Chapter Text
When Hongjoong comes to wake up the members staying in the hotel suite, his heart bursts with fondness as he spots tufts of brown hair sticking up and tan skin peeking out of a white comforter.
Hongjoong holds the camera in his left hand, whispering into his microphone. “Jongho is sleeping over there, I don't know him.” He grins, exaggerating since the younger never contacted him. Mostly lies, of course, but he really is a bit upset that Jongho never called.
It’s quiet. The only sound he can hear is the steady hum of the air conditioning units and soft, sleepy breaths. He meanders his way into the main bedroom, toeing his socks along the transition from the cool, white marble of the living room to the warm earthiness of the bedroom’s hardwood. “How can I wake them up in a new way?” Them being Wooyoung and San, because Hongjoong was a fool to think that reality show games would keep those two apart.
After waking the two up, getting his face whacked in the process, his chest warms at the sight of their disgruntled appearances. He hasn’t been away from them that long, but he really missed them (not that he’d ever admit that to their faces). Spending almost every day together for the past eight years, their presences have been carved in his heart.
“Get a little more sleep,” Hongjoong soothes, pats San’s leg through the comforter, and watches as Wooyoung tucks his head into the crook of San’s neck, their arms and legs entangling beneath the blankets. San gently smooths down Wooyoung’s hair, who takes a deep breath of San’s chest, and that’s Hongjoong’s cue to leave. Cute as they may be, sometimes Hongjoong gets sick of their lovey-dovey antics. Sometimes he feels like he has witnessed (and continues to witness) too much of things that seem private; it’s like he’s intruding.
After finally waking Jongho, San, and Wooyoung, he makes his way to the hotel room next door, where their stylists and makeup artists have unzipped suitcases laid out on any flat surface, filled with palettes and smooth creams and hairsprays and colorful pins and steamers and clothes wrapped in plastic dry cleaning bags. There’s the whirr of a hairdryer being used on a dressed Yunho, and the soft hiss of a straightener being used on a shirt. Jingling of silver chains being laid out on a coffee table, and the thump of pairs of shoes being tossed on the ground. The curtains are open, bright sunlight filtering in.
“Sit,” the makeup artist says, not directed at him. Across the room, Seonghwa obeys, taking his place on the long, tan sofa, back straight as he waits. Seonghwa, in his blue pajama set and barely tamed hair. His bangs are pinned to the side with pink barettes. Their eyes meet, and Seonghwa smiles. Hongjoong smiles back, like a quiet secret shared between the two of them.
There’s saltspray in the air and a prickling feeling on the back of his neck.
Hongjoong laughs with the rest of them — laughs so hard that his stomach hurts and he falls to his knees. But there’s this incessant itch crawling under his skin, raising his hairs and giving him goosebumps.
Wooyoung and San were on the same team, trying to catch water balloons with huge smiles plastered on their faces and letting out high-pitched joyful laughs. Even after the tight embrace of their winning team, Hongjoong can’t shake off the way that the back of his neck and the pit of his stomach prickle with a sense of wrong.
But then he looks around and sees only his members’ bliss, and the feeling is mostly smothered by contentment. Jongho’s eyes crinkling, Yunho’s bright laugh. He feels the sea breeze in his lungs and the warm sun on his skin. Mingi’s gleeful cackles. It’s refreshing. Rejuvenating. There’s sand in his shoes and in his socks, in between his toes, and his shirt is absolutely soaked. Same goes for the hem of his pants. Seonghwa’s pained expression (that’s what it looks like when he’s happy), Yeosang’s bright giggles.
Today feels like youth. Hongjoong hasn’t felt this feeling in a while.
Everything will be just fine, he consoles himself within the confines of his own mind, and captures the happy memory to be stored away for safekeeping.
Several hours later, the bliss of the beach has worn off and the boys are worn out. The cameras have been put away, and everyone is no longer mic'd up on the calm bus ride back to Seoul. Getting everyone to settle down had been hard at first. Reluctant to leave the sea and sand behind, the members had complained while their energy was still off the charts, but not even half an hour in, their excited chatter died down to soft murmurs and snores.
In his peripherals, the sight of drooping heads around him puts Hongjoong at ease. He leans down to unzip his backpack and pull out his laptop, careful not to jingle the zippers too loud. Carefully turning his brightness down, he slips on his headphones to resume work on another track that he really should get done by the end of the week.
