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Jiyong wakes up to a pounding headache, sunlight seeping into the spacious, stark white hotel room through cracks in the blinds. Vaguely, Jiyong remembers the concert the night prior, remembers returning to his shared hotel room with Seunghyun and getting drunk off of expensive champaign. He doesn't remember if he'd done anything stupid, by judging by the dull ache of his body, he guessed it was safe to say he had.
Before he can get lost in that thought, pondering the previous night's activities, a soft snore pulls his attention. Rolling over onto his side, Jiyong stares across the room, eyes locking on Seunghyun's still-sleeping figure. The warm glow of the room only illuminates his face dimly, makes Jiyong squint to see it better, but it's a beautiful sight just the same. Not for the first time, he decides that his roomate is a work of art, more elaborate and grand than any other.
Jiyong had spent many nights mentally drafting love letters to not only this man, but to his parents for bringing him in this world as well; for raising him in such a way that their paths would cross, that they'd mesh with each other so well, like two halves of a greater whole, meant to be; for being the artists that managed to craft what he felt was arguably the perfect man, made perfect despite his imperfections, by his imperfections. These love letters never met paper, however. The words, so perfectly rehearsed in his head, never escaped, were never vocalized outside of friendly compliments or drunken rants. Jiyong thinks for a second that they might have come out last night, that he might have confessed his love for Seunghyun, only for those words to be misinterpreted as playful, but the thought makes Jiyong's heart heavy, intensified the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, so he decides to let it go. He always decides to let it go.
He blinks back his focus, hazy vision clarifying as he wills himself to appreciate the beauty, not the pain. It's been a while since he and Seunghyun have been made to share a hotel room — they were well enough off as idols to afford their own rooms, but a mixup on the hotel's end left them short a room, and instead of complain to the management, Jiyong was quick to offer up his room to his hyung. "It'll be like old times," Jiyong had insisted, smiling a little too brightly. If Seunghyun noticed his eagerness, he said nothing of it. He never did. It was like a silent pact between them: no matter how enthusiastic Jiyong was to spend a little extra time with him, no questions were asked. Jiyong thought perhaps that meant that Seunghyun knew and simply didn't want to acknowledge it, but that too saddened him, and that simply wouldn't do.
After all, what right did he have to be sad when Seunghyun never shyed away from him? If he knew of Jiyong's infatuation with him, it didn't seem to bother him any. Not when Jiyong looked at him as if he was made of gold, not when he initiated unnessisary skin ship, not even when he got a little too obvious when he was drunk and clingy. Seunghyun still always responded with that same smile — the one Jiyong thought was knowing but comfortable, and above all, breathtakingly beautiful. The one that miraculously killed Jiyong slowly and gave him life, all in the same movement.
That smile was present in almost every waking moment shared between the two, but now, it was replaced with a look of utter contentment. His face was expressionless, lips slightly parted. It would look underwhelming when worn on anyone else, but on him, it was extraordinary.
Soon, Seunghyun would wake up, hungover and grumpy, but for now, he was resting peacefully, beautifully. Jiyong thinks back to when you used to wake up to that face almost everyday, how back then, he took for granted all the time they had to spend together. Now, it felt more and more like they were growing apart, aging away from each other. It would be a gloomy Sunday indeed the day he inevitably never wakes up to that face again — after all, neither of them were growing any younger. One day they'd be irrelevant, has-beens. They'd likely overstay their welcome, then tuck away their stage outfits in favor of living the quiet lives of former stars, likely worlds apart with miles between them. Seunghyun would settle down, certainly. Jiyong would hold on desperately to his stardom, because he was born to be an idol, born to be on stage, not rotting away in the background.
Jiyong feels incredibly old hungover in his late twenties, wears his age inside, because it thankfully hasn't yet touched his face. According to the better part of Korea, he's still got it, but he can't help but wonder how long that'll last. He wonders how long he'll continue to get what he wants before the resources dry.
Almost everything he wants, a stirr across the room reminds him. He's already seeing the world leave him behind in the dust, his world growing apart from him, moving away from him at an alarming pace. He's only a few feet away from him, but he feels worlds apart.
"You seem deep in thought," a voice greets him, it's owner's eyes only fluttering open long enough to take in the likely tense look on Jiyong's face. "If you keep making that face, you'll get wrinkles."
That conversation ends there, instead being replaced by a discussion of their schedule for the day. The two agree that they're too hungover for this, and make an empty promise to never get that messed up again. Their conversation lulls on tiredly like that, and they jump subject to subject, light laughter and pleasant conversation filling the room as they very slowly get ready for the day's activities. Jiyong's personal angst only comes up again when they're packed and ready to leave the room, when Seunghyun grabs Jiyong's hand and squeezes it.
"Seriously, don't worry too much."
"I won't as long as I have you," Jiyong replies, feeling a bit too bare, like he's revealed too much. Seunghyun must sense it, or feel his hand tremble when he squeezes it back, because he smiles that same smile that usually makes Jiyong weak — except this time, there's something different about it, something softer, that makes his heart swell. Jiyong is about it dismiss the perceived difference as a symptom of his infatuation, until Seunghyun leaned over and presses a kiss to his temple, whispering his reply against his skin: "Then I won't go anywhere."
When he pulls back, he's still smiling and says nothing to answer the swarm of questions swimming around in Jiyong's head. Jiyong doesn't ask anything either. Instead, he smiles and exit's the room with his hyung, feeling lighter and younger than ever.