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Gunil wasn’t an easy child, nor is he an easy adult.
Sometimes, it’s hard to really feel like you’re existing, unless someone is looking at you. Sometimes, not even then. If they hear you, however, they can’t ignore you. He learns through foreign language and strings and keys that people will look at you if you are loud. If you weren’t making sound, drawing attention to yourself, gathering eyes, would you simply cease to exist?
So he demands attention through shrill words and shriller cymbals. He knows how to project his voice, forgets how to hide his laugh. He never cries. That’s loud in a way he doesn’t know how to be. It’s okay though. As long as they’re looking. As long as he is existing.
It’s a dangerous, unstructured mindset, an unswayable one. You can’t help the way your heart beats though, and Gunil’s has always beat for others to hear. Without stethoscope, who’s to say there’s a pulse?
So as a leader, one of his many rules is: listen to me. They don’t know what he means. For the most part they listen still. When it comes to Jungsu, he’s starting to think it simply doesn’t apply. Who knows what will happen to him when he chooses, in this instance, to be quiet.
1
There was a time when Jungsu relied on him always. As a younger brother, a youngest sibling and friend, Gunil wouldn’t know how stressful, yet how fulfilling that was, until there were his members. Yet Jungsu is different, always been different. When he leans on Gunil, Gunil leans back. When it happens he wants neither of them to pull away.
Inevitably, Jungsu learns how to stand completely on his own. Sculpts himself into a new pillar, one detached from Gunil’s own. Gunil watches him stand now, blanketed in the sheets that aren’t his own head upon a pillow that doesn’t smell like his shampoo. He can’t help reaching for him, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt and holding him behind.
“Where are you going?” he whispers, voice crackling in the night. Still holding onto Jungsu, he sits up, resting on his knees and looping his arms over Jungsu’s shoulders from behind, pressing his nose to the junction of Jungsu’s neck. He lets out a little sigh. It’s almost relief. To be holding Jungsu, to be able to.
Jungsu melts into the touch somewhat, forgetting to not be reluctant, awake like he’s already left their room. Somewhat stiff, a bit awkward, he knocks his head against Gunil’s, brushing the tips of his fingers over Gunil’s knuckles. “Minnie and Jiseokie’s room,” he answers, unaware that a little bit of Gunil’s blood goes frigid.
He’s a cold blooded animal, he thinks, and a snake at that. Seeking, in need of, constant warmth and something to hold on to, to wrap around and squeeze. Like he is now, breathing shallowly into the seams of Jungsu’s t-shirt, trying desperately not to tighten his grip. “Aw, c’mon,” he huffs, making it seem light, unserious, “Don’t go?” He doesn’t want to beg, but he wants to. Snakes aren’t supposed to be territorial.
“Gunil,” Jungsu whines, taking Gunil as seriously as Gunil had aimed for him to. Only as much as Jungsu wanted. Delicately prying Gunil’s fingers from his chest, one by begrudging one. Turning to look Gunil in the eye, gentle as he lets him down, not knowing that’s precisely what he’s doing.
Gunil rests his cheek against Jungsu’s shoulder, broad and comfortable, eyes lidded tiredly. He’ll still refuse to sleep if that’s what it takes. “What? Don’t wanna cuddle?” He smiles lazily. “I’ll sing you to sleep, I swear. Lullaby, baby,” he coos in English, all too corny.
Jungsu’s nose scrunches and he snorts and giggles, and it leaves Gunil warm enough inside to pull away, sitting back against the disturbed bedding like he was satisfied. “You can have my bed all to yourself,” Jungsu gives, leaning down, chastely pecking the corner of Gunil’s mouth.
Pouting dramatically, unconsciously chasing the kiss, what it isn’t, he gripes, “What good is it without you?” Just the smell of him and the fading feel of his warmth on discontented sheets.
Jungsu shakes his head fondly. “Sap,” he grumbles, but not quite like it’s a bad thing, just something worthy of complaint. Pulling away from Gunil’s grasp completely. Gunil’s hand falls from his shirt once and for all as Jungsu makes his way to the door.
“Take good care of them,” he murmurs, sitting back, pooling blankets above his lap.
Jungsu glances over his shoulder, soft smile devastating in the dimness, blurring his features to the shapes of his face that Gunil has memorized. Curved lines and a flash of white teeth. “I always do.”
Gunil sits small in the bed, a space too large for him to fill alone. The glow of the fairy lights illuminating his expression, or the lack of one. Revealing the lack of a person he becomes when the door gently falls shut, no one to hear him even through the thin flimsy walls.
He lays on his side, pulls the covers to his chin, and tries to find sleep, but it never comes. The beat of his heart keeping him awake, with no one else there to contain it. It’s nothing he’s not familiar with, but he’s grown unused to its constant presence.
He climbs out of bed and into his desk chair, turning on his computer.
2
Gunil lays face down on the couch, and Jungsu sits on the floor beneath, hair swept away from his face, glasses just slightly crooked. He’s studying intently, refusing to be bothered by Gunil playing with his hair, curling long strands over short fingers. His lips pursed in a pout, an adorable crease between his brows. Gunil adores him, and Jungsu will never be able to comprehend how much.
