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When the live is over, they’re allowed to shuffle off and do their own things, follow up on their nightly routines and go to bed early. But most of them linger in the living room, crowding around Minsu to fill their monthly selfie quotas and nibble at the cake.
Seongmin watches for a moment as Donggeon and Jisu try to yank the tiny little plastic bands from Jaeyun’s hair, Jaeyun yelping in pain as Minsu cackles with glee. They all look funny like this, in colorful pajamas and cute hairstyles, but Seongmin feels as cute as he looks. It’s not often they get a chance to dress up cutely and act like kids anymore.
Jeyou gets up from his spot next to Seongmin where he hasn’t moved since they started the live and stretches for a second before disappearing towards the bedrooms.
Seongmin doesn’t even hesitate before getting up and following him, walking into the room they share. Jeyou has been uncharacteristically quiet, not just during the live today but the past few days. Despite his out-of-character behavior, none of the others have noticed, or if they have, none of them made it obvious. But Seongmin noticed.
Seongmin hasn’t had a moment to talk to him about it, but as he closes the bedroom door, muffling the sounds of pain and laughter outside, he seizes the opportunity. Jeyou peers over the ledge of his bunk, apple hair bobbing as he moves his head.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
“I’m coming up.” Seongmin starts climbing up to the bunk before Jeyou can even respond. All Jeyou does is sigh and roll over, letting Seongmin squeeze into the bed without even bothering to protest. When Seongmin is determined, nothing can stop him.
They lie on Jeyou’s bed belly-up next to each other, staring into the white ceiling. Jeyou’s holding his striped pillow to his chest, head flat against his mattress. Seongmin claims a dark blue pillow to rest his head on, turning to look at Jeyou’s side profile. He sees Jeyou every day but Seongmin never gets tired of looking at him, his long lashes, wide eyes, the angle of his jaw— trying to commit it all to memory.
They stay like that for a few minutes, Seongmin looking at Jeyou, Jeyou looking at the ceiling. Seongmin likes touching him, putting his hands all over Jeyou whenever he can, just because he can— because Jeyou lets him. He was just clinging onto Jeyou during the live broadcast, arms, and legs all over him, but as they lie side by side, hands to themselves with nothing but their breathing in the air, it feels more intimate than anything Seongmin has ever done to Jeyou in the name of skinship.
Jeyou closes his eyes, eyelashes kissing his skin like butterfly legs on petals.
“If you went back, would you do this all over again?”
Seongmin thinks for a moment, about the life he almost had before this, then looks back at Jeyou and the way shadows curl around his jaw and dip into the creases on his face.
“I think I would.”
“I don’t know if I would,” Jeyou says, turning over to Seongmin and eyes fluttering open. His bangs fall into his eyes, overdue for a haircut. This feels like the start of a conversation too heavy to be held in cute pajamas and apple hair. “What if we end up somewhere worse than where we are?”
This is what has been bothering Jeyou for the past while— he didn’t have to say it, Seongmin could see it in his eyes. Everyone has these thoughts. It’s the nature of this line of work, working yourself to the bone to get in and spending the rest of your life thinking about getting out. But it’s better to talk about it, let that pressure out instead of letting it overcook.
It’s not that bad here, Seongmin wants to say. The grass is always greener on the other side, it’s all a matter of perspective, but they don’t have it easy. It’s hard not to get jaded, watching the people they debuted and worked with reaching higher and higher goals while they remain where they are, watching as all the momentum they gain gets slowly snuffed out.
He opts for a different approach. “If things were different, we wouldn’t have met. You’d be a cool rapper and producer and write your own songs.” Seongmin smiles. “And I’d be a comic book artist or something.” Most days, he can’t remember what he dreamed of becoming before this, because life never really began until this.
In a different world, they wouldn’t be here. All ten of them, scattered into the wind, never crossing paths. Seongmin could see Jeyou so clearly in this world, his fierce passion carrying him through a rap career and climbing his way up to the top. Maybe it would’ve been better if he ended up there instead. In this world, Seongmin can’t see himself— maybe he would’ve settled for an office job, or some low profile art career, or maybe he’d just be another idol nobody has ever heard of. All he knows is that he wouldn’t feel the same type of happiness as he would now, in this world where Jeyou is with him.
“I think you’d still find a way here, though.” Jeyou’s eyes are focused on Seongmin, earnest like he is when he’s trying to memorize rap lyrics or write a new song. “You’re built for this.”
Seongmin hums. Idol life comes to some of them more easily than others and on that spectrum, Seongmin falls on the more comfortable side. He takes all the cameras in his face with stride, puts on his TV smile, and does aegyo without a fuss. In a way, he is built for this, through years of constructing and deconstructing, and reconstructing his foundation to fit this world’s standards.
Jeyou never learned to do this— sometimes he sticks out like unruly hair, awkward but unintentional. But this is what Seongmin is here for, to fix and tame these moments, as much as he loves them. Jeyou’s not built for this like Seongmin is, but that’s what Seongmin loves about him, how he’s unapologetic and honest.
“Do you think we’d be happier?” Jeyou keeps his voice low, eyes round and dark. Happiness is a taboo topic, like everyone is holding their breath and praying they wouldn’t jinx it. But to know that Jeyou trusts Seongmin enough to ask this of him, to just confide in him at all, makes Seongmin feel warm. Jeyou’s laying bare in front of him, lips parted open, and Seongmin’s instincts urge him to protect him, reassure him and take away his worries.
“Maybe.” There’s always room for maybes and wondering and dreaming.
Seongmin inches closer and brushes Jeyou’s hair out of his face. He’ll take care of Jeyou, just as he knows Jeyou will take care of him. They can think about the future and the roads not taken as much as they want, but as Seongmin rests his hand on the side of Jeyou’s neck, it feels like they’re the only people in the world at this moment, lying in their present together.
“But I’m happy now.” He means it and he knows Jeyou can feel it too.
Jeyou exhales, neck shifting as his breath travels beneath Seongmin’s fingers. “Me too.” He smiles.