Archive of Our Own

It was expected for Minghao to develop a Sulbeop . This assumption is only in part related to his ancestral connection to magic. While a predisposition to inheriting a Sulbeop can be genetically linked- his great-grandmother to his grandmother to his mother to Minghao- there are certain people who have the air of a Beopsa . Others with access to the mystical had told Minghao from the time he was a child that they could sense the magic hovering within him, a blanket between himself and the peers he had so often struggled to relate with. 

Back in Anshan, it would have been called his Moli - his wonder. His family would have discerned the signs of his approaching power. He would have been provided space, and traditional teas, and guidance. His mother would have been so proud when she witnessed the extent of his Sulbeop. 

As the situation had stood, Minghao came into his Sulbeop on the way to the airport. The flashbulbs of cameras had disoriented him, a hundred lights from all directions somehow louder than the screams of fans and reporters. Mingao smiled and waved at them. He was practiced at it by that time. He’d had nearly five years of post-debut under his belt. Still, he’d hated it. He had been slightly hungover, courtesy of Mingyu, and the air had been so cold that Minghao felt as if he was being suffocated. He had wanted so badly not to be in that crowd. 

He had leaned into Soonyoung and said words that are now etched into him permanently, carved bone-deep into the skin of his wrist. “ I want to disappear”, he had whispered. A pain sharper than he had known himself capable of experiencing rocketed up his arm. He had grasped Soonyoung with that hand, desperate. Soonyoung would later tell him that he could smell the blood before he felt it on his fingertips. 

The fans remember the moment much differently. All they had seen was Soonhao fodder– Soonyoung removing his baseball cap and giving it to Minghao, pulling the brim low over Minghao’s eyes– Minghao leaning against Soonyoung, head on his shoulder– Soonyoung showing off his new muscles for the first time publicly, sweeping Minghao up bridal-style and parading him into the restricted section of the airport. 

Minghao had been terrified. He was gushing blood and shaking in pain. The members had surrounded him, half of them aware of his emergency, the others scolding Soonyoung for his ridiculous display. Soonyoung had been the one to peel back the sleeve of his shirt and blot at the blood. All thirteen of them had stared at the sentence that greeted them, crimson and hot in his flesh. I want to disappear. 

“Minghao! You just said this to me! This is your Sulbeop! Jun, he just used his Sulbeop!” Soonyoung had shouted. His eyes had sparkled. He smiled, even with Minghao’s blood all over his hands. It wasn’t pride like his mother would have felt. It wasn’t calming or soft. It hadn’t filled Minghao with that sweet, warm light he feels when he breathes in his mother’s scent. Soonyoung had been proud, though. He was boisterous and energizing. Minghao had been left still-afraid of the destructive power he harnessed, but also excited. Always when Soonyoung smiles it is so hard not to smile back. 

“Hao? What are you thinking about?” Soonyoung asks him now. 

Minghao takes in a deep breath through his nose, holds it– two, three, four– and exhales. The warmth of the sun beaming down through the trees of LA feels like honey on his skin. It is always odd to him the way that location can change weather. In his youth, he would compare the temperature to his memories of Anshan. These days, his mind always drifts to Seoul. 

“Today is five years since I've been able to access my Sulbeop,” Minghao answers. 

The sentence is too simple to encapsulate his thoughts, but he knows that Soonyoung will understand. He will twist it into something different in his own mind, something more cheerful, but he will understand. 

“That means it’s been three years since you gave me this,” Soonyoung beams.

He pulls down the collar of his shirt to show off the words that Minghao had spoken both to him and, regrettably, into him. I love you . 

Minghao pushes him, his palm connecting with Soonyoung’s shoulder. Soonyoung laughs. Even now, years after his confession, he catches himself thinking that Soonyoung is made of nothing but sunlight. Where Minghao takes years to uncoil, Soonyoung shines unabashedly onto the world. 

“Sorry. I know you hate when I joke about it,” Soonyoung beams. 

“It’s embarrassing. And I hurt you,” Minghao says. 

Soonyoung rebounds from having been knocked onto his side. He scooches close to Minghao, his shirt still pulled down to show off his scar. He kneads his toes against Minghao’s thigh. Minghao is sure the action is subconscious. He is affectionate and comfortable with Minghao. It was closeness like this, though, that had convinced Minghao that Soonyoung returned his feelings all those years ago. 

“I’ve told you a million times, it didn’t hurt hurt. Not like this,” Soonyoung says, tracing his fingers over the scar adorning Minghao’s own wrist, “Or like what happened with Mingyu.” 

“I watched how much you bled. It was horrible,” Minghao replies, like he always replies. 

“Minghao! You have to listen to me, I’m the one it happened to! And yeah obviously it hurt, but it also felt, like, warm. Like I could feel what the words meant. It was like you were saying them extra,” Soonyoung explains. 

Minghao sighs and lays down on his back, one arm behind his head as a pillow. They have had this argument countless times. He doesn’t expect for them to come to a resolution today. The disagreement is as stale as his crush. 

“This city is always so much bigger than I expect it to be,” Minghao says instead. 

He thinks of how long it takes for their cars to get from place to place. He thinks about his excruciating bike ride with Mingyu a few years back. 

“Yeah, right? It’s just like Seoul. I love it here,” Soonyoung tells him.

Minghao does not find LA to be anything like Seoul. This city is too spread out. Driveways and fenced in yards make LA feel more like an overpriced suburb than the style of city that Minghao is familiar with. The din of people packed on top of one another and constant neon lights is centering in a way that car traffic could never be. 

“You look good here. Just like Mingyu. I could see you both living here with convertibles and stupid sunglasses,” Minghao says. 

“You didn’t even let us buy those sunglasses! How can we live out your dream for us when we don’t look rad as hell ,” Soonyoung giggles. 

He says rad as hell in English– it is a phrase they overheard Vernon saying to a model he was crushing on in Seattle, and none of them have quite gotten over it. Though he laughs, Minghao is still focused on their previous conversation, on the words carved permanent into Soonyoung’s chest. 

“Soonyoung?” he says. 

“Hm?”

“I know we might always disagree about this, but I need you to know that I am so sorry for using my Sulbeop on you. With Mingyu… I didn’t have control of myself back then, but I knew how to keep my power from spilling out when I told you I loved you. I’m sorry for being so careless at such an important time,” Minghao says.

He hasn’t explained himself in this way to Soonyoung before. He hopes that it makes a difference. He hopes that he will be allowed an apology, that he will be allowed guilt. Soonyoung stares up at the sky for a short minute, tongue and teeth playing with his bottom lip. He is serious when he again initiates eye contact. 

“I mean, that makes sense. But I kind of liked it better that way. It was so nice to see you feel something without restraint. I’m just sorry I couldn’t feel the same way,” Soonyoung says. 

It is always couldn’t instead of didn’t . Sometimes Minghao wonders if Soonyoung’s sense of duty as a leader of the team prevented him from connecting with the potential of romance with Minghao. It isn’t as relevant, now. But Minghao wonders. 

“It’s okay. I like how we are,” Minghao says.

Quiet settles over them again. Minghao continues to ruminate on the anniversary of his inheritance. Minghao likes to imagine that Soonyoung thinks of nothing at all, though he knows from experience that Soonyoung spends too much time with racing thoughts. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says after some time, “You wanna get snacks?”

“Sure. Street food?” Minghao suggests. 

Soonyoung springs to his feet and reaches out a hand. Minghao takes it, and together they pull him to standing. 

~

Seoul is always beautiful when they return from a tour. This year, snow has come early. They arrive a day late for the unbroken blanket of white, but even the footprints and tire tracks that mar the airport tarmac are serene under the glow of the clouded moonlight.

Minghao does not have the window seat on their flight. Seungkwan sits beside him, deeply slumbering. He is highlighted bright red from the rhythmic pulsating of the plane’s headlights. Looking around, Minghao finds himself to be the only member awake. Though Seungkwan is not his closest relation, he nudges him awake. Seungkwan blinks his eyes. The dim lighting of the aircraft illuminates the grease that has settled on his forehead over the past sixteen hours. Minghao has half a mind to wipe it with his sleeve. Instead, he points out the window. 

“Look at the snow,” he says. 

Seungkwan presses himself to the window like a child, both hands against the wall of the plane. When he moves back to address Minghao he’s smiling. 

“Thanks for waking me up. I love to watch us land,” Seungkwan says.

Somewhere in the recesses of his memory, Minghao recognises this fact. Seungkwan likes takeoff and landing, but begins to feel cooped up around hour five of a flight. 

“I’m happy we’re coming back to snow,” Minghao tells him. 

“It’s been weird being places so warm in the winter,” Seungkwan agrees. 

“Isn’t Jeju warm?” Minghao asks. 

Though Seungkwan brings a smattering of members to Jeju during their limited time off, Minghao has never been. He saves his vacation days for visiting his parents. Seungkwan rolls his eyes at Minghao’s ignorance. 

“Like, a little. It still snows there. Sometimes. It isn’t warm like the southern US,” Seungkwan tells him. 

“Ah, Seungkwan, look– we’re about to hit the ground,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan turns his head just as the wheels of the plane make contact with pavement. The soft jostling of the plane wakes the other members. Arms poke out from seats, stretching. Seungkwan turns around to start a conversation with Jihoon. Minghao’s chest is warm. He is glad to be home. 

~

Sweat soaks through Minghao’s tank top. Chan’s head rests on his thigh forming a sticky wet spot on his sweatpants. Soonyoung and Jun are inexplicably still standing, though Jun is doubled over and panting. 

“Hyung, this choreo is really hard,” Chan says.

It doesn’t sound like a complaint, just a statement of fact. Minghao is exhausted, but he loves the choreography. It is more contemporary than Chan or even Soonyoung generally prefer, but it suits Jun and himself. 

“It’s supposed to be! You know our group numbers are more simple right now, so we’ve got to be the ones to bring what the fans expect,” Soonyoung says. 

There are a number of injuries after their North American tour. Some of the members are growing too old for complicated choreography, years of injuries building up without the stamina of youth to heal them. Minghao knows that fate rapidly approaches him, as well. He is just grateful he does not have to keep himself in the type of shape it requires to make it through the military. Seungcheol and Jeonghan are all but on bed rest in preparation for their enlistment a few months out. 

“I’d like to take five,” Minghao says.

He is still catching his breath after forty long minutes of run-through. The performance team knows that he does not take breaks lightly. When Minghao asks for rest, rest is taken. The four of them sit in a tight circle in the middle of the practice room. Minghao is mostly quiet as the others chat. He is always more affected by jet lag than the others. Jun has told him it is the tight grip he keeps on his Sulbeop. He needs more rest to recuperate than the others. 

“I’ve been dreaming about Seungkwan a lot,” Jun tells them. 

Dreams are often related to Jun’s Sulbeop. Often, though not always. It is enough for each of them to turn their heads towards him. 

“What kind of dreams?” Soonyoung asks.

He swings his legs over Jun’s, traces his fingertips down the length of Jun’s arm. It is the sort of intimacy that used to make Minghao jealous. Now he sees it as the only way Soonyoung knows how to communicate with those he cares for– physically, genuinely. 

“I don’t know. It’s just… him, standing there, a few meters away from me. I can never get any closer to him. I start to get… hot,” Jun says. 

He looks up at the ceiling as if he is trying to pull further details down from the sky. 

“Your prophetic dreams usually have more of a plot,” Chan says. 

Like his dream that Minghao would hurt his back, a warning that Minghao obstinately ignored and forever regrets. 

“I know. That’s why I wrote it off at first. It keeps coming back, though. And it feels like something. You know how you can just feel it?” Jun says, this time to Minghao directly. 

Jun and Minghao are the only Beopsa of Seventeen. As much information as the general public has about Sulbeop, as much personal information that Minghao and Jun have shared with the other members, there are some aspects of Sulbeop that must be felt. 

Minghao nods in response to Jun’s statement. 

“Do you have a sense of the connotation? How do you feel in the dreams?” Minghao questions. 

Jun pauses, and frowns. 

“It’s hard to explain it. Awe, maybe?” he says. 

When he first hears it, it doesn’t sound right to hear “awe” associated with Seungkwan. Seungkwan is loud, and funny, and talented, and cute, but awe-inspiring? Minghao sits with the description, though– Jun’s premonitions, he knows, are not something to be ignored. Seungkwan can make any room lighter just by opening his mouth. He has a way with the press, and with a crowd, that Minghao has never even hoped to emulate. He is beautiful, too, even if he only lets the members see it in photoshoots and music videos. There is an awe to him if you interpret him in the right light. 

“You two haven’t noticed anything up with him, have you?” Minghao asks Soonyoung and Chan.

They are the closest with him among the performance unit. The last time Minghao spent significant time with Seungkwan was their long flight back from North America. Minghao doesn’t remember anything particularly memorable about him from that night, only the glowing red light reflecting off his skin and the warmth inside Minghao about returning home. 

“I mean, he’s really excited to be back in Korea. He’s about to start filming a bunch of variety show stuff, you know how he likes that,” Chan says. 

“Maybe he’ll get an offer to host one,” Soonyoung hypothesizes. 

Minghao doesn’t think that sounds right, and neither does Jun from the frown on his face. His visions aren’t usually so mundane– though once he had dreamed of spoiled milk that saved them all a day in the bathroom with upset stomach. 

“I just think we should keep an eye on him. Let’s not mention it, though, I don’t want to freak everyone out unless I dream about something more clear,” Jun tells them. 

They agree. Jun’s Sulbeop is his own to share with who he likes. Minghao would never break that trust. 

~

“I got into a fight with Seungkwan,” Mingyu says late one night as he lay in Minghao’s bed. 

Minghao is on the floor painting. He looks up at Mingyu, who he thought had been reading. His book appears long-discarded on the bedside table, left folded open and creased in the spine. 

“That book isn’t mine, is it?” Minghao asks.

He knows that it is. Mingyu snatches it quickly off the table and places his bookmark inside it. 

“Sorry. I know you hate that,” Mingyu says. 

Under normal circumstances Minghao would not be interested in Mingyu’s fight other than offering support to his friend. After Jun’s dreams, he is more concerned. 

“So, your fight?” he asks. 

Mingyu closes his eyes and covers his face with one of his arms. He takes up too much of Minghao’s bed for Minghao to crawl in and join him, but he rests his own arms on the mattress, and his chin on his arms. He aims to indicate interest. 

“It was about something stupid. I accidentally left him out of a group chat, so he missed an invite to a dinner. It like, literally didn’t matter, and I was wrong, so I apologized,” Mingyu says. 

His free hand knots in the bedsheets. Mingyu’s words might say that this fight was stupid, but his form shows otherwise. 

“You look awfully affected for it to have been just a miscommunication,” Minghao observes. 

Mingyu shoots up to sitting and locks eyes with Minghao. There is a weight in his gaze. The conversation is about to grow serious. 

“I’m going to talk about something hard for you, and I don’t want you to take it personally. I’m just bringing it up for reference,” Mingyu tells him. 

Minghao swallows. There are few topics between them that feel off-limits. He is intimidated by the idea of any of them being brought up tonight. 

“Okay. I’ll try to stay neutral,” Minghao says. 

“We made up already, me and Seungkwan. He gets that it was a miscommunication. I’m not freaked out because I think he’s still mad at me,” Mingyu says. 

“Okay. Sure.” 

“It’s just… when he first brought it up with me… Do you remember how I described the way I felt when you… when you used your Sulbeop on me?” Mingyu asks. 

Minghao’s stomach knots. He and Mingyu do not talk about this. Hell, he and Soonyoung hardly talk about the time that Minghao used his Sulbeop as an accidental confession, but now both of his closest friends have brought up his two darkest memories in the span of a few months. Minghao feels like he might vomit. 

“You told me it felt like I was under your skin. Like you could feel me everywhere,” Minghao says.

Of course Minghao remembers. He could never let himself forget the way he hurt Mingyu. If it wouldn’t terrify his loved ones, he’d have etched Mingyu’s description into his own skin on purpose to force himself to remember. 

“It felt like that, when he was telling me how hurt he was. Like he was… rooting around inside me,” Mingyu says. 

“Did it hurt?” Minghao asks.

His hand slips out to cup the scar on Mingyu’s throat. Fuck you , it reads. It has caused Mingyu so much trouble. Mingyu holds his hand. His eyes are gentle, forgiving. They have been since the beginning. 

“No. It wasn’t exactly like with you. It didn’t feel like he wanted to, uh…” Mingyu trails off.

“To hurt you?” Minghao fills in. 

Minghao had wanted to hurt Mingyu. He didn’t intend to, he never would have struck him, but the want was there. His Sulbeop was less pacifistic. It did the work he never could have. 

Mingyu squeezes his hand. 

“Yeah. It didn’t feel like that. I just swore I could feel his… his intention or something inside of me. I don’t think I would have noticed if I didn’t have experience,” Mingyu says. 

Minghao considers telling him about Jun’s dreams. This seems big. This seems like a change is happening in Seungkwan, or maybe in Mingyu. What if being touched so intensely by Minghao’s Sulbeop has given Mingyu a sensitivity to the emotions of others? What if it is nothing supernatural at all, and Mingyu has been left so scarred by Minghao’s harm that his experience of others’ anger is now psychosomatic? 

“Do you feel safe?” Minghao asks. 

Mingyu pulls him into bed by the arm, dragging him forcefully. Minghao worries for his painting, abandoned on the floor. He also worries for Mingyu. He allows Mingyu to initiate a cuddle, their long limbs twisting together. 

“I’ve always felt safe with you. You’ve never done anything to me that you haven’t done to yourself. I don’t know what’s up with Seungkwan, but I trust him, too,” Mingyu says. 

They fall asleep above the covers. In the morning, Minghao finds that two of his favorite paints have dried up. 

~

Hybe catches fire. Minghao is in a practice room with Jungkook, both of them working on solo choreography, when the alarm goes off. They stare at one another for a good thirty seconds as the emergency lights flash and sirens blare. 

“Is this, like, real?” Jungkook asks. 

Minghao moves to the door and cracks it open. Trainees are filing to the stairs, panicked. Across the hall, Soonyoung’s head pokes out from another practice room, a mirror to Minghao. They lock eyes. 

“Is this real?” he shouts to him, an echo of Jungkook.

“I guess?” Soonyoung responds. 

The three of them join the trainees in the hall. It is dizzying to walk down so many winding flights of stairs. He and Jungkook listen as Soonyoung chats up the people around them. Someone heard a rumor that Hybe is instituting an intense fire drill policy for insurance purposes. Someone else claims that her friend texted her about smoke coming from a vocal training room. 

Outside, the crowd arranges itself roughly by group. Minghao isn’t sure if it is an official protocol burned somewhere deep in all their psyches, or a natural tendency to filter towards those they know the best during an emergency. Seventeen is easy to find. There are a whole crowd of them, and they are inexplicably the loudest. 

“Did Jihoon and Seungkwan not come in today?” Minghao whispers to Soonyoung. 

They are the only two missing. 

“They should be here,” Soonyoung says. 

He looks up at the building. Minghao doesn’t need Soonyoung to say anything aloud to know that he is also thinking of the rumor spread by the trainee in the stairwell of the smoke in a vocal practice room. Minghao holds his hand. The media is arriving even before any emergency personnel. Minghao does not care if they capture the skinship. 

The fire department does arrive. Their demeanor is urgent but not emergent. It calms their group enough for Dokyeom and Soonyoung to start cracking jokes. Seungkwan and Jihoon eventually emerge from the building, escorted by EMTs. Not all of Seventeen can crowd them, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Normally Minghao would hang back but his hand is still attached to Soonyoung’s. He drags Minghao along with him towards the ambulance, Vernon trailing behind them. 

Jihoon and Seungkwan are arguing as they approach. They both look fine, physically, but they smell of smoke, like they’ve been sitting in front of a campfire for hours. Minghao can’t make out anything they’re saying, and they stop when their triad of friends arrive in front of them. 

“You’re okay?” Soonyoung blurts out. 

Minghao can feel the same sentiment bubbling beneath his skin. He uses his deep breathing exercises to calm himself and refuses to speak in fear that he will cut into his friends with his Sulbeop. 

“We’re okay. It wasn’t a big fire. We got it under control,” Jihoon says. 

He is calm and he doesn’t take his eyes off Seungkwan. 

“Jihoon is really good with a fire extinguisher,” Seungkwan says. 

He won’t stop looking at the ground. 

“How the fuck did a fire start?” Vernon asks. 

“I don’t know,” Seungkwan says, “It just happened.” 

He is lying. There is uncomfortable silence in the air. Minghao assumes that it is because they all hear it as a blatant lie, all five of them. 

Jihoon looks at Minghao. His gaze is piercing. It makes Minghao feel as if he doesn’t belong. And he doesn’t, not really. They all have best friends in the group, and Jihoon and Seungkwan are not his. 

“Jihoon, stop ,” Seungkwan sneers.

And, really, he sneers. Seungkwan can be snippy but this is a tone more aggressive than Minghao has ever heard from him before. Minghao can feel energy in the air like electricity. His Sulbeop must not yet be fully under control. He squeezes Soonyoung’s hand and holds a deep breath inside his chest. 

“Okay. Hey, okay,” Jihoon says, his focus back on Seungkwan. 

Minghao is missing something. They all are. 

“Hey, can I just… can I just have a second alone with them?” Vernon asks of Minghao and Soonyoung.

Minghao is glad to be dismissed. Soonyoung is more reluctant. 

“You’re okay, Jihoon?” Soonyoung asks. 

“Yeah. Go tell everyone we’re fine. We’ll go get checked out at the hospital and meet back at the dorms, alright?” Jihoon reassures him. 

This is not the first time that the members have been concerned for one another’s safety. Minghao very much remembers the sting of eyes on him when he injured his back, writhing and teary-eyed on the practice room floor. He remembers the panic of Jeonghan and Seungcheol when they had entered the room to find Mingyu gushing blood from the neck, courtesy of Minghao’s carelessness. Always, Minghao is quiet during an emergency. He has never known what to do and he never feels any more sure of himself, no matter how many times they overcome something like this. Selfishly, he allows Soonyoung to soothe everyone’s anxiety when they return to the group. 

~

“I’m going to ask you something crazy,” Soonyoung says.

Minghao braces himself. He’s had a long, hard day recording for their new album. Anything that Soonyoung needs to warn him about before asking is sure to be genuinely life altering. 

“Okay,” Minghao says. 

“Do you think Jihoon and Seungkwan are dating?” he asks. 

Nothing could have prepared Minghao for that question. He glances briefly up at the rearview mirror where their manager makes brief eye contact with him. This is not the place for this conversation, but Soonyoung has already started it. 

“Soonyoung, what?” Minghao asks. 

Soonyoung wriggles around in his seat, seemingly exasperated. 

“Maybe it's just because I share a dorm with them, but they’ve been so weird. They’re always together. Even at night. And they’ve got a secret, I can feel it,” Soonyoung says. 

“It’s probably the fire. They went through something terrifying together,” Minghao says. 

“That was like a month ago!” Soonyoung shouts. 

He looks guilty right after the words leave his mouth. He knows trauma does not always pass so quickly. Minghao doesn’t think Soonyoung is entirely wrong, though– he also suspects that the two share a secret. He and Jun have decided that one of them must have been smoking– why else all the secrecy? And how stupid for them to have been smoking. Safety hazard aside, they’re the main singers of Seventeen. They can’t risk their voices. 

“They’ll tell you when they’re ready,” Minghao says. 

He says you and not us purposefully. Soonyoung is a confidant of Jihoon and Seungkwan, both. Minghao is a confidant of neither. 

“I just think it would be fucked up if they were dating,” Soonyoung huffs. 

Minghao does not think that they are dating. Jihoon has maintained his staunch heterosexuality even as each other member of Seventeen has discovered the joy of being at least marginally queer. He agrees that it would be fucked up if they were dating, though. The leaders of Seventeen had agreed amongst themselves to never engage with the other members romantically, to ensure safety within the group. It would feel painfully unfair for Jihoon to make bad on the promise when Soonyoung had never even considered the possibility. 

That train of thought is self-centered. 

“It would be. But I don’t think they are,” Minghao says. 

“Hey, maybe you two talk about something else and I pretend like the past five minutes never happened?” the manager calls from the driver’s seat. 

Minghao snorts as Soonyoung blushes and nods vehemently in agreement. 

~

This year, Going Seventeen stoops so low as to make them cook. Minghao is paired against Seungkwan in the competition. While Minghao is fast in his athletic pursuits, he prefers to take his time when engaging in something creative like cooking. Seungkwan detests cooking and has always had nine older members to shirk the responsibility onto. Their segment turns out about as poorly as expected– Seungkwan is the one to finish within the time limit, but Minghao’s dish is the only one that is edible. The team votes their battle as a tie. 

Minghao thinks that he could have finished faster if he weren’t so distracted by Seungkwan’s left palm. Just before the cameras begin rolling, Minghao notices what can only be a fresh burn on Seungkwan’s hand. 

“Seungkwan. Did you touch something hot?” he whispers– he doesn’t want the crew to make a big deal out of it if Seungkwan doesn’t want for them too. 

Seungkwan looks at his hand and curses. Minghao swears he is more frustrated than pained. 

“Get me a glove. Don’t say anything,” Seungkwan tells him 

Minghao gets him the glove and keeps quiet during the shoot. He knows what it is like to be removed from content due to an injury he would have preferred to muscle through. 

At home, Minghao makes a scene of it. He follows Seungkwan back to his dorm, all the way into his room. Seungkwan seems to expect it, even if the rest of the members eye them suspiciously. 

“Please let me see it,” Minghao says. 

He has been in Seungkwan’s room before, he is sure, but he can’t remember when. His recollection of the space is far more minimalist than it is at present. The stark grays are now replaced by warm creams and oranges and reds. It suits Seungkwan. Minghao sits beside Seungkwan on his fluffy comforter as he interrogates him. 

“It looks worse than it feels,” Seungkwan begins.

He extends his palm for Minghao to inspect. It looks awful, the skin bubbled and blistered. He swears he can still smell the fire on it, the burnt flesh. 

“What happened?” Minghao asks.

If the crew left something hot, they really should say something. Minghao hates for staff to get in trouble, but Seungkwan will be healing this wound for weeks. 

“Ah, I must have flipped the flame on by accident and then touched a pot,” Seungkwan says. 

It is such an absurd excuse. Minghao had been next to Seungkwan. The burner was not on. 

“You’ve been lying so much recently,” Minghao says. 

He is usually more careful with his words. He has to be, especially when he means them. Seungkwan has been on his mind for weeks, now, though, and on Soonyoung’s tongue far too often. The situation is untenable. 

Seungkwan relaxes a tension in his body that Minghao had not realized he’d been holding. His arm goes limp in Minghao’s grasp. Minghao pulls his hand closer, further investigating his wound. 

“I know,” Seungkwan tells him, “I’m not ready to…” 

Seungkwan doesn’t finish his sentence, though Minghao gives him plenty of space to do so. 

“You aren’t smoking, are you?” Minghao asks. 

When Seungkwan laughs, it is dark. It is the second instance over the past few months where Minghao observes an emotion in him that he has never seen before. There is so much gravity in his eyes. 

“No, I’m not smoking,” Seungkwan answers. 

“You’re talking to Jihoon about things?” Minghao asks. 

“Jihoon knows. Vernon, too,” Seungkwan tells him. 

“But are you talking with them?” Minghao presses. 

Seungkwan snatches his hand back. 

Minghao is frustrated, but he cannot pretend that he doesn’t understand. It is difficult working in such close proximity to people you genuinely care for. Minghao has curated an in-group that knows to give him space when he requires it, but Seungkwan very much has not. All of his closest friends are loud or intrusive or both. 

“Let me help you with this,” Minghao says, pulling again at Seungkwan’s hand, “Do you have first aid in your bathroom?” 

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“I care about you,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan sits with the sentence as if it is new information. 

