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seungkwan’s not having a good day. everything is too loud or too bright or just too much. he tries to keep his breathing steady, his face set to his idol face. the one that says ‘everything is perfect’. he does it a lot, his idol face, because really everything is perfect normally so it’s not like he has to fake it. but there’s something about today that just makes this too much and so overwhelming and hard to fake. even so he can’t afford to let the cracks show, making everything feel so much more intense.
maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the lack of coffee he had this morning or maybe it’s the fact he’s on a diet when no one else seems to be or maybe it’s his schedule being too overwhelming and suffocating and constant. maybe it’s all of it. his boyfriend often tells him he does too much and yet still goes overboard for everyone else and it was just a matter of time before he wore himself out.
and maybe he has worn himself out. been pushed too far over the edge and now he’s falling. because his head feels light but his brain weighs so heavy inside it and there’s static starting to get louder in his mind. he vaguely recalls the greeting he said at the beginning of the interview. when even was that? 5, 10, 15 minutes ago? he doesn’t know because his brain is buzzing and his chest feels tight and there’s so much noise! he desperately wants to cover his ears but his hands feel frozen and it would cause the cracks to show in his perfect persona of boo seungkwan, and nobody can see that.
he can’t focus on the interview, what is soonyoung even talking about? he stares ahead of him, fingers fiddling with something. he doesn’t know what because why is his brain not actually seeing what his eyes are? the lights are too bright and his body feels weird, maybe it’s exhaustion, and there’s noise in his ears which his brain isn’t registering and it’s too much. there’s too much noise and movement and light and too much fabric against his skin and his outfit is too tight around his wrists and his hair is in his face.
his brain feels like it’s running a mile a minute and like there’s static and white noise at the same time. there’s a pain behind his eyes that’s slowly growing and the noise is slowly getting louder and the lights are getting brighter and the static noise gets more and more intense and his brain is working faster and faster.
he knows the interview is almost over but all he can focus on is how loud the other members are and how bright the lights are and how he’s got a headache steadily growing and his skin feels overly sensitive and how he’s too hot in his clothes and-
“seungkwan?” one voice stands out in his mind. a soft but deep voice. it’s familiar and comforting and quietens his mind a little bit. if he were to describe it he would say it’s the colour orange and that it’s like the feeling of being at home in jeju hearing the waves and that it’s the smell of coffee. warm, familiar and comforting. he heard that voice before the static set in, didn’t hear it after. especially not over the noise of the other members talking over each other and the white noise in his head.
a pair of hands on his own, he’s now realised they’re shaking, makes him look directly into a pair of warm brown eyes. well maybe they’re actually amber, especially in this light they are. they remind him of his iced americanos that he’s grown so very very fond of. the hands are bigger than his, they completely cover his shaking ones, steadying them. holding them. they feel slightly rough against his sensitive skin and it feels a little grounding. big, rough, grounding hands holding onto his own shaking ones.
a comforting hand leaves his and he frowns. something cold is being pressed against his hands. wait why is it wet? through the dulling static in his mind he vaguely remembers his precious coffee’s cup always feels like this. but so does ice water.
“boo, my love, we’re going home. up you get.” the hands pull him to his feet. then they’re on his waist because his legs feel like jelly. they only feel like this after playing an intense game of badminton or after hours and hours of dance practice. or after hansol has kissed him silly. hansol! the static in his brain dulls enough for him to search for his boyfriend. it’s his voice he can hear, his hands on his own, his amber eyes that he saw.
his hansol, his precious, precious hansol. his hansol that has he has both comforted and been comforted by. his hansol that likes being the big spoon because he can both protect seungkwan and feel the older’s skin against his own, burying his face in his nape. his hansol who confessed by reciting some dumb verse about roses and names from some western play where they both die at the end. hansol had told him later that his mother had read him the play when he had been interested in seeing the film version. his hansol who calls him his orange blossom because he said that seungkwan is beautiful but also holds so many surprises.
his hansol who is all big oversized hoodies with bright, slightly obnoxious colours. his hansol who doesn’t drink coffee often. his hansol who often smells like seungkwan’s shower gel because he prefers the smell. his hansol who is all sharp lines and precise movements when he dances. his hansol who is all gentle touches and soft kisses. his hansol who likes to baby him when seungkwan’s schedule gets too much. his hansol who could write a love song by simply looking at seungkwan long enough. his hansol who is all carefree and somewhat spontaneous plans. his hansol who would fight the company in order to keep seungkwan and the members safe.
his hansol who lets him do his makeup and nails during down time. his hansol who sleeps with his back to the door when he’s spooning seungkwan. his hansol who is awkward around children but wants his own. his hansol who is all gummy smiles and starry eyes when seungkwan does anything. his hansol who deals with problems head on. his hansol who apologises first. his hansol who is patient with him. his hansol who’s all gentle touches and even more gentle words. his hansol who said ‘i love you’ first while backstage. his hansol who he’s known since he was 14.
“hey orange blossom, what’re you looking for?” his voice is soft and warm and close. seungkwan’s brain registers a pretty pair of lips spread into a smile. the static is there but hansol’s face is more present. his eyes, not covered by his hair because he remembers the stylists taking hansol away to do his hair, his nose, his lips, the little freckles adorning his cheeks and nose. they’re barely there but seungkwan’s spent so much time this close and closer to hansol that he noticed them in an instant. he calls them hansol’s little stars.
