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All five boys were gathered in the small backstage room, excitedly talking over each other, scrolling through their phones, and wandering around restlessly as they awaited their curtain call. Buzzing energy rippled through the air, but it didn’t seem to faze the lanky one as he rested back on the sofa with the blond at his side.
This peace was noticed by one of the others, and he grinned, seeming to devise a plan to disturb their relaxation. He flopped down on the cushions and in return got a sweet smile that carved dimples into smooth cheeks. His lips moved, but, unlike the smaller boy, his response was too quiet to be overheard.
The loud one’s legs swung unexpectedly over his lap and the impact made him choke on his sip of water, nearly spitting it out all over the sofa. As he curled toward his partner, body shaking with coughs, an apologetic hand rose to rub his back in a calming movement. Breaths slowed, evening out to match the rise and fall of the fingers tracing his spine. A kiss was pressed into his hair before he straightened back up, clearing his rough throat with a sheepish apology to those around them.
Nobody seemed surprised by the effortless closeness. From the way they glued their limbs together and laced their fingers permanently through each other’s. It was like they would never let go—like they never could let go.
A deep frown had been painted on his face the entire soundcheck, seemingly displeased to be beneath dozens of lights and surrounded by blaring speakers. His squinting eyes and tight lips might have gone unnoticed by a majority, but his pain was obvious to the boy on the opposite end of the line who, from across the stage, gave a subtle, questioning thumbs-up.
It was met with the smallest shake of a head, which made the boy’s eyebrows pull together. He seized his opportunity to cross in front of his bandmates the moment he could, long strides carrying him quickly to the other side. A worried expression was paired with the raising of a gentle hand to rest the tips of his fingers on the side of the boy’s head. This elicited a nod and a little sniffle that saw him pulled into what looked to be the safest hug—a hand pressing on his back while the other cradled his head, its thumb drawing light circles on the skin of his temple.
A visible shivering of his back led to a tighter hold and whispering into his fluffy hair, an almost immediate response that prompted him to untangle their bodies, wiping away a tear with his index finger and holding him close as they made to leave. One large hand wrapped around his waist as the two slowly headed out, the smaller one’s eyes closed while he trusted his partner to guide him safely away.
There was a small ridge at the bottom of the doorframe that seemed to have gone unnoticed by the lanky kid, as he didn’t lift his foot enough to avoid contact with the metal. He tripped, nearly falling flat on his face, but he was saved within half a second. It was as if the other boy could see the future, a hand already prepared for him to clutch as he stumbled.
“Every time, love,” he teased, and the clumsy boy blushed, mumbling something with a shy smile. A little poke to his cheek was the only response before the shorter one placed a hand on curly’s back, leading him through the door from a few paces ahead.
If it weren’t for his perfectly polished demeanour, it may have seemed that the boy was intoxicated with how the other guided him around. A hand frequently reached out to tug his sleeve as they walked to keep him from running headfirst into a concrete pillar while he messed with his hair, not at all watching where he was going.
When a cable that ran straight across the floor posed a hazard, it was almost as if he knew the taller boy wouldn’t have seen it. Even after being warned of its presence, the cord still snagged on the tip of his boot, and it was thanks again to those practised hands that the boy didn’t end up face-first on the hard floor.
“Careful, Harry, c’mon now,” he gently scolded, but the two shared near-identical grins as their eyes met.
“M’not used to being this tall. Legs’re too long,” he responded, slightly bashful from the admission.
“Stop growin’ then.”
His frustration would be obvious to anyone who passed him by, but the other occupants of the room paid him no mind. He flicked the kettle on, only for the power light to stay off—no electricity coming through to heat the water. On and off he flipped the switch, trying over and over to complete the circuit, but he never achieved success.
Palms slammed on the countertop before he sunk down to his elbows, head in his hands with heavy breaths visibly moving his back. A few heads turned in his direction, but nobody said a word—the chaos and noise were enough to keep his attitude from becoming the centre of attention. The conveniently timed entrance of another into the room saw him raise his head, their eyes locking together immediately.
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder as the newcomer eased him back into a standing position. Wrapping him in a side hug, he leaned down to whisper into the shorter one’s ear. His thumb rubbed up and down on the soft shirt draped loosely over his waist, and the contact brought visible comfort to the stiff boy.
“S’not workin’,” he sighed, voice a bit rough from the day of constant use. “M’so tired.”
A response came in the form of an I know, angel from a deep, rich voice—murmured into the mussed-up hair at the crown of his head.