“Alright. Let’s go. Bandage me up good, I don’t want to scar,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao follows him into the bathroom feeling only increased concern. As he washes and dresses Seungkwan’s wound, Seungkwan does not once flinch. 

~

Seungcheol and Jeonghan enlist on the same day. Minghao is still unsure how they were able to arrange it so perfectly. It does split the number of Carats storming their respective military bases in half, perhaps the spin Hybe used to pitch the idea. Seventeen must also split up in their send-offs. In true Seventeen fashion, Seungcheol and Jeonghan play a different drinking game to win each individual member. Jeonghan cheats and ends up with ten people, so they draw straws the following morning and divide themselves evenly. 

Minghao rides in the car that trails Jeonghan along with Jihoon, Dokyeom, Chan, and Vernon. Everyone cries. Jeonghan complains about how unfair it is that Minghao will never have to do service even though he is far more athletic. Minghao touches his hair without permission. The prickly sensation makes him giggle. 

“You look so awful like this, hyung,” he laughs. 

Jeonghan laughs, too, and then the rest of the guys, and then Jeonghan bursts into tears. Minghao has not seen him cry in a long, long time. 

“I know I said I was scared to be gay in the military,” Jeonghan says, “But I’m so much more scared to look ugly. I can’t pull off this hair, guys. I can’t do this.” 

He is shaking. Minghao steps in front of him and grabs him by the face, a palm on each of his cheeks. 

“Do you remember what you asked me to do when I first got my Sulbeop?” Minghao asks him. 

Jeonghan nods, wiping at his tears. The smeared water on his face only makes him look uglier. 

“I’ll do it now, if you stop crying. You cannot let those people see you like this. It isn’t safe,” Minghao says. 

It terrifies him, promising to use his Sulbeop on purpose, in front of all these people. He is far more terrified for straight military men to see Jeonghan’s tears. This is all he can think to do. 

“Minghao. You’re so brave. God, I’m crying over nothing. You don’t have to do this right now. Save it for when I get home, okay? But I’m holding you to this,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao wipes Jeonghan’s face for him. He isn’t wearing makeup so the redness can’t be covered entirely. Minghao knows that Jeonghan is a good enough liar to play it off as a reaction to the cold. 

Jeonghan has to walk away, and the rest of them have to return to their van. Minghao is relieved that he did not need to use his Sulbeop, though he can feel the magic simmer below his skin the entire ride home as if it knows that it was so nearly released. 

~

“Dude,” Soonyoung whispers over the phone. 

It is three in the morning and Minghao is annoyed. Sleep does not always come easy for him, nor is he allotted an excess of time to rest by his company. 

“Please tell me this is important,” Minghao says. 

This would not be the first instance of Soonyoung losing track of time in a dance studio, nor would it be the first instance of Soonyoung forgetting basic social courtesy after a few bottles of soju. 

“Everyone is okay,” Soonyoung begins. 

Minghao sits up. He fumbles for the lamp on his bedside table, knocking his water bottle to the floor in the process. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

His heart is pounding. The last time a group-wide middle of the night call had gone out, the situation had been dire. Everyone had not been okay. The difficulty with treating each other as family is the pain that happens when auxiliary members of that family– parents, grandparents, siblings– are unwell. 

“There was a fire in my dorm,” Soonyoung says. 

“I’m coming up,” Minghao says.

“Don’t, I’m in the elevator. Come let me in,” Soonyoung tells him.

Soonyoung is in his pajamas. He’d taken the elevator in only his socks. He takes them off before crawling into Minghao’s bed. 

“Is the dorm okay? Where is everyone else staying?” Minghao asks. 

Soonyoung shakes his head. He doesn’t look afraid, or shell shocked, or upset. He looks angry. He is so rarely full of genuine anger that it is easy for Minghao to see it on his face. 

“No– it wasn’t– it was, like, the size of a cooking fire. Nothing big. No one got hurt,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao waits. When Soonyoung is upset, his brain works too fast for his mouth. People mistake it for stupidity but Minghao knows it to be anything but that. 

“Everyone went to their rooms really early tonight, so I snuck into the kitchen to take some of Jeonghan’s old snacks,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao doesn’t intend to pull a judgemental face, but he must. 

“He’s in the military! They’re just gonna go bad! He’s the only one in our dorm who didn’t have to diet, okay?” Soonyoung says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Minghao chuckles, hands in front of him in surrender. 

Soonyoung’s demeanor softens and he laughs with Minghao. The room feels better like this. Tension drips off Minghao’s back. There is no emergency for him to diffuse, only Soonyoung’s anger. That is a bomb he can navigate. 

“Okay, whatever, I was awake when no one knew I was, and I saw, like, clearly fire coming from Seungkwan’s room. Like he lit a really big candle or something. And then I could hear him and Vernon in there panicking, and they must have put it out or something, but then they were arguing and Vernon came out into the apartment smelling like smoke,” Soonyoung says. 

“Did you ask what happened?” Minghao says.

“Vernon said a candle lit some paper on fire,” Soonyoung says.

“You don’t believe that,” Minghao says. 

The story doesn’t seem so far-fetched to Minghao. Sure, it is suspicious timing given the proximity to the fire at Hybe that Seungkwan had been involved in, but Seungkwan has a habit of finding himself in repeating unfortunate circumstances. 

“I just know he’s lying, Hao. I can tell. It’s driving me crazy,” Soonyoung says. 

He throws himself into Minghao’s bed, burrowing under the covers like a woodland creature. He kicks his legs and whines. Minghao slips under the sheets beside him, turning his bedside lamp off as he does. He isn’t putting them to bed– so many of his memorable conversations with Soonyoung occurred in the dark. They’ll continue chatting even with the light off. 

“He is lying,” Minghao says. 

“How is it not killing you?” Soonyoung asks. 

“He’ll tell us when he’s ready,” Minghao says. 

It doesn’t sound quite right. Minghao takes a stab at it again:

“He’ll tell you when he’s ready, at least,” Minghao corrects, “You know how he looks up to you.”

Soonyoung rolls into Minghao. Minghao accepts him into his arms, a well-worn reflex. They fit together so differently than they used to. When they were young, they were all knobby knees and sharp bones. Minghao is, still, but Soonyoung has a cushion of tight muscle that rests much more comfortably on Minghao’s chest. 

“I don’t think he’s looked up to me for a long time. Things feel… equal between us, now,” Soonyoung says. 

“Even with you as de facto group leader?” Minghao asks.

On paper, Soonyoung and Jihoon share leadership while Seungcheol completes his military service. In practice, Soonyoung has taken on most of the responsibility. Jihoon has always preferred to work behind the scenes. 

“I’m going to recommend that Seungkwan be named interim leader those couple of months that all three of us are serving,” Soonyoung says, “At least, I was thinking about it until all this weird stuff started happening.” 

The revelation is both shocking and expected. Seungkwan has always played an instrumental role in leadership-adjacent activities– scheduling and promotions and outreach. It might feel odd for one of the youngest members to be in a role of power, but it would not be odd at all for Seungkwan to have that power. 

“You really think something big is happening for him?” Minghao asks.

“I can feel it. Can’t you?” Soonyoung asks. 

Minghao cannot. He has observed changes in Seungkwan’s behavior that are concerning, but he can’t feel anything. He barely believes in gut sensations as a potentially valid tool of interpreting the world. Even in his disbelief, he trusts Soonyoung’s intuition. It is far too often correct. 

“Like I said, just give him time. Complain to me and Jun when it bothers you,” Minghao says. 

“Okay. Maybe I’ll make Jun do a tarot spread for me about it,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao rolls his eyes. Junhui’s tarot is very decidedly not a part of his Sulbeop. 

For several minutes, there is only the sound of their breathing. Minghao begins to nod off. 

“Can I sleep here?” Soonyoung asks. 

“Of course.” 

~

Minghao does not feel Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s absence, not at first. After so many years as a group he has grown used to certain members taking breaks. He has done so himself, a whole month in China without the loud comfort of the other members just two years ago. Their dance practices and studio recordings and music video shoots carry on as usual. 

Two months pass without the oldest members of Seventeen. Soonyoung and Jihoon are the first to show visible signs of the absence. Jihoon becomes irritable and Soonyoung overcompensates with an unsettling cheeriness. The hole in their group spreads. Mingyu misses the other members terribly. Joshua isolates. Seungkwan asserts himself when Jihoon will not. 

Minghao becomes cognizant of missing Jeonghan when he is at his regular liquor store purchasing alcohol for a group dinner. He reaches instinctively for his favorite bottle of wine, and then places it back on the shelf. Jeonghan is the only one who likes to share this with him. He stocks up quickly for the remaining members and hurries out of the store. On his walk home, he finds tears leaking unbidden from his eyes. 

He misses Seungcheol for the first time at a meeting. It is a big one. The executives are there, and they do not agree with the members’ creative vision for the album they will make following the enlistment of the ‘96 line. They are concerned about Jihoon writing tracks for them ahead of time, fearing they will be out of style by the time the album is released. Minghao has a headache from the back and forth arguing. Soonyoung is passionate but his thoughts are disorganized. Jihoon is concise but rude. If Seungcheol were present he would lighten the mood, and butter up the execs, and offer a bargaining chip that gets them the album they want. They’re able to get most of it as a team, but the meeting is long and unnecessarily arduous and Seungcheol is not there to take them all out for lunch afterwards to decompress. 

He has spoken with his Chinese friends from other groups about what enlistment is like. Unanimously they talk about more time for solo work, more time to promote in China, more time to be an individual. Unanimously, they talk about how the group dynamic shifts when everyone returns. There is still care and love and joy, but more loneliness. They have all had time to learn to function independently after so many years of codependence. Some of his friends have described this as a tremendous relief, and others as a loss.

Minghao doesn’t know what it will feel like to be Seventeen without their intense brotherhood. He struggles to imagine it. He feels terribly out of control as the one left at home, waiting. 

~

Minghao is at the studio late. He has been for weeks now, in preparation for the solo music video he will begin shooting in July. Jihoon is sitting on two separate songs for him, one vocal and one instrumental. Minghao cannot for the life of him decide which to use for this release. He has choreographed and re-choreographed each of them. They both fail to capture an elusive emotional experience that he can neither name nor manifest in his artistry. 

He is staring at himself intensely in the mirror, sweat pooled on the small of his back, when Seungkwan walks in unannounced. The smell hits Minghao first– burned meat, like Seungkwan had spent too long at a barbeque. That isn’t it, though. Seungkwan doesn’t try to hide the deep, welting burns on his hands. 

Minghao's brain shouts at him to berate Seungkwan with questions. What happened? Are you okay? Was there another fire? What the fuck has been going on?

“Seungkwan…” is all his mouth manages. 

“I think I need to ask you for advice. Somewhere private,” Seungkwan says.

Minghao assesses him. His clothes are clean and pressed. His hair is in place. His makeup is miraculously perfect for three in the morning. There is nothing to suggest any distress save for his red and blistered hands. 

“I don’t think Joshua is at our dorm tonight. We would have the place to ourselves,” Minghao offers.

“Okay. Thank you,” Seungkwan says.

He looks immensely uncomfortable standing in the doorway shifting his weight between his feet. They may not be the best of friends, but they are nothing close to strangers. They have eaten together, cried together, laughed together, mourned together. The awkward air between them is abnormal. Minghao feels a fluttering in his stomach. Seungkwan is scared, and Minghao is too. 

They walk back to the dorms together, masks over their faces. Seungkwan may be anxious but he is still Seungkwan. Once out of Hybe, he begins an animated conversation. He asks Minghao about his solo preparations and joins with him in lamenting about the challenges. His skill in masking the emotion that had unsettled him not ten minutes prior concerns Minghao. If those terrible blisters didn’t adorn his hands Minghao would not know that anything abnormal were happening for him at all. 

“Joshua? Are you home?” Minghao calls once back in his dorm. 

Silence greets him. 

“Make yourself at home. I’ll put on tea,” Minghao says. 

“This is… can I borrow a change of clothes? I…” Seungkwan begins. 

Rather than complete his sentence, he slips out of his jacket and brandishes the sleeves of his shirt. They are tattered. Burned. Wordlessly, Minghao paces into his bedroom and pulls out a pair of his baggiest sweatpants and a t-shirt for Seungkwan. He sets them in the bathroom for Seungkwan. 

“I left clothes in the bathroom for you. I thought you might want to wash up, or…” Minghao says.

He also finds himself at a loss for words. Seungkwan’s hands are taking up far too much space in his brain to piece together sentences. Seungkwan retreats into the bathroom. By the time he returns to the sofa, the water has boiled and the tea has steeped. 

“Orange?” Seungkwan asks, smelling his cup.

“Tangerine. Sorry, I don’t know what you like. You only drink coffee,” Minghao says. 

“And what, you thought this would remind me of home?” Seungkwan teases. 

Despite the tenseness of the situation, his mouth twitches into a smile and his eyes sparkle. 

“Well, does it?” Minghao counters. 

Seungkwan sniffs the tea again, blows on it, and sips. The hard edges of his coy smile melt away until only a softness remains. It is serene. It is enough to show Minghao that he has done an adequate job in his tea selection even if Seungkwan will never admit it. 

Seungkwan sets his mug down and stares at his hands. Minghao slipped an antibiotic ointment into his pocket when he was in the bathroom. He gingerly takes one of Seungkwan’s hands into his lap and uncaps the bottle. 

“Can I?” he asks. 

“Thank you,” Seungkwan responds. 

Minghao aims to be gentle. Seungkwan squirms through the process anyway, flinching as Minghao fingers over the deepest parts of his wounds. Up close it is evident that the blisters truly are burns. There is no chance that these will heal without scarring. This will affect Seungkwan’s career. 

“Is someone hurting you?” Minghao asks. 

He doesn’t know why else Seungkwan would feel so secretive, so protective. There is no longer a dating ban in their contracts, and Seungkwan is known to be the most outgoing of the members. He’d have had no trouble finding a partner, not with his talent and reputation and looks. The entertainment industry is rife with abuse. Minghao hates more than anything imagining Seungkwan in such a terrible situation. 

Seungkwan laughs. It only serves to unsettle Minghao further. 

“The only person hurting me is me,” Seungkwan says. 

Sickness coils inside of Minghao. 

“You did this to yourself?” he asks.

He grips Seungkwan’s wrists tight. A chill ricochets up his body. He is not being sensitive. He doesn’t care. This cannot be something that Seungkwan has done to himself, his mind will not let him believe it. 

“No– Minghao, not like that. No,” Seungkwan says. 

“Then like what?” Minghao asks. 

His eyes are wet. He doesn’t cry openly, but it is a struggle to keep his tears from spilling over. Seungkwan pulls his hands back.

“What was it like when you got your Sulbeop?” Seungkwan asks. 

A thousand puzzle pieces slot into place in Minghao’s mind. Junhui’s dream. Mingyu and Soonyoung’s feelings about Seungkwan. Seungkwan’s secrecy. Jihoon’s concern. The fire. 

“You have one,” Minghao says, “You have a Sulbeop, don’t you?” 

Seungkwan’s legs shake. He purses his lips. His eyes fill with water, shiny and glassy. He looks just as he does when he is desperate not to cry on stage. Minghao offers what he does in those moments– space. He sits with his legs tucked into his chest on the opposite end of the sofa as Seungkwan fails to stop himself from breaking down. 

When tears do leave Seungkwan’s eyes, it is very much unlike what happens on stage. Seungkwan’s more physical friends are not there to comfort him. The responsibility falls on Minghao. He moves to the middle cushion and strokes Seungkwan’s hair. Seungkwan folds in on himself. He weeps loud and red-faced against his own knees. Minghao does not want to overwhelm him, even though he suspects someone like Soonyoung or Dokyeom might wrap themselves around Seungkwan. He keeps their point of contact as his hand in Seungkwan’s hair, pressing firmly against his scalp. 

Seungkwan pulls himself together slowly. His hiccuping breaths steady and his eyes dry. He leans his head backwards against the sofa and looks at Minghao lopsided. His face is terribly red and puffy. Minghao has the urge to care for him, to get him a cool damp towel. That isn’t what Seungkwan has come to him for. If Seungkwan wanted to be babied, he’d have gone to any other member of the group. 

“It’s fire, I imagine,” Minghao says. 

Though he re-centers the conversation, he doesn’t ignore Seungkwan’s emotions outright. His tone of voice is soft. His fingers still play with Seungkwan’s hair. He simply wants Seungkwan to know that his emotions do not diminish him in Minghao’s eyes, that they are still able to engage in this difficult conversation. 

“It happens when I get angry. And once when I was… feeling something else intense,” Seungkwan says. 

“That’s when mine would come out too. Anger, fear, sadness, love. But I guess you know that,” Minghao tells him. 

“How the hell did you learn to control it? I’ve been trying so hard to just stay level, but I can’t. It just… builds up. It’s awful ,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao pauses his ministrations to Seungkwan’s hair and reflects on his own experience. He is not as emotionally reactive as Seungkwan. His accidental uses of magic had been few and far between, devastating and permanent as they each had been. 

“I had to unwind my Sulbeop from my emotions. It was…,” Minghao pauses, searching for the right words, “It took me a long time.” 

“I’m terrified of hurting someone, Minghao. Jihoon– he made me so angry in the studio. His notebook caught on fire. It was in his hands. If he hadn’t dropped it, I would have burned him,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’m more concerned about how you’ve been burning yourself,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan looks down at his hands. Minghao looks at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his all-over redness has morphed into splotchy pink all over his face. Minghao sees himself in Seungkwan, newly powerful and terrified. 

“It happens when I try to hold it back. Instead of… making fire, or whatever, my hands just… they feel so hot, and they blister. I know it isn’t sustainable, I know I can’t be on camera like this, but I can’t keep… I can’t keep setting shit on fire, hyung,” Seungkwan says. 

Seungkwan is afraid of himself. Minghao remembers what that is like. He still feels it, sometimes. It is such a miserable emotion. Minghao closes his eyes and thinks about his own fantasies about his first use of his Sulbeop. He had wanted his mother there so desperately. Minghao cannot be his mother, and certainly cannot be Seungkwan’s mother, but he can be like them. 

Minghao shifts onto the floor by Seungkwan’s feet, kneeling before him. Seungkwan’s eyes widen at the act of deference. Minghao cups his face with his hands and forces eye contact. 

“It is so special that you have this power, Seungkwan. And all alone you’ve learned so much about it. I am so, so proud of you,” he says. 

Minghao feels a knot in his throat. He wishes, so desperately, someone had been proud of him. Maybe Soonyoung had been, but Soonyoung’s pride had not come from understanding. 

Seungkwan tries to pull away, blush on his cheeks, but Minghao keeps his head pressed firmly between his palms. Seungkwan will hear this. 

“I’m serious, Seungkwan. A Sulbeop comes from ancient, beautiful power. It chose you. You can handle this,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan blinks and tears fall down his face. It is quite different from the sobs that had escaped him minutes before. These tears are quiet and graceful. Minghao smiles and wipes them with his thumbs. Seungkwan smiles back. 

“I thought you would be meaner about this,” Seungkwan says. 

“Is that why you didn’t come to me sooner?” Minghao asks. 

He removes his hands from Seungkwan’s face and sits back on the sofa, his point now well-received. Seungwan shifts his body to face him. They sit criss-cross, their knees knocking together. 

“Maybe. You’re just so hard on yourself about your Sulbeop. I thought you’d be that way with me, too. But you’re like that with dance, too, I guess, and you never take it out on us,” Seungkwan says. 

That sits uneasy with Minghao. Is he hard on himself? He is strict, sure, especially in his practices around his Sulbeop. He has to be. He hurts people if he is not. He has never conceptualized himself as being mean, though. Regardless, this isn’t the time to reflect on himself. 

“There’s a tradition in Anshan. When someone presents with their Sulbeop, the other Beopsa they are close with will help them celebrate. I know the timing of this will be off, but could we do that? With Jun, even, if you’re comfortable,” Minghao offers. 

Seungkwan swallows. His throat, just like the rest of him, is so expressive. His deep brown eyes lock with Minghao’s.

“You really want me to be happy about this,” Seungkwan comments. 

“Yes. I do.” 

“Did you feel happy? When you got– did you feel happy?” Seungkwan asks. 

“No,” Minghao says, easily, “But I wish I had been able to.” 

Seungkwan nods and looks down at his hands. He remains quiet for a long while. Minghao assumes that he is thinking. 

“Okay. Let’s tell Jun. Let’s celebrate,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao looks at the clock. It is nearly four-thirty. They have to wake up so soon for their morning schedules. 

“I’ll plan something for the weekend,” he says. 

Though he knows they should go to bed, Minghao is reluctant. He wants to keep talking with Seungkwan. More than talking, he feels drawn to just being with him. He wonders, vaguely, if that is a part of the Sulbeop. If Seungkwan has always drawn people to him like a flame. 

Despite his wants, Minghao feels a pressure to be responsible. 

“We should go to bed,” he says. 

“Yeah. It’s late. I– is it okay if I borrow these? I’ll bring them back this weekend,” Seungkwan says. 

He stands and walks towards the door, his feet sliding inside of his shoes. For some reason, Minghao had imagined that Seungkwan would stay the night. The two of them have shared a bed before– on tour, on schedules, in their first tiny dormitory– but they have never had a proper sleepover. It is what Minghao expects when a member stays late, though. Soonyoung or Mingyu or Jun would be spending the night were they in Seungkwan’s place. 

“Of course,” Minghao agrees. 

He and Seungkwan say their goodbyes and Seungkwan leaves. With Joshua out and Seungcheol long-departed from his old bedroom, the apartment is left in a cold, remarkable silence. 

~

Minghao and Jun prepare a private celebration for Seungkwan over the weekend, and it goes to shit almost immediately. Seungkwan begs to invite Vernon for emotional support, and Soonyoung somehow finds out and invites himself, and Seungkwan feels guilty for nearly setting Jihoon ablaze and invites him, and Joshua refuses to leave the apartment. It turns into a whole-group event and, though Minghao knows this is nothing like the traditional dinner he would have thrown for Seungkwan in Anshan, this is exactly the sort of celebration that Seungkwan loves. 

By the time of the party, all of Seventeen have heard about Seungkwan’s Sulbeop either first or secondhand. Soonyoung and Dokyeom still demand to make speeches about it during dinner, announcing Seungkwan’s power like a debutant. Seungkwan complains through a smile. He loves to be doted on. Their table is filled with food home cooked by the members– Minghao was steadfast in assuring that no fast food would tarnish the event. There is rice and noodles and vegetables and kimchi and pork and beef. Jun brings a special alcohol for the Beopsa, a rice wine that has been aged in oak barrels passed down in his family for ten generations. Mingyu brings soju for everyone else. 

Minghao hates the party. Everyone is wasted and loud and disorderly. There is far too much singing and not nearly enough respect paid to tradition. Seungkwan is happy, though. For the first time in months he smiles with ease and he has his hands out on full display. Minghao had expected a different evening, but this evening was about Seungkwan and Seungkwan seems happy. 

At the end of the night, once the drunker members begin to trickle back to their own dorms, Seungkwan prances in front of Minghao and loops his arms around his shoulders. Minghao laughs and holds him steady by the waist, like a middle school slow dance. 

“Thank you for doing this. You’re being so nice to me,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao takes a step closer to him and sweeps him into a promenade. Minghao does not waltz well, and Seungkwan not at all, but they both laugh as they twirl around the room. Minghao feels warmth in Seungkwan’s smile, so happy that his friend is experiencing joy after so long alone and afraid. Seungkwan sparkles as Minghao spins him. “Does it feel better for everyone to know?” Minghao asks. 

He dips Seungkwan as he does it. He is too drunk for the maneuver. He does not properly drop Seungkwan, but he stumbles so much that he has to catch himself on one knee. He lowers them to the floor laughing where they continue their conversation. 

“Sort of. There’s a lot of pressure, now. To figure this out. To be good at this. Everyone is watching me, now,” Seungkwan says.

Minghao wants to refute this, but it would be a lie. All eyes had been on Minghao when he’d been learning to control his Sulbeop. It often had come as excitement– Soonyoung cheering him on, Jeonghan begging for him to use his power on him, Mingyu offering ten thousand positive affirmations every time Minghao had broken down in fear. His friends had not pressured him intentionally, but the pressure had been there, and it will be there with Seungkwan, too. 

“You’re already doing better than me. You’ve already figured out how to suppress it, when it gets away from you. You just need to work on a way to do it without hurting yourself,” Minghao says. 

His fingers ghost over Seungkwan’s as he says it. Behind him, someone coughs. 

“Uh, hey,” it is Vernon’s voice. 

Minghao turns to face him. Seungkwan springs to his feet. 

“Ready to go?” Seungkwan asks. 

“I mean, only if you are,” Vernon says. 

There is an uncomfortable silence. Minghao feels trapped between them, still sitting on the floor. 

“Yeah, let’s head out. Thanks, Minghao. For this,” Seungkwan says. 

They leave, and he is left alone with Joshua. They tidy what the other members had neglected to clean, placing forgotten cups in the sink and tying off the full trash bag. Minghao finishes a glass of water and shuffles into bed. There is a distinct person-shaped figure beneath his blankets. 

“Mingyu?” Minghao asks into the darkness. 

“Hoshi,” Soonyoung responds. 

Soonyoung had disappeared from the party early on in the evening. It doesn’t surprise Minghao that he ended up here. 

“You better have gotten changed out of your street clothes before you got in my bed,” Minghao says. 

There is no bite to it. Minghao is sweaty and sticky from alcohol. He’ll have to wash his sheets tomorrow regardless. Soonyoung moans and begins to wiggle around in the bed. Clothes pop out from beneath the covers, landing in a pile on the floor.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao strips into his underwear and climbs into bed. It is blazing hot beneath the covers. Soonyoung wraps himself around Minghao regardless. 

“You’re too warm,” Minghao says.

Soonyoung ignores him. Minghao pulls the blankets off one of his legs. 

“We should have thrown a party like this for you,” Soonyoung says. 

It churns uncomfortable in Minghao’s gut. Minghao would have hated a party like this. 

“Why?” Minghao asks. 

“It’s fun when we’re all together,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

~

“I’m not good at this,” Seungkwan huffs. 

“I know,” Minghao responds. 

The honesty makes Seungkwan sputter. He is evidently used to teachers that are more encouraging. Alternatively, Seungkwan has spent the past fifteen years only engaging in activities he excels at– singing, acting, sports. 

“Come on, I’m trying,” Seungkwan whines. 

Minghao leaves his spot on his yoga mat to join Seungkwan on his. 

“Close your eyes and tell me what you’re thinking about,” Minghao says. 

He places one hand on Seungkwan’s solar plexus and the other between his shoulder blades. Seungkwan takes two deep breaths. Minghao focuses on the rise and fall of his chest between his hands. 

“I’m thinking about my Sulbeop,” Seungkwan says. 

“No, you aren’t. If you were, this would be going better,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan grimaces. 

“I’m trying to think about it. I don’t know how you stay so focused when you meditate. I keep running through all the things I have to do,” Seungkwan says. 

“Okay. That’s okay. Instead of trying to clear your mind, try to think about my hands on your chest,” Minghao says. 

“What am I supposed to think about them?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao bites his lip so as not to laugh. Seungkwan is so terrible at mindfulness and meditation that it seems comically fake. 

“Just, focus on them,” Minghao says. 

“Focus on what?” Seungkwan asks.

There is desperation and confusion in his tone. This time, Minghao cannot hold back his laughter. Seungkwan opens his eyes and leans out of Minghao’s touch. Minghao covers his smile with his hand. Seungkwan’s pout quickly turns into laughter. Minghao enjoys so much making Seungkwan laugh. They’ve come here for a reason, though, so he centers Seungkwan on his mat once more and sandwiches his chest between his hands. 

“Okay, I’m going to try something, and I want you to tell me what you feel,” Minghao says. 

“Ominous,” Seungkwan jokes, but he closes his eyes and settles to stillness. 