“seungkwan? are you ok? you seem lost.” hansol’s voice is back, he’s not a blossom this time. just seungkwan. he wants to be a blossom. his voice is clearer than the static, louder, makes more sense. hansol started calling him his orange blossom after seungkwan told him that flowers have a secret language. he doesn’t do it a lot so it’s precious, like hansol. hansol who’s voice is clear and perfect and smooth and calming. hansol who reminds him of the waves gently lapping at the sand in jeju, the taste of salt on his lips, the knowledge that a home cooked meal waits for him and his sisters. his hansol who has helped him come to terms with his sexuality, because really it was only hansol who could.
his slow, gentle words helping seungkwan get through his fear of coming out. hansol’s soft kisses on nights when his fears broke into his dreams. hansol who had seungkwan to help him, helping seungkwan in return. barely adults and having to take on so much. hansol was always there to help bleed the fears out of his dreams, disperse them into nothingness, share his own fears and problems with the older. hansol who was a pillar when he needed it and used him as a pillar when hansol needed it.
the static is almost gone by the time they get back to the dorms, home but not always. home is jeju. or in hansol’s arms with the steady rhythm of his heart playing in his ears. or in hansol’s arms in jeju. most of his thoughts and worries normally melt away when he’s got hansol’s arm around him like this and he’s got his head on a broad shoulder but today they just fade back in. they replace the static. he’s vaguely aware of the airpod in his left ear, it’s playing something from the playlist hansol made for him. he knows if he has the left hansol must have the right.
when they get home hansol gently takes seungkwan up to his room. his fingers feel cold, the coffee seungkwan hasn’t finished in his hands. the static is gone but his mind still feels foggy, his brain is a heavy weight. he’s vaguely aware that his half empty cup has been taken from his hands, as have the extra rings the stylists put on his fingers. his wrist is suddenly relieved of pressure, the watch he forgot he had on taken off. a gift from his parents the year he debuted. it had been his grandfather’s. his mother told him it would always help him to keep track of everything. he was still a boy, not yet a man, the excitement outweighing the fear of failure.
he startles when he feels something wet on his face. the amber eyes from before, hansol’s eyes, look apologetic and oh so beautiful. seungkwan looks at his lover’s hand. there’s a wet wipe, turning the colour of his foundation. he hadn’t noticed before but his skin feels heavy. the feeling of makeup weighing heavy on his already strained senses. somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere under all the fog and cloud, somewhere where a little bit of sun is still reaching, he knows that his makeup is only light. just to hide his blemishes from the cameras.
his hansol would say he doesn’t need it. that the world should see the older as he does, blemishes and tan skin. that it’s better for people to see them as people and not dolls. it’s why he likes shoots where they’re barefaced and in their own clothes. his hansol doesn’t mind showing people he still gets breakouts or that underneath the perfect idol image he’s just a man, still just a boy in so many respects. seungkwan admires him for it, he’s told him so many times before. his hansol doesn’t mind telling the honest, sometimes brutal truth. it’s something that he loves about the younger.
“there. that’s better. just my boo’s natural glow.” honey. that’s how he would describe his boyfriend’s voice. like honey. rich, golden and oh so wonderful. it’s a sound he could never get tired of. the smoothness of hansol’s voice reminds him of the sand in jeju. when he was small he thought it was a smooth plain stretching for miles. now he’s all grown up it doesn’t stretch as far. but hansol’s voice does. in his mind it stretches for miles and miles. it doesn’t end, just like his love. honey smooth and just as sweet.
“come back to me boo.” he’s got a hand on his cheek, he instinctively nuzzles against its warmth. all of hansol against his skin is familiar, warm, comforting. it brings him back out of his fog ridden mind. back into reality. there’s a little lopsided smile on hansol’s lips and seungkwan really wants to kiss it until it’s one of his big gummy lopsided smiles that he only gives seungkwan. ever since they were 14 and quietly giggling at the older trainee’s voice cracks.
suddenly, that smile is there and it’s like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day. it’s a ray of warmth, of happiness. the older would happily bask in that warmth until he draws his last breath if he could. seungkwan feels his own lips spread into a smile, matching his boyfriend’s. only hansol. only hansol could possibly make him smile like this. his hansol. his hansol with his arms open and a for-seungkwan-only smile.
“hey boo. welcome back baby.” he says as seungkwan crawls into his arms. the younger man tucks seungkwan’s head under his chin and wraps his arms around the smaller. “what happened? did something happen during the interview?” the older shakes his head, not trusting his voice to work. it’ll probably crack. crack like it’s something fragile. maybe it’s him who’s fragile.
patching up the cracks in his perfect idol persona by overworking himself, pushing himself to the edge but never quite tipping over. not very often. he’s pledis’s golden boy, he’s not allowed to. when he was younger he would cry and silently ask it all to stop but now that he’s older he’s learnt it won’t stop. but at least now he’s got his hansol to hold. he’s always had his hansol.
“everything just became too much is all.” he says finally. he feels hansol’s arms tighten around him, a soft lullaby being hummed into his hair. hansol gently rocks him. the only thing in his brain is how much he loves hansol. his hansol. his boyfriend who takes care of him without a second thought. his beloved. seungkwan knows he’s safe, knows his mind is full of hansol hansol hansol because it always is when he’s wrapped in his arms like this. his head tucked into the crook of the taller’s neck, soft words spoken into his hair, even softer kisses pressed against his temple or behind his ear or on the three moles in front of his ear.
he knows he’s not going to fall off the edge when he’s got hansol to pull him back.