It hasn’t been even twenty minutes until Hongjoong feels it. Now that his system isn’t flooded with serotonin and adrenaline, the feeling of wrongness creeps back up on him like a bitter chill.
It’s supposed to be fine, though?
No, Something is definitely off. But what could it be? Did he leave something back at the hotel? Surely not. Hongjoong sips his iced americano, swirls the bitterness around in his mouth, and swallows. He looks up from Logic Pro open on his screen, glances around the bus. The rumble of the engine beneath their feet and the steady rushing of traffic outside the gray-tinted windows has lulled almost everyone to sleep, crew included. It’s been an exhausting few days, even for Hongjoong who arrived late. Yunho and Yeosang have the window seats in the back row, and he and Mingi are in the middle. Jongho and Seonghwa are to their right and one row in front, and Wooyoung and San are to the left.
His eyes land on Yeosang, sitting wide awake. Blankly, Yeosang is staring, but not at him.
Hongjoong follows Yeosang’s gaze to Wooyoung and San, sitting a row in front. Wooyoung, in the aisle seat, has his entire body curled in towards San, whose shoulder Wooyoung rests his head on. San’s head rests on his, and their arms are linked even in their sleep.
Yeosang’s stare seems to bore a hole into the back of their seats. Yeosang also does not take notice of Hongjoong looking directly at him, either.
With intent, Hongjoong clears his throat. The other jolts just barely, eyes tearing away from the sleeping pair and meeting Hongjoong’s level stare with a frantic spark in his own.
“Everything alright?” Hongjoong whispers, sliding off his headphones. He sees Mingi sleeping with his head resting on Yeosang’s shoulder. Yeosang shakes his head gently to avoid disturbing Mingi, and clears his expression in the way that he does when he lies. Distantly, A car beeps.
Hongjoong tilts his head. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, hyung.” Yeosang nods without looking at Hongjoong, and instead fixes his stare firmly on the digital clock near the front of the bus, above the aisle. 1:43, it reads in red light that catches on the surfaces inside the dark bus. “Don’t worry.”
“Lying isn’t a good habit, Kang Yeosang,” Hongjoong admonishes lightly, keeping his tone amicable, mild.
Yeosang inhales. His demeanor shifts and his flimsy facade crumbles. “I know.”
“Come to my room when we get back if you want to talk,” Hongjoong says. “Our door is always open.”
“‘Our?’ You don’t even sleep in there,” Yeosang chuckles softly, poking fun at Hongjoong’s tendency to crash on the living room sofa, and turns to face the window. He leans his head against it, closing his eyes.
The conversation over, Hongjoong turns back to his laptop, jostles the touchpad to wake it up, and slips his headphones back on.
He’s worried for Yeosang. Hongjoong tries to work on the chorus, he really does. But the worry eats away at his gut. The melodies he hears in his brain are too bright, too dark. They sound fuzzy when they need to sound smooth. He tries to fix the section of the bass line that’s been bothering him, but no matter what he tries, everything sounds dissonant and off-kilter despite the fact that it shouldn’t. It sounds right, technically. But with the worry plaguing his mind, he can’t work with the right mindset.
He gives up and drifts off to sleep for the rest of the bus ride, letting the rush of passing cars and the crescendo of pitter-pat droplets against the window lull him to a dreamless sleep.
“I thought I was over this already,” Yeosang says by way of greeting as he closes the door behind him. Dressed in a nondescript T-shirt, athletic shorts, and freshly showered, he looks cozy. He’s got a towel draped over his head, bleach blonde hair dripping wet.
Seonghwa glances up from his spot on the bottom bunk, wrapped up in his gray comforter and holding his phone in two hands. Audio from an RPG comes out through the tinny speakers before he hastily turns the volume of clashing swords down. His eyes narrow at the growing number of small puddles on his floor.
“I can go if you guys need,” Seonghwa says as Hongjoong, also in a random shirt and shorts, climbs down from the top bunk, the bedframe squeaking with the sudden movement. Hongjoong looks to Yeosang for confirmation, arching an eyebrow.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It might help.” Hongjoong lands on the floor, the impact making a thump noise. His bare feet squeak.
