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Taehyun has a dream.
Above the lights of Seoul, he sits on a ledge. Wind weaves between his ankles. He kicks his heels back against the concrete and steel.
Beomgyu is somewhere behind him. Taehyun knows he’s there without looking, a sixth sense he’s developed to Beomgyu’s presence just as he has to all the members. A life in such close quarters means it’s best to know when you’re alone. And when you’re not.
Beomgyu’s eyes burn the back of Taehyun’s neck. Match meets tinder; smoke.
“What are you afraid of?” Taehyun asks.
Beomgyu’s hand meets Taehyun’s spine between his shoulder blades. Firm pressure, enough to make Taehyun’s nails dig into the edge of the roof, scrabbling for an impossible grip.
Beomgyu’s breath is hot on the shell of Taehyun’s ear. “Taehyun-ah. Do you know how to fly?”
Taehyun always wakes up before Beomgyu pushes. It doesn’t stop the fall.
x
Time moves differently for them. They measure its passing in hair colors and stages, how many days since the last selfie posted online, how many days until fans grow restless and cry for new ones.
At least Taehyun has the school calendar to cling to, to divide the days into manageable seasons. But then he doesn’t, graduating with the future stretching in front of him without end, only the promise of longer hours facing his own sweating reflection in the HYBE practice room mirrors.
He has to start measuring time in other ways. In naps on the artist lounge couch, in the number of bruises on his legs from dancing, and in every moment Beomgyu moves to touch him and doesn’t.
When Taehyun asked Beomgyu to teach him how to kiss, he hadn’t expected the consequences to have teeth.
Beomgyu’s good at hiding his feelings, as sentimental as he is. He blankets everything in jokes, sick-sweet smiles, fluttering eyelashes that could rival Yeonjun’s flirtation if they weren’t such an obvious parody.
Yet Taehyun can’t pretend he doesn’t notice how Beomgyu shies away from him once the cameras are off, how he sticks to the other side of the practice room before their dance teachers arrive, always running off to get water on the other side of the building during breaks. His nerves are plain as he dawdles over his shoelaces so he doesn’t have to sit next to Taehyun in the car on the way home, glancing up from behind the awful long hair they’re making him grow.
It’s as if he thinks Taehyun will climb into his lap right there in front of everyone. Like Taehyun has ever been disposed to sharing private moments of affection outside of their dorms.
His reactions make Taehyun wonder if he’s overthinking it; maybe Beomgyu’s new habits are symptoms of their upcoming comeback. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he’s been body-snatched.
Nobody else seems to notice.
“Do you think Beomgyu-hyung’s feeling well?” Taehyun asks, leaning on his elbows as he watches Kai game late at night.
Kai shrugs. “Seems fine to me.”
“Isn’t he acting strange?” Taehyun murmurs over the rim of his water bottle during break.
Yeonjun follows his nod to the other side of the practice room. Beomgyu is in the middle of re-enacting some terribly boring story about a trip to the mall with one of their staff, complete with exaggerated action sequences.
Yeonjun frowns. “Stranger than usual?”
Taehyun should’ve known better than to ask questions. Questions always find their way to Soobin.
It happens over an early dinner, when the rest of them are busy in the studio, on a schedule, sleeping. Soobin pulls himself away from the comfortable solitude of his room long enough to heat up leftovers, spooning rice into matching bowls.
They eat sitting across from each other. In the silence, Taehyun wonders if he has time to go to the gym tomorrow, but Soobin, apparently, has come to the table with a purpose.
"I didn't pin you as someone interested." Soobin's sentence falls away without an object to Taehyun's alleged interest: person or thing.
Taehyun considers shaking him until his secrets fall out. Beomgyu has talked about him, he knows, in those late nights when roommates have little else to do. Even though they don’t room together anymore, they’re still dedicated to that routine.
What did he say? He wants to ask. But giving in to his curiosity would feel like losing, though he's never had an upper-hand in the first place.
"You know what it's like," Taehyun says instead. "Getting help from a friend."
Soobin's ears pink. He pouts, but his narrowed glare gives away that it's involuntary.