Gunil drops his hand, letting it hang over the side of the couch lazily, resting his head on his arms and smiling at Jungsu dumbly. Jungsu blinks, focus faltering. He tries to continue studying, but very quickly gives in and looks up, frowning at Gunil, mouth open to say something. Catching Gunil staring, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.
Maybe he was afraid. Maybe that’s why he keeps skirting Gunil’s affections, indulging in others. Was that it? Gunil sits back and observes him, tries to figure out the person he swears he knew best. Jungsu’s expression wobbles. “You’re staring,” he accuses, a pink tint to the tips of his ears.
Gunil owns it full and well, unabashed, grinning. “I am.”
Gaze trying and failing to stay in one place, Jungsu looks back. Eventually, he sets his book aside, turning on his knees and grasping at Gunil’s limp free hanging hand. Gunil takes the opportunity, pressing their palms flat together, and twining their fingers, once more holding on as tight as possible without it hurting.
Jungsu regards the situation with a small smile, eyes scanning Gunil’s face. Even just being subjected to his scrutiny makes Gunil’s heart swell. What he would do to have Jungsu look at him always, with even just a fraction of the feeling Gunil harbors for him.
Jungsu tips forward, sinking his elbow into the couch, the cushion giving beneath his weight and inevitably bringing them closer. He ghosts his thumb over Gunil’s cheekbone, and it takes practiced discipline for Gunil not to ask for more. “You look tired,” he notes softly, his words brushing along the bruises beneath Gunil’s eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep without you,” Gunil teases with a smile, knocking their hands into their chins back and forth until he’s almost kissing Jungsu’s knuckles again and again.
Jungsu’s expression breaks open a little, out of concern, or confusion, Gunil doesn’t know. That small crease returning to his brows, having just barely left. He opens his mouth, but they’re interrupted by the opening of the front door, two bodies entering the dorm, throwing about their shoes and crashing through the entrance.
Together they look over Jungsu’s shoulder as Jooyeon greets them, his usual black bag slung over his shoulder. “In the living room?” he says, giddily scandalized, as if Gunil and Jungsu weren’t hardly more than holding hands.
Gunil snorts, sitting up, Jungsu’s hand falling from his. “Did you two just come back from practice?” His legs bracket Jungsu for all of a moment before Jungsu pushes himself to his feet, running his hands through his hair, prompting Gunil to just look at him. Admire him.
Jiseok smiles, dropping his bag to the floor, pulling off his cap, hair splaying out from his head in messy swoops. “Yeah, got a little caught up.” On cue, his stomach grumbles, eliciting his cheeks to turn a sheepish pink. Instantly Jungsu is at his side, cooing at Jiseok’s state, ruffling his already mussed hair.
“You can’t let yourselves lose time like that,” Jungsu scolds, crossing his arms, “C’mon, I’m gonna take you out to dinner once you wash up. You have to watch out for your health, Ji.” He glares at Jooyeon plopping on the couch beside Gunil, eyes falling shut. “Did you eat?” Jiseok glances at him meekly, and Gunil smiles at the whole ordeal, incredibly fond as much as he is concerned too.
Cracking an eye open, Jooyeon nods. “I wouldn’t mind free food though,” he supplies, smiling.
Gunil makes to stand up. “I’ll pay.” He hardly even registers Jungsu moving in front of him, pushing down on his shoulders until he’s firmly pressed into the couch, surprised to be at the hands of Jungsu’s stern dismissal.
“You,” Jungsu says, quickly flitting away, picking his book off of the ground and setting it on the end table. “Are going to stay home and rest.” Gunil is barely listening, watching as Jungsu plucks his glasses off his face and folds them atop the book’s page, keeping his place.
“Don’t worry, Hyung,” Jooyeon assures, grabbing Gunil’s arm and holding it over himself like a shield. “You can pay for my dinner anytime.” Which does make Gunil feel a little bit better, lightens the heavy dread piling on top of his heart, but not completely. It isn’t Jooyeon’s affection he’s lacking.
Not that it matters, because Jiseok is there quickly to whisk Jooyeon away, pulling him up off the couch with a, “No, you’re coming with. You practiced hard too.” Leaving no room for argument. And Jooyeon may have loyalties to Gunil, but his strongest loyalties lie elsewhere.
Jiseok sends Jungsu a sidelong glance, the other pulling on a sweater. “You can come too, Hyung,” he invites, though his expression is strange, puzzled and pensive. He’s picking up on it, somehow, of course, whatever it is strained between them.
Gunil waits a beat, looking Jungsu’s way, Jungsu looking elsewhere. Waiting. Why can’t it be him to invite Gunil? Why isn’t it? What’s changed?
Eventually, Gunil gives a solemn shake of his head, smile thinlipped. He stands, but this time without intent, and no one to push him back down. “No, it’s okay. Maybe I should try and nap.” An invisible string of tension releases from Jungsu’s shoulders, and he’s satisfied with that, corralling the younger two out of the dorm.
Once again, Gunil is alone.
Gunil really does try to sleep. He can feel the tiredness, he isn’t denying that it’s there, but the loneliness eating away at his ribcage is stronger, more painful. It’s merely a question of how long until he disappears entirely.
