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Subin likes being on his own.
As much as he likes his groupmates—enjoys their unwavering attention and how they all spoil and coo at him for everything he does—and as much as he loves and appreciates all the staff members that are always around them, managers or producers or anyone alike—Subin likes being on his own, likes the peace it brings to his senses, nothing but his own thoughts a lull at the back of his mind, soft little whispers about whatever drama he’s been choosing to watch lately, whatever YouTube video, maybe even a book.
Subin loves company, yeah, but he cherishes his alone time a lot, needs it to be able to breathe—needs time alone with himself to figure things out, find his own little joys, his own little fears, stress—
Maybe it’s because he’s always surrounded by others, actually, that he’s grown to treasure his time alone even more—because he lives with six other people and a manager helicoptering over them, always surrounded by cameras, fans, schedules— because he’s always under the need to not just be Subin, but Victon’s Subin, the idol, the youngest member—Victon’s Subin that’s been through years of career, of building himself up and falling down— countless hours of training and practice and performing on his back, his limbs— an idol with a persona, a way of being he must follow on for cameras, for fans, groupmates, staff, himself—
Maybe it’s because he’s always Victon’s Subin that he cherishes moments alone so much more than he did in the past—cherish those moments where he doesn’t have to be what his contract asks of him, doesn’t have to be an idol or give entertainment—moments where he doesn’t have to be Victon’s youngest, Victon’s Subin, Victon’s—
It’s because he’s Victon’s Subin that he cherishes those moments so much—moments where he can just be… Subin. Jung Subin, just another guy. Just a 23-year-old with way too many dreams and ambitions. Just another 23-year-old who’s always striving to better himself, to be a better him—for himself, for others—
Just a 23-year-old guy that’s just… himself.
Just Subin. Jung Subin.
Nothing and no one else. Nothing and no one more.
Subin trusts to be himself and live in peace around his groupmates, he really does, trusts them with his life and his heart out on his sleeve, but there’s always something—something about people and work and others that makes being still feel heavy—makes his voice drag as Sejun clings to his back or even bites at his shoulders, Chan and Seungsik’s voices from somewhere in the dorm a little, something a little amused and a lot tired— drag as Hanse says something from the couch and Byungchan’s asleep almost on the carpeted floor—drag as he lets Seungwoo ruffle his hair, face a little relaxed after being dragged back home so he can get his stupid ass to rest.
Subin loves them all, loves being with them, their energy, how they live— they feel like home away from home, all messy rooms and lack of cooking skills, all delivery or instant meals and hours and hours inside practice rooms. He loves them, yeah, but sometimes he needs even a break from this home. Not because home is bad, because any of them is bad, but because his head is a little fuzzy, a little gone, and he simply wants to go be Subin for a little while—the Subin that’s not subject to anyone’s gaze but his own, not subject to weights of expectations or music or—
He likes those breaks, those moments, as much as he likes his teammates—treasures those moments as much so, too, hands in his pockets as he feels the breeze, the sound of the city—chilliness from early in the year still not quite faded as it scratches at his skin, short sleeves of his t-shirt not nearly enough to stop the cold, the passing feel of the river that’s almost close and yet far far away—hands in his pockets as he listens to the rustling of tree branches, of falling leaves, the wind pulling along discarded plastic bags and papers in erratic paths, all forgotten and old and making Subin frown.
He side-steps a puddle, another—visage of rain from just a few moments ago a little weak thing over cement and up to surrounding worn-out walls of various buildings— dirt that stains his feet a pale gray, a pale brown, maybe a little white— water drip-dropping on closed windows, on half-open doors, on old umbrellas and old shop signs—on stained streetlights and fluorescents alike, swallowing the colours of the city and all into a transient illusion.
It’s not even that Subin has something he wants to think about—not like he’s having any troubles that he can only observe as a passer-by to his own life Jung Subin, the one outside and away from people’s sight, their perception— Not that he has things for which he craves time alone, walking down empty and busy streets alike, aimless but not lost as he lets his feet just carry him, take him somewhere unknown, somewhere known, all to the end of the world, back to paths of his own—
There’s nothing plaguing Subin, he just wants a sense of peace—one all of them understand and seek in their own ways, maybe with sleep, maybe with overworking, overthinking—maybe with silence and the weight of company just on the other side, just past the door and thin thin walls—he just wants to walk a little, step out of a dream to be just another person, just another guy, seemingly lost, seemingly no one.
He steps on a puddle now at the same time his phone buzzes, carefully timed alarm to end his phone’s do not disturb mode hitting as his makeshift home comes into view. He gets his socks wet, of course, careless and a little amusing, a little laugh pulled from the back of Subin’s throat, out his lips—
He only checks missed notifications once he’s closed the door behind him and stepped into the dorm, earlier noise and movement replaced by what could almost be called an eerie sort of silence, one that digs into Subin’s thoughts and yet brings a sense of familiarity, one that’s unique to his home— a soothing sense of belonging in the silence when he opens his messages to find a simple where did u go :( from Sejun and a don’t be too late from Seungsik—a missed call from Seungwoo and one more from their manager—escapist moment of mischief over as he lets out a sigh, lets himself in.