"Just be careful," Soobin warns. "You know he'd give you anything you wanted."
It's Taehyun's turn to burn, but he can't muster a drop of embarrassment. He eyes Soobin carefully, weighing his options. Soobin starts cleaning up his mess, stacking his empty rice bowl on top of Taehyun's, and stands to carry their dishes to the sink. He stops when Taehyun asks, "Anything?"
"He's a good hyung," Soobin says, which Taehyun knows to mean: He can do everything Yeonjun and I can't. "Don't take advantage of how sensitive he is."
Taehyun has to bite his tongue. Soobin doesn't deserve an argument, even if he's misunderstanding the whole thing. Taehyun wouldn't abuse Beomgyu's vulnerabilities. That's the part of Beomgyu he likes best.
x
Gearing up for promotions is always a downward slide. Dance practice is too intense. Beomgyu’s teasing falls flat, Kai takes a bad roll onto his elbow, and even Soobin has to take a long walk through the hallways just to avoid snapping at anyone.
Taehyun isn’t immune to the tension. Excitement for their comeback mixed with the exhaustion of daily routines—losing sleep just to go back to the studio and record and re-record, heading home for a few hours sleep then back again—meets frustration with his Beomgyu-problem in a sour mix. Inside his chest, a storm is rising.
Opportunity arrives randomly. They’re heading out to the parking lot, Soobin’s arm thrown over Beomgyu’s shoulders in apologetic camaraderie, when their manager’s phone rings. Soobin and Kai have to stay to go over some production notes; everyone else can go home.
A thrill shudders through Taehyun’s veins. He doesn’t see a way out, just the first step into a very long tunnel.
Beomgyu, the sweet coward, sidles up to Yeonjun as they wait for the van to be unlocked. At the first sound of the locks clicking, Taehyun slots himself between Yeonjun and Beomgyu. Beomgyu climbs into the van first. Taehyun kicks Beomgyu's ankle as he follows him into the very back.
Beomgyu's surprise — eyes wide open, mouth flat — covers any pain, however brief.
With Yeonjun in the passenger seat, talking to their manager, there's an empty row. To Taehyun, the space is a nice cushion between his intentions and the consequences. For Beomgyu, it must look like a trench.
"We can spread out," Beomgyu says. Taehyun can't miss the tight strain in his voice or the way he closes his legs, thighs pressed tight together as if he's afraid of his knee knocking against Taehyun's.
"You don't want to sit with me?" Taehyun knows he's being brazen, pushing a boundary that Beomgyu has already tried to draw. But it's only etched in sand.
Taehyun buckles his seatbelt. He takes Beomgyu's hand.
Beomgyu grunts. "Taehyun-ah."
Taehyun presses his finger over his mouth.
Beomgyu, miraculously, shuts up.
Before their manager or Yeonjun can glance into the rearview mirror and start making comments, Taehyun pulls his hand away. Beomgyu stays quiet, which is good, if not a little concerning. Beomgyu has very few emotions that necessitate silence.
“Hyung,” Taehyun says. He rubs his thumb over Beomgyu’s knuckles and feels a thrill run through him at the speed with which Beomgyu flushes pink. He’d pushed his hair back with a headband as soon as they’d escaped into the privacy of the HYBE building this morning, but keeping the length out of his face only grants Taehyun the opportunity to see everything laid open in his expression.
“Hyung,” Taehyun says again. “You’re not doing anything tonight?”
After listening to Beomgyu tell Yeonjun in exact steps his plans to lie in bed and listen to music from the time they get home to the time he closes his eyes, it’s a trick question.
“Why?” Beomgyu asks, sounding more than a little nervous.
It lights twin fires in Taehyun: that he might be exciting and new enough to pique Beomgyu’s interest and that Beomgyu thinks Taehyun may be capable of anything that would make him scared. He isn’t sure if Beomgyu knows him better than he knows himself, or not at all.
“You are now,” Taehyun says, smiling. “Take a walk with me.”
Beomgyu rubs his forehead with his free hand, letting Taehyun squeeze the fingers trapped in his hold. “It’s cold,” he says when he can’t come up with another excuse.