3
Sometimes it feels like this is precisely what he was built for, and what he’s only refining himself to be. Well, besides drumming. Right here, his arms wrapped around Jungsu, unable to, but trying his hardest, to contain his warmth, keep it all for himself. There was too much for him alone to hold, and sooner or later, he’ll accept that.
The grass is slightly wet beneath his shins and he doesn’t mind. He gave up his space on the blanket for Hyeongjun and Seungmin, who don’t quite want to run around the freshly rained on grass the same way Jooyeon and Jiseok do, messing around with a slobber-stained tennis ball they had found between the tangled roots of a tree.
The water soaks through his joggers. They’ll be green by the time they get back. He doesn’t feel the unsettling coldness though. Because his arms are looped over Jungsu’s shoulders, his cheek pressed in the fried softness of Jungsu’s hair. Not too long ago, or maybe it was a year ago, forever ago, time is lost on them since debut. He and Jungsu sat like this in the very same park, comfortable and together.
Maybe he crosses a line, pressing his lips discreetly to the tip of Jungsu’s ear, stealing himself a precious, rare kiss. Jungsu ducks his head, pushing Gunil’s arms up to cover his ears. “Hyung,” he whines into a scattered laugh, “You’re too clingy.”
“Aw, c’mon, Jungsu-ah,” he mumbles, pressing closer to Jungsu’s back, willing it to swallow him whole, anticipating what’s to come. “I can’t let go, I’ll die.” He just might, trying to drink in all of Jungsu’s warmth as he is, hoping it will sustain him.
Feeling Jungsu’s laughter throughout his entire body is invigorating, and he wishes he could keep that for forever, preserve it and stuff it into his chest to keep his heart company for all eternity. “Go hang on to Seungmin,” he says, trying to pry Gunil’s arms from him once again.
Gunil slides down Jungsu’s back, pressing his knees further and further into the wet grass. The skies are grey above them, greying progressively still, and it won’t be long until they’re forced to return home, the tennis ball left forgotten for the teeth of its dog to return some other day from now.
“But I wanna hang onto you ,” he insists, into the folded hood of Jungsu’s sweater, the fibers of the fabric retaining his voice, keeping it alive for as long as they touch.
Jungsu’s giggles double, and he tries to free himself, shouting wordlessly. Until Jiseok and Jooyeon are there to pry him from Gunil’s grasp, his legs stumbling as he stands up straight and runs away. Leaving Gunil to sink into the grass completely, soaked through like a sponge. Cold and wet. Still he smiles, Jungsu’s laughter ringing in the air, the prettiest thing he’ll ever hear.
“You should talk with him, y’know?” Hyeongjun’s voice inputs, almost suddenly, tearing Gunil from his haze. Gunil rips his gaze from Jiseok jumping on top of Jungsu’s back as together they chase Jooyeon, trying to get back the ball Jungsu definitely won’t want to touch.
Hyeongjun blows on his fingers, turning slightly red from the cold. Avoiding Gunil’s gaze. “What he means,” Seungmin says, scooting forward, pulling Gunil onto the blanket, and then cupping one of Hyeongjun’s hands between both of his, rubbing warmth back into them. “Is that you need to tell Jungsu what you want.”
Gunil flounders, the words dead in the back of his throat. He forgot that though Jungsu may have learned to tune him out, Hyeongjun and Seungmin are always intent to listen out for everyone always. “What I want?” he croaks, like he’s lost his voice entirely.
“Yeah,” Seungmin affirms nonchalantly, tucking Hyeongjun’s hand into his pocket, taking up his other one, Hyeongjun silent, lips pursed shyly. “You want him, don’t you?”
In lieu of an answer, Gunil turns his head, following Jungsu as he falls and rolls in the grass, complaining about the blades of grass and dead leaves getting stuck in the hem of his sleeves and the strands of his hair. Their eyes meet, for just a single moment, as Jungsu tries to steal affection from Jiseok’s unwilling arms.
There’s that feeling in his chest. Perhaps it isn’t quite like loneliness, like Gunil thought. It was there, but so was its friend, sage and jaded, nestled too deep for him to unbury. It comes naturally after so many years of watching people, watching them speak and talk and laugh together. From afar, never up close.
He knows the word, knows its name, he just doesn’t like it.
“Maybe he doesn’t know that,” suggests Hyeongjun, tone nonintrusive in its hesitance.
Face pinching, Gunil shakes his head, slotting his hands beneath his thighs to keep them warm, the tips nipped red. “He does.” How can Gunil be any more obvious? All he has left to do is cut out his very own hollow heart and offer it to Jungsu, so Jungsu can see how it skips under his touch.
A bit quieter, uncertain, he says, “He should.”
4
“What if we…” Gunil pauses, considering, tapping his fingers along his desk, humming in thought. “What if we go to the Han River? Walk around, eat…” He spins in his chair, hugging his knees to his chest, smiling. “It can be a date.”
