold shoulder for a full day for even implying you’d do anything like that.”
A frisson of fondness pierced through Yonghoon’s confusion. Dongju, looking out for him even now. Youngjo’s eyes had dropped from Yonghoon’s face back to the bedspread, and he seemed to be waiting for something, head bowed. Yonghoon attempted to corral his thoughts into order.
“He’s right,” Yonghoon said, swallowing around a dry throat. Youngjo seemed to smile, but it was hard to tell, in the encroaching darkness. “It’s pretty dumb of you to think that.”
“It’s funny how it turns out that if you say ‘I love you,’ to people a lot, it makes it hard to tell when you mean it in a different way,” Youngjo said, laughing quietly. It sounded a little sad.
Yonghoon stared at his hands where they were folded on his lap. And then he got up in a rustle of sheets, stumbling over his own feet a little.
“Where are you-” Youngjo started to ask, visibly distressed but cut off when Yonghoon unbuckled his jeans, dropping them to the floor, pulling off his socks as an afterthought.
“Budge over,” Yonghoon said, grasping the edge of the duvet and lifting it up so he could slide under it. Youngjo let himself be maneuvered to the side and then back so he was leaning against Yonghoon’s chest. He was sleep-warm in Yonghoon’s arms, all muscle and boney elbows. He smelled good too, slightly like cologne, but mostly like sweat and Yonghoon’s sheets. Yonghoon pressed his nose into the crook of his neck and breathed in, pressing his mouth to the exposed skin in a not quite kiss.
Youngjo’s muscles seemed to unwind with a long breath and he went boneless in Yonghoon’s arms, reaching out for Yonghoon’s hand so he could pull it to rest on his stomach, entwining their fingers.
“Youngjo?” Yonghoon broke the silence after they’d settled.
“Hm?” Youngjo murmured and it settled warmly in Yonghoon’s chest, how soft and sleepy he sounded.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah, on the plane, it was fine,” Youngjo said.
“I missed you,” Yonghoon moved to say it into the shell of Youngjo’s ear, smiling when he felt him shiver.
“I-” Youngjo started, but Yonghoon cut him off.
“I wish you’d cheer up,” he said, tightening his arms for a moment. “Smile more. You have a beautiful smile.”
“Hyung-,” Youngjo said and this time, Yonghoon could hear the smile in his voice.
“I’ll always mean it,” Yonghoon said quietly, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. Youngjo shook in his arms, his grip on Yonghoon’s hands tightening.
“Alright,” Youngjo said and his voice sounded slightly wet, his death grip on Youngjo’s arms relaxing. “I missed you. So much.”
Yonghoon tucked his head into Youngjo’s neck, closing his eyes as the lingering twilight ceded way to the streetlights. Youngjo was warm in his arms, and he was viscerally aware of every place their bodies touched though rather than urgent that knowledge was comforting. Youngjo’s breath had evened out, his grasp on Yonghoon’s fingers growing slack. Yonghoon let his eyes slip closed. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of Youngjo’s quiet breathing, listening to the familiar far off sound of cars and voices from inside the apartment.
Youngjo listened as they drifted closer until his band was whispering right in front of his bedroom door. After a moment, the door creaked open and Dongmyeong let out an exaggerated shushing noise like the door would somehow hear him and obey.
“Aw,” someone whispered. Probably Harin.
“I told you I was right,” Dongmyeong said triumphantly. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice!”
“I don’t pry into other people’s business like you do,” Giwook hissed back and it would have probably devolved into an argument if Kanghyun hadn’t stepped in.
“Maybe we should let them sleep and move this to the living room,” he said and the door clicked shut, mercifully without any more creaking. Yonghoon smothered his laugh in Youngjo’s shoulder, then closed his eyes and guided into sleep by Youngjo’s soft even breaths.