Familiar and easy, he walks to his room, enters without knocking—startles a little noise from Sejun that’s with his head to the floor, a soft little wave from Seungsik that hides tired scolding— Subin gives them a smile, a little laugh, mumbles explanations as he changes out of dirty clothes, throws them over Sejun, on the floor—
“You could’ve at least told us you were leaving” Sejun pouts up at him, Seungsik only goes back to his phone—Subin bites back a petty response, an I always do this, though, so it’s okay that really makes no sense—
Sejun complains, lets out badly hidden demands for late-night cuddles that Subin only ignores—and then Seungsik laughs at something, at whatever, drops his phone on the bed and pushes himself into Subin’s space—ruffles his hair with light scolding about worrying others, scolding about how it’s okay to want your alone time and then but please let us know you’re going out, just whispering it to Seungwoo-hyung is not enough that makes Subin sigh, resigned—makes him lean up to plant a kiss to Seungsik’s cheek with an apology and a vague sense of guilt and love, a whisper that fine, he’ll let only Seungsik-hyung know next time, then—
And Sejun says something, probably demands a kiss, but Subin’s a little shit, so he only sticks his tongue out and jumps away from Sejun’s affections—laughs a little too loudly as he reaches the door, steps out and to the other side to use as a shield—
And then he places a kiss to Sejun’s cheek too, whispers that he’ll be back later, and leaves.
(It’s always a little sad to miss Sejun’s startled pouts, but Subin has other places to be right now.)
Looming schedules feel heavy on his shoulders as he makes his way down the hallway, sleep tugging at every step and burning a little at the back of his eyes, but there’s someone he wants to get to before tomorrow has to happen—before he sleeps and gives up today, and their moment of the night is gone for an uncertain next time.
The door to Seungwoo’s room is as familiar as everything else in the dorm, closed like a barrier to keep intruders out.
Subin, of course, does not knock, and lets himself in.
“Why’re you hiding?” Subin’s voice leave him with an amused lilt as he shuts the door behind him, a lopsided smile to his lips as he follows the all-too-familiar path that leads him to Seungwoo’s bed—drops with his knees on the mattress at the same time the blob of blankets stirs with something like a whine of dejection coming from under it together with peeking eyes. “Hyung,”
Dejected owl (also known as Seungwoo, of course) only whines again, lowers the blankets until the dumb pout on his lips is visible, expression akin to a kicked puppy’s as he looks up at Subin.
(And maybe Subin needs to stop assigning people too many fursonas, that’s the fans’ thing, but that’s neither here nor there, and the collection of cute animal videos he’s got saved to various YouTube playlists makes it a little hard not to do it—especially not when Seungwoo is looking at him at basically any time.)
Subin gives back the same dumb smile that’s still on his face, perhaps now a little teasing, and a cock of his head to the side— “Are you sulking?”
“No” Subin quirks an eyebrow up, and Seungwoo goes back under the covers to hide— Subin gives a sigh, exaggerated, pairs it with a little laugh before he flops down on his side, pokes at Seungwoo’s shoulder and side until he just turns around and— “Maybe”
“You always leave me waiting” wide-eyes, faux innocence and a little shrug, a hand to prod at Seungwoo’s cheek now— “A little revenge’s fine” and a softer smile, almost a laugh—words breathy and a little lost to familiar warmth.
Seungwoo, at the very least, does not have the face to deny that—only makes a dejected noise again, leans into Subin’s painful pokes—
“Can I get a kiss, at least?” with careful and sleepy eyes—Subin only hums in reply, pretends to consider it, to think it over—pulls at the bedsheets and fits himself next to Seungwoo so naturally—
“If you ask nicely” and he pulls at Seungwoo’s shirt, gets him to turn around so he’s facing Subin now, still pouting and oh so cute—
“Can I please get a kiss,” a pause, a peck to Subin’s cheek for good measure— “Subinnie?”
“If I can get one back” a whisper—Seungwoo’s hand to the side of Subin’s face, pretty pout a ghost on Subin’s lips—ghost of warmth so close, so perfect— “I’ll give you a kiss”
“Conditions” and the words tickle at Subin’s skin as he hums, nods—“Though you’re the one who left me waiting today?” with a playful frown, with a barely there kiss to the corner of Subin’s lips, a hand to Subin’s back, under his shirt—
“Yes” a little laugh, fingers tapping at Seungwoo’s chin, at his still-there pout—
“Kiss” a weak order, or maybe a plea, Subin isn’t sure—
“Kiss” with a nod, a fake and exasperated sigh—with a lovesick smile that Seungwoo leans in to kiss kiss kiss— a lovesick smile that Subin presses against Seungwoo’s own for a second, so fleeting, light—
Subin pulls away—eyes half-open as he looks at the way Seungwoo’s pouts even more—the way his own hands make their way to Seungwoo’s front, his neck—
“You got a kiss” a whisper, a laugh—“Now give me mine?”