“Move over,” Hongjoong demands abruptly. Frowning, Seonghwa scoots to the left side of his bed, pulling his blanket and pillows with him. Hongjoong crawls in, holding the tail end of the blanket to cover his own legs. The bedsprings squeal under their shifting weight. With the air of an investigator conducting an interrogation, Hongjoong points to the office chair at the desk in front of the bed. “Sit.”
Yeosang fidgets with his hands, unsure. Hongjoong tosses a pillow at him, which he catches with ease. It stops him from picking at his nails as he takes his place in the seat.
“Talk,” Hongjoong prompts.
Yeosang groans and buries his face in his hands. “...This is kind of embarrassing.”
“It’s not gonna be the worst thing I know about you.”
Yeosang huffs. “It’s been bothering me for some time. But, like, it really shouldn’t be,” he says, tension creeping into his tone, eyebrows knitting together in frustration. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
Opening his eyes, he says, “It’s not that big of a deal,” and oscillates back and forth a bit in the chair. “I just…”
Patiently, Hongjoong waits. He can see Seonghwa smoothing out the blanket over their laps, cotton sheets rustling. They can hear the shower start up again and someone’s muffled shower playlist through the walls.
“Sanie and Wooyoungie… They—I feel left out.” Yeosang cringes at his own wording. “Uh, it’s really not as bad as it used to be, but lately…” He gestures helplessly.
“They’re—very—um,” Yeosang struggles.
“Joined at the hip,” Seonghwa offers. “More than usual.”
“Yeah,” Yeosang says, and deflates. He brings a hand up to towel at his hair.
Hongjoong nods thoughtfully. “Sounds frustrating.” Seonghwa hums in agreement.
“Do you think they’ve noticed how you’re feeling?” Seonghwa asks with a tilt of his head.
“I hope not,” Yeosang says. “I don’t wanna make them feel guilty for enjoying each other’s company, you know? And this is already something we’ve been over, so I feel bad bringing it up again.”
“Yeosang-ah,” Seonghwa murmurs sadly. “You’re so considerate.”
“A great quality,” Hongjoong pipes up. “Without you being the way you are, we wouldn’t be the same as a team.”
Hongjoong often thinks that ATEEZ is like a well-oiled machine. Each member has their own distinct characteristics, but they all come together perfectly. It’s also because they know each other so well; arguments are almost always solved quick as can be, and words aren’t needed to know how someone else is feeling. But sometimes, things are overlooked, and Hongjoong hates when things get overlooked, because it’s like getting a wrench thrown into their practiced program. He always worries about that happening.
“But aren’t I being too sensitive about this?” Yeosang asks, earning a chorus of indignant “no”s and “of course not''s from the older two curled up on the bed.
“You’re understandably feeling left out, Sang-ah,” Hongjoong says. “Anyone in your position would feel the same as you. It’s normal.”
“Though I don’t know how normal people like Wooyoung and San are,” Seonghwa adds, everyone immediately understanding what he meant. Those two and their relationship are really something else — they have something none of the other boys have ever seen before, something that they can’t understand, and probably never will. It’s something the two of them share. Something like a winding red thread stretched between their fingers, or a warmth that burns in their chests alone. A strange and sacred thing.
“I don’t know what to do,” Yeosang groans, dragging his hands across his face in frustration. “Ughhhhh. Feelings.”
“Feelings,” Hongjoong agrees. “Feelings you should share.”
“Noooo, it’s embarrassing…”
“It’s better to get it over with than to let it fester.”
“You know, I hate when you do the leader thing,” Yeosang complains, childish pout on full display. “You’re always right and I hate it.”
Hongjoong grins. “I am always right, aren’t I?” He turns to Seonghwa, who wears a displeased expression on his face.
“You don’t need to do it now, Sang-ah,” Hongjoong says, looking back at Yeosang. “But soon.”
Yeosang huffs, throwing his head back and arching his back on the chair until there’s a loud crack and pop pop pop! of bone. (Seonghwa winces.) He slaps his hands on his knees, rubbing them absentmindedly before pushing down with a groan and standing. With his arms stretched out and voice strained, he turns his best puppy eyes on their leader. “Can’t hyung do it for me?”
“Out,” Hongjoong orders.