Work Text:
Whoever said choosing a job you love means never working a day in your life is a damn liar.
Hongjoong has learned by now that dreaming big means facing grueling hardships, and though he never wants to refer to his job as burdensome, sometimes it's exactly that. He's still grateful for the experiences, even the difficult ones, in the same way you can look back on childhood struggles and feel a nostalgic fondness over them.
Enduring physical exhaustion, conjuring every ounce of strength out of pure ambition, fighting to prove himself and vouching for his own worth when nobody else would; these are the experiences that built him, brick by brick.
He's proud of how far he's come, and of how strong he's proven himself to be.
But he's exhausted.
The weight of his aspirations can be excruciating when he runs out of steam, when the usual fire that drives him dwindles down to mere embers. He feels it now as he stares blankly at the computer screen, the same project that's been taunting him for days staring right back at him. Zero progress has been made in the hours he’s been here, making tonight another long restless one.
He’s acclimated to these conditions to a certain extent. The lack of sleep has always been an issue, but it's still early enough in his career that the passion and promise of success energize him more than a solid eight hours of rest usually would.
There are moments though, nights like these where nothing works out for him, times when sleeping for a full fourteen hours sounds far more appealing than bright lights, sore muscles, and strained eyes. His love for music drives him to work hard, but sometimes music works to drive him crazy.
Sleep deprivation always takes its toll when it feels the most inconvenient. If only he could just push through, just get himself in his zone, he’d be able to finish the songs that have been giving him such a hard time. Yet the more he pushes, the more his frustration builds up and the less productive he feels.
Most of his nights lately end with working himself to exhaustion and passing out in his studio, his bed at home long forgotten. Most nights, he'd endure this strange ache in his heart. But tonight, everything inside him is off. His bones feel like windchimes, a hollow sort of sensation. An emptiness. The song singing inside him is one of yearning, a desire to become whole.
So, Hongjoong goes home to his members. To the only people who fill him up and make him feel complete again.
It's only once he's in the entryway, slipping the shoes off his feet, that he realizes just how late it is. He feels it in the silence of the apartment, and though it's comforting to know that at least his members have a little more sense than him to rest their bodies and minds when they have the chance, it’s still unsettling. For once, what he craves most is the bustle of bodies, uncontrollable laughter, the shrieking banter. There's a sense of family in the chaos and clamor, and he misses it.
He misses them .
Which is ridiculous. He lives with them, shares most schedules with them, spends every day with them… He is literally in the same apartment as them right now, just a few steps away.
And yet, the loneliness is still there, eating him from the inside until all that's left is a shell.
The worst part about it is that even now, suffering as much as he is, he just collapses onto the couch, unable to bring himself to seek the closeness he desperately needs. Breaching his bedroom feels like defeat, feels like asking for something.
And maybe Seonghwa was right, maybe as the leader he's so focused on taking care of the others that he doesn't know how to take care of himself anymore. Maybe he's never really known. He certainly doesn't know how to ask for their help, or for love and care and affection when he feels small and struggles to remember his purpose here.
But most of the time, he doesn’t even need to ask. There’s always someone there, ready and waiting for him, more in tune to their leader’s thoughts and emotions than he himself. He’s beyond grateful for them. Especially now, as the soft click of a bedroom door followed by the padding of bare feet against cool tile registers in his brain, an assurance that he’s not alone here.
“You’re home,” a familiar voice carries through the quiet of the night, just above a whisper.
Hongjoong’s eyes naturally flicker over to the source, though he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Wooyoung, standing sleepy eyed behind the back of the couch.
“Really? I would’ve never known,” he mocks, then instantly regrets the words the moment they come out of his mouth. It’s unusual how guilty he feels about it. It’s just lighthearted teasing, the way he so often plays with Wooyoung, but tonight it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
He’s agitated for more reasons than he can count, none of which are Wooyoung’s fault, and his whole world feels tilted off its axis.
Still, Hongjoong’s weird mood doesn’t seem to deter Wooyoung in the slightest. It hardly ever does.
“I have great observational skills,” he says through a smile. Then, deciding this conversation would be much better had face to face, he climbs over the back of the couch and onto Hongjoong, falling full bodied on top of him.
Hongjoong catches him with an “ oof ,” the air forced out of his lungs as the sudden weight of Wooyoung’s body presses him further into the sofa.
And here’s the thing with the two of them: Wooyoung naturally wants his hands on someone at all times, and when his attention is focused on his leader hyung, Hongjoong can’t help but get all fidgety under the intensity of it.
Any other night, he might playfully fight it off, let Wooyoung roll to the ground with a pout, snicker at him as he so kindly refuses to give the affection he constantly craves.
But tonight isn’t any other night. Tonight, the tug of loneliness is what guided him back home, yearning for something like this. Tonight, he places a steady hand on Wooyoung’s side, ensuring there’s no way he can slip away by accident.
Wooyoung wiggles around, making a home between Hongjoong’s legs, their bodies offset so he can look up at the other with unblinking eyes, chin propped up on Hongjoong’s sternum.
“You look tired,” Wooyoung comments. One hand pillows under his chin while the other reaches out to poke at Hongjoong’s cheekbone, then pulls down on the skin, inspecting the dark circles that have permanently settled under his eyes.
“It’s two am,” he reasons. Even when he does have the energy to work after their demanding, jam packed schedules, he still looks exhausted by the end of it. There’s no avoiding it.
