Work Text:
It’s around eleven pm when Jeongin retires to bed at night. After a long day of dance practice with the members, and more recently, private training sessions with the vocal coach, Jeongin’s muscles ache and his throat feels sore. As he lays in bed in his oversized sweater and pajamas, all he wants is to fall prey to sleep.
But he can’t. He’s restless, Jeongin. The door to his room is ajar, and light is streaming from the living room outside. The dorm is already quiet because the rest of the members have also returned to their respective rooms to sleep, but from where Jeongin is laying, he can see a lone figure sitting in the common area outside.
Jeongin watches as even this late at night, hours after dinner when the only sensible decision is to rest, Chan is still intensely staring at the screen of his laptop, blue light washing over his face. He’s so focused, what with his ears covered with his large headphones, presumably working on their songs. This isn’t the first time this happened, especially with them preparing for the comeback, Chan has stayed awake for as long as he can, cramming as much work into his routine as humanly possible, as the looming deadline becomes nearer and nearer.
This isn’t about Jeongin, really. Of course he misses sleeping and cuddling with Chan—the comfort of his body against Jeongin’s as they sleep, the warmth of it. And Jeongin understands, of course, that Chan has responsibilities. In fact, Jeongin understands that Chan loves his work—he will not stop until he’s satisfied with whatever it is he’s working on. That’s what he looks up to the most about Chan, what makes his chest bloom with pride whenever he thinks about the older.
But it doesn’t come without a cost.
In the past, Chan wasn’t as good at concealing his fatigue. All the members know, but never talk about, how Chan used to steal every chance he gets to nap in the dressing room while they wait for their turn to perform, how he excuses himself from dance practice when he has to work on producing, and most visibly of all—the nosebleeds. Jeongin’s stomach sinks to remember that—how Chan was so exhausted to the point he almost fainted during a workday, and how helpless Jeongin was that he couldn’t do anything at the time but to watch Chan fall into that unhealthy pattern and—only able to help him when he’s already gotten sick.
Thankfully, after some time, Chan had recovered. But now, Jeongin can’t remember when it started happening again. If you weren’t looking closely you wouldn’t be able to tell that there’s anything wrong with Chan. He fulfills all of his duties—as a leader, a producer, a performer, and everything in between—without compromise or missing even a beat.
But Jeongin can tell. It’s this vague aura of absentmindedness that Chan’s been having these past few weeks—how there’s a brief delay in response when someone calls him, or how his facade falters for a second, betraying his exhaustion. Somehow, these subtle signs alarm Jeongin even more. If it’s not an obvious physical injury, then it could be a gradual deterioration of Chan’s wellbeing, Jeongin would think, when he’s particularly prone to catastrophization.
Not to mention—this is just the beginning. Their schedules will grow even more insane when the album is released; one performance after the other on top of various performances. While they will have lots of fun and make lots of great memories together, it can’t be done if Chan isn’t in his best condition. Can you really blame Jeongin for being so worried?
Finally, Jeongin pushes himself up out of bed. He staggers to the living room, socked feet sliding against the wood-paneled floor. The movement is audible, but Chan doesn’t look up from his computer screen as he still has his headphones on. The older only looks up at Jeongin when Jeongin is standing right beside him, and he loops his arm into the crook of Chan’s elbow.
It’s clear that Jeongin has something to say—prompting Chan to look at him as he removes his headphones and puts it around his neck. After a long day, and this late at night where there are no other people around for Chan to keep up his facade for, the fatigue is so obvious in the bleakness of his eyes.
Jeongin chews the inside of his cheek as he musters the courage to speak. To be frank, this isn’t the first night of the week that Jeongin has tried this. “Hyung. Come to bed with me.” It’s then that Jeongin realizes that he had never explained the reason behind this request, making it seem like it’s just a childish request for cuddles, or so he doesn’t have to sleep alone at night.
Hence, Chan answers him, sincerely but predictably, “I’ll join you later, okay babe? Don’t wait for me.” And to be fair, Chan always follows through on this promise. However, what he means when he says I’ll join you later is, he’ll slip into bed two hours before their wake-up time. While yes, he does manage to steal some cuddles, he merely gets a wink of sleep. Even then, he still wakes up earlier than Jeongin, making him sleep less than two hours each night.
Normally, at this point in the conversation, Jeongin would admit defeat, not pushing his point any further, and retreat back into his room. But tonight, Jeongin refuses to be complicit in this anymore.
Before Chan can wear his headphones again, Jeongin stops him by applying just a bit of pressure on where he’s holding Chan’s arm, calling to attention that he wants to say something. Sure enough, Chan looks at him again.
“You’re not listening to me, hyung,” Jeongin blurts out. He quickly averts his eyes, ashamed because he realizes he’s having an outburst. “I’m— I’m really worried about you hyung. You’ve barely slept this week. One or two hours a night isn’t enough. Even if it’s just for tonight, will you please sleep properly?”
Really, Jeongin doesn’t mean to cry, but the emotion inevitably spills in the way that emotions do when you keep them bottled inside for so long. For a moment he just stands there, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he tries his best to control his breathing. Jeongin inhales sharply before he finishes what he’s trying to say. “You can work again tomorrow morning, hyung. Just…. Please, I’m worried about you.”