Minghao’s mother taught him how to do this one autumn when he visited home. It had scared him then, even under her protection. Minghao knows all too well what happens when his Sulbeop escapes his control. For that exact reason, Minghao knows just how fearful Seungkwan is right now. Minghao had had to wait so long for his mother’s guidance. Minghao does not want Seungkwan to have to wait. 

Minghao closes his own eyes and again focuses his attention on the magic within him. He coils it in his throat, as if he is about to use his Sulbeop. Instead of speaking words into flesh, Minghao directs the power downwards into his hands. Denying his Sulbeop feels sticky inside him, an unsatisfying discomfort under his skin. He accepts the prickling sensation and holds his magic in his hands. 

“What is that?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao has never spoken while manipulating magic before, not without his Sulbeop being activated. He thinks that he can manage it, now, if he focuses. He has to in order to guide Seungkwan.

“The magic. Before it is threaded into my Sulbeop,” Minghao tells him. 

Seungkwan understands the assignment without further instruction. His breaths become deep. Minghao can sense as Seungkwan works to gather magic in his own chest. It travels towards Minghao’s hands, attracted to Minghao’s power. Seungkwan’s magic feels hot. It makes so much sense that magic so bright manifests as fire. Being so near to a power so molten excites Minghao’s own magic. When Minghao had done this exercise with his mother, his magic had pulsated in anticipation the whole time, desperate to be channeled into the world as his Sulbeop. He feels no such compulsion now. He and his magic both are content to bask in Seungkwan’s glow. 

“What… what do I do when I want it to stop?” Seungkwan asks. 

“It always lives in you. Imagine it flowing back into your bloodstream as you breathe. Let it dissipate into your organs and muscles,” Minghao instructs. 

He is playing teacher, but the action is hard for him to demonstrate. Minghao breathes in silence for ten minutes as he slowly and specifically visualizes his magic cycling through his body. He does it, though. He manages the exercise. His mother would be proud. 

It is more difficult for Seungkwan. The magic doesn’t want to untangle from itself once it has been gathered. Minghao had planned for this possibility. He leaves Seungkwan briefly and pulls a large metal bowl from his bag. He fills it with water from the tap and places it in front of Seungkwan. 

“Hey, it’s alright. Hold the magic in your chest, and open your eyes,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan’s eyes peel open and instantly focus on the bowl. 

“You want me to start a fire,” Seungkwan says.

“Yes. In the bowl.” 

“I’ve never directed it before,” Seungkwan worries. 

“Today you will.” 

Minghao again takes his place next to Seungkwan, both his hands on Seungkwan’s ribs. Seungkwan breathes in once, and then out. His mouth opens as if he is going to sing. His Sulbeop is released instead. Minghao can see the magic in the air, gold and red and glittering before it erupts into a white-hot fire in the bowl. Minghao had not accounted for Seungkwan’s raw power. The water boils and evaporates and the fire burns on unnaturally. The metal bowl holds it safe. Minghao stares at it, mystified, for so many minutes that it takes Seungkwan’s squirming to draw his attention away from it. 

“That is something to be proud of,” Minghao says. 

Minghao is proud. He is proud of Seungkwan for directing such strong magic so clearly. He is proud of himself as a teacher. 

“That felt so much better than burning myself,” Seungkwan says. 

He cracks a smile and Minghao hugs him before they both work to put out the flame. 

~

When it comes time for Minghao to record his solo music video, Soonyoung is the only one to show up to support him. It isn’t a surprise. Minghao can’t remember a time when he went in to work just to support another member in their individual activities. Soonyoung always shows up, for everyone. Even with that knowledge, it feels nice to have Soonyoung there. Even with that knowledge, it feels lonely to be working without anyone else present. 

“This is so different from the last time you showed it to me,” Soonyoung comments.

They are reviewing the footage, Minghao and his director debating whether or not to record a part of the choreography for a sixth time. 

“You look like a totally different person,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao doesn’t know that the choreography is so different from his usual contemporary solo work, but his inspiration has changed. After bearing witness to the way that Seungkwan’s Sulbeop dances out of his body, Minghao could not help but try to replicate it. Minghao had reworked his choreography to embody what Seungkwan had looked like to him in that moment– a dragon. 

“I like this more than I thought I would,” Minghao says, “But I want to try this part one more time. Let’s set up again, before we lose the dawn light.” 

Minghao and the crew work straight until lunch, Soonyoung cheering them on and taking behind-the-scenes footage primarily for his own benefit. Minghao doesn’t mind that Soonyoung wants to capitalize off his schedule. He appreciates the company. 

Neither of them are surprised when a coffee truck greets them as they exit the building for a food break. It is a part of their team ritual. It is, however, unexpected that Seungkwan organized and purchased the gift. 

“Wow. Seungkwan’s never even gotten a truck for me ,” Soonyoung comments. 

“Yeah,” Minghao responds, “This is different.” 

~

Tour preparations feel hollow when they are down two members. There is also the promise of three further absences as soon as they return. Tour is not long this year. They are sticking to Asia only. All of the members of Seventeen love world tours and swore not to do one until they are reunited, even if that means only one final trip around the world together before they disband entirely. 

Soonyoung is mean during dance practice. He always has been, even if he uses his charismatic disposition to attempt to offset his scathing comments. He has confessed to Minghao late at night as they work on choreography alone that the finality of this tour is eating at him. 

“I want this to be perfect,” he tells the group one night, “This is how everyone will remember us.” 

This is how they will remember you, Minghao thinks to himself, I will be here the whole time. 

Minghao loves Soonyoung, but he can be impossible to stomach when he is so intense about his work. When Mingyu invites Minghao on a “Maknae Retreat” one weekend, he is all too eager to attend. Mingyu drives them to the beach. His car is small. It is clear that Minghao’s invitation was an after-thought. Vernon sits in the passenger’s seat beside Mingyu, two backpacks shoved underneath his feet. Minghao is assigned to the back middle seat, his knees bent uncomfortably the duration of their drive west, with Seungkwan and Dino beside him. 

Mingyu rented a three bedroom beach house for them. He is given a room to himself without having to ask or win a game. While the younger four spend their short vacation drinking and laughing together, he lounges in bed with books and strolls on the beach alone. He can feel his muscles relax each moment he spends outside of Seoul. 

On their last night, Mingyu joins him as he sits on the beach overlooking the sea. In the distance, the shrieks of the younger members pierce the crisp air of early autumn. 

“Hey. Are you doing alright?” Mingyu asks.

Minghao doesn’t understand the question. Rather, he doesn’t understand Mingyu’s tone. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Minghao asks. 

“On this trip you’ve been…” Mingyu trails off and shakes his head, as if he disagrees with whatever the end of the sentence would have been. 

Minghao gives him time to think. He enjoys the sound of the water so much. There is no rush. 

“I feel like it must be really hard for you that Soonyoung is leaving,” Mingyu says. 

A particularly large wave breaks on the shore. The spray hits their bare feet, misting them with cold salt. The same sensation is mirrored inside Minghao’s stomach. 

“It isn’t like that anymore,” Minghao tells him. 

His statement is true, and it isn’t. Minghao feels so very close to Soonyoung. He cannot imagine what life will be like when Soonyoung is not in his dance practices, in his home, in his bed, in his thoughts. Minghao has long since moved on from his crush on Soonyoung, but love is more pervasive than a crush. Mingyu must know this. He stares at Minghao as Minghao stares at the sea. 

“A part of me doesn’t want him to leave. Another part of me really does,” Minghao says. 

“You never really got space from him, after…” Mingyu says. 

“I went to Anshan.” 

“For a month.” 

He is correct. Minghao has never really had space from Soonyoung. He hadn’t wanted to need it. On the precipice of Soonyoung leaving the acknowledgement is destabilizing. 

“I know that it will be different between us when he comes back,” Minghao says. 

This is generalizable to the entire group. It is specific between himself and Soonyoung, too. The way that they will change terrifies Minghao. It makes him feel lonelier than the loss of Jeonghan and Seungcheol combined. 

“I know you two have a special relationship but, I don’t know, Hao, maybe it’ll be better once he’s back. I know this hurts you sometimes. And I think it hurts him too,” Mingyu tells him. 

“I know that you’re right. I just don’t want to feel less close to him,” Minghao says. 

“I think you can find new ways to be close,” Mingyu says, “And maybe new people to be close with.” 

Half a field away, in the darkness, Seungkwan’s voice rings out. He’s started singing. 

~

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it, this is weird,” Vernon says. 

Vernon is sitting on his hotel bed, the one closest to the bathroom, as Minghao peels through clothes in his suitcase. Soonyoung decided to institute a new procedure for choosing roommates on tour– random chance. 

“What do you mean?” Minghao asks, “Why would this be weird?” 

Vernon turns ghost-white, all the blood drained from his face. Minghao lets him sit with the terror for ten, fifteen seconds before he falls apart into laughter. 

“I’m joking, Vernon. Of course this is weird,” Minghao giggles. 

“Your poker face is too good,” Vernon laughs with him. 

“I think Soonyoung’s idea might be nice, though. Things will be different with everyone gone– we’re going to end up spending time with different members,” Minghao says. 

Vernon’s eyes narrow and his bottom lip pouts out slightly. Minghao knows it to be his deep-in-thought look. He continues to go through his suitcase in search of a specific shirt for dinner. Vernon will talk when he’s ready. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” Vernon asks. 

“Sure.” 

Minghao half expects it to be about Seungkwan. Vernon has always been Seungkwan’s closest confidant. He must be concerned about Seungkwan, just as Soonyoung had been concerned about Minghao when he was first navigating his Sulbeop. 

“Everyone’s service is kind of freaking me out,” Vernon says, “It’s kind of hitting me that I, like, gave up my opportunity to opt out of it.”

Minghao remembers how easily Vernon had chosen to retain his Korean citizenship before his eighteenth birthday. It had been the right choice. The only choice, really. Fans would have revolted if he’d given up his citizenship. 

“You know it was the only option,” Minghao says. 

Vernon sighs and looks past Minghao out the window. 

“It might have killed my career in Korea, but going into service is going to change my career, too. It just feels like I put it off ten years,” Vernon tells him. 

“The military isn’t going to ruin your career,” Minghao says. 

Vernon runs his hands through his hair. 

“I know . But even just, even just touring like this is different. I don’t like doing this without everyone,” Vernon says. 

“I get worried that some of you will decide not to re-sign, when you’re discharged. That you’ll want to move on to solo work, or start families,” Minghao admits. 

It makes Vernon laugh. 

“What?” Minghao asks, annoyed. 

“No, sorry. I just… Seungkwan and I were just talking about how we’re worried you’ll move on from us while we’re gone. Like, you’re so interested in all this stuff that is way out of Seventeen’s wheelhouse, and you’ll finally have the time to work on it now,” Vernon says. 

It has crossed Minghao’s mind, too. He knows that he does not want to be a part of Seventeen indefinitely. He has interests that he cannot follow while he is a part of the group. 

“I want us to have one more tour together. All of us. I mean, maybe more than that. Depending,” Minghao says. 

“Honestly, man, I had no idea,” Vernon says. 

Minghao feels sad. He knows that he has been among the most vocal about reservations during contract re-signings, but he has been equally vocal about his dedication to the team. 

“I’ve talked about this in front of the group,” Minghao frowns. 

“I mean, sort of. Usually Soonyoung says something and you, like, just agree with it. It’s hard for me to know where that’s coming from,” Vernon says. 

The comment makes Minghao angry. Vernon makes him sound like Soonyoung’s lackey. Minghao’s decisions have always been his own. If anything, Soonyoung has acted as his mouthpiece after late night discussions. Vernon wouldn’t know that, though. Vernon wasn’t there as Soonyoung and Minghao hashed out their hopes and dreams and fears. 

“I did mean it,” Minghao says. 

He wants to say more to separate himself from Soonyoung in Vernon’s eyes, but he doesn’t know how. Instead, he locates his shirt in his suitcase and heads into the bathroom to change. 

~

“What do you think about our friendship?” Minghao asks. 

He and Soonyoung are both naked, shoulder to shoulder in the otherwise empty steam room of their hotel. Minghao’s eyes gravitate to the scar under Soonyoung’s collarbone. He exerts effort to pull his gaze away. Soonyoung turns towards him. There is a mirth in his eyes for a moment, and Minghao expects him to make a joke. His expression flattens out after examining Minghao’s expression. 

“What are you thinking about?” Soonyoung asks. 

Minghao closes his eyes and leans his head against the warm, wet tile. It is a good question. Minghao feels more uneasy about Soonyoung now than he has in years. It is lonely. 

“That night,” Minghao begins. He reaches out and places his hand on Soonyoung’s collar bone. It is the first time his fingers have touched the scar since the night he made them. He continues, “What did you feel that night?” Minghao asks. 

“I’ve told you. It hurt, but it wasn’t–”

“No,” Minghao cuts him off, “Not about what I did. About what I said.” 

Minghao’s hand remains on Soonyoung’s chest. He feels Soonyoung inhale, and hold it, and release his breath long and slow. 

“I was so scared. I was so scared that things would change between us,” Soonyoung answers. 

“Things are going to change between us when you go away,” Minghao says. 

If things were going to change between us anyway, eventually, why couldn’t we have tried?

“I know. I hate it. You’re my best friend, Minghao,” Soonyoung says. 

“Jihoon is your best friend,” Minghao smiles. 

“You’re my– my–” Soonyoung begins.

He does not finish his sentence. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with Minghao’s, pressing Minghao’s palm hard against his chest. 

“Why haven’t you ever dated anyone?” Minghao asks. 

He feels uncharacteristically out of control of his words. Soonyoung is drawing emotion out of him, some old and some new. He wants to uncoil this thing between them before Soonyoung leaves even if it is at the expense of his dignity. He wants to know if he and Soonyoung could have been something, if they had made different choices. 

“Minghao. I have,” Soonyoung says. 

Water drips from Minghao’s face onto his chest and he pretends that it is sweat. Of course Soonyoung has been dating. Of course he has. It’s been obvious, too, in retrospect. Dinners with sunbaes, gifts in the form of expensive jewelry, late night phone calls. Soonyoung hadn’t hidden it from Minghao at all. Minghao had just assumed that Soonyoung was close with him, alone. 

“You didn’t tell me. You let me think… you let me wonder what it might mean,” Minghao says.

It might not be fair to say, but it is true. All this time Minghao has wondered. All this time Soonyoung has been dating.  

“I didn’t want us to change,” Soonyoung tells him. 

That is so stupid and selfish of him. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was keeping Minghao just a bit too close for just friends . 

“Soonyoung. We have to. You don’t love me back,” Minghao says. 

Soonyoung flinches as if Minghao hurt him physically. 

“We got to pull it off for awhile though, right?” Soonyoung smiles. 

That, too, is selfish. If Minghao were anyone else, it would infuriate him. Water drips from Soonyoung’s face. Minghao gives him the grace of pretending it is sweat just as he had for himself. Rejected as he feels, as he has felt, Soonyoung is right, and Minghao is grateful they had years together being whatever it is they have been. 

“Yes. We did,” Minghao smiles back. 

They leave the steam room and shower without talking any more about it. Though they had planned to share dinner, they part ways in the elevator. Minghao returns to Vernon and Soonyoung to Dokyeom. Minghao feels sadness. He feels fear. He feels anger, and frustration. More than that, though, Minghao feels relief. 

~

The power inside Seungkwan intimidates Minghao. They’ve been standing to the side of the pool in their hotel in Bangkok for upwards of an hour, a safe practice area. Seungkwan has set six fires, each one larger than the last, each one on the surface of the water. Seungkwan celebrates them with a sharp nod of his head and a string of critiques spoken aloud. 

“Hey, let’s take a break, let some of this burn out before someone notices,” Minghao suggests. 

Seungkwan sits on the edge of the pool and slips his calves into the water. He is sweating, either from exertion or the residual heat radiating off the fire he has created. He glows orange in the dying flame. 

“How’d you convince them to give you private access to the pool, anyway?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao joins him on the edge of the pool and dips his own feet into the water. 

“Flirted the keys out of the head of security. Her shift ends in an hour, though, so we’ll have to leave before then,” Minghao explains. 

Seungkwan kicks him, playfully, repeatedly. 

“You’re giving Seventeen a bad reputation,” he jokes. 

“As if you’ve never used your looks to get something you want,” Minghao teases. 

Seungkwan’s kicking stops. He grows stiff next to Minghao. On the opposite end of the pool, two of the fires flicker out. Minghao wonders if Seungkwan has been unconsciously feeding each of them this entire time. 

“What?” Minghao asks. 

“Come on, Minghao. You have to know it isn’t that easy for me. I know I’m famous, I know being an idol gets me things, but you’re just… I mean, look at you,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao cannot look at himself. He looks at Seungkwan instead. Seungkwan’s shining eyes, Seungkwan’s soft face, Seungkwan’s glowing skin. Minghao knows that he is beautiful in a sharp way, in an ethereal way, in the sort of way that had the entire world suspecting his possession of a Sulbeop. Seungkwan isn’t beautiful like that, but god he is beautiful. There are entire blogs dedicated to Seungkwan’s legs, to the moles on his face and throat. Minghao has seen them. 

“You’re selling yourself short. Why would you do that?” Minghao asks. 

A third fire goes out, and then a fourth. 

“Please don’t make me argue with you about this. You don’t even have to diet,” Seungkwan says. 

“Hey, can I see your phone?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan reaches into his pocket and hands his phone over, far less skepticism than Minghao had expected. Minghao takes it and tosses it five feet away from the pool, and then his own phone along with it. 

“Uh, what was that for?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao pushes him into the pool. 

Seungkwan comes up sputtering and cursing. The two remaining fires roar. 

“Be nicer to yourself,” Minghao tells him. 

Before Seungkwan can respond, Minghao tackles him into the water. 

When the fires have gone out, Seungkwan takes Minghao back to his empty hotel room to shower and dry off. The rest of the guys are in Soonyoung’s room, half-kidnapped for a movie marathon. Seungkwan orders delivery as a thank-you for Minghao’s continued mentoring. Minghao feels as if his help is rapidly devolving into standing in silent awe of Seungkwan, a simple witness to his Sulbeop. He accepts the meal, anyway. Thai food is delicious. 

“I’m thinking about going to Jeju after tour. When we have those couple of weeks off before the guys enlist,” Seungkwan says. 

“Have you told your family about your Sulbeop?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan shakes his head. 

“My great great grandmother had one. It helped her to grow anything . My mom remembers eating the mandarins she grew when she was a little kid. She said nothing will ever taste as sweet,” Seungkwan says. 

Seungkwan’s power is so different from that, in some ways. In other ways, it is exactly the same. 

“Fire brings life, too,” Minghao tells him. 

“Maybe a hundred years ago,” Seungkwan says. 

“Do you know what you look like when you use it?” Minghao asks. 

He is sure that he already knows the answer. Seungkwan is so afraid of himself, there is no way that he has bothered to glance at his reflection as he casts fire. 

“A lunatic?” 

“A dragon,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan looks away, face red. The room pulsates molten hot, only for a second. Minghao checks Seungkwan’s hands. They are not burned. 

“Is your Sulbeop like your family’s?” Seungkwan asks. 

He is deflecting, unwilling to take Minghao’s compliment. Minghao is so proud of him for releasing his power in a way that didn’t hurt himself or start a fire that he allows it. 

“No. Everyone in my family has the power to heal, in one way or another,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan frowns. 

“Words can be healing, too,” he says. 

“Yes, this felt very healing,” Minghao quips, brandishing his scar. I want to disappear. 

Seungkwan does not shy away from it. He runs two fingers across the scar on Minghao’s wrist. It feels like a warm compress. Like a hot pack. 

“Fine. We both have powers that hurt easier than they help. But they can help. I’ll admit it if you will,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao has never once considered his Sulbeop to be helpful. Not even his own mother had suggested that it might be. Jeonghan has hinted at it being exciting , in all his begging for Minghao to inscribe him with a word. Minghao has always taken it to be Jeonghan’s twisted humor, or a dark misinterpretation of his Sulbeop as some sort of tattoo. Maybe it is more than that. Maybe there is power in a friend inscribing a word into your skin, consensually. 

“I don’t know. I’ll consider it,” Minghao says. 

“I know our parents are really different, but what was it like for you to tell your mom?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao had told his mother of his power over the phone. She asked questions– what his Sulbeop had felt like, looked like, acted like. The phone call was fine, but it hadn’t felt real until he was at home in her arms. He had cried so much, telling her all about his mistakes, the way his Sulbeop had escaped him and hurt two of the people he cares for most in the world. He had then smiled so much telling her all the ways he had learned control over his Sulbeop– meditation and deep breathing and visualization. She had smiled back, but she had not looked proud. Not like Minghao had imagined she would. 

“I think I disappointed her. I can’t figure out how,” Minghao says. 

It isn’t the advice that Seungkwan had certainly been seeking, but it is the truth. 

“You didn’t disappoint us,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao shoots him a leveling glare. 

“Minghao, how many mistakes have the rest of us made over the years? I keep setting shit on fire . You aren’t disappointed in me, are you?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Of course not. I’m so proud of what you can do,” Minghao answers instantly. 

“Then let us feel that about you,” Seungkwan says. 

“Sometimes I…”

Minghao stops himself. He feels no real hesitation in sharing the thought in question with Seungkwan, but it isn’t something he has voiced out loud. Seungkwan picks a piece of pork up with his chopsticks and waives it in front of Minghao’s face. Minghao parts his lips and eats it. 

“What were you saying?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Sometimes I think about practicing my Sulbeop on myself. I’ve only used it three times. I want to know what it feels like to use it on purpose,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan feeds him another piece of pork. 

“These past few months, using mine with you, it feels… I can’t even describe how different it is from when I was trying to suppress it,” Seungkwan says. 

“So, just to be clear, you are in favor of me painfully carving words into my skin?” Minghao says. 

Minghao means it as a joke, and Seungkwan takes it as one. He laughs so hard that he chokes on his water. He coughs and slaps Minghao repeatedly on the thigh. 

“You’re awful,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’m hilarious.” 

“Is that really something you’ve thought about, though? You’re right. It isn’t an easy decision,” Seungkwan says. 

“I have. I don’t like that these are the only words on my body. But I’ve never been able to settle on something I’d want on me forever. Something else ,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan puts his utensils down and shimmies back on the bed, laying down on the pillows. Minghao mirrors him, full and tired. 

“For someone who has a million things to say, I can’t believe you’re trying to find a single word to put on your skin. I could see you talking out an entire book into yourself,” Seungkwan smiles. 

He looks sleepy, his eyes half-lidded. Minghao feels cozy looking at him, his limbs heavy. 

“What do you mean I have a million things to say? I’m one of the quietest people on the team,” Minghao argues. 

He is quiet on purpose. He knows the power of words more than anyone. 

“Maybe in the group. When you’re interested in something, you don’t shut up about it. Do you have any idea how long we’ve all heard you talk about tea?” Seungkwan says. 

He looks cute lying down, laughing. Minghao hardly minds that he is being made fun of. 

“Maybe if I carve the instructions for tea-making into my body you’ll all stop doing it wrong,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan puts the balls of his feet on Minghao’s thighs and shakes him. Minghao laughs as he rocks back and forth. Even with their serious conversation, he feels light. Happy. Minghao had expected to feel a sense of responsibility hanging out with Seungkwan. He wants to be a good teacher. That is a part of their dynamic, but more often than not Minghao finds himself having fun with Seungkwan. He feels like a kid sometimes. 

Minghao does not notice falling asleep. He wakes up, groggy, to the lights in the hotel room being flipped off one by one. Seungkwan is passed out next to him, mouth open, drool puddling on his pillow. Minghao turns his head and finds Jihoon changing quietly into his pajamas. 

“Sorry, I tried not to wake you up,” Jihoon whispers. 

Minghao pushes himself up on one elbow. His eyelids fall closed, heavy, sandy. 

“Just sleep here. He won’t mind,” Jihoon says. 

Minghao nods. Jihoon walks into the bathroom. A chill runs over Minghao– Jihoon must have turned the AC on. He wriggles under the covers, curling himself into a ball. He closes his eyes, intent on falling asleep, when he remembers Seungkwan. Minghao reaches a hand out and strokes Seungkwan’s hair to awaken him as gently as possible.

“Hm?” Seungkwan stirs. 

He opens one eye, the other stuck shut by sleep. 

“It’s cold. Get under the covers,” Minghao tells him. 

Seungkwan murmurs something unintelligible and rolls around somewhat pathetically until he finds himself under the blanket and sheet. Minghao falls asleep comfortably to the sound of his breathing.  

~

“You have no idea how beautiful he looks when he’s using it, Jun,” Minghao says. 

He has been talking about Seungkwan for too long. He knows it, and Jun’s face shows it. He is brought back to a comment Seungkwan made– when he finds something interesting, he doesn’t shut up about it. 

“Technically, I was the first one to see him do this,” Jun says. 

He’s teasing Minghao, trying to get a rise out of him. It works. 

“Dreams don’t count,” Minghao says, flatly. 

“I’m joking, Minghao,” Jun says. 

“I know.” 

“I should have told you this earlier, but I saw you with him in my premonitions, sometimes,” Jun says. 

That shocks Minghao. 

“You usually don’t keep things like that from me,” Minghao says. 

“I was worried you’d get all defiant like you do. I could tell in my dreams that it was important for you to be there, and I was worried you wouldn’t be if I told you about it,” Jun says. 

“You aren’t worried now?” Minghao asks. 

“Thirty minutes ago you compared him to a dragon, and have continued to talk about him non-stop. No, I’m not worried,” Jun says. 

Minghao is defiant. It is how he’d hurt his back, determined to prove Jun’s premonitions wrong without taking the rest that would have actually proved them wrong. That’s the thing about Jun’s premonitions– they are a potential outcome of an uncertain future. Anything can change. 

An itch inside Minghao’s skull tells him to fight against this prescribed future. His heart is not behind it. It couldn’t be. Just like Jun has said, Seungkwan is a dragon. Minghao can’t look away. 

“I’ve been wondering,” Jun begins, “You’ve been teaching Seungkwan to use his Sulbeop in all these different ways. Have you been trying that with yours?” 

Minghao narrows his eyes. 

“Is this some cryptic prophetic message, or are you genuinely asking?” Minghao says. 

“This isn’t coming from my dreams. I just know how hard you work to suppress it. I can’t imagine how hard that is,” Jun says. 

It is both hard and mundane. Minghao has been doing this for years, now. It is like when fans worry about all their idol schedules. Sure, their lives are hectic, but they are familiar. Still.

“I’ve been talking about trying to use my Sulbeop again. Intentionally. I haven’t done that before,” Minghao says, as if Jun is not well aware. 

“Talking with Soonyoung?” Jun asks. 

“No,” Minghao smiles, embarrassed, “With Seungkwan.” 

~

Tour ends before Minghao has had a chance to properly miss home. Flying into Seoul is so much more hollow than it had been a year ago. The instant they land, his life changes indefinitely. Seungkwan and Vernon don’t bother coming back to the dorms. They catch a connecting flight to Jeju. Soonyoung, Jihoon, and Wonwoo are only home for two days apiece before they head to their parents’ homes. Minghao knows that he has seen far more of them than their families, but he does not enjoy being denied time with the people he is closest to with enlistment on the horizon. 

Minghao hears a knock on his bedroom door the Thursday after they return from Japan. Before he has the chance to answer, Joshua pushes inside with two bottles of wine and glasses from their “fancy” cabinet. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Minghao asks. 

“You’ve been moping. And… I know how hard it is to have your best friend enlist,” Joshua says. 

Minghao mulls this over as Joshua works towards uncorking the first bottle. He has been holed up in his room painting all week. He thought he’d passed it off as post-tour exhaustion, but tour, honestly, had not been all that exhausting. 

“Your friends are coming home soon. Are you getting excited?” Minghao asks. 

“Six months is still a long time,” Joshua says, “You understand. Soonyoung’s only been gone for three days and you’re doing this.” 