He catches Jungsu staring from his bed, smiling gently at Gunil, eyes soft and curved, fond. It’s almost enough to melt Gunil to his bone, if it weren’t just enough if not less than what Gunil needs to sit up straight. “A date?” he echoes, the idea sounding right from his lips.
Gunil rests his chin on his knees, nodding in minute movements. “Yeah. A date.”
“Okay,” Jungsu says, looking pleased. “What night are you free?”
Gunil chews on his bottom lip. “Tonight?”
Jungsu thinks, grimaces, and Gunil can feel his heart drop to the pits of his stomach uncushioned. “Well, tonight I’m seeing a movie with Jiseok,” he replies, apologetic. “Are you free any other nights?”
Keeping his expression carefully unaffected, Gunil shrugs. “Not this week. We can do next week though.” He spins his chair back to his desk, checking his calendar. “You spend so much time with Jiseokie,” he sighs, “I could be jealous.” There it is. The word. His heart leaping back up to his throat, nervous with being just a little bit too honest. He tries to lighten it with a weak chuckle.
Jungsu snorts, blankets rustling as he sits up. “Jealous?” He walks up behind Gunil, turning his chair right back around, holding onto its arms and caging Gunil in. “What do you have to be jealous of?” he murmurs, earnest, bumping his nose against Gunil’s.
“You spend so much time with him,” Gunil says, light, “Doting on him, being affectionate with him. Who wouldn’t be jealous? I know many fans who are. Jealous of Jiseok and you.” He reaches up, tucks Jungsu’s hair behind his ears, an itch in his fingers relieved with just the simple touch.
Jungsu almost looks confused, that crease between his brows back. “You do too. With all the others.” He pulls back slightly, waiting for Gunil to confirm what he’s saying. To agree with what he’s implying.
Gunil simply can’t. He should be able to. He can’t. It makes him want to wretch. He slides his legs out from before him, socked toes landing softly to the ground. Is he a bad leader? Does it make him an even worse person, that all he still wants to ask is, “Are Jiseok and I the same to you?” Desperately needing an answer.
Smile bewildered and lost, Jungsu cocks his head. “The same?” His smile is fading into a frown, voice wearing. “No, not the same…Jiseok—he’s like my little brother, you’re—you’re…” He shrugs, offering a wan smile. Gunil hates himself for still wanting something more, wanting something tangible to hold onto.
“But…” Gunil grows more and more hesitant, and it’s playing with Jungsu’s confusion. Pulling away and crossing his arms, staring at Gunil with furrowed brows. “Do you think of us the same? Do you…like us the same?”
Jungsu pouts, slightly frustrated. “Of course I do, Hyung. I like you all the same.” Not knowing how much that kind of hurts. It shouldn’t hurt. The octaves of his voice rise as he tries to figure out what Gunil is asking of him. So Gunil pushes his chair forward, uncrossing Jungsu’s arms and circling his fingers loosely around Jungsu’s wrists, settling them.
Offering a wobbly smile, Gunil simply asks, “So you like me?”
Jungsu rolls his eyes, but some part of him calms, less concerned with his confusion. “Obviously I like you.”
Gunil wets his lips, running his thumb over the bones of Jungsu’s wrists, delicate and strong. “Do you really?” He doesn’t let Jungsu answer, swallowing, eyes lidding, wistful. “I like you. Do you know how much I like you?” That’s the better question. Closer to the right one.
Cheeks pinkening, Jungsu turns his head away, and Gunil can feel his ears turning off, Gunil’s words fizzing to nothing within them. Gunil’s heart beats slow. “Hyung…” His phone buzzes on his bed and he looks back, eyes widening. “Oh, I—”
Gunil lets him go, spinning around in his chair. “Enjoy the movie,” he says, smiling over his shoulder, “Buy me snacks?” Jungsu will know all his favorite ones. Then again, so will Jiseok, huh?
Picking up his phone and answering his message, Jungsu nods dutifully. He pauses before he leaves, hand stilled over the doorknob. “Gunil-hyung,” he says offhandedly, prompting Gunil to look over his shoulder back at him, “People are jealous of me too. Y’know…” He smiles. “For having you.”
Before Gunil can even think to respond, he’s gone.
5
Somewhere along the line, there’s been a grave misunderstanding. Two affectionate people, when paired together, were even more affectionate. It wasn’t a matter of emotion, or compromise. That’s simply how it was. So the stolen glances, touches, almost kisses—maybe he’s just confused them, made them more than what they were.
He thought they’d grown closer, but maybe all in all, they had only grown farther apart.
Maybe.
He’s sure everyone but Jungsu himself notices the constant looks Gunil sends his way. Sneaking nonstop glances as he worries on his bottom lip with his teeth and plays with his hangnails until his drumsticks hurt pressing into the pads of his fingers
He’s watching Jungsu. Always. That’s kind of no different than usual though. A leader that always watches from behind is the kind of leader he’s aimed to be. But now there’s a selfishness to the way his eyes cling to Jungsu as he does anything and everything. A quiet, wordless pleading.
Jungsu poised over his keyboard, tongue sticking out from between a concentrated jut of lips. Fingers dancing along the keys, just as graceful and meticulous as he is. Nails carefully trimmed, shiny with a topcoat. Shimmers of glitter from makeup that can’t wash away twirling over his knuckles.