“Wear a jacket,” Taehyun says. “You don’t have to make it so complicated.”
Beomgyu levels a look at him, jabbing his elbow into Taehyun’s side. It doesn’t hurt much, but it sends them into a squabble like they haven’t had in weeks — poking, prodding, pulling hair — until Yeonjun turns in his seat and asks if they’re really still so childish.
“Hyung has never had fun a day in his life!” Beomgyu crows across the empty row of seats. He’s a little breathless, grinning.
Taehyun laughs, isn’t sure he can stop, and Beomgyu joins him as Yeonjun rolls his eyes and turns back around.
Between their knees, their hands stay locked together, palm to palm, pulse to pulse.
x
“Coin noraebang?” Beomgyu asks, eyes sparkling above his black mask. “Really?”
Taehyun curls his fingers into the crook of Beomgyu’s elbow and pulls. Beomgyu laughs as Taehyun tugs him away from the bright entrance to the basement level.
“Please,” Taehyun says, “I wouldn’t be that obvious.”
Beomgyu is too amused to pretend to be disapproving. He lets Taehyun pull him down one street after another, aimless walking with the only purpose being Beomgyu’s entertainment, however long he’ll let Taehyun extend their time together.
With their hair tucked under hats, faces covered with masks, they could pass as normal people. Taehyun imagines holding Beomgyu’s hand in his pocket. Maybe Beomgyu imagines that, too.
Neither one of them mentions that night, Beomgyu’s lesson, or Taehyun’s plea, but later, in the doorway, after their manager has called so many times he's killed their phone batteries, Beomgyu lets Taehyun lean in and try again.
And again.
x
Taehyun dreams. When he wakes, he doesn’t remember many of them — they slip like silk over his eyes and disappear.
He sits up and rubs his neck, biting back a groan at the ache left at the base of his skull from the awkward angle he’d slept in, if only for a few hours. They’d fallen asleep on the couch after sneaking in, avoiding a lecture by bypassing their rooms altogether.
To his right, Beomgyu huffs a sleepy sigh between his lips and curls his arms around his jacket like it’s a soft plushie instead of leather.
Taehyun doesn’t have to linger over his options. Careful not to push Beomgyu too much, he lowers himself between the back of the couch and Beomgyu, glad to still be just lean enough to fit. His chest to Beomgyu’s back, he lets his arm fall over Beomgyu’s waist. Beomgyu sighs again but doesn’t wake.
In Taehyun’s dreams, he’s standing alone in the desert. In the distance, a hazy mirage, Beomgyu is walking toward him. He’s walking and Taehyun’s waiting and Beomgyu never gets any closer.
Here, Taehyun can feel the turn between inhale and exhale in Beomgyu’s chest. His hair tickles Taehyun’s nose, his chin. The windows are open and he can hear cars passing on the streets below, faster and more often as light begins to tinge the sky orange, then purple, then blue.
x
They’re alone in the lounge, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. There is a Yeonjun-sized distance between them, but Taehyun’s tongue is still too heavy with sleep to ask where he went and for how long. Instead, his clouded brain carries him over the cushions, to press his body along Beomgyu’s, tilting his chin onto his shoulder to see what has him so captivated on his phone.
Beomgyu locks his phone as soon as Taehyun’s hand slides across his chest. Taehyun doesn’t know what he does with it — he doesn’t mind, either, curiosity forgotten as Beomgyu kisses him.
This is easy. Which is to say: illogical. Taehyun knows better. But as much as he prides himself on his intelligence, no one ever warned him that a pretty boy’s mouth can make you go dumb.
He misses the part where he crawls into Beomgyu’s lap, but he doesn’t miss the moment Beomgyu’s breath hitches, when Taehyun’s lips graze over the column of his throat, up to his chin. He kisses Beomgyu on the mouth until Beomgyu freezes.
Taehyun’s heart stops. For a moment, just a second, he lives in two realities: this one, where he’s kissing and being kissed without any fear or hesitation, and another where someone has just walked in and everything is about to be over.