Minghao snorts.

“Seriously, though, I was surprised he wasn’t over here much before he went to see his family. Is everything okay?” Joshua asks. 

Right. Joshua would notice that. 

“We talked about taking some space from each other while we were on tour,” Minghao says. 

It isn’t exactly what they talked about, but it was the outcome of the conversation regardless. Minghao thinks that it is better this way. He thinks it would have been too hard to watch Soonyoung leave if they had been as inseparable as they had grown used to. 

“Oh?” Joshua asks, eyebrow raised. 

“It seems I may have been romanticizing our relationship,” Minghao says. 

Joshua looks up at him, then back down at the wine glasses. He picks up the wine bottle and doubles the amount in one of the glasses. 

“Here,” he says, handing the larger drink to Minghao, “You need it.” 

~

Seungkwan and Vernon return home. Minghao has never felt pulled to meet with Seungkwan after a long absence. Waiting until their next schedule together had always been soon enough. It is different, now. Seungkwan texts Minghao individually to let him know he’s back at his dorm, and Minghao invites him out for coffee immediately. Seungkwan makes him wait thirty minutes and shows up at Minghao’s front door with an iced americano and a caramel macchiato. 

“You like sweet coffee, right?” Seungkwan asks, handing Minghao the macchiato. 

He kicks off his shoes and heads towards Minghao’s bedroom. A year ago, it would have been absurd for Seungkwan to make himself so casually at home in Minghao’s dorm. This phenomena is a part of what Minghao values about being a member of Seventeen. After so many years together, there remains so much opportunity and desire for new connections. 

“My clothes are clean,” Seungkwan announces.

He flops onto Minghao’s bed, making himself comfortable. Minghao joins him. He is anxious about Seungkwan in his room. In his post-tour distress, he has been cooped up. The space is messier than he’d like for company. Seungkwan doesn’t say anything about it, but his eyes scan the room. 

“How was home?” Minghao asks. 

“You mean, how was telling my parents I can’t stop setting shit on fire?” Seungkwan asks. 

He sips from his coffee, the timing purposefully comical. Minghao laughs. 

“Yes. How was that?” Minghao says. 

“It was… great, honestly. I don’t know why I worked myself up. My family shared all these great memories of my great grandmother. They had some of her old journals laying around… I don’t want to read all of them, but there were some things in there that were obviously about using her Sulbeop. Even though our powers are so different, the way she talks about how a Sulbeop feels… it just made sense to me,” Seungkwan says. 

He smiles as he says it. Minghao’s chest feels light.

“Did you ever get to meet her? Your great grandmother?” Minghao asks. 

“There are some pictures of her holding me as a baby. Nothing I can remember, though. It’s cool to share this with her,” Seungkwan says. 

“I always felt that way, too. Like my Sulbeop connects me to my family,” Minghao agrees. 

“I kept wishing you were there,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao’s heart skips a beat. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“They wanted to see me use my Sulbeop. I’ve never used it on purpose without you,” Seungkwan says. 

Oh. God, Seungkwan still doesn’t believe in himself. Six months ago Minghao may have been an integral part of Seungkwan’s foothold on his flow of magic, but that it so untrue at this point that it is almost laughable. Almost, except that it makes Minghao sad to see Seungkwan doubt himself. 

“Seungkwan, you could do it without me. Easily,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan places his coffee on Mingaho’s bedside table and makes himself more comfortable on the bed. He lays down and curls up. He looks cute, so cute that it takes physical effort for Minghao to stop from reaching out to touch him. 

“I don’t know. I don’t feel ready for that. At least not in front of my family,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Minghao says. 

It feels impulsive, though he knows it is not. He has been considering his end of the bargain for months now. 

“Okay, let’s hear it,” Seungkwan says. 

“If you use your Sulbeop on your own, I’ll try to use mine,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan sits up. He stares at Minghao with a neutral expression. Seungkwan is so rarely neutral. Minghao does not know what it means. 

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Seungkwan tells him. 

“It’s also for me,” Minghao says. 

“Do you want me there? When you try to use yours?” Seungkwan asks. 

When Minghao has fantasized about using his Sulbeop, he has always been alone. He didn’t dare to imagine it any other way. Even in his daydreams, he was too afraid of one of his friends getting hurt in the crossfire. Minghao is less afraid with Seungkwan. Seungkwan is warm. Stabilizing. He won’t hurt him. He can’t. 

“Yes,” Minghao says, “If you’re okay with it.” 

Seungkwan makes a production out of sipping from his straw while still lying down. Minghao eyes him with disdain, eager to scold him for spilling. Seungkwan doesn’t. It shouldn’t be surprising that he is practiced at drinking coffee in bed. 

“Yeah. Of course. I know I can never pay you back for how much you’ve been here for me, but I can try to be there for you while you work on this,” Seungkwan says. 

He opens his mouth as if he is going to continue speaking, but then takes a sip of coffee instead. 

“Is there something else?” Minghao asks. 

“You’re too perceptive,” Seungkwan pouts. 

Minghao is not. Seungkwan is being obvious. 

“Yes, I am,” Minghao says anyway. 

“I guess I just… okay, what I’m about to say is incredibly selfish,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I’ve been feeling left out from the rest of the Beopsa in Seventeen. I know you’ve been here for me, but I’ve barely talked with Jun about any of this, and Soonyoung still hasn’t even admitted to me that he is one,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao freezes. There is so much in Seungkwan’s statement that concerns him that he does not know where to begin.

“Seungkwan, Soonyoung doesn’t have a Sulbeop,” Minghao says. 

He does not know how to help Seungkwan to feel more included, but he can solve blatant misinformation. Soonyoung might be close with both Minghao and Jun but he is not a Beopsa.

“You don’t have to keep up the charade. I can feel it, hyung. Lying about it is pointless,” Seungkwan says. 

“Seungkwan, I’m not lying. What do you mean you can feel it? He’s not– he isn’t– he’s never told me–” 

Minghao stutters, flustered. What can Seungkwan feel ? There is nothing there. Minghao would know if Soonyoung had a Sulbeop. Soonyoung would have told him. He’d have told him, wouldn’t he? 

“If he swore you to secrecy, fine, whatever. Don’t say anything. But don’t lie to me. That isn’t nice,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you. Seungkwan, he doesn’t have a Sulbeop,” Minghao says.

He feels desperate, desperate for Seungkwan to believe him, desperate for Seungkwan to be wrong. His emotion must show. Seungkwan’s defensive demeanor shifts. He sits and slides closer to Minghao. His hands touch Minghao, comforting, grounding. 

“Hyung. He does. He uses it all the time. I feel it. I don’t– I don’t know what it does, exactly, but I can feel when it’s in me,” Seungkwan says. And then, “Did he really not tell you?” 

Minghao is quiet for a long time. Seungkwan hangs himself around Minghao’s back. He is so, so warm. 

“Maybe he doesn’t know he has one. For some people, it isn’t so obvious,” Minghao says. 

“Yeah. Maybe. Soonyoung is… I could see him thinking it was just, normal, or something,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao can’t tell if Seungkwan believes his own words. 

~

They confront Soonyoung together. Minghao’s first instinct was to talk with him alone, but he found himself at a loss as to what he would say. “ Seungkwan thinks you’re magic and I’m devastated that I never noticed,” would be true, but deeply embarrassing. So, they confront him together. They intend to wine and dine him. It’s what Soonyoung likes, to be pampered. They reserve space in his favorite restaurant for privacy. 

“Wow, you rented out the whole back room for me? Is this just because I’m enlisting first?” Soonyoung asks. 

Minghao and Seungkwan look uncomfortably at one another. They haven’t even placed their orders yet. They’d hoped to get Soonyoung satiated with at least an appetizer before jumping into a conversation they are both dreading. 

“Yes, it is, but don’t tell Woozi and Wonwoo. We like them less so they aren’t getting this treatment,” Seungkwan jokes. 

Immediately, Minghao is satisfied in his choice to have brought Seungkwan along. Minghao has no idea how to lighten the mood. Seungkwan is perfect for this. He and Soonyoung both are laughing. Minghao is too anxious to join in, but he manages to crack a smile. Everyone is happy and getting along. And, really, there is no reason for them not to be. Soonyoung and Seungkwan are close, and Minghao is close with both of them. His closeness with Seungkwan is just… new. It feels fragile. Precious. Too delicate to be flaunting in front of Soonyoung, especially when the topic of conversation is going to be one in which Minghao is emotionally invested. 

Their orders go in and appetizers and wine come out. Seungkwan has done his due diligence of softening Soonyoung up. It is now Minghao’s responsibility to turn the evening a touch more serious. 

“Soonyoung,” Minghao says. 

His tone is soft and commanding. Soonyoung stills across the table from him. Seungkwan’s leg shakes underneath the table. 

“Yeah?” 

“I wanted to… we , I guess, wanted to talk with you about Sulbeop,” Minghao says. 

“Oh, sure. I know you two have been doing a lot of stuff together like, with yours. Is it about that?” Soonyoung asks. 

Minghao and Seungkwan exchange another long look. Minghao nods to Seungkwan, encouraging him to talk. He is the one with the information. They, apparently, take too long to respond for Soonyoung to manage. 

“Guys, what? You’re freaking me out,” Soonyoung says. 

“Hyung, I think you have one,” Seungkwan says. 

His eyes are on Minghao as he says it. Minghao smiles at him, and turns his gaze to Soonyoung. Soonyoung’s mouth is parted, eyes flitting between Minghao and Seungkwan. 

“This is a weird joke,” Soonyoung says. 

It is relieving. Soonyoung doesn’t know. He wouldn’t hold up a lie if confronted about it directly. This makes the conversation difficult but so much less painful than if Soonyoung had been keeping this a secret. 

“I was confused when Seungkwan brought it up with me, too, but he can sense it in you,” Minghao says. 

“You can’t?” Soonyoung asks.

He looks confused. Scared, even. 

“I have to put effort into it. I didn’t know Seungkwan had a Sulbeop, either, until he told me,” Minghao says. 

Soonyoung turns to Seungkwan. The two are seated next to one another. Soonyoung gets physical with Seungkwan, an elbow on his shoulder, a knee knocking against Seungkwan’s thigh. 

“Do you really think I have one?” Soonyoung asks. 

“I can feel you using it right now ,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao considers reaching out a hand to feel for himself, but they are at a restaurant. He trusts that Seungkwan is right. Minghao has firsthand experience with Seungkwan’s command of his Sulbeop. If the man can sense magic flowing through Soonyoung, magic is flowing through Soonyoung. 

“Okay, uh, I like, I believe you Kwan-ah, but I’m not doing anything,” Soonyoung says. 

“It isn’t always something dramatic. Jun’s only comes out when he dreams,” Minghao reminds Soonyoung. 

“I’m just really confused, guys,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao is, too. A Sulbeop typically makes its presence known. Even though Jun’s Sulbeop is more subtle than the chaos that he and Seungkwan cause, he had woken up from his first prophetic dream knowing that it was something bigger than REM sleep. 

“What’s going on when you feel it, Seungkwan?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan rests his elbow on the table and uses his fist to support his head as he looks up at the ceiling. He thinks for a long while. They sit quietly waiting for his response. Soonyoung forgoes his usual antsy physicality for patient stillness. 

“I feel it the most when we practice, or when we’re filming,” Seungkwan says, “It feels like… like you’re drawing me in. But then I also feel it in situations like this, when it’s just you and I talking,” Seungkwan says. 

“Does it feel the same? Like he’s drawing you in?” Minghao asks. 

“No. The magic still feels like his but it feels more like… it feels like you’re digging into me. Like right now, it feels like you’re digging into me,” Seungkwan says. 

“It’s freaking you out,” Soonyoung says. 

“I didn’t say that,” Seungkwan responds. 

“But you feel it. You can see that he feels it, can’t you Minghao?” Soonyoung asks. 

Minghao does not see that. What he sees is a puzzle that he can’t piece together no matter how hard he looks at it. 

“He looks fine, Soonyoung. You aren’t making anyone uncomfortable,” Minghao says. 

This time, he does reach across the table to touch Soonyoung. He wants to reassure him. The instant his hand contacts Soonyoung’s forearm he is hit with a wave of power. It is nothing unfamiliar. Minghao has felt this a thousand times. Before, it had just felt like touching Soonyoung- electrifying, exhilarating. It is obvious now that there is more to it. There is magic inside him. Minghao feels foolish for having missed this as a Sulbeop. 

“Now you’re freaked out,” Soonyoung says, frowning. 

“No. No, I’m not freaked out. I just felt your magic when I touched you, and I feel stupid for never noticing before,” Minghao says. 

“Oh, my god, it’s emotions. It’s got to be. I don’t know how but– that’s got to be your Sulbeop somehow, right, Soonyoung?” Seungkwan says. 

Soonyoung and Seungkwan continue talking. Minghao retreats into his head. He thinks about the way Soonyoung drew him out of his shell as a trainee. Shy as he’d been with everyone else, he’d wanted to be known by Soonyoung. He thinks about what Soonyoung does to a crowd, how he has been able to shift the mood of an audience since their first performance. He thinks about how often Soonyoung claims to feel something elusive that winds up being correct. He thinks of how much it hurt Soonyoung when Seungkwan had been hiding his Sulbeop, like he could sense the toll it was taking on Seungkwan. Minghao starts to giggle. He tries to keep it to himself, but his friends turn to stare at him. 

“Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, “Sorry, just, you’re literally an empath .” 

Minghao loses all semblance of control over his laughter. Seungkwan covers his mouth with his hand and snorts. Soonyoung looks between them, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why is that funny?” he asks. 

“Hyung, please, skip the gym and go on the internet like, one night a week,” Seungkwan laughs. 

“It’s a meme. I’ll show you later,” Minghao explains. 

“Do you really think I am one, though?” Soonyoung asks. 

“Hey, I don’t know. Neither of us can know what your Sulbeop is. I can help you meditate on it, or find people with similar energies to talk with. But you’re the only one who can really figure out what you can do,” Minghao says. 

“Okay, but, I’m apparently really bad at that if I’ve been using it this whole time without knowing,” Soonyoung says. 

“On the bright side, I hear the military is a great place for alone time and self reflection,” Seungkwan says. 

It is sarcastic and hilarious. For a beat, Minghao is worried it will not land well with Soonyoung, but Seungkwan flashes a coy smile that breaks the tension. Soonyoung laughs, and Minghao laughs, and they spend the remainder of dinner trying to name times when Soonyoung may have been using his Sulbeop. 

Minghao only begins to worry again on the walk home. Seungkwan and Soonyoung live in the same dorm. Minghao feels distinctly lonely imagining the two of them heading up together. Soonyoung solves the problem as they near the entrance to their building. He stops by the front doors, shifting his weight between his feet. 

“Hey, I think I’m going to head to Hybe, actually,” Soonyoung says. 

“Are you okay?” Minghao asks. 

“Yeah, just… I think I might want to move my body before bed. And Jihoon is in the studio. I might want to catch him up,” Soonyoung says. 

A few months ago, Minghao thinks the statement would have made him obscenely jealous. He would have wanted Soonyoung to come to his room to process with him. He doesn’t feel that way, today. If anything, he is relieved. This gives him the opportunity to invite Seungkwan over. 

“That makes sense. Call us if you need something,” Minghao responds. 

Soonyoung nods, and waves, and trots off alone in the direction of the Hybe headquarters. 

“So,” Minghao says to Seungkwan as they enter the elevator, “Do you want to come hang out for a bit?” 

“Oh, thank god. I have got to decompress from that conversation,” Seungkwan says, the top of his head pressed against Minghao’s clavicle. 

~

“Hey, can we spend the night in my room?” Soonyoung asks. 

Inviting Minghao for a sleepover has rapidly become such an out of character question for Soonyoung that it takes Minghao a moment to understand that the sentiment is being directed towards him. He only recognizes that Soonyoung is asking him when he looks up from his phone and notices that Junhui and Chan are both standing on the opposite side of the studio. 

“Yeah. Of course. Are you sure?” Minghao asks. 

This is Soonyoung’s last night before enlistment. Tomorrow, they will file into an army of vans and follow him to his training base. His head will be shaved, and he will be terrified. It is going to be awful. With their recent rupture, Minghao feels confused about why Soonyoung would want to spend his last night of freedom with him. 

“Minghao. Of course. We always talked about this, right? I need a good photographer around after I shave my head,” Soonyoung reassures him. 

Though they’ve distanced themselves over the past month, following Soonyoung back to his dorm after a performance unit practice comes as naturally as breathing for Minghao. They joke about Dino in the elevator, and argue about what food to get delivered in the hallway. Minghao wants something healthy, but Soonyoung wants ramyeon so they order ramyeon. Minghao has always thought it is absurd how willing Soonyoung is to eat messy food in his bed. He tells him this again tonight, and again they eat over his duvet anyway. 

“Just put a towel down, it’ll be fine,” Soonyoung says. 

Like always, Soonyoung is the one to spill. A mouthful of noodles flies out of his mouth as he’s telling a particularly funny story. It all lands on the towel, and it is fine. It is surreal that this will be the last time they are able to eat like this for nearly two years. 

There is a commotion in the living room– Jihoon and Seungkwan returning home from the studio. 

“I’m gonna go say hi, wanna come?” Soonyoung asks. 

“I’m going to finish eating. I’ll come out in a few minutes,” Minghao says. 

He doesn’t feel ready to face anyone besides Soonyoung, not when there is a lingering sadness hovering in the periphery of his heart. As normal as this evening has been, it is the last one. As normal as this evening has been, it isn’t normal anymore. Minghao judges himself a coward for doing so, but he hides in the safety of Soonyoung’s bedroom until the chatter outside stills. 

Minghao is afraid of this change, but he is also considerate. He cleans up the takeout and brings it to the kitchen once he gathers himself. He disposes of food waste, washes utensils, and recycles plastic. Soonyoung and his roommates are nowhere to be seen, though their voices are audible now that Minghao is in the kitchen. Their voices emanate from the bathroom, a small and odd space for three grown men to have crammed themselves inside. Minghao does not like to be left out. He traverses the apartment and knocks roughly on the bathroom door. 

“Don’t come in! I want to surprise you!” Soonyoung’s voice calls out. 

The sound of an electric razor drowns out the rest of his words. 

It’s happening. Soonyoung is shaving his head. Minghao had no idea dinner would be the last time that he saw Soonyoung’s bleach blonde bowl cut. He misses it already, even more than he missed Jeonghan’s flowing hair when he’d had to shave. 

Minghao spends the next five minutes on the couch waiting, his phone in hand. He had wanted before and after pictures of Soonyoung’s dramatic haircut. He tries not to pout. When Soonyoung exits the bathroom he is shirtless and covered in a fine layer of hair. 

“Oh, god,” Minghao says, unable to stop himself, “I knew your head had a weird shape, but this is ridiculous.” 

Seungkwan and Jihoon love it. Seungkwan falls to his knees laughing. Jihoon slaps Soonyoung on the back. Soonyoung frowns and grabs the crown of his head with both hands. 

“I know I think memes of me are funny, but can you please take a picture of me that looks hot? I really don’t want to be ugly in my last Instagram post,” Soonyoung says. 

“The lighting in here is really bad. I’ll take something when we go back to your room,” Minghao says. 

Minghao picks up his phone and snaps rapid fire photographs. Soonyoung is holding up his hands in protest in the last of them. 

“Dude, fuck you! I’m vulnerable!” Soonyoung laughs. 

“I won’t post them, but I needed some candids,” Minghao says. 

“I make no such promises,” Seungkwan says.

He dives into Minghao’s lap and reaches to grab his phone out of his hand. Minghao feigns a fight, pretending to struggle against Seungkwan. If he wanted to win he could. Seungkwan is shorter, weaker, and less limber. Minghao is more interested to see what happens when Seungkwan gets ahold of the pictures. 

He puts on a show of keeping the phone from Seungkwan, wrapping his legs around Seungkwan’s middle and holding his phone in the air just out of Seungkwan’s reach. Seungkwan is a cheat. He places his hands in Minghao’s armpits and tickles. Even if Minghao hadn’t been planning to lose the wrestling match intentionally, the tickling would have done him in. He drops the phone into the tangled mess of their bodies, and Seungkwan scrambles around to get ahold of it. He does not move out of Minghao’s lap once he has it. Instead, he wiggles around so that he is sitting mostly-upright with the back of his head settled against Minghao’s chest. 

“Why do you know my passcode?” Minghao asks as Seungkwan unlocks his phone. 

Seungkwan doesn’t satisfy him with an answer, scrunching his face in mock disgust instead. Seungkwan sends off texts rapid-fire, first to the Seventeen group chat, and then, switching to his own phone, to some of Soonyoung’s other industry friends. 

“Seungkwan, I look awful in these! You can see the dent in my head!” Soonyoung complains. 

Notifications begin rolling in on all their phones. Soonyoung joins them on the couch, sitting on Seugkwan’s opposite side. Jihoon, never one to get too close to the nonsense, sits across from them on the floor. 

“Someone thinks you look cute,” Seungkwan shoots back, his voice teasing. 

Minghao doesn’t read the text that Seungkwan shows Soonyoung, but he does read the name it comes from. Soohyuk-hyung, it reads. Soonyoung turns beet-red and Jihoon cackles on the floor. 

“Seungkwan, come on! Stop!” Soonyoung whines. 

Minghao only recently realized that Soonyoung dates. It dawns on him now that other members of the group actually know the people he is dating. Minghao knows that Soohyuk is some actor friend of Soonyoung’s, but he hadn’t known they were romantically entangled. He certainly hadn’t known they were so romantically entangled that Seungkwan would have the guy’s number. 

Whatever attachment he had to Soonyoung in the past that would have broiled jealousy and sadness inside him no longer seems to exist. Instead, a wave of gratefulness rolls over him that his best friend would choose to spend his last night with Minghao rather than a love interest. 

Soonyoung turns his head to make eye contact with Minghao, and smiles. And, right. He’s a fucking empath. He must be feeling this, too. 

Later, once Seungkwan and Jihoon hit their social limits and head off to sleep, Soonyoung and Minghao lie awake in Soonyoung’s bed. Minghao feels sad, and comfortable, and confused. Soonyoung’s legs are thrown over Minghao’s as he scrolls on his phone. Minghao wonders who he is texting. 

“Soonyoung?” Minghao asks. 

Soonyoung locks his phone and slips in under his pillow, like he’s done with it for the night. 

“What’s up?” 

“I was wondering… you’ve been working on your Sulbeop, haven’t you? Practicing with it?” Minghao asks. 

“Yeah. Jun’s been super helpful. I mean, honestly, now that I know I’ve been using it this whole time, controlling it comes pretty easy,” Soonyoung says. 

“I want you to use it on me,” Minghao says. 

Soonyoung shrinks back. Even in the dimly lit room, Minghao can see the blood drain from his face. 

“To make you feel different? Minghao, I– even if I could do that, I don’t want–” Soonyoung begins. 

“No! God, no. Soonyoung-hyung, I’d never… I’d never ask you to try to change me. I just have never been able to understand how you feel about me. But this whole time you’ve known exactly how I feel about you. If you’re willing, I thought you could show me. I thought this might even things out,” Minghao says. 

It is an impulsive ask, and not one that Minghao takes lightly. Minghao had been horrified when Jeonghan had wanted Minghao to use his Sulbeop on him. He wouldn’t be asking this of Soonyoung if it did not feel important. 

“Oh. You know, I was… talking about that. With Jihoon. The way I’ve been able to feel the way you feel,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even dare to breathe. He waits. 

“I’ve never been honest with you about the way I feel about you,” Soonyoung tells him. 

Now, Minghao is the one to pale. He feels his throat constrict. Anxiety does not creep inside of Minghao easily, but right now it settles on his bones like lead. 

“You’re upset,” Soonyoung says. 

“Yes,” and then, “Wait, are you reading my emotions right now?”

“I didn’t mean to– I’m sorry. I’m not good at not reading other people. It just happens, when someone is feeling something intense,” Soonyoung apologizes. 

“I know you’re not trying to snoop around inside my head. I know,” Minghao replies. 

He wants to tell Soonyoung that it is okay, that he doesn’t mind, but that would be a lie. 

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung says again. 

Minghao suspects that this apology is less about reading Minghao’s emotions in the moment, and more about everything else. 

“I trusted you so much, Soonyoung. And then this past month, I just… I keep finding things you’ve been keeping from me. Boyfriends. Your real feelings towards me,” Minghao says. 

“I wasn’t trying to hide the people I’ve dated. I thought you knew about them. Or like, at least that they existed, generally. But I didn’t want to throw it in your face. Not when I could feel…” Soonyoung trails off. 

Minghao believes him. Minghao has already berated himself for missing all the obvious signs of Soonyoung in love. Soonyoung was being conscientious, not purposefully manipulative. 

“What do you feel about me, then? If you haven’t been honest about it,” Minghao asks. 

Soonyoung reaches out and holds Minghao’s hands between his. His palms are clammy. 

“I really was confused, Minghao. Not just because of the leaders’ no-dating rule. There were times when I…” Soonyoung says.

He is crying. Minghao is not. It is a strange reversal of their usual roles in conversations like this. 

“Times when you what, hyung?” Minghao asks. 

He doesn’t know what answer he wants to hear. He tries to push expectations from his mind. 

“Times when I thought I could feel the same way as you. But then there were times when I really, really didn’t. It was confusing, and it hurt you so much. It felt like, like–” Soonyoung pauses and closes his eyes. 

Soonyoung’s magic reaches out to touch him, sticky tendrils poking around in his brain. Minghao feels something. Emotions twist in him that are not his own. He can feel himself through Soonyoung’s heart, can feel care, and protection, and admiration, and guilt. God, there is so much guilt. Minghao feels like he is being chewed up and swallowed by it. There is love, too, though. Love and desperation, and twisted up inside of it fear and repulsion. It is confusing. Minghao can hardly bear it. 

“This is really how I make you feel?” Minghao asks. 

He is crying now. 

“There were so many times when I thought I could love you back. But then– then my own emotions would get in the way, and then I’d feel like this ,” Soonyoung says. 

“What do you mean your own emotions would get in the way?” Minghao asks. 

Soonyoung swallows. It is loud. 

“It was so confusing back then. Like, it all felt like my own, at the time. But now that I know… now that I know the way I can feel the things other people feel, I…” Soonyoung pauses to wipe tears from his eyes. 

“Oh. You didn’t have feelings for me. You were just feeling my feelings for you,” Minghao says. 

The guilt settled in Minghao’s gut triples in size. It is the only thing keeping him from becoming furious with Soonyoung. How can he be angry when Soonyoung hates himself so much for what he’s done?

“I really thought it was coming from me. It was like a rollercoaster, Hao. I didn’t know what to do. So I didn’t do anything,” Soonyoung says. 

“It’s so unlike you to do nothing,” Minghao jokes, “You’re so impulsive.” 

The guilt– Soonyoung’s guilt– unclenches from his bones, just a bit, just enough to feel like he can move again. 

“This was too important to just act on. But then your feelings for me changed before I could figure out what to do,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao wonders if that is true. His own feelings seem to have penetrated Soonyoung enough for some sort of genuine romantic attraction to bloom. He wonders if Soonyoung’s emotions pierced him the same way. Maybe it was their shared emotions that upheld their dynamic this entire time. He supposes that it doesn’t matter much, now. Whether it was by Sulbeop or not they’ve both changed one another. 

“Now that you know the difference between our feelings, what do you feel?” Minghao asks. 

The guilt inside Minghao slips away, but the tendrils remain, searching. The sensation dissipates slowly. He shivers when Soonyoung’s Sulbeop leaves him altogether. A freedom and an emptiness fills its space. 

“I mean, for one, I don’t think you love me anymore. Like, for real this time,” Soonyoung laughs. 

Minghao laughs, too. Not being in love with Soonyoung is new. Post-tour new. So new that he would struggle to believe it without Soonyoung’s affirmation. 