He’s so good. Gunil wants too much of him, cradled right beneath his ear against his pulse, or directly over his heart. Like a stethoscope. Wants more than he’s ever been given the right to, and will ever be able to have.
Just once, Gunil wants Jungsu to look back like he used to. To lean into him, instead of leaning away. It’s less finality than it sounds like, but he just needs one sign, to know how to proceed from here on out. So he can grow past himself and continue to try and become a good leader. This is just a hurdle, a mere misstep, albeit a self-indulgent one.
He just needs to catch his balance. Just give him a second. Blood between his nail and skin, iron over the broken skin of his lip. There’s no sting, no bite, just a dull throbbing ache festering at the base of his sternum, eating him alive.
“Hyung. Hyung. Gunil .”
He blinks, his lip sliding free from between his teeth. His eyes go a little crossed, Jungsu so very close, their noses almost bumping. There’s that worried crease between his brows again, on full display. It’s making more appearances as of late, and not for himself.
Gunil places his hands on Jungsu’s shoulders, pushing him back into the hardwood floor of the practice room. “Yeah?” He looks around, where the other members are putting away their things, purposefully not looking anywhere in their direction. “Is something up?”
Jungsu clicks his tongue in this vaguely bothered way, digging his fingers into the skin above Gunil’s knee. “ You are up. Tearing your lips in two, Hyung.” He reaches up, squishes Gunil’s cheeks together, forcing Gunil’s mouth into a distorted pout. It stings. Gunil hisses and Jungsu immediately lets up, frowning deeply.
“Oh,” he says articulately, flicking his tongue along the split skin. “Lost in thought, I guess.” There’s a lapse in silence, the two of them just looking at each other. Gunil breathes in, leans just slightly forward, smiling. “Kiss it better?” Can he have it, even if he has to steal it?
All he wants is Jungsu’s reaction, delayed and wide-eyed. Pinkcheeked and surreptitiously glancing to the side, where the others gather, ready to leave. Wants to taste it on his tongue. How bittersweet it will be, like lemon loaf. It’s the same self-destruction as biting his lips or tearing at the nails where his drumsticks rest.
Jungsu takes his thumb, swipes it along Gunil’s lip, hot breath over his skin. “Maybe later, tease,” he promises, standing, wiping his hand along his jeans. Gunil licks the touched spot, swallowing.
He sets his things aside but doesn’t stand yet. “I should sleep in my own bed tonight,” he says abruptly, though not really, offering Jungsu the solitary chance, bait to bite. He doesn’t look for the reaction to that. Just waits for the lack of contest.
“Okay,” Jungsu says, complacent, “Whatever you want, Hyung.” Gunil almost laughs. If only he could say it out loud. But he’s thirteen all over again, and language and music is lost on him, so his words are trapped within, screaming to be found before nothing becomes of them.
With the other members, without Gunil, Jungsu leaves the practice room.
+1
He knows that’s what was said, but Jungsu doesn’t really expect Gunil pulling away from his bed. Too quiet and subdued, not even kissing Jungsu’s hand when he leaves, climbing up to his own bunk and sitting there so still, Jungsu can’t even hear the creak of the slats above him or the disturbing of sheets.
He doesn’t expect Gunil to pull away from him . That’s what he notices happening though. Bit by bit. If it were anyone else, he might not have noticed at all.
It’s Gunil though. Gunil who clings to him and tries to pepper him with kisses and drown him in affection. And it’s Jungsu with the funny feeling in his gut everytime Gunil does and an even floatier feeling when he returns the same affections in doses, that feels half of a whole when all that suddenly disappears.
He finds himself stranded, off balance, and all he’s doing is lying in his bed, glaring at Gunil’s mattress, and trying to nonverbally urge him to climb down that ladder right now and curl into Jungsu’s arms just one more time. Then Jungsu won’t make the mistake of letting him go ever again.
So he waits, lurking for his time to strike. He tries to find the perfect opportune moment, just them two. Then he realizes Gunil is eliminating those moments, constantly in movement, constantly out of reach, or in another member’s. He’s there as Gunil and Seungmin leave the dorms for their routine workout, Gunil’s arm draped over Seungmin’s shoulder, casual and clinging. As Gunil squeezes Jooyeon fondly. As—
“You too?”
Jungsu blinks rapidly, looking up at Hyeongjun, deviated from the kitchen with a bowl of fruit questionably bruised. “Huh?” His eyes flicking quickly to Seungmin and Gunil in the kitchen, Seungmin doing his best to teach Gunil how to cook a simple dish.
Stabbing his fork in a mushy piece of melon, Hyeongjun chews around his words. “I thought you two had this figured out already,” he grumbles, as if he’s the one being so personally ailed.
A bit confused, Jungsu glances back and forth, plopping his cheek in his palm. “Being roommates? I didn’t think that would be something to figure out,” he sighs, “I thought we were perfect.” Gunil laughs at something, covering his mouth with plastic-gloved fingers and bending over himself. Nothing like the breathy, almost-silent laugh Jungsu listened to late into the night, his own little lullaby.