Something caught the taller boy’s eye, and he temporarily nudged the other out of his arms as he bent down to the floor. When he rose to his feet again, his dimples peeked out as he plugged the kettle into the wall, explaining its inability to function. His partner blushed furiously and didn’t object when he was led to sit on an armchair, mumbling an embarrassed thanks.
Not long after, a steaming mug of tea was brought to him, and he kissed the hand of the boy whose assistance he so gratefully appreciated as it was passed his way.
He wouldn’t look away.
The curly-headed boy would not tear his eyes away from his black-suited bandmate for the entire performance.
Clad in all black, the golden accents on curly’s top glimmered in the light that couldn’t catch green eyes as they were permanently focused away from the lens of any camera. They honed in on the one with the red earpiece and tightly tailored suit, burning delicate holes into every part of him.
It was obvious that earpiece boy sensed the eyes on him—how could he not when they didn’t look away for a second—but he rarely made an effort to return the contact. The pining wasn’t fully reciprocated for the sake of professionalism, it seemed, but there was a clear acknowledgement in the little smirk that occasionally danced on his lips. It highlighted his cheekbones, already so defined from the way the stage lights hit his face.
Whenever his gaze drifted to centre stage, to the princely boy with his silky hair and intricate jacket, the corners of his lips would stretch to the side. The motion was hidden quite well as he sang, but there were moments where it was more than obvious that he had noticed the attention.
He clearly enjoyed it.
The performance was flawless—the five lads made quite the team—and upon its conclusion, there was much mystery as to what would happen behind the curtain. So much was left unsaid as the little prince continued to watch the one with the cheekbones with all the love in the world hardly contained by his starry-eyed stare.
The volume in the room was unusually low as the most conversational of the group kept his lips shut tight. There was a hand resting on his stomach as he sat, slightly hunched over and staring toward the floor. Of the few people in the room, it seemed nobody found it odd enough to mention. That changed the moment another group joined their numbers.
The curly boy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the one with the rounded back and paled face, and when a second hand pressed against his torso and he swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable, the distance between them was closed.
Fingers graced the back of his neck, as though they were feeling for a temperature that wasn’t present. Upon that realisation, the boy walked out of the room. He returned with a half-eaten, crumpled bag of crisps that looked as if it had been fished from the bottom of a bag and a sympathetic smile as he urged them into the seated one’s hands.
When he shook his head no, curly nodded yes and planted himself at his side. He pulled a crisp from the bag and held it to his mouth for the boy to hesitantly accept. He continued clutching his shirt before it settled in, and the moment it did, his brow loosened.
Curly held another out, and the little one ate it obediently, slowly unfolding his body and accepting the security of an arm around his shoulders that pulled him close.
“Remember to eat, Lou,” was the only thing the boy had to say to his starving partner as he slowly finished the snack, calming his stomach more with each bite.
They thought they were alone. There was nobody around that they could see, and boy had they looked. Checking windows and closets, behind curtains, opening and locking any doors that could possibly lead to the well-hidden back room they’d discovered.
When nothing was found, the pair looked at each other, thousand-watt smiles growing on their faces. As slow feet moved them to the centre of the room, to each other like magnets, their eyes never separated. The shorter boy’s hands delicately rested on the other’s waist as if he was afraid too much pressure would cause him to break, and the taller wrapped his hands around lean biceps, countless tattoos graced with the lightest touch.
Sweet seconds were shared like that, green and blue mixing without hesitation before fingers dug into the soft skin of that waist and hands slid from arms to the back of a neck, to cup the side of a grinning face. Breaths grew heavier before lips met, one ducking down to meet the other halfway, and their chests pressed flush.
It was a beautiful moment, a private show just for them. There were so few opportunities to share such obvious affection and tender love anywhere but in the safety of a bus or hotel room, so the ability to lock together, to become one under an unfamiliar roof and with the looming threat of interruption set off butterflies—sparks that felt the same as they always had.
The constant fear of being watched, being seen—it seemed to eat away at them as they shared glances and subtly signed to each other day in and day out. As exhausting as that constant vigilance was, it was more than worth it. Love was tricky. It always had been, but it was the way gentle touches and secretive conversations were shared, how the smallest tics and expressions were read like an open book, that kept them closer than ever.
It was so subtle, yet so obvious. To an outsider sparing a passing glance, they were nothing more than two boys standing side-by-side, separate beings whose interactions would slide unnoticed, but to watch a moment longer would reveal years of tender affection and attention. A deep, long-ingrained knowledge of the other, an ability to clock emotions without a second thought and solve problems with a simple touch or whispered reassurance. No matter how hard the powers that be might have tried, it was impossible to hide. They were two souls connected, lives permanently intertwined and merged in the most beautiful of ways.