“Yeah,” Minghao says, “I guess you’re right.” 

“And on my end, I think, mostly what I feel is… is, like, wanting to know what it would have been like if my Sulbeop hadn’t made things so confusing this whole time,” Soonyoung admits. 

“I mean, your Sulbeop isn’t complicating things right now,” Minghao says. 

Minghao’s skin is buzzing. He doesn’t love Soonyoung anymore. He knows it, and still– still, he wonders what could have happened between them. What could happen. 

“Myungho-yah, are you flirting with me?” Soonyoung laughs. 

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Minghao says, “Is it okay if I am?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Soonyoung echos. 

They lay there in the dark, their hands still linked, their legs still threaded together. 

“Ah, okay, fuck it,” Soonyoung says. 

Minghao finds himself being laid on his back, Soonyoung hovering over him. Soonyoung’s lips press against his. They kiss for five, six seconds. Soonyoung’s lips are soft. He kisses so much more gently than Minghao had imagined he would. He feels delicate. Minghao has no desire to continue. There is no passion. There is no fire. 

Minghao begins to laugh. Soonyoung shifts his weight off of him. He gives Minghao a hearty shove on the shoulder, but he’s laughing too. 

“That’s such a mean response to someone kissing you!” Soonyoung says through giggles. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry, just, god. That’s not how I thought that would feel,” Minghao says. 

“Am I that bad of a kisser?” Soonyoung jokes. 

“Stop, you know you’re not. Two years ago, that would have ended me,” Minghao says.

He means it. It would have. Hell, four months ago it would have ended him. Now his heart is barely beating any faster at all. 

“So, just to be clear, for you that wasn’t… you didn’t…” Soonyoung trails off.

“I think we should just be friends, hyung,” Minghao responds. 

This time he means it. 

“Cool. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re hot and everything, but I didn’t feel any, you know, any spark or anything,” Soonyoung says.

“No. Neither did I.” 

“Well. Okay. That answers a lot of questions, I guess,” Soonyoung says. 

He lays back down on his side of the bed. Minghao still does not entirely understand how he fell out of love with Soonyoung so quickly when it had stuck on to him for so long. Knowing the truth of Soonyoung’s feelings has been a part of it. Minghao held on to too much hope for far too long. There is a part of him that wonders, though, if Soonyoung’s Sulbeop is partially responsible, if Minghao loved Soonyoung so desperately years ago that the remnants of it had been clinging to Soonyoung’s uncontrolled magic. He supposes he will never know for sure. He does know that he did not enjoy kissing Soonyoung tonight. 

“Thank you for trying, hyung,” Minghao says. 

“I wanted to try, too. Now that I’m more clear about which feelings are mine and which aren’t,” Soonyoung says. 

It makes Minghao happy to hear that. Soonyoung was not placating him. 

An anxious thought hits Minghao immediately afterwards.

“Oh, my god– did you cheat on Soohyuk?” Minghao asks.

“What? No, god, we’re not exclusive,” Soonyoung says. 

“How would I know?” Minghao asks. 

He doesn’t mean for it to be snippy, but even he can hear the bite in the words. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about this stuff,” Soonyoung says. 

“It’s… it is what it is. I get why you didn’t,” Minghao says.

Soonyoung cuddles up next to him. Minghao pulls him into his chest. He intends to continue talking. He feels settled with Soonyoung in a way he hasn’t since he was, god, seventeen or something, but there is more to hash out. He has so many questions, so many unspoken thoughts, so much he wants to say now that the burden of romance has been lifted from them. Soonyoung’s body proves to be too comforting. He falls asleep easily and dreams about walking on the beach underneath the hot sun.  

~

By April, Seventeen is down five members and Seungkwan is crowned the unofficial interim leader of the group. The decision landed uncomfortably on some of the remaining members until Seungkwan had firmly and effectively stood their ground when Hybe attempted to downsize their dorms during their enlistment period. Minghao wishes he had recorded Seungkwan’s winning argument– So, which one of you would be volunteering to call Jihoon and tell him you’ve moved his instruments into storage?

Minghao does not particularly give a fuck who is the leader, official or otherwise. He is too busy. The sheer number of appearances he has had to make– TV, radio, magazines, meetings, photoshoots– is overwhelming. It is more difficult to evade the spotlight with only eight members. 

He and Seungkwan are working with Elle today. They each had a solo photoshoot, and one together. They were asked to do an in-depth interview for print, and a lighter interview for the website. Minghao has worn six separate outfits. His skin is greasy from a day of heavy makeup and he is nauseous from too much caffeine and too little food. Working with unfamiliar staff grates on his nerves. 

Seungkwan enters the waiting room where Minghao is curled up on himself, presumably freshly finished with his photoshoot. 

“You look cold,” Seungkwan tells him. 

He inexplicably has a small blanket in his arms and wraps it around Minghao’s shoulders. Of all his bodily complaints, cold had not been at the forefront of Minghao’s mind, but the warmth of the blanket eases some of his tension. 

“Where did you get this from?” Minghao asks. 

“Hm? Oh, it’s always cold in this building. I learned where they keep their supplies years ago,” Seungkwan responds. 

Minghao swears that Seungkwan knows the ins and outs of the industry better than any other idol. None of them are more suited to lead their team until Seungcheol returns. 

“Will you be much longer?” Minghao asks. 

“No, I should be done. They’re just reviewing my film roll,” Seungkwan says. 

“Here, have an orange slice,” Minghao says. 

He peels one and pops it into Seungkwan’s mouth. Lip gloss sticks to his fingers, pink and sticky. He wipes it on the blanket. 

“Mm, this is so good,” Seungkwan says.

He’s still chewing the orange. Juice drips down his chin as he talks. The way he’s eating the fruit is seductive in a way that he knows Seungkwan does not intend. 

“It’s just an orange,” Minghao says. 

“I haven’t eaten since last night,” Seungkwan tells him. 

Minghao doesn’t like that. He knows that it is a part of the industry. Seungkwan isn’t the only member of Seventeen to skip a meal or two or four before a photoshoot. Minghao has been told that his metabolism runs enviably quickly, that it isn’t fair for him to judge when bloating isn’t a concern he’s had to navigate. He still wishes that Seungkwan would eat. 

Minghao pulls out his phone and begins texting Mingyu. They have plans to hang out later, and Mingyu promised to cook. A perhaps inappropriately paternal part of him is determined to get Seungkwan in on the meal. He knows Seungkwan would eat on his own, but he can’t imagine feeling satisfied unless he witnesses it firsthand. 

“You’re not busy tonight, right?” Minghao asks. 

“No.” 

“You’re having dinner with me. Mingyu’s cooking,” Minghao says.

Seungkwan smiles. 

“Oh, hell yeah. Mingyu never cooks for me anymore,” Seungkwan says. 

~

Minghao and Jun are on the rooftop of their dorm soaking in the warmth of early spring. Seoul isn’t hot enough yet to truly call it sunbathing, but he’s comfortable in pants and a cutoff tank. Jun is playing the opposite side of the queer fashion coin, tanning his legs in shorts while his torso is shielded by an oversized sweater. 

“Look how hot it’s been in Shenzhen,” Junhui says. 

He leans over to show Minghao a photo on his phone. Junhui’s mother poses with his little brother, both of them sweating in shorts with ice cream in their hands. Minghao can’t believe how old Junhui’s brother looks. Has it been so long since he’s seen him? 

“My stepdad took the day off work to drive them to the beach,” Junhui says. 

“You miss them,” Minghao comments. 

“Yeah. It just caught up with me, with the weather changing. Plus we have this vague promise of more promotions in China. It’s just been on my mind, I guess,” Junhui says. 

Minghao so often agrees with Junhui, especially about missing their home country. He does miss his family. That is an unending ache in his heart. More than anything right now, though, he misses Seventeen. He misses the Seoul he has grown to love as a young adult. He would like to see his family, but China does not house the people and experiences that have his stomach in knots. Those are all held captive by the military. By the past, he worries. 

“I think I’m going to miss Seoul when they send us abroad,” Minghao says. 

Junhui looks at him as if he has lost his mind. 

“What?” Minghao asks. 

“I’ve never heard you talk about China like that,” Jun says. 

“Everyone leaving has made me think about how much I romanticize Anshan. I love my parents’ home, and there will always be parts of my childhood that I miss, but I chose to live here for a reason. I spent so much of the past ten years missing China, and now I’m missing what Seventeen was before everyone’s enlistment,” Minghao says. 

“It’s hard to be in the present,” Jun says. 

“I spend too much time meditating for it to be this hard,” Minghao complains. 

Junhui laughs at him, and then bends over to root around in his bag. He comes back up with a tarot deck. 

“Are you still messing around with those?” Minghao rolls his eyes. 

Divination has never been much of an interest of his. He had jumped on the astrology bandwagon during quarantine, but it had been much more so out of boredom than belief. He hardly believes the personality assessments they take from time to time, and those are research-backed. 

“It’s fun. People love tarot,” Junhui says. 

“You can literally see the future in your dreams,” Minghao says.

“I know. It makes people believe me more when I do this,” Junhui grins. 

“That’s lying.”

“That’s fun!”

As soon as the cards came out of the bag, there was no chance of Minghao getting out of a reading. He follows Junhui’s prompts with them. He conjures up a question in his mind and shuffles them until they “feel ready”. As much as it is difficult to believe in the fortune telling powers of a deck of cards when Jun is a real-life diviner, Minghao has come to conceptualize Jun’s tarot readings as fun psychological exercises. Try as he might, it is difficult not to project some thought or another onto the cards. 

“I’ll do a short one for you today,” Jun says.

He spreads three cards in front of Minghao.

“The first represents an idea. Something you’ve been thinking about,” Jun continues, “Okay. The Two of Swords. Sometimes this means being at a crossroads. Feeling trapped by a choice you have to make, but neither option feels great.” 

Minghao had been thinking vaguely of his Sulbeop as he shuffled. The card brings his mind to his promise to Seungkwan, that he will try to use his Sulbeop purposefully. It does not feel like a great option. Neither does continuing to suppress his Sulbeop as he watches Seungkwan grow in power. 

“Alight. What’s the second card?” Minghao asks. 

“The second card represents process. Basically, what are you doing to work through that feeling of being trapped. Ha- the Eight of Wands. This one’s easy. Action. You have to do something, and you have to do it swiftly,” Jun says. 

“Sure. Okay. And the third card?” Minghao says. 

“This one is your aspiration. Ah… this is a little on the nose, for you. Temperance. It’s exactly what it says it is. Balance, patience, finding meaning,” Jun explains. 

“So, basically, I can achieve temperance in terms of the stalemate I’ve been mulling over if I just make a choice,” Minghao summarizes. 

“Yeah, basically.” 

The translation from Jun’s interpretation of the cards to Minghao’s ambivalence towards using his Sulbeop is so spot on that Minghao wonders if Jun crafted this reading on purpose. Jun is not a liar, though. Even if he were, Minghao is inspired enough to take action. Seungkwan got him most of the way there with his fire. Minghao only needed a little push. 

“Step back,” Minghao says. 

“What?”

“Step back. I’m taking action,” Minghao says. 

He pulls back his left sleeve and stares at the unblemished skin of his wrist. He has searched for words he would want carved into his skin and has come up blank time and time again. If he keeps searching, keeps waiting, keeps avoiding , he will always remain in the dark about his Sulbeop. 

Junhui steps back. 

“Temperance,” Minghao speaks. 

Nothing happens. 

Minghao focuses, focuses like he does when he was first training Seungkwan to use his Sulbeop. He imagines his hands holding Seungkwan’s chest, imagines the magic inside his own body swirling against the fire that is Seungkwan. He gathers his energy in his gut and allows it to bubble up into his throat, pulling at his vocal chords, begging them to vibrate. 

“Temperance,” he speaks again. 

He sees the blood before the searing pain tears through him. It brings him to his knees. The sting is so much worse than he remembers, so much worse than he thinks his brain is capable of remembering. Burning, throbbing, tearing pain aside, Minghao laughs. He’s done it. He’s used his Sulbeop as intended. On purpose. With his own willpower, he has stitched words into his own skin. 

“Oh, my god. We have to get you inside. Can you walk? Minghao, are you okay?” Jun says.

He is using Mandarin. They speak in Chinese, sometimes, but so much less than when they were trainees. The shift in language is what alerts Minghao to his panic. 

“Junhui. I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I just… I needed…” Minghao says. 

Junhui is beside him, hovering in something between standing and a squat. 

“No. I’m happy you… I’m glad you… we have to get you inside, okay? Let’s just get you first aid,” Jun says.

Minghao has done something terrible. He has scared a friend with his Sulbeop, again. For the fourth time. Though he no longer feels weak on his feet, he allows Junhui to support him as they walk to the elevator. Blood runs freely down his arm, pooling in his palm and then dripping onto the floor. There is a trail behind them. Minghao has created a crime scene. Junhui has forgotten his bag, has forgotten his tarot cards. 

They go to his apartment. Joshua is there. The blood worries him only until Minghao speaks the word Sulbeop to him. He takes Minghao from Junhui and brings him into the bathroom. Though Minghao could manage his wound on his own he allows his friend to care for him. 

“Junhui. Joshua-hyung has this. Go get your things. I’m okay,” Minghao says.

Junhui does not wait to be told twice. He leaves the apartment quickly. Minghao does not expect him back. 

“I scared him,” Minghao says. 

“It isn’t your fault, Minghao,” Joshua says. 

He presses a cold towel to Minghao’s freshly-flushed cut. It stings. Minghao breathes out through his nose, centering himself outside of the pain. 

“It was my fault,” he says, “I did this on purpose.” 

Joshua continues to stare at the towel covering his arm. His face doesn’t betray any emotion. He is calm and collected. It eases safety into Minghao. 

“That’s a really big step for you,” Joshua says. 

“I didn’t warn him ahead of time. I just did it. It was impulsive,” Minghao says. 

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I bet you’d been thinking about it for awhile. Maybe the moment you chose was impulsive, but I know you. You think about things so carefully,” Joshua says. 

“Yes. But Junhui-hyung doesn’t know that I’d been thinking about it,” Minghao says. 

“I can see why he’s afraid. It’s terrifying to see your friend hurt himself. But this wasn’t just… that isn’t the only reason you did this. Right?” Joshua asks. 

“I don’t want to be afraid of my magic anymore,” Minghao says. 

“I think Jun will understand that. Just give him a bit, okay?” Joshua says. 

There is a comforting finality to it. Junhui will forgive him. Minghao has not irreparably harmed him. In the future, he will ask for consent before using his Sulbeop on himself in front of someone else. 

His wound stops bleeding after several minutes of pressure. Joshua cleans it with a disinfectant. Before he wraps Minghao’s wrist in gauze, he reads the word for the first time. 

“Temperance?” he asks. 

Minghao shrugs. 

“It was one of the tarot cards Jun-hyung pulled for me today. I resonated with it,” Minghao says. 

Joshua smiles and ruffles his hair. The action makes Minghao feel like a child. He wouldn’t tolerate it from most of his friends, but there is something holding about Joshua’s touch that has him smiling back. 

“Alright. Let’s gauze you up, Beopsa,” Joshua says. 

Minghao feels proud. 

“Let me take a photo first,” he says. 

It only takes twenty minutes for Junhui to text him. Minghao and Joshua are both on the couch when it comes in. It is a photo of one of his tarot cards soaked in blood. For a moment he thinks it is a passive-aggressive ask for Minghao to replace something he has ruined. When Minghao looks closer, he finds that it is the Temperance card. On it, written in blood, is the word “Temperance” in his handwriting. 

Looks like you can do more than carve yourself up , Junhui texts. 

Minghao saves the photo. Reflexively, he opens his text thread with Seungkwan and sends him both the photo of the bloody tarot card and the one of his wrist. 

First of all ew, Seungkwan texts back, But damn, I guess I have to get on my end of the bargain. If you see half of Seoul burning down grab your passport, we’re fleeing the country. 

~

Seungkwan takes him to a volleyball game. Although Minghao loves to play sports, he has never had the desire to get into following professional teams. It doesn’t matter that he shows up to the match with only a vague idea of Seungkwan’s favorite players. Seungkwan knows all the women’s names, knows their iconic play styles, knows their opponents’ strengths and weaknesses. He walks Minghao through the game in detail. In another life, Seungkwan is a sports announcer.  

Three years ago Mingyu had taken Minghao to a basketball game in the States and bored the absolute shit out of him. Minghao can’t place what it is about Seungkwan’s intricate descriptions of players that keeps him entertained, but he could listen to him talk about volleyball all day. 

Well. He would at least be amenable to attending another game in the future. 

Between sets two and three, Seungkwan leans into Minghao. He slips his phone into Minghao’s hands. On the screen is a photograph of a fire. Rather than red and orange, it glows blue. 

“You made this?” Minghao asks. 

“I remembered Hybe is still technically renting out that old factory for TXT’s next album. I figured no one would be around at night,” Seungkwan says. 

He snatches his phone back and stashes it in his pocket. He is being extraordinarily nonchalant about his use of his Sulbeop. It is infuriating. 

“So you trespassed on Hybe property and started lighting fires?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan frowns. 

“Don’t say it like that,” he whines. 

“I just didn’t realize you were such a badass,” Minghao teases. 

Seungkwan sighs and melts dramatically into his chair. 

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” Seungkwan says. 

“To make the fire on your own?” Minghao asks. 

“Yeah. I mean, to be fair, I was thinking about you while I was doing it. I didn’t feel alone,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao wants to have a good response to his statement, but comes up dry. He nods and looks out at the court. Seungkwan pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins scrolling through apps. 

A few minutes later the players filter back out, preparing for their final set. Seungkwan cheers for them. Minghao finds himself aching for Seungkwan’s attention, uncalled for as it might be. He takes Seungkwan’s hand and grazes his fingers across the Temperance healing on his wrist. 

“I was thinking of you when I did this, too,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan’s eyes don’t leave the court, and he pulls his hand back into his own lap, but he smiles. 

~

Minghao wakes up one morning to Joshua shouting. As Minghao drags himself out of bed, shaking himself alert, he strains to make sense of Joshua’s words. There are other voices in the living room, quieter voices. Minghao can’t tell who it is. He pulls on a shirt and heads out of his room to investigate. 

“I can’t believe you lied to me. You guys fucking suck,” Joshua says. 

For a moment Minghao thinks he may still be dreaming. Jeonghan and Seungcheol are in the living room. Joshua has his hands on both of them. They aren’t supposed to be discharged for another week. Minghao hasn’t seen them in eighteen months. It is bizarre to see them here, now. 

“We thought a surprise would be more fun,” Jeonghan grins. 

Joshua is crying. He pulls them in for a group hug. Minghao watches from the doorway, waiting for a more opportune moment to make his presence known. 

“We want to surprise the guys at breakfast,” Seungcheol says. 

“But we need you to conspire with us,” Jeonghan adds. 

“I really missed conspiring with you,” Joshua says.

He is still crying, and they are all still hugging. As much as Minghao would like to be a part of this moment, it is not for him. He slinks back into his room, tiptoeing along the floor so his friends will not hear him. Once back in bed he closes his eyes, though he does not sleep. He meditates instead, searching for clarity and balance to get him through what will inevitably be an emotional day. 

~

It is two weeks after Jeonghan returns back from the military before Minghao has a chance to meet with him alone. They decide to hike Bukhansan together. Rather, Minghao proclaims that he would like to hike and Jeonghan accedes to his desire. They forego any real attempt to conceal their identities, masks aside. Jeonghan has grown used to being surrounded by non-celebrities in the military, and Minghao enjoys an opportunity to act like a regular person when he is able. They go early in the morning on a weekday to avoid crowds. 

They choose one of the longer paths. It takes them towards the top of the mountain. Jeonghan complains the entire walk though he is noticeably speedier than Minghao. Minghao considers himself to be in decent shape, but military training evidently increased Jeonghan’s stamina in a way that idol life never could. It is, maybe, that Jeonghan was permitted to eat an appropriate amount of food while in service. As Minghao trails behind him, he finds Jeonghan so difficult to recognize without his long, silky hair and lethargic demeanor. 

Minghao loves to be up in the mountains of Seoul. He feels like he could reach up and touch the clouds. They choose a spot just off the trail to sit. The view of the city is magnificent, the woods of the national park bleeding into small homes with skyscrapers dotting the distant skyline. Jeonghan brought snacks and drinks. Minghao is sticky from sweat and his thighs ache from climbing. Jeonghan seems far less phased by their exercise. 

“So, how is being back?” Minghao asks. 

Jeonghan opens a tupperware full of fruit and places it between them. He turns his gaze out towards the city. Minghao glaces only briefly out at the buildings. Jeonghan has been such a scarcity in his life that it feels more important to look at him. 

“It’s weird. Nice, but weird,” he says. 

“You have a new scar on your face,” Minghao says. 

It is a small, round blemish just below his right eye. Jeonghan’s hand goes to it. He grins. 

“Promise to keep this story between us?” Jeonghan asks. 

“Okay.” 

“I got into a fight. You should see the other guy,” Jeonghan laughs. 

Minghao giggles. Jeonghan is joking, obviously. 

“Tell me the truth,” Minghao requests. 

Jeonghan stops smiling, then. 

“I am. I really got into a fight. Some guys were… it just, it really isn’t a good place to be gay. Some fucking guy was being so… so gross. I’d been hearing the jokes for months, you know, but I… I just snapped. Started a fight. Hybe had to get involved in the cover-up,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao feels ill. He knew that the military would be a difficult place to be queer, but he had hoped that his friends’ celebrity might protect them. It makes him terrified for the members in the military now, for the members who have not even enlisted yet. 

“Hey, Hao, it’s okay. You don’t have to look so angry on my behalf,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao flattens his expression. 

“I’m sorry, hyung. I just hate that you had to live like that. I hate that all of you are going to have to live like that,” Minghao says. 

Jeonghan nods. 

“That was kind of why I hit this guy. He wasn’t saying anything about me. He was going on and on about this MC on some stupid variety show and I… I couldn’t stop thinking about Seungkwan. About how scared he would be to be around people like this. I shouldn’t have lost my cool, but I felt so helpless to protect him. To protect all the guys,” Jeonghan says. 

“Did hitting him change anything?” Minghao asks. 

“Oh, it made things much worse. All his friends knew I was a queer after that, you know?” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao understands why Jeonghan felt compelled to take action. It is so painful to be helpless. It makes you want to act. Minghao hopes none of the other members act. He hopes that they skirt through their service unnoticed. 

“You’re brave,” Minghao says. 

“And stupid.” 

“Well, yeah.” 

Jeonghan looks back out at the city and Minghao up into the forest. Birds chirp around them. Joshua would be able to name their species, if he were here. 

“I want to ask you for a favor. It’s something serious,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao has expected this. Before his enlistment, Minghao had promised Jeonghan that he would use his Sulbeop on him. It was only a matter of time before Jeonghan wanted to cash in. 

“My Sulbeop?” Minghao asks. 

Jeonghan nods. He looks down at Minghao’s wrist. He wears his Temperance proudly in front of the members. It is out, now. Minghao loves the way it has scared, white and raised. 

“If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s okay. I can get a tattoo,” Jeonghan says. 

“Do you have a word in mind? I know before you didn’t,” Minghao says. 

“Before I wasn’t doing it for me. You were so scared of your Sulbeop, Hao. I hated to see you like that. You seem different now,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao feels different. The idea of intentionally causing a friend harm is still anxiety producing. Still, he believes in himself. He knows he will not take it too far, that he will not do something a friend has not consented to. 

“So if it isn’t about me anymore, why do you want me to do it?” Minghao asks. 

“I want the word faggot on my skin. I want to take it back. I feel like I have to take it back after… after…” Jeonghan says, pressing his eyes shut. 

Jeonghan doesn’t cry, but his battle to fight back tears is visible. 

“If you’re sure, I’ll do it. I don’t want a stranger tattooing something so powerful onto you,” Minghao says. 

Jeonghan opens his eyes. He takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly. 

“I’m sure. Can you… on my shoulder blade?” Jeonghan asks. 

“Yes. But not here. Your blood will draw out a forest spirit, or something,” Minghao says. 

His own joke makes him laugh. Jeonghan flips him off. 

“Coward,” Jeonghan jokes. 

“Let’s head down. We can do it at your place before Seungkwan gets home,” Minghao offers.

They finish their food and hike back down the mountain. Minghao is dizzy from the early-summer heat by the end of it. Jeonghan drives them home. He is out of practice. He drives in the gutter and is far too heavy-footed on the breaks. Minghao vows not to drive with him for another month or two. 

Using his Sulbeop on Jeonghan is different from using it on himself. He lays Jeonghan flat on his bed, towels spread out to manage any blood. Minghao has a first aid kit at the ready, and pain medication, and water. It feels akin to a professional setup. Minghao has never used his Sulbeop like this before. 

“This is weird,” Minghao says. 

“I told you we should just do it on the mountain,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao had wanted to be safe. He certainly couldn’t cut Jeonghan on the trail. Fans have guessed at the nature of his Sulbeop, but Seventeen would be ended if the media was provided evidence of Minghao magically cutting a reclaimed homophobic slur into Jeonghan. 

“This just feels sterile. I need to connect with the intention more for my Sulbeop to work,” Minghao says. 

“You’re just using this as an excuse to lure me into another serious conversation,” Jeonghan jokes. 

Minghao slaps him on the ass. 

“Ow, jesus. You’ve gotten kinkier since I last saw you,” Jeonghan jokes. 

Minghao slaps him on the ass again. His cheeks are bright red. He’s glad that Jeonghan is facedown on the bed. He does not need him bearing witness to his physical embarrassment. 

“Come on, help me out. You told me why you want this scar as an act of defiance, but what’s your positive connection to the word?” Minghao asks. 

“If you need to ask, maybe you’re less kinky than I thought,” Jeonghan jokes. 

Minghao sighs. 

“Hyung, come on,” he says. 

“Okay, okay. I just… being able to label myself like this makes me feel like I have control back. And the words you put on people are so pretty, Minghao. Sometimes it’s nice to have a reminder that being a fag is beautiful,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao feels his Sulbeop swirl inside of him. 

“Okay. Are you ready?” he asks. 

“I’m ready,” Jeonghan says. 

“ Faggot ,” Minghao speaks. 

It is the first time he’s spoken a slur like this, at least in Korean. He doesn’t think that he would like to do it again. Minghao watches as his Sulbeop cuts into Jeonghan, blood appearing on his skin like ink. Looking at his magic like this, it is beautiful. Together he and Jeonghan have made something beautiful. 

“It’s done. Let me clean the blood,” Minghao says.

“Wait. Take a photo,” Jeonghan tells him. 

This is the first time Minghao has not been rushed to cover up the work of his Sulbeop. This is something Jeonghan wanted that they have created purposefully. He has not hurt him. He does not have to hide this. They do not have to rush. 

“Would you mind if I took some with my camera?” Minghao asks, “It’s in my room. I’ll be fast.” 

“Yeah, sure. It doesn’t hurt too bad. Take one with my phone before you go, I want to see,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao takes a photo with Jeonghan’s phone and hands it to him, and then springs into action. He takes the stairs rather than wait for the elevator. He is reminded by his thighs on the second flight that he’s been hiking all morning. Joshua and Seungcheol are home when he bursts through his front door. 

“Woah, you good?” Seungcheol asks. 

“Yeah. Need my camera for Jeonghan,” Minghao shouts to them as he races into his bedroom. 

His camera is on his desk. He grabs it and races out the door and back to Jeonghan’s dorm. Jeonghan is still splayed out for him. Some of the blood is beginning to dry on his back, but Minghao’s Sulbeop cut deep. Fresh blood seeps out to replace it, tracing the same paths down his shoulder blade. Minghao opens the window to cast a beam of light across Jeonghan’s spine. 

“You’re making this feel like a proper photoshoot,” Jeonghan jokes. 

Minghao looks at Jeonghan through the lens of his camera and snaps a photograph. 