“Three am,” Wooyoung corrects, and Hongjoong instantly feels the dread of having to wake up early settle in his stomach. “I’m surprised you even came home.”
Because normally, Hongjoong wouldn’t. He’d force himself to work, convinced that if he tried hard enough he could get through the slump, when in reality he’d just dig himself into a deeper into a hole. Exhaustion would eventually take its toll and he’d end up knocking out in the studio, waking up cranky and have just enough time to run home and shower before whatever their schedule had planned for them that day.
He could’ve struggled through it, he has struggled through it, but everything feels too big tonight. The failings before him, the emptiness in his chest, the longing to disappear from the life he’s fought so hard for.
“I felt like I was going crazy in there by myself,” he says, voice coming out as strained as he feels. The confession comes out easier than he thought it would. The hard part is watching the flicker of concern pass through Wooyoung’s eyes.
Hongjoong doesn’t have the strength to face it right now, so he hides by pressing his head back into the cushions, engulfs himself in a curtain of darkness for just a moment, eyes dry and lids heavy. But while his body wants to rest, his mind is still wide awake, eyes naturally cracking open at the sound of his thoughts.
Instead of trying to pry anything more out of him, Wooyoung just hums softly, the noise rumbling against Hongjoong’s middle. He presses his cheek flat against Hongjoong’s chest now, the softness a pleasant contrast to the slight dig of his chin.
They lie there in pleasant silence for who knows how long. At some point Wooyoung decides that close is still not close enough and is quickly determined to change that. He sweeps his arms off Hongjoong’s middle, tucking them into his sides, then trying his best to secure them under Hongjoong’s body. The older finds himself complying easily, arching his back off the couch to make it easier for Wooyoung to curl his limbs around him. Once he’s successfully wrapped around him, Hongjoong settles back into his forearms, feeling like a teddy bear held close to a child’s chest.
Wooyoung contracts his muscles, squeezing him closer to his body, and Hongjoong does his very best not to do something as embarrassing as squeak like a damn dog toy in response.
He knows they’ve been close before, but he wonders now if they’ve ever been close like this, if it’s ever felt the way it feels right now. How Hongjoong feels like putty in Wooyoung’s arms, how every tense muscle seems to unwind in his hold. How he’s a mixture of the most relaxed he’s been in months, and yet uncharacteristically nervous.
He decides that this is something new. Something different.
Hongjoong’s always been one to insist that he likes his space, and Wooyoung has always been one to test those boundaries. Most times Hongjoong pushes him away, or ends up succumbing to it but never without a fight.
But if Hongjoong’s being honest with himself, it’s not that he hates skinship. That much is clear in the moments he wraps a casual arm around one of them, when he lovingly pats their heads or squishes their cheeks, when the happiness and excitement bubbles up in him and he pops like a bottle of champagne, raining affection on the members he holds so dear.
He doesn’t hate it, it’s just that he’s not entirely used to it. Whenever Wooyoung approaches him with wide arms or puckered lips, it’s inevitable to fall back into his shy demeanor, naturally getting all squirmy and squeaky under affection.
Even now he feels his ears flush a soft pink, but he doesn’t fuss. Doesn’t act like this isn’t exactly what he was yearning for.
They lie like this; Wooyoung's body, warm and heavy, nestled coziedly between his legs. Hongjoong’s right arm naturally wrapped around his middle, partly to keep him safe from falling off the side of the couch, partly because it feels good to have him in his arms. His other arm curls around Wooyoung’s shoulder, his hand easily falling to his hair, fingers threading through the strands idly.
It's intimate in a way Hongjoong's never experienced before, warming him from deep in his belly like a hot cup of tea.
It's three in the morning, and they have to be awake in about two and a half hours, but they're here. Entangled in each other's embrace. And Hongjoong knows nothing good happens this late at night, the fact that they're still awake is a testimony to that, but he also knows that this means something. He feels it, how it fills some vacancy inside him. Feels emotions he didn't know he had, bubbling up to the surface.
Honestly, what are they doing?
"Hyung," Wooyoung rasps into the stillness of the night, breaking the prolonged moment of silence.
"Hmm?" he hums in question, rumbling deep in his chest. He's scared of speaking too loudly, of popping whatever bubble they've made around themselves.
"You should stop sleeping in the studio so often," he proposes, voice barely even a whisper, just hot breath rough with sleep.
And there's something there too. A confession of sorts, maybe. If Hongjoong listens carefully, he can hear it, Wooyoung silently saying: "Come home to me."
Or maybe he’s reading too much into this, but at three in the morning, two and a half hours before their schedule starts, Hongjoong can't think of anywhere he'd rather be.
"Yeah," he sighs. His words may not hold much emotion, but he's almost certain Wooyoung can read his thoughts through the rhythmic beat of his heart, the way it calls out to him: "I'll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.”
His body speaks all the words he's too scared to say. One hand tightens around Wooyoung’s side, the other rests against his scalp, cradling him delicately in his arms.
"We need to go to bed, Woo," he instructs, falling back into the role of responsible leader. They won't make it through their schedule without at least a little rest, no matter how minimal it may be.
"Yeah," he agrees, but still, makes no effort to move. Hongjoong doesn't jostle him to action.
They stay there, wrapped up in each other, content.
/ / /
A few hours later Hongjoong wakes up to the sound of a camera shutter, the gentle smell of Wooyoung's conditioner, the weight of a body against his own. He makes sure to glare at Seonghwa as best as he can through his sleep crusted eyes.