Hyeongjun gives up on the fruit, stares at Jungsu like he’s grown a second head. “You’re kidding me right?” he asks, voice a pitch too high, genuinely hoping Jungsu will say he’s in fact very much kidding.
Jungsu furrows his brows. “What?”
Gaping, Hyeongjun looks at Gunil, then shuts his mouth, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” Sounding drab and tired. “You should probably talk about it with him though.” He shrugs, like he can’t offer much more.
Still Jungsu asks with a puzzled frown. “Talk about what though?”
Truly given up, Hyeongjun shrugs again. “That’s for you to figure out, Hyung. Sorry.”
Jungsu sighs, crossing his arms over the table and letting his head fall against them. “Don’t be sorry, Jun. Also, I’ll pick you up more fruit today after practice. Please don’t eat that.”
At least that makes Hyeongjun somewhat smile. “You don’t have to.” But it sounds a lot more like thank you. They’re getting there. Happily, Hyeongjun returns to the kitchen and throws away the overripe fruit before aiding Seungmin in teaching Gunil.
Jungsu looks up, catches Gunil looking at him too, for just a split second, before looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching down. That’s it. Jungsu stands up from the table suddenly, stalks into the kitchen and grabs Gunil by the shoulder. Gunil jumps, nearly jostling the pan off the stove, looking at Jungsu with more surprise than was absolutely necessary.
“Can we talk?” he mutters, extremely aware of Hyeongjun and Seungmin on either side of them, pointedly drifting away, giving them much needed space. Sharing awkward glances and huddling away as Gunil splutters to answer.
Pulling off the gloves and turning around, “Yeah, sure, what’s wrong?” Gently shaking Jungsu’s hand off his shoulder. It’s like nails through his palms, stones in his fingers when he drops his arm back to his own side.
He glances in the direction of the other two, who nod at him encouragingly, Seungmin with a thumbs up and Hyeongjun with a horribly misshapen smile that overemphasizes his dimple. “In private?” he requests, not bothering to keep his voice lowered, a fuse left untended, his patience thinning to a wick.
Demeanor shifting, taking on his role as a leader before he can even process what Jungsu is asking, the soft edges of Gunil’s face become stern, brows drawing together, lips pursing. It’s not the Gunil Jungsu wants to be talking with, but it’s the Gunil that won’t avoid him in the end.
He trails Jungsu out of the kitchen with a quick apology to the other two before they stand tensely in the hall, backs pressed against either wall. It feels like too much space. For once in his life, Jungsu can only wish the walls would close in on him, push them closer together.
Shoulders squared, eyes steady, Gunil looks up at him with a firm unfading frown. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks, voice detached, but so caring and attentive it reaches directly into Jungsu’s chest and squeezes his heart. Jungsu needs it, how is he supposed to continue in this band without the constant presence of that by his side.
“I missed your voice,” he utters, thinking aloud, not really meaning to, but it accomplishes something . A crack in Gunil’s carefully formulated facade. His brows touching the tips of his bangs, his eyes widening and lips parting. The perfect picture of taken back surprise. He tries to gather back his composure, but it’s faulty, and Jungsu can see all its flaws.
Trying not to break eye contact, gaze threatening to fall to his feet, Gunil clenches his jaw. “You hear my voice all the time.” He’s playing with his fingers, nothing else to do with his hands, not even having words to entertain them. “Is there a reason this needed to be private?”
Jungsu lets out a frustrated little huff, foot scuffing against the floor. “Yes,” he responds, terse. He digs his thumb into his palm, keeps his arms stiffly at his sides where they seem stuck. “You’ve—I’ve—Did I do something wrong?” he finally asks, trying his hardest, ultimately failing, to keep the desperation out of his voice.
Gunil blinks, and there’s no recovering his composure from that, cool mask falling away from his face like chipped paint. “Did you—No?” His expression is terribly lost, so at least Jungsu can find solace in them being on the same page. “What could you have done wrong? Why? You haven’t, you definitely haven’t.” Making sure Jungsu knows that before piercing him with this all-seeking imploring gaze that could open up the most tightly sealed tomb.
Tugging agitatedly at the lobe of his ear, Jungsu shrugs emphatically. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” He’s almost whining at this point, and only then, with that lump forming in his throat, does he realize what he’s rushed himself into. Now he's flushed, and embarrassed. All this fuss, because his leader is paying a little less attention to him.
“You know what, actually, it’s no—“
Gunil shakes his head, stepping forward. Just a single step, but it’s enough to keep Jungsu in place, his tongue in his throat at nearness. You’d think he’s never felt nearness before with the way he wants it now. Touch starved after being spoon fed feasts, then crumbs.
“It’s not nothing,” Gunil makes sure to cut him off. “If there’s something bothering you, then it’s important. Simple as that.”
Jungsu drags his hands down his face. “Can you—can you stop being my leader, for one second? Please. You’re killing me, Hyung.” His heart races, and he doesn’t even know why, doesn't even know where to go from here. He can’t lie. He’s a terrible liar when it comes to Gunil. All he can do is talk, because he knows Gunil is going to listen.