But no one has interrupted them. The door stays closed, though Taehyun can’t help but glance over his shoulder, his pulse hammering in his throat.
“What?” Taehyun manages once he can move his tongue again.
Beomgyu looks up, his eyes wide, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Taehyun has a hard time balancing Beomgyu’s innocent expressions with how hard he’s digging his fingers into Taehyun’s waist, his thumbs notched under Taehyun’s ribs.
Taehyun probably couldn’t stand up if he tried, caught there, still hovering over Beomgyu’s lap. Slowly, he sinks down, letting his weight fall on Beomgyu’s thighs.
Beomgyu doesn’t seem to notice Taehyun’s shifting, still studying Taehyun’s face. He licks his lips and Taehyun glances down at the movement. He leans in. Beomgyu turns his face away.
“Why me?”
What a cliche. Taehyun wants to laugh. He would, if not for the earnestness in Beomgyu’s voice. Taehyun may not know much about loving someone, but Beomgyu’s learned everything from the movies.
What is Taehyun supposed to say? There are five of them in their dorms, four options, and only one that is real. Was he supposed to go to Yeonjun? Kai?
“We’re the most realistic option,” Taehyun answers finally. He knows Beomgyu must understand.
The quiet thickens every inhale. For a few seconds, Beomgyu doesn’t react at all. Then, he swallows. Taehyun watches his throat move.
“You always ask for too much,” Beomgyu says, his lips screwed up like he’s been sucking on sour, unripe fruit, not Taehyun’s tongue.
Taehyun shakes his head. They both know that’s not true. Taehyun has never asked for anything but this. Beomgyu is grasping at straws.
Taehyun’s resolve, faced with Beomgyu’s shaking fingers and pink, parted lips, only seems to harden. He slips his fingers over Beomgyu’s wrist into the dip of his palm, then between his knuckles.
His skin is rough and dry. Taehyun wants to kiss it, the salt of Beomgyu’s sweat still filling his mouth. The whole ocean sits in front of him. He wants to dive in, sink his body under the waves until he’s soaked. He wants to be dragged under. And Beomgyu keeps tightening the straps on his life jacket.
“Stop,” Taehyun says as gently as he can manage.
Beomgyu’s chin jerks up. He frowns. “You first.”
Taehyun could smile, laugh it off, ask Beomgyu why he always has to argue, even when he doesn’t know what they’re fighting about. Instead, he kisses him and Beomgyu’s mouth opens. For once, without a complaint on the other side.
Taehyun is sinking.
Beomgyu drags him up again.
Taehyun falls onto his back on the couch cushions, but Beomgyu isn’t there when he reaches for him. He’s already by the door, threading his fingers into his long hair, blond extensions knotting around his knuckles. He looks like he wants to tear it off. He looks like he wants to run.
Taehyun blinks, and it’s so clear, suddenly, that Taehyun is the fool and Beomgyu has always been halfway out the door.
“I can’t give you what you want.” Beomgyu’s voice is thick with guilt that Taehyun couldn’t have predicted. He thinks somewhere he missed a step, that Beomgyu turned them around a corner he doesn’t recognize and now he’s in this unfamiliar place, turning away as Beomgyu’s eyes wet. He feels cold.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He’s asked for so little, really. How is it still too much?
The door clicks shut behind Beomgyu. It’s thick wood. Expensive, like everything in the building. He can’t even hear footsteps in the hall. He wishes he could listen to them fade and disappear because as long as he stays here with Beomgyu on the other side, he’ll keep pretending Beomgyu is waiting for him to follow.
But Beomgyu isn’t. And Taehyun won’t.
Taehyun isn’t a psychic. He can’t predict the future. When he closes his eyes he sees his signature on stacks and stacks of white paper, dozens of lines of fine print. But there are matching stacks, identical catches and promises. He may be stuck, but he’s not stuck alone.
Taehyun has nothing but this and its strange, sticky time.
Beomgyu can run but, eventually, he’ll realize they’re tied with the same ropes. That they don’t have to hurt.
On this side of the closed door, Taehyun can wait.