Jeongin’s cheeks burn—from the embarrassment of having an outburst or just from the fact that he’s crying, he can’t tell. He wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater, and when he finally looks at Chan again, Chan looks at him with eyes full of concern. After a beat, Chan breathes. “Okay.” Then he stands up, face to face with Jeongin as his hand comes up to the back of Jeongin’s head. He caresses Jeongin’s hair with a touch so gentle that tears prick in the back of Jeongin’s eyes again. “Okay, baby. I’ll wash my face then I’ll join you. How does that sound?”
Jeongin nods, still hiding most of his face using his sleeves. Back in his room, Jeongin doesn’t wait for Chan to come inside before he slips into bed again. This time, Jeongin lies on his side on one end of the bed, his back facing the door because he doesn’t want Chan to see him in this state again. He doesn’t move when he hears Chan enter the room and flick off the light. The room is pitch dark when Chan slips into bed, spooning Jeongin from behind, arms locked snugly against Jeongin’s stomach. His chest is pressed against Jeongin’s back, his nose nuzzling into Jeongin’s nape.
Up close like this, Jeongin can smell the vanilla scent of Chan’s body lotion. It’s strange how he was so flustered and stressed because of Chan, but it’s Chan as well who can comfort him and make his anxieties dissipate. Instinctively, Jeongin rests his hands atop of Chans’ which are situated against his abdomen, clasping them gently into his own.
“Hey,” Chan whispers into his ear. “I’m sorry for making you worried, Innie.”
Jeongin doesn’t know what he expects, but he doesn’t expect this apology from Chan. It makes him realize that this is the first time Jeongin cried because of him. All the other times Chan saw Jeongin cry, or comfort him afterwards, it was always because of something external—the stress, the pressure. But now it’s because of Chan himself.
But the problem isn’t how Chan’s behavior is affecting Jeongin per se. But how it’s impacting himself. And Jeongin is worried for him because of it.
“That’s not the problem here hyung,” Jeongin starts, throat still uncomfortable from the crying even though the tension in his body has lessened a considerable amount.
“I know, I know,” Jeongin can feel Chan’s sigh against the back of his neck. “I need to take better care of myself. I’m trying, and I’ll try harder, okay?” Chan shifts on the bed into a half-sitting position, propping himself up on his elbow so he can have a better view of Jeongin. “Thank you for thinking of me and caring about me, my baby,” he leans in and begins to pepper kisses on Jeongin’s cheek.
Warmth spreads in Jeongin’s chest at the sincerity of Chan’s words and the sweetness of his gesture. No matter the tears still drying on his cheeks, he can’t help the smile that blooms on his face because of Chan’s actions — always so giggly and pliant under Chan’s touch. Sensing that Jeongin’s mind is in a better place now, Chan teases, “Now, will you let me see you, babe?”
So apparently Chan knows that Jeongin is purposefully hiding away from him. Jeongin hmphs but seeing that Chan has understood what he’s trying to say, he relents. He turns his body around and faces Chan, resting his cheek against Chan’s broad chest as he slinks his arms around the older’s waist.
Chan’s large palms come up to cup Jeongin’s cheeks. “So worried about me that you’re crying,” Chan coos, wiping the remaining tears on Jeongin’s face with his thumbs. “You’re too cute, Innie.” Jeongin can’t see because the room is dark, but he knows for a fact that Chan is wearing that bright, cheeky expression he always does whenever he teases Jeongin. Chan gets too much joy out of teasing his boyfriend for his own good.
Jeongin whines characteristically. He shakes his head away from Chan's touch to hide his face against the crook of Chan’s neck. “Who said anything about caring about you?”
Chan laughs wholeheartedly. “Alright, alright. Whatever you say.” When the laughter dies down, he sighs, more out of contentment than anything else. He wraps his arms around Jeongin’s form to hold the younger against him snugly. “I forgot how nice this is. Really, baby, thank you. I just get too immersed with work sometimes. You know that, right?”
Jeongin almost laughs at how obvious it is. “Of course I know, hyung,” he answers half-sarcastically, voice muffled as his lips press against Chan’s neck.
Chan cranes his neck to plant a kiss on Jeongin’s forehead. The gesture fills Jeongin with so much fondness. A forehead kiss—not a kiss on the lips, or the neck—there’s just something about it that signifies pure, unadulterated love. “Let’s go to sleep. Good night baby, I love you.”
Only Chan can use those words so casually, and somehow its meaning does not diminish despite the frequency with which Chan throws it around. Jeongin is reminded that Chan will say it again first thing in the morning when they wake up—usually following a good morning, baby —like he always used to do when he kept a semi-normal sleep schedule.
Jeongin’s heart is full at the thought that at least for tomorrow, he won’t wake up to an empty bed; instead he will be greeted with the sight of Chan with messy hair in all his morning vulnerability.
“‘Night. I love you too, Channie hyung.”
Jeongin has never been more grateful for a good night’s sleep.