Seungwoo whines, laughs back—brings Subin close close again—takes over his lips, his space, his breathing—lips to Subin’s almost a little too slow and yet a little too desperate—hands to his back, front, lost—
Seungwoo kisses him like tomorrow won’t come at all, yet like tomorrow will come too fast— kisses him like the world is only Subin, only here—like the rest is nothing, no one, nothing—
And Subin kisses back the same—kisses and bites as they breathe and mix again—everything so easy, so right— bites again and has Seungwoo sighing, all bright and happy and lovely as he lets Subin push him so he’s on his back—lets Subin push him and kiss again, again, again—
And Subin pulls back with teasing teeth to Seungwoo’s neck, to tease of his collarbones—teeth he can’t sink into Seungwoo’s skin, as much as he wants to—not while they’re busy, not while they’re here, not while they’re Victon—
Seungwoo brings his hand to Subin’s face—weak push that has Subin biting at his fingers, has Seungwoo laughing so softly, kindly—
“It was raining earlier, while I was out” quiet voice, quiet touch to the front of Seungwoo’s neck, back over the front of his shirt— Subin’s breath to exposed collarbones, hand stopping to play with the hem of Seungwoo’s shirt—
“Yeah?” Seungwoo’s hand now to the back of Subin’s neck, scratching absent-mindedly for a second before leaving again, soothing down his spine—
“I got my sock wet” a little laugh, a light bite that leaves no mark to Seungwoo’s skin— “and now my feet are cold” Subin pouts, presses it to Seungwoo’s shirt, a little to his skin—
“I’ll kiss them better” happy, dumb—Subin snorts, pushes himself up slightly so he can look at Seungwoo better, a little incredulous.
“My feet?” and Seungwoo hums out a yeah, and Subin blinks, blinks— “Ew”
“You don’t want me to?” So whole-heartedly honest, eyes almost seeming to shine as he looks up at Subin, caresses at the nape of his neck—
“No” a little loud, a little shrill—laughter from his lips as he digs his fingers into Seungwoo’s side hard enough to have him squirming— “You’re not kissing my feet, hyung, sorry”
“Next time?” a playful pout—one that morphs into a smile as Subin tries to tickle, flops on top of Seungwoo’s chest with his chin almost stabbing at Seungwoo’s neck—
“We’ll see” mumbled, soft— Seungwoo hums in reply, seemingly oh so happy at the prospect of future feet kissing—it makes Subin snort, all too fond, all too lovesick—makes him roll so his back is on the bed, eyes on nothing, hand on Seungwoo’s own, on Seungwoo’s warmth—
And they breathe, and seconds tick, and Subin counts to nothing in lost thoughts—counts to nothing as the night goes and goes, a car passing by the window, streetlights seeming to flicker, the moon hiding and showing and hiding again under passing passing clouds—
“Do you feel better now?” Seungwoo’s voice, careful as he turns on his side again—and Subin turns back, lets his forehead fall against Seungwoo’s with eyes closed, with a breath—
“I was never feeling bad” and his nose bumps against Seungwoo’s, and his breathing is warm on cool skin, on burning feelings—
“Really?” worry, love—Subin shrugs, runs his hand up Seungwoo’s front—up to his neck, his jaw—back down and over his shirt—
“I think” and Seungwoo hums, and Subin opens his eyes, kisses Seungwoo again—kisses soft and without rush—kisses until the world is a little blurry, sleep tugging tugging at the corner of his mind— “I’m sleepy”
“Go sleep” Seungwoo’s hand on his, other hand carding through his hair so kind, so soft—
“Room’s far” and Seungwoo laughs, and Subin feels it against his forehead, against his senses— “Don’t wanna move now”
“Then just sleep here” quiet, quiet—Subin’s plan from the very beginning, maybe, but Seungwoo has no qualms, and Seungsik doesn’t, either, and Sejun is always whiny anyway, and—
“Nice” a little smile as their fingers intertwine, as Subin feels his senses numb as he closes his eyes— feels his world fade a little, even if not too much.
And Seungwoo kisses him again, so naturally, so kindly—and Subin clings to him with hands everywhere and mumbles he can’t remember as soon as they leave his lips—and the night keeps going, going, and Subin isn’t Victon’s Subin here, and Subin isn’t just any guy, any Subin that’s a stranger to his own life—
But he’s not an idol, either—not for now, not for this moment—he’s not anyone, he’s not someone—
Right now, he’s just… Subin—but not the Subin that walks on his own, that gazes at his joys and his doubts like a stranger and like himself alike—he’s not the Subin that wants to exist for himself only, but he’s not the Subin that he gives the world—
He’s just Subin—the Subin in Seungwoo’s arms—the Subin that’s in love—the one that's so whole-heartedly loved—
And it’s something so transient—maybe another illusion, another escape—
But right now it’s real, and right now it’s Subin—and that’s all that matters to him as he falls asleep.