“It is one. I’m going to move your clothes and hair, is that okay?” Minghao asks. 

“Go for it. It’s been, like, two years since I’ve done a shoot. Better to remember how to model with you,” Jeonghan says. 

They work in silence, Minghao only occasionally speaking a direction into the room. Jeonghan has always photographed beautifully. His movements are more stiff than they had been a year and a half ago, but he remains photogenic. Even blood looks elegant on him. 

“Uh, this is weird.”

It is Seungkwan’s voice. He evidently entered the house while Minghao and Jeonghan were distracted. Minghao spins around and snaps a photo of him before setting his camera on Jeonghan’s bed. 

“Look what Minghao did to me,” Jeonghan calls. 

Seungkwan takes two steps into the room and makes a high pitched gurgle. 

“You know what that means, right?” Seungkwan whispers to Minghao. 

It is vaguely offensive. He’s been fluent in Korean for nearly ten years. 

“ Yes. He asked me to do it,” Minghao says. 

“Right. Yeah, sorry, of course. Sorry,” Seungkwan says. 

“It’s okay,” Minghao says. 

“I see why you’re taking pictures. This looks really pretty, Jeonghan-hyung,” Seungkwan says. 

“Thanks. Can I get up now, though? I have to pee,” Jeonghan says. 

Minghao blots some of the still-wet blood off of Jeonghan’s back. He heads in the direction of the bathroom, voicing his intent to take a shower while he’s in there. Minghao and Seungkwan remain on Jeonghan’s bed, scrolling through Minghao’s camera roll. 

“They’ll look better when I touch them up on my computer,” Minghao says. 

“Did he pressure you? I remember how he was when you first came into your Sulbeop,” Seungkwan asks.

In the past Minghao had felt pressured. This request sat with him differently. There was an urgency for Jeonghan, but he didn’t make it Minghao’s responsibility. 

“No. It was just something I could offer to him, so I did,” Minghao answers. 

Seungkwan nods. His shoulders drop an inch, tension evidently leaving him. He leans his head against Minghao and appraises his camera. He smells good, clean, citrus-y. 

“Show me again. You made something really pretty,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao rests his head on Seungkwan’s and shows him. 

~

“You’re home late.” 

Minghao is seated at his kitchen table drinking a mug full of calendula tea. His ideal bedtime was over an hour ago, but he so rarely has the dorm to himself. He wanted to take advantage of the quiet. He also wants to poke fun at Joshua and Seungcheol who tip-toed through the front door like teenagers trying to evade their parents. 

“We were just at Jeonghan’s” Seungcheol says.

His voice is shaking. Minghao raises an eyebrow. 

“Please excuse him. He still thinks he can charm a blowjob out of Jeonghan if he acts pathetic enough,” Joshua smiles. 

“I’m not acting pathetic!” Seungcheol defends himself. 

“But you do want a blowjob?” Minghao teases. 

“You’re both mean,” Seungcheol pouts. And then, “He’s so pretty . How can he be so pretty with his hair growing out like that?” 

“He doesn’t look pretty with his hair growing out, hyung. He looks like a porcupine,” Minghao says. 

“You’re just gay,” Joshua adds. 

Seungcheol lays down on the floor. Joshua sits beside Minghao, sniffs at his tea, and takes a sip. Minghao’s heart glows. The house had felt so lonely without Seungcheol. Joshua is brighter with him back and Minghao loves to see Joshua shine. 

They are all startled by a loud knock on the door. He and Joshua both tense up, eyes wide. Seungcheol remains prone, but props himself up on his elbows to look towards the front entrance. 

“Did you invite someone over?” Minghao asks his friends. 

They shake their heads. 

The knocking starts again, followed by a poorly whispered, “Hyung!”

“Seungkwan,” the three of them say unanimously. 

Joshua and Seungcheol both look to Minghao. It seems as if he has unwittingly and publicly become one of Seungkwan’s people. That, too, makes his heart glow. 

He paces to the door and opens it. In the hall, Seungkwan is pink and disheveled. He is leaning against the wall with his eyes half-closed and he smells like a bottle of soju. When he sees Minghao he smiles and touches his face. 

“You’re drunk,” Minghao giggles. 

“Shh!! Don’t let hyung  hear you, it’s a work night!” Seungkwan says, pressing a single finger to Minghao’s lips. 

“Seungkwan you’re yelling, we all hear you!” Seungcheol calls from inside the apartment. 

“You got me in trouble,” Seungkwan whines. 

He takes Minghao by the arm and walks them both inside the apartment. As soon as he spots Seungcheol on the floor he crouches down to speak with him. Minghao ignores their loud conversation and finishes his tea. After five or ten minutes of idle chatter, Joshua drags Seungcheol off the floor and pushes him into his bedroom. Seungkwan looks up at Minghao from the ground expectantly. 

“Did you drinking buddies abandon you?” Minghao asks. 

“Vernon went to his girlfriend’s place and Chan went to bed,” Seungkwan tells him. 

“Go hang out in my room. I’ll get you some water. Change into fresh clothes before you get in my bed– my shirts are in my top drawer,” Minghao tells him. 

Seungkwan springs into action. Minghao goes through his nighttime routine before joining Seungkwan, washing his face and brushing his teeth. When he returns to his room Seungkwan is laid on his stomach on top of Minghao’s sheets looking at his phone with his legs kicking in the air. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and one of Minghao’s huge white t-shirts. The sight of him makes Minghao’s hands tingle. 

“Scoot over, make room for me,” Minghao says. 

He mirrors Seungkwan’s position on the bed after placing his water on the nightstand. Seungkwan is scrolling through TikTok. He moves slightly to provide Minghao with a better view of his phone. They laugh at an occasional video but are otherwise quiet. Minghao’s attention is on the feel of Seungkwan’s body against his. His skin is warm and his legs are soft. Minghao has the indecipherable nerve to melt into him. He does not give in to the desire. 

“Thanks for letting me hang out,” Seungkwan says. 

“I know you don’t like to be alone when you drink,” Minghao says. 

“You do?”

“Seungkwan, everyone does,” Minghao giggles. 

Seungkwan cuddles against him. He writhes in protest of Minghao’s teasing. It tickles. Minghao struggles and laughs and becomes so overwhelmed by Seungkwan’s touch that he uses his physical prowess to wrestle him into what amounts to a spooning-adjacent position. 

“Do you mind if I sleep here?” Seungkwan asks. 

“You’re pantsless in my bed at two in the morning. Of course you’re sleeping here,” Minghao says. 

They move just enough for Seungkwan to down half a glass of water and for Minghao to pull the blankets over them. They have shared a bed countless times over the past seven months, but this is the first time they have held one another. Seungkwan does not give him much of an option to disentangle. He clings to Minghao’s arm with his hands, holding it against his chest. It is comforting to be so close. He leans further into Seungkwan, squeezes him tighter in his arms. 

“I’m happy you’re here tonight,” Minghao says. 

Just as his home feels more full with Seungcheol back inside of it, his room feels complete with Seungkwan in his bed. 

“I’m gonna be so hungover in the morning,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao giggles against his shoulder. The movement shifts the collar of Seungwan’s shirt– Minghao’s shirt. Minghao’s nose makes contact with the skin of the nape of Seungkwan’s neck. He still smells like alcohol but up this close there is also the sweetness of his perfume, the citrus of his shampoo. 

“I’ll order you delivery before work,” Minghao says. 

“Oh, my god, work. I’m gonna die,” Seungkwan laments. 

“I’ll go to your place after rehearsal and make you dinner,” Minghao promises. 

“You’re being too nice to me,” Seungkwan tells him. 

Minghao agrees. He has no idea what’s come over him. He just wants to take care of Seungkwan. He just wants to see Seungkwan in more of his clothes. Minghao is sure that this means something, that this feeling is something to mull over in the morning, but tonight he buries his forehead in Seungkwan’s hair and goes to sleep. 

~

“Have you noticed something different about Seungkwan recently?” Minghao asks. 

He and Mingyu are alone at Hybe. Mingyu looks up from his notebook. He’s been working on lyrics all evening with Minghao’s help. Neither of them are particularly good at it, at least not in comparison to Jihoon. As they rocket towards the recording of the album they will release in Autumn, they feel Jihoon’s absence more than ever. 

“Other than the being magic thing?” Mingyu asks. 

He passes his notebook back to Minghao as he speaks. Minghao reads over the revision of the verse they’ve been working on all night, humming the track as he does so. It sounds good but Minghao does not think it pairs with the instrumental in the way Jihoon intended. 

“I like it, but I don’t think we’ve made anything that sounds like this before,” Minghao says. 

“I know. I can’t decide if that’s good or not,” Mingyu says. 

He takes his notebook back and closes it. He reaches for his large Americano and sips at it with his eyes closed.

“Anyway, what about Seungkwan?” Mingyu asks. 

“Oh. I’m not sure. I just feel like something about him is different. I can’t look away from him during practices,” Minghao explains. 

Mingyu snorts but does not respond. 

“What?” Minghao asks. 

“Nothing. Sorry,” Mingyu shakes his head. 

“Come on, what?” 

“Just… makes sense that you’re able to see other people now,” Mingyu says. 

Minghao doesn’t know what that means. The way Mingyu is being cagey, Minghao instinctively becomes defensive. 

“Now that what?” Minghao asks. 

“Now that Soonyoung is gone,” Mingyu says. 

Minghao feels as if he’s been dunked in cold water. Before he can process what Mingyu’s words mean, his body rejects them. 

“Soonyoung has nothing to do with this,” Minghao says. 

His words come out like ice. Mingyu winces. Guilt immediately shrouds Minghao. He tries so earnestly not to speak to Mingyu with such cruelty anymore, even when his emotions pull at him. 

“Sorry,” Minghao says quickly. 

“No, it’s okay. I know your feelings for Soonyoung have been changing for a long time. I know this isn’t just about him being away,” Mingyu says. 

“I’ve been closer with Seungkwan for awhile,” Minghao says. 

“Yeah. You have. Even before our last tour,” Mingyu agrees. 

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Minghao continues, “I just know things are different, somehow.” 

“I mean, you get to see him in a special way. He doesn’t use his Sulbeop around the rest of us,” Mingyu tells him. 

Minghao did not know that. Seungkwan uses his Sulbeop all the time when it is just the two of them. He lights candles, heats their food, breathes a small flame into the air to accentuate a story. It shocks him that he alone is privy to that beauty. It makes him feel both important and selfish. 

“Oh,” is all Minghao manages to respond. 

“Well, uh, any chance any of this inspires some beautiful lyrics?” Mingyu smiles sheepishly. 

“ You signed up for the role as lyricist. I’m just here as moral support,” Minghao smiles back. 

~

Minghao does not sit long on the knowledge that Seungkwan reserves his Sulbeop for Minghao. It eats at him too much. Minghao cannot stand to leave his thoughts unsettled. He is at Seungkwan’s apartment for dinner after ten hours of filming for Going Seventeen. They’ve ordered Samgyeopsal and are eating it on the floor of Seungkwan’s living room with the television playing idly in the background. 

“Mingyu told me he’s never seen you use your Sulbeop. He doesn’t think any of the other members have,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan covers his mouth as he chews a piece of pork, his head shaking vigorously. 

“That’s not true. Vernon and Jihoon-hyung have both seen it,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao narrows his eyes. 

“They’ve seen you use it on purpose? Or just when things were… you know. Out of control in the beginning,” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan sips from his bottle of water. He does not look as if the conversation is making him anxious, his eyes still flicking back and forth between Minghao and the television. 

“I mean, I guess not. There just hasn’t been a reason to,” Seungkwan says. 

That is bullshit. Seungkwan uses his Sulbeop for the most mundane tasks in front of Minghao. If it has come up in front of him, surely it would have come up in front of the other members. 

“I watched you use it to make my tea hotter last week,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan sighs and turns his attention completely towards Minghao. 

“I use it alone. I’m working up to it, okay?” Seungkwan says. 

“Just… why me, Seungkwan?” Minghao asks. 

“You taught me how to control this. I think my magic just feels… safe with yours. God, sorry, that sounds stupid,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao places his chopsticks on the table and intertwines his fingers with Seungkwan’s. Without putting in any effort, he feels his magic rush to his palm, to the place where their skin connects. 

“That isn’t stupid. I feel it, too,” Minghao says, “But you could use it in front of them. I’m sure you can. You’re so good with it.” 

“I know. I just wonder if they’ll think of me differently. I’m supposed to be the bright, cheerful, cute one,” Seungkwan says. 

“Your fire is all of those things. And you’re so much more than those things. These are some of your closest friends, Seungkwan. They know you’re deeper than that,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan nods, though he is frowning. 

“You don’t like what I’ve said,” Minghao comments. 

“I agree with you. I just don’t want to be rushed. No one rushed you,” Seungkwan says. 

It stings to hear. Minghao has the impulse to say something cruel in response, but takes a deep breath instead. Seungkwan’s statement is true at its core. He still doesn’t like to hear it, not when gaining control of his Sulbeop had been so important for the safety of his loved ones. Seungkwan has never made someone bleed with his words. 

“I’m jealous of how well you control it,” Minghao settles on. 

“What?” 

“It took me so long just to figure out how not to hurt you all with my Sulbeop, but it came so naturally to you. It hurts not to use it. Everyday my magic aches to be in the world, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m jealous that it’s different for you,” Minghao says. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t realize. I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says. 

“Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t pressure you into doing something just because I can’t,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan peels his hand out from beneath Minghao’s only to run it up the length of Minghao’s arm. He then returns his attention to his meal, a clear indication that he would like for the conversation to pause. Minghao’s skin feels cold without his touch. The television is louder in their silence. Minghao collects himself and begins to eat again, too. Sounds of chewing fill the room. 

“I’ve been thinking about your Sulbeop, too,” Seungkwan says suddenly. 

“You have?” 

“Mm. About the blood on that card. You didn’t know you could do something like that,” Seungkwan says. 

“I think there might be a lot I don’t know about my Sulbeop,” Minghao says. 

It pours out of him like an admission of guilt. He has been aware of his Sulbeop for six years. Surely he should know more about it by now. 

“It makes sense why you feel like you can’t try,” Seungkwan says.

“It’s so permanent,” Minghao affirms.

“That’s what I was thinking about- that blood on the card, that wasn’t permanent, right?” Seungkwan says.

“Well, no, but I had to scar myself to do it,” Minghao says. 

“I’ve been reading about people who use their Sulbeop together,” Seungkwan begins. 

Minghao does not like where this is leading. Fear grips him. He has just barely begun to communicate with his own Sulbeop in such a way that he can allow it to manifest in the world without causing unbridled harm. He does not want to throw Seungkwan and all his power into the mix. 

“No,” Minghao says, automatic. 

Seungkwan reels back, eyes narrowed. He is hurt. Minghao can see it all over his face. 

“You’re going to turn me down before I can even suggest something?” Seungkwan asks. 

“I’m not going to let you get hurt,” Minghao says. 

It is an ironic sentence. He is hurting Seungkwan right now, in rejecting him. 

Seungkwan presses his lips into a tight line and sucks on his teeth. It comes across as a challenge. Minghao does not wish to fight with him. 

“You started it, you know. Mixing our magic. That’s how you taught me to use mine,” Seungkwan tells him. 

Minghao had not thought of it that way. He’d purposefully allowed Seungkwan to feel his magic, but it hadn’t felt like using their magic together. When Minghao uses his magic, there has always been blood. 

“That wasn’t the same,” Minghao says. 

“Right, yeah, because you were the one in charge then. God fucking forbid I have something to offer you,” Seungkwan spits, sarcastic. 

Minghao doesn’t need a Sulbeop like Soonyoung’s to be able to feel Seungkwan’s anger. His jaw is tight and his arms tense. In the past, Minghao had been so reactive to the vicious look in Seungkwan’s eyes. Tonight he feels like a scolded dog. Minghao is ashamed. 

“Is that really what you think?” Minghao asks. 

“You started this conversation trying to lecture me about how I use my Sulbeop. You think it’s okay to tell me how to do everything , but I can’t suggest a single thing to you? You didn’t even let me get my idea out! You know I appreciate you helping me figure all this out, but I get to know things, too. I get to help you, too,” Seungkwan says. 

“I could really hurt you. I’m not willing to do that,” Minghao says.

Minghao does his best to remain calm. Seungkwan’s voice is raised. They are well on their way to a yelling match. Minghao hates to yell, hates to argue. If he can keep his tone neutral, he can de-escalate. It is too dangerous for him. 

“I could have hurt you, too. But you told me I could be safe with you, and I trusted you. But you refuse to trust me. You could do it with Jun-hyung and Jeonghan-hyung. I bet you’d trust Soonyoung , too,” Seungkwan hisses. 

He pauses, blinking back tears. Minghao doesn’t respond. He can tell Seungkwan is only halfway through a thought. He also does not know what to say. How could Seungkwan think that he doesn’t trust him? It makes his heart hurt, a wound crashing over him. 

“It just hurts that you don’t trust me like you trust them,” Seungkwan finishes. 

He looks at the ground. He looks so unconfident. Minghao despises this, despises the way Seungkwan feels about him, despises the way Seungkwan feels about himself. Inside him, his magic is swirling. It makes him afraid. 

“You’re upset I haven’t used my Sulbeop in front of you?” Minghao asks.

He wants clarification. Seungkwan’s words do not make sense to him. 

Seungkwan huffs out a low grunt. Minghao has only frustrated him more. 

“It’s not about what you’re doing. It’s about what you’re feeling,” Seungkwan says. 

“How do you think I feel?” Minghao asks. 

Minghao searches his mind for his coping skills. His deep breathing has failed him. How else does he remain calm in an argument? His magic rattles against his skin, distracting, intoxicating. 

“Hyung,” Seungkwan says. 

Seungkwan places his hand on top of Minghao’s. It brings Minghao’s attention to the shaking of his own body. His hands are trembling. It mirrors the ricochet of his magic. His Sulbeop wants to be let out. 

“I’m sorry,” Minghao whispers. 

He is terrified for his voice to get too loud. 

“I didn’t know– I didn’t realize I was making you feel like this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Seungkwan tells him. 

Seungkwan never apologizes during a fight. It takes days, weeks, for him to admit to being wrong even if the wrongness is obvious. Seungkwan is not wrong here. He must be so scared of Minghao to be backing down. 

Minghao shakes his head. He does not want Seungkwan to be sorry. He takes a shaky breath in. It is shallow and forced. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Feel me. Let me help you, hyung,” Seungkwan says. 

He extends his hands. Minghao appraises them before taking them. He looks into Seungkwan’s eyes. Through their connected palms, Seungkwan’s magic begins to flow in and out of him like waves lapping against the shore. When he is using his Sulbeop, Seungkwan’s magic is hot. Burning. In this moment it is simply warm. It feels like sitting in front of a campfire, or slipping into a warm pool in the crisp of autumn. Minghao’s magic responds. It wants to match Seungkwan’s energy, to reach equilibrium. 

With Seungkwan’s help, Minghao is able to settle himself enough to access his breath. He inhales deeply and exhales slowly. His body stops shaking. He squeezes Seungkwan’s hands when he feels in control of himself again. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

He wants to say that he is sorry, but he does not expect that it would land well. 

“I wish you’d told me how I was making you feel,” Seungkwan says. 

It is a gentle request. It holds none of Seungkwan’s earlier bite. 

“You remember what it used to be like to argue with me, right?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan nods. 

“I know you had to find ways to, you know. To make sure your emotions and your magic don’t mix,” Seungkwan says. 

“Sometimes it is confusing being so distanced from my emotions,” Minghao says. 

He wants for Seungkwan to understand. He isn’t keeping people out on purpose. When Minghao has an opinion, a feeling that he is attached to, he shares it. There is a wall between himself and his emotions, though. It can take so long to recognize what he is feeling unless he climbs that wall to peer over or the emotion breaks it down. 

“That sounds lonely,” Seungkwan says. 

“Sometimes.” 

“But, see, things like this are why I think it could help to try something new,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao could go his entire life barely using his Sulbeop. He has managed his twenties this way, with distanced emotions and thoughtful reflections. It would be easy to keep going as he has been. 

Something about watching Seungkwan’s power blossom makes Minghao wish for something different. He might never be able to use his Sulbeop frivolously, but he would like to have options. He would like to be able to feel without fear, without caution. 

“Okay. Maybe. I’ll consider it,” Minghao says. 

“I know I…” Seungkwan pauses, squeezing his eyelids shut and opening them again, “I know I said it hurts that I’m not the one you want to use your Sulbeop with. And that’s still true. But this is important. It doesn’t have to be me. I just think you should try with someone.” 

“I wouldn’t try this with anyone other than you,” Minghao says. 

The statement rolls out of his mouth easily. He means it, he realizes. He has used his Sulbeop in front of others, but he cannot dream of intertwining his magic with anyone but Seungkwan. 

Beside him, Seungkwan scrunches up his face. 

“Don’t just say that because I was mad at you,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao laughs. Seungkwan looks so damn cute when he is pouting. 

“What?” Seungkwan asks.

“Nothing. I mean it, okay? If I decide to try this, I want it to be with you,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan attempts to maintain his pout as he turns back to his food, but the corners of his mouth twist up and his eyes sparkle. Minghao has given him exactly what he wanted and cannot muster even a hint of frustration about it. 

~

“Mom,” Minghao smiles, “Did I wake you up?”

It is just barely too early to be calling anyone on the phone, but Minghao does not feel as if his mother counts as an anyone . 

“Oh, no, your father woke me up twenty minutes ago. Have I told you about his walking group? Minghao, they go out so early. I haven’t slept in past six in weeks,” she replies. 

Minghao giggles. His mother sounds groggy. He imagines her still in bed, her hair a mess. He misses her. 

“Do you need me to talk to him?” Minghao jokes. 

“Oh, Minghao. If he could be stopped I would be less sleep deprived,” she says. 

Minghao can imagine her smile on the other end of the line. 

“But how are you? Why are you calling so early? Is everything alright?” she asks before Minghao can get another word in. 

Minghao curls his legs towards himself where he is laying in his own bed. He closes his eyes and imagines that he is with his mother in person, that she is here visiting. He can’t remember what she smells like. Something sweet, maybe? Something floral? 

“I’m okay,” Minghao says, “I’ve just been thinking about my Sulbeop, recently.” 

“Ah. Has it been hard again?” she asks.

She sounds so worried. Minghao feels sad. He did not want for his Sulbeop to make his mother worry. He had wanted it to be a moment of joy and connection between them. 

“That’s a part of why I called,” Minghao says. 

“Okay.” 

“Were you proud of me, mom? When you found out what my Sulbeop could do?” he asks. 

He feels choked up as it comes out of his mouth. He thinks that he might cry before this conversation is over. 

“Of course I was. Do you have to ask?” his mother replies. 

“Sometimes I feel like it makes you sad,” Minghao says. 

“Oh, Minghao. I could never be sad about something like that. Your power is beautiful,” she says. 

Minghao can hear that she is holding back. There is a disappointment in her tone that is only ever there when Minghao speaks of his Sulbeop. 

“Please tell me the truth,” Minghao says. 

There is silence on the line. Suggesting that his mother is keeping something from him is the most disrespect he has shown to his mother since he was a teenager. He would not have said it if it did not feel important. 

“Okay. The truth is, sometimes I am sad that you live a life that doesn’t allow you to explore your magic. Your grandmother and I– we just wish you could feel what we feel, sometimes. But I know being a musician is so important to you. It’s okay that we don’t prioritize the same things,” she tells him. 

Minghao’s resolve breaks and he does cry. His mother lets him weep, offering soft words of comfort. Minghao is sad but, more than that, it is relieving to know the truth. 

“Seungkwan has a Sulbeop,” Minghao says, still sniffling. 

“Yes, I heard. Your father likes to gossip with his family,” she says. 

“Watching him learn to work with his magic has made me want to work with mine,” Minghao says. 

“I think that’s wonderful, Minghao. He’s such a good friend,” she responds. 

“I’m scared of hurting someone again,” Minghao says. 

“I trust you, Minghao. You’ve always been so careful,” she says. 

It isn’t anything more than Seungkwan has already told him. It still feels nice to hear his mother say it. 

~

After a summer of intense album creation and promotion, Seventeen takes off for the Chuseok holiday. For most of the members it is an opportunity to see their families before their scattered concerts across Asia in late autumn. Minghao does not have time to fly to Anshan. In past years, he may have spent the holiday alone. This year, Seungkwan invites him back to Jeju. 

The island is beautiful, far more beautiful than Seungkwan’s photos from previous vacations have been able to capture. The company rents them a car at the airport. They toss their luggage into the backseat and Minghao drives them to Seungkwan’s family home. 

Seungkwan has his hands out the passenger window nearly the entire ride. He points out personal landmarks– the place he and Jeonghan stopped to get gas on their last visit, a grocery store he remembers frequenting with his sisters, his favorite row of palm trees. Minghao has a difficult time focusing on his stories as he drives but he smiles and nods along politely. He would like to know more about Seungkwan’s childhood. 

The place where the road meets the sea is breathtaking. After ten minutes of craning his neck to try to take in the view, Minghao pulls them into a small parking lot adjacent to the beach. He smiles at Seungkwan and spills out of the car. There is a small stone wall to hop to reach the sand. He traverses it effortlessly and jogs to the edge of the water. Seungkwan meets him a minute later, out of breath and smiling. 

“What are you doing?” Seungkwan asks. 

“You didn’t tell me how beautiful it is. Look how blue the water is!” Minghao says. 

He whips around to face the center of the island and points.

“And there’s a mountain right there!” Minghao exclaims. 

Seungkwan doubles over in laughter. The sun is setting in pink and orange. The light dances off Seungkwan’s skin. Seungkwan looks beautiful anywhere, but he looks perfect in this place. Minghao finds himself hoping that Seungkwan retires here. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and begins snapping photos of Seungkwan as he laughs. Seungkwan against the backdrop of the mountains, Seungkwan against the backdrop of the sea, Seungkwan’s face up close with the sun shining bright on him. Seungkwan feigns annoyance but he loves to be the center of attention, and his smile is so bright. 

Seungkwan’s mother texts him asking for an update about their arrival time. They run back to the car together arm in arm like teenagers caught out after curfew. Minghao still struggles to focus on the road the remainder of the drive, even as they turn away from the sea and take small winding roads up through town. It does not help that Seungkwan’s stories become more detailed. When Seungkwan points out his elementary school, Minghao slows down to look at the colorful building. When Seungkwan begins rambling about his favorite coffee shop, Minghao nearly pulls them over again to get a drink. 

Seungkwan’s parents’ home is nothing short of cute. Like the other homes in the neighborhood, it is surrounded by plants that Minghao imagines must bloom beautifully in the spring. Inside are wooden heated floors, dark cozy furniture, and lace decor. It is easy to picture Seungkwan in front of the television mirroring Girls Generation choreography or hunched over the kitchen table working on homework. 

“I hope you two don’t mind sharing a room,” Seungkwan’s mother smiles as she ushers them through the home, “There isn’t enough space with all the girls home too.” 

Minghao enjoys having his own space, but he has always preferred sharing a room with a member at their parents’ homes. Mingyu’s family is excluded from this– he feels just as home there as he does with his own family. But Minghao has never spent much time with Seungkwan’s parents. It is nice to be in Seungkwan’s space, to have a guide through the rules of the house. 

“Thank you for letting me spend the holiday with you,” Minghao tells her. 

“Oh, Myungho, of course. I miss Seungkwan so much and we’re only a few hours away. You must get so lonely without your parents over the holidays,” she tells him. 

Strictly speaking, Chuseok is not a Chinese holiday. His family is celebrating nothing at all over the weekend. He does miss them, though. It can feel isolating being the farthest away when the other members are able to see their parents on important days. 

“Sometimes. It’s nice when I can travel with some of the guys, like this,” Minghao says. 