“I don’t know, okay,” he admits, unable to even tell just what kind of upset he is. “This is stupid—don’t say otherwise. It is. I pulled you aside and now I’m a mess because—because…” He chews on his cheek, trains his stare on the ground. His voice becomes very quiet, pathetic. “Because you stopped looking at me all the time.”
The hallway becomes suffocatingly silent. Jungsu can hear the space where Gunil’s voice would be, and isn’t. Hesitantly, he peeks up, risking Gunil’s reaction, and it isn’t bewilderment like he expects. It’s utter surprise. Gunil stripped down to pure awe. Something Jungsu has just almost seen, but is now seeing wholly.
Gunil’s hand rises, motions between them in a limp, aimless way. “You’re upset, because I’m not paying attention to you,” he repeats, in a kind of rasp. His expression morphing unreadably.
Jungsu kicks at the floor again, petulant. “I said it was stupid,” he grumbles. But he looks back up, and Gunil doesn’t look admonishing, or even confused anymore. He’s upset. If Jungsu didn’t know how hard it was to make him cry, then he’d think Gunil was on the verge of tears. He cringes reflexively, opening his mouth.
“I don’t get it,” Gunil says, voice broken. It shatters, and it should be a loud sound, but it’s an awfully quiet one in retrospect. Painfully soft, like the ratty t-shirts he always wears to bed, too old and yet still too big for him.
Jungsu pushes off the wall, holding out a comforting hand, and Gunil turns away from him, hugging his arms around himself. It hurts to see him shrink away like that, more than it does to be shied away from. “I don’t get it,” he says again, louder, jagged.
“Gunil…”
“You don’t know how damn much I want to look at you all the time,” Gunil hisses out between his teeth, burning coals on bare skin. “How much I want to touch you and hold you and look at you. It’s a problem. A real serious problem. I could risk too much, just to barely have you.” His voice cracks, jumps, choking off in the back of his throat.
It’s Jungsu’s turn to be stunned silent, standing there in absolute shock, not quite sure how to even begin digesting that. Gunil throws his hands up in the air, calmness fleeing him. “But clearly—or so I thought—you didn’t return…didn’t want that. So I stopped. Let you go about pampering all the younger members in peace.” He and Jungsu grimace at the same time. “I thought you didn’t want me like that, so why are you here telling me you do?” Gunil asks, almost inaudible.
The phrasing lights Jungsu on fire, burns his cheeks up. He gapes at Gunil, for a multitude of reasons, but— “Want…you?” He’s suddenly lightheaded, knees jelly, tongue tied.
Gunil freezes, regarding him with something just lesser than terror. Panic, at the least. “Ignore that,” he says instantly, “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I made this about me, and this was about you, and I’m sorry for being aloof, I didn’t mean to—“ He turns as if to walk away. Hell no.
Jungsu wraps his arms around him from behind, and same as with Jungsu, it flawlessly arrests him. He doesn’t even try to move. “I asked you to stop being my leader, right now,” he says in shallow breaths, his pulse pounding in his ears, “So tell me, member to member, friend to friend, what do you mean, want you ?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Gunil huffs, strained.
Jungsu squeezes him tighter, gripping on deadlier. He swore he wouldn't make the mistake of letting go again, and he meant it. “I am dumb, okay. I’m sensitive and I’m dumb and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gunil lets out a wheezy laugh, sounding faint. “You’re serious.” Jungsu nods, dropping his head to Gunil’s shoulder, and Gunil intakes a sharp, shuddering breath. “I was jealous , Jungsu,” he confesses, with no small amount of shame, “I was jealous of the others. Of Jiseok. You…Maybe you liked him, like I liked you.”
Jungsu pulls back, spinning Gunil to face him, holding on when Gunil nearly trips. “I thought you—I thought…” He swallows. “Like you like me…How do you like me, Hyung?”
Gunil almost pouts. Jungsu offers him a wavering smile. “I’m dumb, remember. Spell it out for me, please.”
Swallowing, squirming just slightly beneath Jungsu’s fingers, Gunil looks anywhere but at Jungsu’s face. “I like you, a lot, Jungsu. More than as a member, than as a friend .” Jungsu can’t stifle his responding gasp, but he doesn’t loosen his grip, he tightens it if anything. “When we started sharing a room, a bed, and we’d…” He shrugs, cheeks glowing a bright pink, biting down on his lip, hinting at the ‘kisses’ they’d dare, along the cheeks and face and head. “It seemed like you liked me like that too, but—”
“I do.” Jungsu blurts uncontrollably, burning up from the inside out. The revelation clicks into place in a single slap. A little too late, a little bit exactly on time. “I like you like that. I like you as more than a friend.” His heart skips almost giddily in his chest. He likes Goo Gunil. And everything suddenly makes sense.
Speechless, once avoiding Jungsu’s gaze, now unable to look away, Gunil simply stares, agape. “I didn’t…I didn’t think this was possible,” Jungsu nervously admits, “I thought we were treating each other the same as we treated all the members. It didn’t occur to me that…you—I…” He’s steadily crumbling apart, in a good way, but not in a rather useful way. “Then why…why did you pull away?”