She leads them to their room– to Seungkwan’s childhood room– and leaves them to freshen up after their flight. Though they are only visiting for a long weekend, Seungkwan takes all his clothes from his suitcase and hangs them in the closet. Minghao feels fine keeping his belongings packed. He lays on Seungkwan’s bed and watches as his friend tidies. 

If this room was ever decorated in Seungkwan’s style, it has long since been remodeled. It looks like any guest room a mother might decorate- neutral walls, a medium sized daybed, floral sheets. 

“I like it here,” Minghao announces. 

Seungkwan looks around and raises an eyebrow. 

“You don’t have to say that to me. I didn’t decorate,” Seungkwan says. 

“I mean, it doesn’t look like my house would. But I feel at home here. It’s very warm,” Minghao says. 

Like you , his mind supplies. He doesn’t know what to make of the thought, so he keeps it to himself. 

Seungkwan finishes unpacking and flops next to Minghao on the bed. 

“Oh, my god, I forgot how hard this is,” Seungkwan says about the mattress. 

“Hard mattresses are better for your health,” Minghao tells him. 

“If you sleep on your back,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“You should sleep on your back,” Minghao says. 

“I can’t wait for my sisters to nag you like you nag me,” Seungkwan says, eyes squinted. 

Minghao giggles. Seungkwan banters with so many members of the team, but it isn’t a style of communication that comes as naturally to Minghao. He sometimes wonders if it would be easier if he hadn’t spent his critical social developmental years grasping to express his most basic thoughts in Korean. With Seungkwan, though, he can banter. Teasing and sarcasm come to his mind as swiftly as his more serious and direct thoughts. He likes that they have this. 

“Does your family like me? I know I haven’t visited before,” Minghao asks. 

“They like all of you,” Seungkwan says. 

“Is Vernon their favorite?” Minghao asks. 

“Ugh, no. It’s Mingyu. He cooks for them,” Seungkwan says, feigning annoyance. 

Minghao is annoyed. He can’t place why. Some primal competitive urge when it comes to Mingyu, maybe. 

“I’ll cook for your family,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan smiles. It isn’t his happy smile— instead it’s the smile he makes when he knows something that someone else doesn’t. It makes Minghao feel uneasy. 

“Okay,” Seungkwan says, “Cook for them.” 

~

On Saturday, he and Seungkwan steal away from the house before the remainder of the Boo family stirs. They hop in their rented car and head south well before the sun has risen, Seungkwan intent on showing him the beaches of Seogwipo. Minghao would have gone for the drive alone. The ascent up into the mountain to cross the island is breathtaking, but when the skyline peels away to reveal ocean Minghao is nearly brought to tears. Two drastically opposing forces of nature should not be able to exist in such close proximity, but here they are. 

“I can’t believe you left this place,” Minghao says. 

The timing is inopportune. They’re nearing the beach, cruising down steep hills. Minghao learned to drive in Seoul. He’s too heavy on the breaks and his palms are sweating on the wheel. His concern is evident. 

“You alright?” Seungkwan laughs. 

“I’m not used to hills,” Minghao says. 

He intends for his tone to be light, but he feels like he’s driving down a ninety degree angle. He fears he sounds more petulant than anything, a tone he’s picked up from Seungkwan. It gets him laughed at again. 

“There are plenty of hills in Seoul,” Seungkwan says.

“Not like this. I don’t drive often, anyway,” Minghao says.

“Oh– the turn is up here on the left. Yeah, that parking lot. And then go all the way to the end, and the spots on the right are free,” Seungkwan instructs. 

Seungkwan bounds out of the car before Minghao has turned it off. They are the only ones in the small parking lot. It isn’t quite dawn. The moon is low in the sky, hanging lovely over the ocean. 

Minghao has to dart across a road to reach Seungkwan. He stands near the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. If Minghao thought the ocean was beautiful from the road he is at a loss of words as to how to describe the sight before him. 

“Come on, we’re going down,” Seungkwan says.

Seungkwan laces their fingers together. He does it casually, turning to walk down towards the path as soon as they are touching, but Minghao does not feel very casual at all.

He is guided down a path of steep stone stairs. Seungkwan moves slowly in the dark. They don’t speak, their sound of their breathing hanging in the air. The sea breeze is chilling but Seungkwan’s hand is warm. 

“There it is,” Seungkwan whispers. 

He doesn’t need to be quiet. No one else is around. 

“I can’t see,” Minghao whispers back. 

It is just dark enough that all Minghao can make out is rocks. He knows that two large tidal pools are supposed to sit at the edge of the stairwell, but he can only just make out their shape in the moonlight. 

“Be careful on the rocks,” Seungkwan says. He narrows his eyes and adds, “Thought I told you not to wear slides.”

The stairs end and give way to a bed of the large rocks in question. Seungkwan hops across them as if he’s done it a thousand times, the routine of navigating beach terrain coming back to him like riding a bike. Minghao moves so slowly that he has to let go of his hand. He won’t admit it, but he should have listened when Seungkwan suggested sneakers. Up close, the tidal pool is beautiful. The water is calm. Seungkwan is sitting by its edge, his shoes off and his feet in the water. 

“Is it cold?” Minghao asks.

He sits beside Seungkwan and takes in the view. They are surrounded by cliffs, the ocean encroaching on their left side from a small break in the land. Minghao knows that hundreds of people visit this place every day but in the middle of the night, it feels like it is just for them. 

“Yeah. Not like the ocean, though. It’s shallow, so it holds in the sunlight better,” Seungkwan tells him. 

Minghao removes his slides and plummets his feet into the pool up to his calf. It is cold, so cold that he won’t risk swimming, but it isn’t anything unbearable. 

“We have to come back in the summer. I want to swim,” Minghao says. 

He thinks that he could visit this place every day and never grow tired of it. Seungkwan takes his hand again, this time threading their arms together first. He looks around at the cliffs above them and sets fire to the water with no warning. 

“Jesus, Seungkwan. What if someone sees?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan shrugs. 

“I’ve been thinking it might not be so bad if Carats find out about my Sulbeop,” Seungkwan says. 

Some idols are open about their Sulbeop. Hell, when Park Jimin had sprouted wings and learned to fly, Bighit had worked it into their choreography. Fire is different though. Fire is dangerous. Fire is the reason emergency services were called to Hybe two years ago. Minghao has never considered being open about his Sulbeop, not even after scarring Mingyu. Especially after scarring Mingyu. 

Seungkwan’s bravery ignites confidence within him. 

“I want to try it,” Minghao says. 

“Try… it?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Using our powers together. Let’s do it here. You’re right, no one’s around,” Minghao says. 

It is a rash decision, but now that the idea is in Minghao’s mind, now that his heart is racing, he wants so desperately to try. 

“You’re sure?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao nods. He maneuvers to standing, Seungkwan mirroring him. They continue to hold hands. Minghao intends for it to be the connecting point of their magic. 

“You said you’ve read about this,” Minghao says. 

It is meant as an invitation. He wants Seungkwan to guide him through this. 

“Yeah. I think– tell me if you disagree, okay? But I think we should channel it through me, since I have more control of where my fire ends up. If you feed your Sulbeop into me, we can try to write a word in fire, or something, maybe,” Seungkwan says. 

It sounds magnificent. Exhilarating. 

“It should say Seventeen. Right?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan laughs. 

“What?” Minghao asks. 

“You just… god, you come across as so aloof, but you’re just like the rest of us,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’m not aloof,” Minghao frowns. 

“We can argue about it on the ride home. Focus,” Seungkwan tells him, still chuckling. 

Minghao does focus. He closes his eyes and feels his magic inside him already swirling in his palm, excited for the chance to touch Seungkwan’s magic. He allows it to seep out of him and into Seungkwan. It is intimate, he thinks, to feel his magic inside of another body. He can’t feel Seungkwan’s insides physically, but he can map them. More than anything, though, he can sense the heat of Seungkwan’s magic. 

“I’m ready,” Seungkwan tells him. 

Minghao swallows. 

In his mind, he visualizes the pool of water. He imagines Seventeen written in Seungkwan’s beguiling flames. He imagines himself surrendering to his Sulbeop, to Seungkwan’s Sulbeop, to Seungkwan himself. 

“Seventeen,” he says. 

He feels the flames erupt in front of him. His eyes pop open. At first it appears only as fire. Seungkwan makes some beautiful noise, something just a little bit more than an exhale, and wraps both arms around Minghao. Minghao sees it, then. They’ve done it. 

“Holy shit. Did you feel that?” Seunkwan says. 

Minghao feels it still. Their magic is still threaded together, now swirling between both their bodies. Minghao is satiated. His Sulbeop so rarely is able to be released, and tonight it has been released in such brilliance. Seungkwan’s magic feels brilliant inside him. His feels brilliant inside Seungkwan. 

Seungkwan presses away from Minghao just enough to look up into his eyes. His skin glows beside the roaring fire, shining gold. His eyes squint into crescents as he smiles. The expression is so genuine, so happy. Minghao’s gut burns with joy. The radiance of the moment emboldens him to act. He wants more of himself touching Seungkwan. 

He moves to take a step closer to Seungkwan, but his feet are wet. He is sideways in the air plummeting towards the water before his brain comprehends the sensation of slipping. Seungkwan screams half of his name, and then he is engulfed by water. His first thought once he has crashed through the surface is that the water is warmer now, with fire burning on top of it. 

Minghao panics only until his equilibrium identifies which way is up. He swims up towards it and breaches the surface easily. He had not been under very deep at all. 

“You put the fire out,” Minghao says after catching his breath. 

“I thought I killed you ,” Seungkwan yells. 

Minghao remembers the way that Seungkwan’s face looked beside the fire and thinks that, maybe, he has. 

“Come swim,” Minghao offers. 

It is stupid. Reckless. If someone on the road didn’t see the blaze of the fire, they certainly heard Seungkwan’s yelling. They should get out of here but Minghao is not ready for this experience to end. 

“Get out of the water, you’ll freeze,” Seungkwan chides. 

He extends a hand to help Minghao out. 

If it were Soonyoung, Minghao would pull him in. Seungkwan would hate to be pulled in. 

“Promise to take me swimming here when it’s warm,” Minghao says. 

“Ah, yes, with all our extra time next summer,” Seungkwan jokes. 

“Seungkwan.” 

Minghao’s teeth begin to chatter. It diminishes his sincerity. 

“God, okay, I’ll bring you back! Get out of the water before someone calls the cops on us!” Seungkwan laughs. 

They aren’t doing anything that would get them in trouble, but it is never a good look for an idol to be caught speaking with the police. Minghao takes Seungkwan’s hand and allows himself to be dragged out of the water. The walk back up to the car is horrible. Minghao’s wet feet slip around in his slides. The air is freezing, colder than the water. His only comfort is Seungkwan walking behind him up the stairs, his hands on Minghao’s hips to assure he doesn’t fall again. 

The sun begins to rise as they cross the street. A few cars have joined theirs in the parking lot, but their owners appear too enthralled by the beauty of Seogwipo to pay any mind to them as they slink by. In the car, Seungkwan makes him sit on a towel so as not to ruin the leather of their rental car. They crank up the heat and Minghao sits with his hands hovering over the air vents to warm himself. 

“Any chance you’ve learned how to use your Sulbeop to dry off clothes?” Minghao asks.

“Some of the tourist shops will open up soon. I’ll run in and buy you an outfit,” Seungkwan says. 

“We’re still having a tourist day?” Minghao asks. 

“I told you to wear sneakers. I’m getting coffee and seafood,” Seungkwan tells him. 

“You weren’t wearing shoes either when I fell in!” Minghao laughs. 

“Yeah, well, I can manage myself. Come on, hyung, let’s get out of this parking lot before people notice who we are,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao drives, following Seungkwan’s directions to a tourist shop that may or may not have similar hours to Seungkwan’s childhood memory of the store. 

~

Their last night visiting Jeju, Minghao can’t sleep. He waits in the dark of their bedroom for Seungkwan to return from bothering his sisters, scrolling through photos from their vacation. It’s one in the morning by the time Seungkwan joins him in bed. He gets under the covers smiling. 

“You didn’t have to wait up,” he says. 

“I couldn’t sleep. How are Seojeong and Jinseol?” Minghao asks. 

“Oh, they’re fine. They just wanted to gossip,” Seungkwan says. 

“Sounds fun,” Minghao says. 

“You hate to gossip,” Seungkwan says.

Seungkwan pokes his cheek. Minghao’s chest lights up, not in real fire, not in anything of Seungkwan’s direct doing, but Seungkwan’s affection has been rendering him intoxicated this whole trip. 

“Only sometimes,” Minghao smiles. 

“I saw a Tiktok that compared gossip to storytelling. Like, oral tradition. And something about preserving community expectations,” Seungkwan says.

“I can tell you really paid attention to the explanation,” Minghao teases. 

Underneath the blanket, Seungkwan throws a leg over Minghao’s hip and presses down, a playful attempt at punishment. Minghao squeals but does not try to free himself. 

“I was… actually talking to my sisters about military service,” Seungkwan says. 

“Oh,” Minghao responds. 

He sometimes feels out of his depth when the members bring service up with him. It isn’t something he has to worry about, not from the inside like so many of them do. 

“Jeonghan has talked to you about what it was like for him, right?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Yes. Maybe not in the same way he’s talked to you, but, yes,” Minghao says. 

“I’ve talked to Key-hyung, too. And some of the guys from NCT. The gay guys, I mean,” Seungkwan says. 

Seungkwan has already half-initiated a cuddle with his leg. Minghao deepens this, slipping his arm around Seungkwan’s middle and pulling him towards his chest. 

“I’ve heard it’s easier for celebrities,” Minghao says. 

“I’m really fucking gay , hyung,” Seungkwan says. 

Many of them are really fucking gay, but he knows what Seungkwan means. Seungkwan can’t pass for straight. He holds a stereotypical, effeminate air that terrifies heterosexual men. It is almost worse that he is so athletically inclined. Straight men are easily intimidated. Minghao worries for him in the military, too. 

“I know,” Minghao says. 

This makes Seungkwan laugh. His breath tickles Minghao’s chest, warm, intimate. 

“I originally invited Vernon on this trip,” Seungkwan says. 

“Are you telling me I was your backup plan?” Minghao laughs. 

“Shut up, I invited both of you! But I… he and I haven’t been doing well,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao had not known this. There are some constants in Seventeen. Seungkwan and Vernon’s friendship has always been one of them. They’ve had disagreements, sure, but they’ve typically been two-day blow ups that the entire group is aware of. They have never had a silent, lingering fight. Not that Minghao has known of. 

“Is it something you want to work through?” Minghao asks. 

“Obviously. It’s Vernon. And it’s my fault,” Seungkwan says. 

“What happened?”

“I was… talking to him about all this military stuff. And like, he doesn’t get it, you know? Or he does, but…” Seungkwan trails off. 

“If he doesn’t want people to know he’s attracted to men, they won’t know,” Minghao says. 

“And he had the choice! He could have revoked his citizenship, and he wouldn’t have had to go at all,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao is reminded of a similar conversation with Vernon last autumn. They hadn’t seen eye to eye, either. 

“You know that probably would have meant being asked to leave Seventeen,” Minghao says. 

“I know. I know it wasn’t really a choice. But for me it really, really isn’t a choice. I have to go and it is going to be horrible. And, like, we all would have fought for him to stay in the group. Even back then,” Seungkwan says. 

“What would you have done, if you were him?” Minghao asks. 

“I don’t know. Sometimes I fantasize about marrying someone for citizenship somewhere else and— and— I don’t know. Running away? Hoping fans don’t notice I’ve revoked my citizenship and avoided enlisting? It’s stupid,” Seungkwan says.

Minghao does not find this to be stupid. In Seungkwan’s position, he would also be searching for an escape, for a loop hole, for anything that could give him back some semblance of control. 

“It’s a shame China and Korea don’t recognize gay marriages,” Minghao says, “We could have visited my parents and had this sorted out for you if they did.” 

He says it seriously, intending to demonstrate to Seungkwan—

He isn’t entirely sure what he is trying to demonstrate to Seungkwan. He just wants him to know that he would do this for him, if he could. 

“That’s a lame way to propose, Xu Minghao,” Seungkwan says.

He skips the “hyung”, says it real casual. Minghao probably deserves it. 

“I’m not proposing,” Minghao says. 

“But you would, if it would keep me out of the military?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Yes,” Minghao says because it is true. 

Seungkwan makes a gurgling whine. 

“ God . Go to bed, hyung,” he says. 

Minghao doesn’t know how to respond, and Seungkwan goes silent. It takes him a long time to fall asleep all tangled up in Seungkwan, but he does not want to let go. 

~

Vacation comes to a crashing halt. The week after they return, they begin VCR recordings for their upcoming mini-tour. The following month is overloaded with dance rehearsals and promotions for their soon-to-be-released album. The fresh air of Jeju is lost to Minghao and replaced with the stink of dance practice rooms. 

Seungkwan is busier than anyone, simultaneously recording a solo project. It is the sort of activity they had all hoped to have time for during this years-long period of military service that only a few of them have actually had the time to take advantage of. When Seungkwan goes to film his music video in Everland after dark, Mingyu and Minghao drive out to surprise him. It costs them a precious night of sleep, but Mingyu loves a drive and Minghao can’t get Seungkwan out of his mind. 

With the assistance of managers, it is easy enough for them to sneak onto the set without Seungkwan being made aware. The sun is just beginning to rise as they run up to the film crew, blending in with staff in their long coats and masks. Seungkwan is wearing one of the most extravagant outfits that Minghao has ever seen him in, draping and lacey in a high fashion way. 

“Jesus. This might as well be a coming out video,” Mingyu whispers. 

He doesn’t say it in a mean way, but Minghao feels defensive. Mingyu is another one of the members that will get by just fine in the military. 

“It took a lot of guts to do this,” Minghao says. 

“He looks really pretty,” Mingyu says. 

Pretty does not describe the way that Seungkwan looks. He is a force of nature. Minghao finds it a waste that he woke up in the middle of the night to begin filming at dawn. He outshines the sunrise, blows mother nature out of the water. Minghao’s throat is dry as Seungkwan walks the set, his outfit billowing behind him. 

Minghao had known some of what to expect on set. Seungkwan has been showing the entire group his fashion inspiration, and they’ve all heard his recording at least a dozen times. Minghao had not known that Seungkwan planned to use his Sulbeop in the music video. 

Watching Seungkwan breathe fire in front of an entire crew is both more and less intimate than when he watches him use his magic alone. The crew gasps. Mingyu gasps. Minghao is not shocked. He knows already that Seungkwan’s Sulbeop is the most magnificent sight in the world. He stares wide-eyed, proud, awestruck. 

Seungkwan breathes fire and the world stops spinning, just for a moment. And then he stops. He stops, and he turns around bashful to the camera, laughing and smiling. It will make great behind the scenes footage. Seungkwan’s smile is maybe the only thing that could outdo his magic. 

“Fuck,” Minghao curses. 

“Holy shit,” Mingyu agrees. 

Minghao doesn’t mean it like Mingyu does. He means it different. He means it more. His feelings wash over him suddenly, a hot wave inside his chest. 

“I think I love him,” Minghao says. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu breathes. And then, “Wait, no, what?” 

“I have feelings for him,” Minghao rephrases. 

Because love doesn’t feel right. Minghao has loved Seungkwan since they were trainees. Minghao has always loved all the members. The fire inside his gut is not familial love. This is passion, desire, want. 

Mingyu cackles. It blows their cover– Seungkwan spots them in the crowd. 

“Hyungs! You came!” he shouts, waving. 

A camera pans to them. This, too, will make it into a behind the scenes video. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Minghao says as he and Mingyu shoot Seungkwan finger hearts. 

“Is it because he’s blonde a lot?” Mingyu asks.

“What?”

“You know. Hoshi-hyung’s blonde all the time, too. I thought, maybe, you’ve got a blonde thing. And if you do you’ve gotta tell me so I don’t bleach my ha-”

Minghao pushes him, cameras be damned, and runs over to Seungkwan. Mingyu is left laughing behind him. 

~

Jun and Minghao fly to China, ostensibly to promote. In reality, this serves as the first time they’ve visited their home country in two years. They separate at their layover, each of them headed towards airports closer to their parents’ homes. They each have a smattering of activities to attend over the next three weeks, but Minghao intends to spend the majority of this time dragging his parents along on field trips. 

Anshan is just as he remembers it, both nothing at all and too much like Seoul. Like every city he’s ever been to, really. Like every city he will see on tour as soon as he returns from China. His parents, too, are as he remembers them, with maybe a touch more gray in their hair. 

In his fantasies about this trip, the three of them spend most of their days hiking. It is what they’d done when he was younger. It helped to keep him active in lieu of idol schedules, and walking through the forest helps him to think. They do manage one hike, but his father huffs through the inclines and his mother’s body is so stiff the next morning that he scraps all ideas of further exercise with them. Instead, they drive him to restaurants, to markets, to the mall. These activities are nice in their own ways. It has been so long since he has been to a mall without being recognized. 

Mingyu is the first member to Facetime him. He always is, save one year where Soonyoung’s object permanence was intact enough to remember to pick up the phone on Minghao’s first night abroad. 

“You haven’t sent any pictures to the group chat,” Mingyu whines to him. 

Minghao laughs and scrolls through his camera roll, selecting four or five photos of himself with his parents that he deems acceptable for the group. Inevitably one of them will upload the pictures onto Weverse or Twitter or Instagram, so he makes sure he looks nice in them before sending them Mingyu’s way. 

“Happy?” Minghao asks. 

“No. You’ve barely been responding to my texts,” Mingyu says. 

He smiles as if it is a joke, but Minghao knows Mingyu is bothered by how uncommunicative he can be when they’re apart. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted by my parents,” Minghao says. 

Mingyu nods. He might not understand but he is empathetic. 

“How are they? Did you tell them I miss them?” Mingyu asks. 

“Yes. My mother wanted me to remind you that you’re her favorite,” Minghao says. 

This brightens Mingyu’s smile into something believable. 

“Have you convinced them to move to Seoul?” Mingyu asks. 

It is a question that has been on Minghao’s mind for the better part of fifteen years. Though he would miss having roots in Anshan, he would be so comforted to have his parents closer to him. It is difficult to be so unlike the other members, unable to call his family for a quick meal on a bad day. Video calls do not suffice for his mother’s food. 

“They’re still doing what they always do. It feels different now, though. They’re… a lot older,” Minghao says. 

Mingyu nods and frowns, an opening for Minghao to continue talking. 

“I know all of our parents are, obviously. But something about being so far away from them makes it hit harder every time I see them,” Minghao says. 

“Is their health okay?”

“Presumably. I just worry,” Minghao says. 

Minghao does not really want to talk more about his family. All the conversation is doing is creating more upset inside him about things he can’t control. 

“You saw your family this weekend, didn’t you?” Minghao asks.

“Ah, yeah, Minseo is pissed at me,” Mingyu tells him. 

“What did you do to your sister?” Minghao asks. 

“Nothing! Just, she’s thinking about studying abroad in the States, and I don’t think my parents realize how dangerous it can be there,” Mingyu says. 

Minghao laughs.

“What?” Mingyu whines.

“You’ve traveled to, like, fifty countries. Don’t get in the way of your sister’s dream,” Minghao says. 

“I’m just worried about her!” Mingyu says. 

“I’m sure,” Minghao responds, his tone teasing. 

“What if she decides to stay there! What if some American guy fucks her over and I have to take a sixteen hour flight before I can scare him?” Mingyu says. 

“You’re overthinking this.” 

“You’re underthinking it!” 

They argue like this for awhile, neither of them particularly serious. It feels comfortable and familiar, even in this bedroom that is only kind-of his. Minghao is not sure when Anshan morphed from his city into the place I used to live , but the difference is stark. 

“I miss you,” Minghao says as they prepare to hang up the phone. 

“Yeah, I miss you too. We all do,” Mingyu says. 

“It feels stupid to be away from you when I know you’re going to the military soon,” Minghao says. 

It is selfish and vulnerable. It is also true. 

“Ah, no! I haven’t started thinking about it as ‘soon’ yet. You can’t say soon!” Mingyu complains. 

He puts an air of performance into his words. Minghao can tell his friend is trying to make him laugh, and it works. 

“Call us more often. Especially me!” Mingyu instructs. 

Minghao promises and hangs up the phone to help his mother with dinner. She complains, lovingly, about how Korean his cooking instincts have become. 

~

Minghao does call the members more often after his chat with Mingyu. He calls Jeonghan while he is shopping for clothes, and Joshua at the wine store, and Wonwoo late one night when he can’t sleep. Minghao thinks a great deal about calling Seungkwan. He misses his voice, his laugh, his jokes. He misses Seungkwan’s judgemental glare. He misses the way his glare softens when he is with Minghao. 

Minghao thinks about calling Seungkwan, but he doesn’t call him. He texts him at all hours. They’re in communication almost more often than they are at home. Minghao easily becomes the person (one of the people?) that Seungkwan fires off paragraphs of text to between appointments. Minghao responds with photographs of his trip, sometimes of the city, sometimes of his parents, sometimes of a childhood trinket or notebook found while rifling through his possessions. 

Minghao thinks about calling Seungkwan but does not know what to do with the newly recognized romantic longing inside his heart. He has put off thinking about it as much as he can while in China. He certainly isn’t going to confess while he’s here. A part of him hoped for his feelings to fizzle out while he was away. Even five hundred kilometers apart Seungkwan burns too brightly to ignore. Minghao admits to himself two weeks into his vacation that these are feelings he will have to deal with one way or another. 

Minghao thinks about calling Seungkwan, but Seungkwan actually calls him. It is in the middle of his third week away from home, only a few days until he and Junhui fly back to Seoul. Seungkwan calls without warning at eleven in the evening. The first thing that Minghao sees when he answers the Facetime is Seungkwan’s closet. 

“Isn’t there someone closer who could help you pick out an outfit?” Minghao says. 

“God, I almost forgot you were like this,” Seungkwan sighs. 

Minghao missed this, missed Seungkwan. He finds himself smiling. 

“Come on, I’ll help. What’s the event?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan flips the camera around and Minghao finally gets a view of his face. His bleached hair has thick roots and is fluffy-dry, like Seungkwan got out of the shower a few hours ago and failed to use a single styling product. It amazes Minghao how much time and care Seungkwan takes with his skin but never with his hair. 

“You know Kang Kiyoung?” Seungkwan asks. He does not wait for Minghao to answer, assuming correctly that he must, “He’s bringing me to the premier of his new show. I don’t think I have any premier clothes.” 

Minghao does not need to look into Seungkwan’s closet to know that he does not have any premier clothes. Of all the qualities that attract Minghao to Seungkwan, his fashion sense is not among them. 

“How long do we have?” Minhao asks.

“It’s tomorrow.” 

“Okay, that’s fine. Go to my dorm, we’ll have you bring some shirts and jackets back up to your place to try on with your pants,” Minghao tells him. And then– “Wait, is this a date?” 

Minghao has spent an unfortunate amount of time imagining Seungkwan in his clothes, tracing back far beyond his realization of his feelings. In none of the scenarios in his mind is Seungkwan using his clothes to sleep with another man. 

“God, no. You think I’d date an actor? Kiyoung-hyung is, like, fifty,” Seungkwan says, scrunching up his nose. 

“What’s wrong with actors?” Minghao laughs, unexpected relief filling his chest.

“They’re so… you know. They always want attention,” Seungkwan says.

His audio quality worsens as he shuffles around his dorm, phone nowhere near his face as he prepares to leave for Minghao’s. 

“You do realize we’re idols, right?” Minghao continues to laugh. 

“Okay, sure, but we’re making art,” Seungkwan argues. 

“I think actors probably think they’re making art, too,” Minghao says. 

“Hyung, I love TV, but that is not art. A play, sure. But a drama?” Seungkwan says.

He brings the phone up to his face so that Minghao can watch him roll his eyes. 

Joshua is the one to let Seungkwan into Minghao’s dorm. He exchanges sleepy pleasantries with Minghao before shooing Seungkwan off into Minghao’s bedroom. It is odd to watch someone else go through his clothes. Seungkwan does not like most of them, not for himself. It is humbling to have a person he cares about so much push so many of his options to the side. 

“Try some of the asymmetrical shirts. There are blazers that match,” Minghao suggests.

“Do you really think I could pull those off?”

“Yes, absolutely. Not the red one though,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan sighs loudly. 

As he collects a medium-sized pile of Minghao’s shirts, Minghao changes the topic. He wants to catch up with Seungkwan, not dress him. 

“How are things with Vernon?” Minghao asks. 

“Ah, I don’t know. Better. We talked about it more, and things feel more normal between us,” Seungkwan says.

“He gets where you’re coming from?”

“I think so. But how are you? It seems like you’re having fun with your parents,” Seungkwan says. 

“My mother is horrified by how Korean I’ve become. She’s sending me home with our family recipe book to try to fix it,” Minghao says. 

“And you’re gonna give it straight to Mingyu?” Seungkwan laughs.

“Hey, I cook. You know I cook. I’ll cook for you when I come back,” Minghao defends himself. 

“Wow, hyung, that was much easier than I thought it would be. You’ve lost your edge in China,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao blushes so badly that he places his phone down on the bed so that Seungkwan cannot see. He prides himself on being one step ahead of the members. He is one of the smart ones. He isn’t easily manipulated. He is steadfast. Has he lost that, all to missing Seungkwan? 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Seungkwan has started talking again. 

“Hoshi-hyung called us the other day. He didn’t realize you guys were in China. He was sad to miss you,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao has had the occasional phone call with Soonyoung since his enlistment, but the military does not offer much free time and Soonyoung has a large social network. 

“Ah, I wish I’d been there for it,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan hums. He’s quiet, then. Minghao can see him picking at the strings on his sweater. 

“Hyung?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Yes?”

“If I didn’t have a Sulbeop, do you think we would have gotten closer?” Seungkwan asks. 

The question makes Minghao’s arms tingle. Anxiety, he recognizes. The question surfaces from seemingly nowhere, but he wonders how long it has been on Seungkwan’s mind. Minghao was not un-close with Seungkwan before his Sulbeop emerged, but their relationship has certainly intensified over the past three years. 

“Are you asking logistically?” Minghao questions. 

“I’m asking if that’s the thing you find most interesting about me,” Seungkwan says. 

It is so honest, and so heartbreaking, and so wrong. 

“I think your Sulbeop is the reason we started spending more time together, but it isn’t what makes me enjoy spending time with you. Have you… are you doing okay, Seungkwan?” Minghao answers. 

Seungkwan is back in his own room, now, Minghao’s clothes a forgotten pile at the foot of his bed. He lays down amongst his pillows and props his phone up next to him. Minghao does the same in his childhood bedroom, simulating laying side by side. 

“I’ve just been in my head a lot,” Seungkwan says. 

“I should have been talking with you more,” Minghao says. 

“It’s not your job to keep me from getting depressed,” Seungkwan says. 

“I know I can’t stop those things. But I’d like to be with you through them,” Minghao says. 

“I’m probably going to fall asleep soon,” Seungkwan says, an obvious deflection. 

“Would you like to fall asleep with me on Facetime?” Minghao asks. 

Even in the poor lighting of Seungkwan’s room, Minghao can see the pink of Seungkwan’s cheeks. Seungkwan moves out of frame for a moment, and then the dim lighting of his room goes completely dark. When Seungkwan returns to bed his face is illuminated by only the glow of the phone. He looks beautiful even washed out and blue. 

“I’m sorry I started a serious conversation,” Seungkwan apologizes. 

“I like serious conversations,” Minghao says. 

And it is true. He does. One of the qualities that has drawn him to Seungkwan is Seungkwan’s genuine interest in deeper subjects. He may not be introspective in the same way as Minghao, but they complement one another. 

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Seungkwan smiles. 

“Go to sleep, Seungkwan-ie. You don’t want to have puffy eyes for your date tomorrow,” Minghao teases. 

“I told you, I would never date an actor!” 

~

“Oh, Minghao-hyung, so sexy!” 

It is Seungkwan’s voice, and it causes enough panic in Minghao that he has to force a scowl on his face to maintain composure during his photoshoot. 

Minghao is being publicly teased by his dongsaeng. If he were someone else, someone less confident, the heckling would embarrass him. Minghao does look sexy, though. The concept for his portion of the upcoming Season’s Greetings is vampiric. He’s got fangs in and everything and, god, does he look hot. 

So, he teases back. He shifts his weight, bending his torso to the side and cocking his chin up towards the light. His judiciously open button-up slips down exposing his collarbone and shoulder. He smirks, running his tongue across his fang. The photographer loves it. She shouts out a few directions to make the light hit the sharp angles of his face better. Seungkwan has gone silent. Minghao breaks from gazing at the camera for half a second to glance at him. His lips are pursed and his eyebrows furrowed. Minghao’s phenomenal posing got to him, then. Good. 

He turns his attention back to his photographer and his eyes back to her camera. In a practical sense, he is aware that Seungkwan must move on to finish with his makeup and wardrobe as he is shooting. In his mind he imagines him present the entire time. Minghao flirts with him through his poses. It feels both scandalous and enthralling. 

When the photographer wraps with him, his suspicions are proven true– Seungkwan has disappeared. Regrettably, Jeonghan and Joshua have taken his place. They heckle him in a far more irritating way as the photographer reviews his film role. 

“Okay, new main visual Xu Minghao,” Joshua laughs at a particularly sensual photograph of Minghao. 

“It’s just the concept,” Minghao says. 

“Who are you posing so sexy for?” Jeonghan teases. 

“No one,” Minghao says. 

Minghao reminds himself that he is, at most times, glad that Jeonghan is back from the military. 

“Ah, one of the staff?” Jeonghan half-whispers. 

“The new assistant PD is cute, is he the one you’re trying to impress?” Joshua laughs. 

Minghao’s friends are too skilled at carrying on a bit. They are just trying to mock him for laughs, but the performance hits slightly too close to the truth for Minghao to want to play a part in it. 

“I’m going to take my makeup off. When is the first van heading back to the dorms?” Minghao asks, turning to walk away. 

“What, you don’t want to stay late and have a romantic rendezvous on set after we all go home?” Jeonghan asks, smirking. 

“I’ll just ask someone else,” Minghao sighs. 

He leaves them on set and heads back to hair and makeup. Seungkwan, of course, is being dressed for his own shoot when Minghao walks in. He looks bewitching. They have him in a long, draped, sleeveless black top that shows off more chest than Minghao thought Seungkwan comfortable with. His legs are out, short-shorts mostly concealed by his top, and they’ve embellished the look with chunky black boots and long black fabric tied around his throat to simulate a collar. 

“Hyung,” Seungkwan frowns when he catches Minghao staring, “They saw me in your clothes at Kiyoung-hyung’s premiere and decided I can pull off high fashion.” 

“They’re right,” Minghao says before he has a chance to filter his thoughts. 

The deep flush of Seungkwan’s exposed chest leaves Minghao grateful for his careless words. 

“Was it really not hard for you when they switched you from cute concepts to things like this?” Seungkwan asks. 

“You’ve done sexy shoots before,” Minghao says. 

“This is just…” Seungkwan shrugs. 

“You know how to be sexy, Seungkwan. You don’t need to panic about this,” Minghao tells him. 

“Will you watch my shoot? Or were you trying to go home with Dino and Vernon?” Seungkwan requests. 

“I wasn’t going home,” Minghao says, making a liar out of himself, “Let me change and I’ll come watch.” 

Minghao pulls on his sweats quickly, resigned to sit in his heavy makeup for a few more hours. Seungkwan takes his hand and guides him out of hair and makeup towards his set. They regrettably walk by Jeonghan and Joshua along the way. 

“Minghao, you’re still here?” Jeonghan asks. 

He has that look in his eye, the one that tells Minghao he is ready to take a joke too far. Minghao makes eye contact with Joshua. Joshua looks at Minghao, and then at Seungkwan, and then smiles. Minghao should not have rested his hope in Joshua. 

“Seungkwan, how did you like Minghao’s little performance before? You gonna put on the same show for him?” Joshua asks. 

Seungkwan tugs hard on his hand, and Minghao is led away. He looks back to see Joshua whispering in Jeonghan’s ear, and Jeonghan grinning. 

“I can’t deal with them before I have to pose in front of everyone,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao is grateful for Seungkwan’s anxiety. He does not know what he wants to do about his now-undeniable crush on Seungkwan, but he certainly does not want it to be pulled out of him by Joshua and Jeonghan on a film set. Minghao makes sure to position himself too close to the photographer for other members to brother him and sits back to watch the splendor of Boo Seungkwan in action.

~

Sleepovers with Seungkwan become second nature. It morphs from an every other weekend routine into a twice a week routine. Minghao does not know how it has come to pass. He maintains that he prefers to sleep alone, that he prefers his personal space. Warm and sleepy Seungwan is too enticing not to want in his bed, though. 

“Did you used to sleep in Vernon’s bed this often?” Minghao asks Seungkwan one night. 

Seungkwan lowers his phone out of his line of vision and scowls. 

“Why? Are you kicking me out?” Seungkwan retorts. 

Minghao giggles. His mind was not in that place in any capacity. 

“No. Why would you think that?” Minghao says through a smile. 

“I don’t know. You don’t really do sleepovers,” Seungkwan says. 

“I’ve been enjoying them with you,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan squints his eyes. It feels penetrating, as if Seungkwan is searching him for truth. 

“Yeah. I like sleepovers. Vernon still stays at my place, sometimes, but it’s harder to find time when he’s dating someone,” Seungkwan explains. 

“Ah, Seungkwan, you’ve made me Vernon’s replacement again,” Minghao jests. 

Seungkwan scoffs and picks his phone back up. He ignores when Minghao begins to laugh at his own joke. When Minghao picks his book back up and begins to read, Seungkwan buries his feet beneath Minghao’s. 

Minghao thinks that it would be incognizant to suggest that his interactions with most of Seventeen are not, in some manner or another, domestic. The feeling of home is boiling over in Minghao tonight, though. Warmth, comfort, joy. Minghao might not prefer sleepovers, but he does prefer all those offerings that Seungkwan brings with him. 

“Do you think you’ll ever use your Sulbeop on someone else? Like you did with Jeonghan?” Seungkwan asks. 

It is Minghao’s turn to be startled by a question. Unlike Seungkwan, he steadies himself before answering. 

“Yes. If someone wants me to,” Minghao responds. 

“I want you to,” Seungkwan says. 

He sounds so sure. His eyes are wide, his phone completely tucked away beneath his pillow. It shouldn’t surprise Minghao. Seungkwan has been an integral part in Minghao becoming confident in his magic. Minghao has had similar flights of fancy. Since Jeju, since feeling the euphoria of Seungkwan’s Sulbeop dancing together with his own, Minghao has wondered what it might be like to use their powers to burn a word on to his skin. 

Familiar as the desire is, Minghao knows that he cannot abide Seungkwan the instant the request spills from his mouth. There is too much about him that Seungkwan does not know. He did not intend to tell Seungkwan about his romantic feelings, not tonight, but he does not know any other way to refuse him. Minghao does not want to lie about something as delicate as magic.  

“I’ve been keeping something from you,” Minghao begins. 

Seungkwan becomes tense. Minghao watches as he puts his guard up, watches a stiffness grow in his face, watches the light leave his eyes. 

“What have you been keeping from me?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao closes his eyes and considers the best words to use. His brain greets him instead with visions of Seungkwan, of his smile, his skin, of the way he smells when he pulls Minghao in for a hug. Seungkwan is radiant. Thinking about his romantic feelings on purpose is almost overwhelming. It is ridiculous that it took so long for him to recognize the gravity of his want. He has been enamored by Seungkwan for so long. When he thinks of Seungkwan, he sees a dragon.

“Minghao-hyung, what have you been lying about? I don’t like this,” Seungkwan says.

Minghao opens his eyes and the Seungkwan before him is better than the Seungkwan in his mind. His hair is dry and puffy, his face bare. Minghao loves this. Loves him. 

“It isn’t that I don’t want to use my Sulbeop on you,” Minghao begins. 

He knows that he is making Seungkwan nervous, and he does not want to be. He also does not want to rush what he has to say. Minghao has to be careful with his words when he really means something. He reaches for Seungkwan’s hand to reassure him as he gathers his thoughts. Seungkwan might be anxious, but his fingers coil tight around Minghao’s. 

“I don’t want to put words on you when you don’t know how I feel about you,” Minghao says. 

“What does that mean?” Seungkwan asks. 

“I’ve been falling in love with you,” Minghao says. 

It is the second time in his life he has spoken the words. The first time, with Soonyoung, had been rushed, desperate, terrifying. Telling Seungkwan is nothing like that. It is a statement of fact, an acknowledgement of emotion that has sat plain in the air between them for a long while. Minghao has been falling in love with Seungkwan and saying it aloud feels both as mundane and as breathtaking as every sunrise. 

“Why would that change my mind about wanting your words on me?” Seungkwan asks. 

Seungkwan is smiling. His anxious scowl has softened. Minghao is not stupid. He knows a rejection when he hears one. He has confessed his feelings to Seungkwan, and Seungkwan has not reciprocated. Minghao is sad, is disappointed, but he is not heartbroken. When Soonyoung had turned him down it had been tense and uncomfortable. He had been desperate to lose his feelings. Seungkwan smiles at him with so much love and acceptance. It is okay for him to love Seungkwan. It is safe. 

“What would you want me to write on you?” Minghao asks. 

“I’ve had a lot of ideas but… I’d want to collaborate with you. To make it something you want to put on me, too,” Seungkwan says. 

“Dragon,” Minghao says without hesitation. 

“Dragon?”

“It’s what I see when I look at you,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan makes a sound that is almost a laugh and averts his gaze. 

“Okay,” he says, still looking at the ceiling, “After our tour, you carve ‘dragon’ into me.” 

“I never really saw you as someone who would be interested in body modification,” Minghao comments. 

It has been years since Seungkwan has even worn earrings. Minghao imagines that his ears are completely healed over. 

“I’m not. But this is different. It’s something from you,” Seungwan says. 

He still doesn’t make eye contact with Minghao, but he leaves their fingers intertwined. It is enough for Minghao, tonight. 

~

Their lives become a sprint. Seungkwan’s solo song is released. There are rumors all over the internet that it is a “soft launch” of his homosexuality. Pledis and Seungkwan both pretend not to see the overwhelming number of posts, even if they are vaguely true. Seventeen’s full length album comes out a week and a half later. Their promotions predictably cover up the worst of the chatter about Seungkwan’s sexuality. Just as Minghao begins to catch his breath, a tour is upon them again. It is still nothing compared to their world tours, but Asia is a large continent and the pacing of their shows is exhausting. 

Minghao rooms with Joshua, because Soonyoung is not there. He can tell that Joshua is lonely for his usual tour buddy. Entertaining Joshua through missing various members of the group is now a familiar and welcome experience. It provides Minghao with a structured activity to keep his mind away from Seungkwan. 

Minghao had spent years painstakingly training to keep his thoughts away from topics that hurt him in order to prevent his Sulbeop from gaining control of him. He has been uncoiling some of that suppressed tension, and it has felt freeing. When faced with a new hurt, though, his body’s instinct is to hide it from him. Seungkwan makes the hiding especially difficult. He shines both too bright and too softly. Looking at the sun usually hurts, but Seungkwan’s kind edges make his light inviting rather than blinding. Seungkwan has also become one of Minghao’s closest friends. He is unwilling to lose that bond to unreciprocated romantic feelings. 

After their concert in Manilla, Seungkwan and Vernon come to Minghao and Joshua’s room after dinner. Seungkwan and Minghao act as they have been. They both sit on Minghao’s bed. Seungkwan demands that they order room service dessert. Minghao declines the offer. When he becomes jealous that his three friends are eating cake and ice cream, Seungkwan rolls his eyes and shares with Minghao. The four of them decide to watch a movie. Minghao suggests one of his favorite films, and it is immediately and emphatically shot down. Vernon wants to watch something animated and lighthearted, so they do. 

Seungkwan begins the movie on his own side of the bed, but shifts easily into Minghao’s space. He rests his head on Minghao’s shoulder. His cheek is soft and he smells different, like he’s been using hotel shampoo rather than his own. Minghao does not touch him back, does not wish for more. He is content to have Seungkwan here with him, like this. 

The movie ends, and Vernon and Seungkwan walk sleepily back to their own room. In the morning they will all wake up too-early for coffee and a long van ride to the stadium where they will rehearse, exhausted, and then perform, exhilarated. Minghao turns off the lights but struggles to sleep. Even in the dark he can feel Joshua’s eyes on him. 

“What?” Minghao asks. 

“Oh, sorry. I thought you were asleep,” Joshua laughs. 

“I’m awake,” Minghao asks. 

He considers mentioning that it is even stranger for Joshua to be watching him while he is sleeping, but decides that he is too tired for playful bickering. 

“Is something going on with you and Seungkwan?” Joshua asks. 

Minghao sighs. He had not thought that he was being particularly obvious tonight, but he knows Joshua sensed something weeks ago during their Seasons Greeting photoshoot. He is probably lucky that Joshua’s concern is only now coming up. 

“I don’t think so,” he answers. 

“You know it would be okay if you wanted there to be, right?” Joshua says. 

“Yes. I know.” 

“I know with Soonyoung-”

“Seungkwan isn’t anything like Soonyoung,” Minghao says before Joshua has the chance to make a comparison between them. 

Joshua laughs again. Minghao gets the impression that he misinterpreted what Joshua had been attempting to say. 

“Oh, Myungho, you really like him, don’t you?” Joshua asks. 

“Yes,” Minghao says, the simple answer, “It doesn’t hurt like it did with Soonyoung, though. It’s okay.” 

“Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?” Joshua asks. 

Minghao is sure that he is insinuating something, though he isn’t sure what. He doesn’t want to pick it apart right now. He enjoyed his night, and his pillow still smells like Seungkwan, and they have to wake up so soon. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m not upset about this. Things are fine as they are,” Minghao says. 

If Joshua has further concern, he doesn’t voice it. Minghao falls asleep comfortably on the hotel bed. 

~

On their single day off in Thailand, Minghao invites Seungkwan out to dinner. Thailand has always been one of his favorite countries to tour in. He loves the food, and the weather, and how sprawling Bangkok is. On one of their first trips to Thailand, back when they had lower budget hotels and more free time, Minghao had found a tiny family-owned restaurant hidden in the colorful residential area in Paphawarin Village. He maintains that it is the best food he has eaten while abroad. He has only taken one other member to the establishment– Wonwoo, the year that his mother passed. 

Tonight, he takes Seungkwan. He rationalizes his choice at first. They only have one night off, and he had both promised Seungkwan dinner and promised himself this restaurant. The explanation isn’t honest, though, and Minghao is working to be more honest with himself. 

“Aish, this place is so far, hyung. I’m sweating,” Seungkwan complains. 

Minghao can tell from his tone that he isn’t truly annoyed. He suspects that Seungkwan just wants Minghao to fuss over him.

“We’ll be there in a few more blocks. And when we’re done, the ferris wheel will be open,” Minghao says. 

“And let’s go to that juice stand we walked by,” Seungkwan says. 

“Okay, okay,” Minghao laughs. 

The restaurant is just as Minghao remembers it– four small tables, the last of which a group of uniformed teenagers have homework spread across. The grandmother who cooks all the food smiles warmly when she sees him. 

“Minghao! Singer! Singer!” she says in Korean when she sees him. 

Minghao greets her in Thai and introduces her to Seungkwan. None of them speak enough of the same language to have a proper conversation, but she promises to cook them something delicious and sets them at a table with bottles of water. 

“It’s so cute that she remembers you,” Seungkwan comments. 

“I told you I always come here,” Minghao says. 

“I’m glad you brought me,” Seungkwan says, smiling.

“This place is important to me. So are you. And you’ve been… you could have made things uncomfortable after I confessed my feelings to you, but you didn’t. I wanted to thank you,” Minghao says. 

It is not often that they can be at restaurants, unrecognized, speaking openly about their feelings. Even if this conversation is somewhat anxiety-invoking, Minghao feels grateful to have the opportunity. 

“What? Hyung, I didn’t even… I’m so sorry. I didn’t even respond when you told me. I’ve been horrible,” Seungkwan says. 

“I wasn’t telling you to get an answer. I just wanted you to know before you made a commitment to my Sulbeop on your skin,” Minghao says. 

“Well, I-”

Whatever Seungkwan is about to say is cut off by the arrival of their food. Their host leaves her cooking station at the front of the shop to sit with them, now joined by her boisterous son-in-law. Minghao is familiar with him. He speaks English fluently, adding a few more vocabulary points to their conversation. Minghao is not unfamiliar with piecing together a conversation with limited vocabulary. He had done it plenty when he first moved to Korea. It is helpful to have Seungkwan here with him, though. Seungkwan can make anyone laugh, can make any situation feel more lighthearted. By the time they are finished with their meal, the sun has set. 

The sidewalks in this part of town are near non-existent. Minghao holds Seungkwan’s hand to keep them together as he weaves through pedestrians and bikes. Seungkwan buys them each a drink from the stand he had been excited about earlier, and Minghao buys them rambutan when they walk past a fruit market. They are both sweating by the time they reach the Asiatique Riverfront. They perch themselves on a wall looking up at the big, bright ferris wheel and enjoy their drinks. 

“I see why you come down here. It’s so different from the parts of the city we usually see,” Seungkwan says. 

“I feel like a regular person when I’m over here,” Minghao says. 

“And the food was good. You were right,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao peels a rambutan and offers it to Seungkwan, discarding its skin in his drink bag. 

“My answer isn’t no, hyung,” Seungkwan says. 

“Hm?” 

“I know you said you weren’t asking– but if you did ask, my answer wouldn’t be no,” Seungkwan says. 

“About having feelings for me?” Minghao asks. 

Seungkwan makes a noncommittal whining noise and interlaces their hands. He refuses to look at Minghao, eyes gazing up at the ferris wheel. 

“If we weren’t in public, I’d ask to kiss you right now,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan does not move but a deep blush flushes across his skin. Minghao can feel their magic reaching for one another through their palms. He does his best to calm his. This is not the place for blood or fire. 

“Hyung, you can’t just say that,” Seungkwan complains. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be too much,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan makes that noise again. Despite the racing of his heart, it makes Minghao smile. 

“I mean it, Seungkwan. I have feelings for you, and I would like to explore that, but I also really like the way that things are. Even if things don’t change, I’m happy,” Minghao says. 

“How are you so direct?” Seungkwan asks. 

Minghao giggles and Seungkwan finally looks at him. He is so beautiful under the lights of the ferris wheel, his skin glowing from sweat. On tour Minghao sees so much of Seungkwan dressed up, be it in costumes on stage or designer outfits as they travel with the paparazzi on their tails. Tonight, in this normal neighborhood, Seungkwan is in a loose t-shirt and denim shorts. He is tan, and smooth, and effortlessly gorgeous. Minghao likes him like this so much. 

“I don’t know,” Minghao says, “I just am. You can be direct, too, I’ve seen it.” 

“I’m not direct, I’m emotional,” Seungkwan says. 

“Saying something emotionally doesn’t mean it isn’t direct,” Minghao says. 

“Mm, you’re right, you’re right. Okay, well, fine. I can be direct,” Seungkwan says. 

It sounds like he’s giving himself a pep-talk. Minghao can’t help but laugh. His reaction does not phase Seungkwan in the slightest. 

“It intimidates me that the last person you had feelings for was Soonyoung,” Seungkwan tells him. 

“Because he’s our friend?” Minghao asks. 

“Because he’s a lot to compete with,” Seungkwan says.  

“Compete?” 

“Yeah. Or like, compare with. Live up to. Hoshi-hyung is so much and I’m-”

“No. I don’t compare you. It isn’t like that, Seungkwan,” Minghao says. 

“How can you not?” Seungkwan asks.

“You’re telling me you compare every person you have feelings for?” Minghao asks. 

“Of course. Isn’t it natural?” Seungkwan responds. 

“Okay, then how do I stack up?” Minghao asks. 

He says it as a challenge, to prove his point. It had not dawned on him that Seungkwan might actually have a response prepared. 

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever had feelings for. And you make me feel the most comfortable. And, I mean, you’re so talented it makes me want to throw up sometimes. Other idols I’ve had crushes on might sing better than you, but you blow them out of the water with your artistry,” Seungkwan says. 

Minghao furrows his eyebrows and laughs. Seungkwan’s mind is so different from his. He doesn’t think there is anything better or worse to compare between Soonyoung and Seungkwan, they are simply different. It isn’t so bad to hear that Seungkwan rates him pretty high among his celebrity crushes, though. 

“We should go back to the hotel,” Minghao says. 

“Hyung, I compliment you three times and you’re propositioning me?” Seungkwan laughs. 

“No! I just meant, for privacy. I know we haven’t been recognized yet but–” 

“I’m just joking, hyung. I’ll call a car,” Seungkwan says. 

They don’t talk in the car or in the hotel elevator, but Seungkwan clings to him. He keeps his hands wrapped around Minghao’s arms and it makes Minghao feel more protective than he has in his entire life. 

“I’m gonna head back to mine to wash up. If you… do you want to hang out, after? I can see if Vernon will crash with Chan,” Seungkwan suggests. 

Minghao doesn’t know what a night alone with Seungkwan suggests. He knows that Seungkwan finds him pretty, and he knows that Seungkwan is not disinterested in him, but he does not know what that means for their relationship. 

“Joshua’s already hanging out with Scoups and Jeonghan. I’ll just ask him to spend the night there. Come over when you’re ready,” Minghao says. 

Seungkwan nods. They stand awkwardly in front of the elevator, their rooms in opposite directions. There is space for a hug, but neither of them make a move towards each other. Seungkwan nods awkwardly after their tense pause and half-jogs down the hallway. 

Minghao returns to his room and coordinates with Joshua. He freshens up in the bathroom– mostly his regular nighttime routine, but he spends some extra time in the shower, just in case. Minghao is careful in choosing a pajama outfit. He opts for something that reads as casual. The thin fabric shows off his delicate frame, and both items were freshly washed by the hotel staff so as not to turn Seungkwan off with the musty odor of a well-worn tour suitcase. 

Seungkwan takes so long to knock on Minghao’s door that Minghao begins to wonder if he is coming at all. He sits anxiously on the bed. It is not an emotion that he prefers, and is not an emotion that he is overly familiar with. He attempts to convince his mind that the buzzing inside him is excitement but that is not true. He is excited so much of the time on tour, and the racing of his heart is nothing like that exhilaration. 

The knock does come. Minghao opens the door to Seungkwan with towel-dried hair in an oversized hoodie and shorts. Seungkwan’s legs are so enticing that Minghao has to sit down on the bed to recenter himself. Seungkwan stands in front of him. 

“I don’t… are we supposed to keep talking?” Seungkwan asks him. 

Minghao doesn’t know. He reaches for Seungkwan and tugs at the belly of his sweatshirt. He hadn’t meant it to initiate a kiss, but Seungkwan melts so easily into his lap, straddling him. Their mouths are drawn together like magnets. Seungkwan kisses so pretty . His lips are soft and his tongue is soft and when Minghao reaches up to cup his cheek his skin is soft. Minghao lays back on the bed, overwhelmed, and Seungkwan trails after him. Their bodies slot together, fluid . For so many months now, when Minghao thinks of Seungkwan, fire comes to mind. Tonight, their bodies in synch, Seungkwan is the ocean. 

Seungkwan must be the one to end the kiss because Minghao does not think himself capable. Seungkwan rolls off of him. They lay beside one another. Minghao’s hands are still on Seungkwan, one resting delicately on his hip bone, the other on his chest. Seungkwan smiles, then laughs. Minghao smiles, too, and leans in for another kiss.