Gunil rolls his shoulders so Jungsu can feel every tension within him, lined in the planes of his arms and back. He’s strong, it’s good that he’s strong, there is a lot of responsibility he has to carry. Jungsu doesn’t want to add onto that, but it doesn’t seem like either of them have any of the choice in that matter.
“Because, I don’t know.” He looks away again, split between moments, torn between Jungsu’s confession and wherever he is now, answering Jungsu’s question. “Was convinced you didn’t like me, and especially didn’t like my affections. You were always…pulling away from them.” He makes a vaguely frustrated face. “Yet here you are…”
Jungsu frowns. “Shouldn’t you be happy with that?” He forces Gunil up straight, pulling him close, circling his arms around Gunil’s waist. He knows it’s just his own heartbeat, but he swears he can hear Gunil’s heart too, pounding between them like the very drums he excels in. Leading Jungsu like they always do, giving his notes their rhythm. Then, “I’m sorry.”
Gunil seems defeated. “I really like you, Jungsu,” Gunil confesses in a whisper, like he hasn’t already done so. “I like you so much, too much. I want you all to myself, and I want you to want me all to yourself. And I don’t think that’s possible. I think…I think it’s unfair of me, or unfair of you.”
Jungsu frees one hand to hold Gunil by the chin, so he can’t look away as Jungsu scours his expression, vulnerable, cracked open and revealing everything within. “You really like me that much?” he asks, voice crushed velvet and asphalt glitter.
Cautious, but not withholding, Gunil nods, cheeks pressed beneath Jungsu’s thumb and forefinger. Jungsu releases a trembling exhale, resolve hardening his heart. “I like you too,” he says, “I promise. I swear .”
He tugs Gunil flush to his chest, finally closing all the distance between them. “Maybe we can’t afford to be each other’s completely,” Jungsu murmurs, surprised with the way Gunil is now unapologetically enthralled with him, or maybe he’s simply seeing what he was missing before.
“But…your lips, those can be mine, if that’s alright?” Every other part of Gunil spread thin among all the things he loves, but Jungsu knows he can ask for a fraction of him, can keep it all to himself.
The idea is so much more appealing than he had ever given credit to before. He ghosts his thumb over the torn skin of Gunil’s lip. The perfect cupid's bow, the way his bottom lip fits smaller beneath it, blending into the expressive corners of his mouth, always turned up or down. Never dull, never drab.
Unconsciously, so many times before, has he stopped himself from fixating on the single aspect of Gunil’s face, distracting himself with everything else. Some part of him still dances away from the idea of letting himself like Gunil as much as he wants, but he tells it to shut up, and awaits Gunil’s breathy response.
“More than alright. If…” He stops, voice caught in his throat, hesitance barring him within himself. There’s still too much he wants, more than any one person can give, and he knows that, as much as he resents it.
Jungsu may have a solution. “Every night,” Jungsu proposes, “Every night can be yours.”
Gunil’s breath hitches, and his eyes fly to Jungsu’s, incredulous. A slow, steady smile cuts across his mouth. “You’re just trying to get me to sleep more.”
Only then, relief settling over them, does Jungsu really realize how awfully he needs to kiss Gunil right in this very moment. He pulls him in by the fabric of his shirt, and warns, “Maybe. I’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?”
Grinning broadly, so wide he tries and fails to bite it back, teeth pressed cutely to stretched lips. “They’re all yours, Jungsu-ah.” So Jungsu dives in, stops avoiding Gunil’s affections, and takes his lips in his, all for himself. Peals of laughter bubble into his mouth, and he swallows them whole. It’s chaste and sweet, and it doesn’t need to be anything more.
“I missed your voice,” he says again, “Can I get back to you on that lullaby baby?”
“Now you’re just making fun of me.”
“Yeah, I am.”
Then he kisses him again. Just because he can. And if anyone were to deny that, it wouldn’t be Gunil.
“I can’t believe you’ve nearly kissed me all these times, and didn’t think there was anything to it,” Gunil teases, pulling away, making Jungsu well aware that they were simply standing in the middle of their dorm hallway, having gone through the entire cycle of confession. “Do you nearly kiss all the boys, Jungsu?”
Flushed, Jungsu glares and shakes his head, tugging Gunil along with him into their room. “Only you, unfortunately.” He looks back, mouth twitching. “Don’t look too pleased with that.” Gunil only smiles giddily, shutting the door behind him, locking it.
Jungsu falls back into the bed, and pulls Gunil down with him. Gunil looks at him with wide, glittering eyes. “It isn’t nighttime yet,” he says softly, as they stumble to the head of the bed, a tangled mess of elbows and knees as they settle against Jungsu’s pillows, smelling no longer like Jungsu alone, but the both of them.
“That’s fine.” Jungsu lays atop Gunil, squeezing him tightly, but Gunil never complains. He rests his head upon Gunil’s heart, listening to the way it beats. Going lax as Gunil pulls the blanket over them, pressing a kiss to the crown of Jungsu’s head. “You can steal me away for now.”
He can feel Gunil’s smile against his forehead, adoring and loving. “Thanks,” he whispers, running his fingers down Jungsu’s back soothingly. “That’s all I want.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”