Chapter Text
Ricky waits for Gunwook to leave the room before walking back inside to let everything out, nodding when Gunwook gives him a half-hug and a promise to talk later. He steadily ignores Gyuvin’s stare and makes a swan dive for his bed.
“I love you,” Gyuvin says, hurrying over towards the other side of the room to cradle Ricky’s arms as though they were wings.
This only serves to make Ricky cry harder. He’s never been good at taking scoldings from their manager. “I know you do,” he whispers, fighting every cell in his body that wants to lean into Gyuvin’s touch, squeezing his bed sheets instead.
“Ricky, It wasn’t your fault. Our manager shouldn’t have scolded you like that, especially not while we were still live and could hear it.”
“Hm.”
“Ricky. I mean it.”
“I know you do,” he says again. It isn’t a matter of how genuine Gyuvin is, Gyuvin’s always genuine. (And earnest. And likable. Nothing like Ricky.) It’s simply a matter of how right Gyuvin actually is.
“Come on. Believe me, Shen Ricky. It’s not your fault.”
Ricky nods and doesn’t say anything. He only lets himself melt into Gyuvin’s touch a little bit.
Gyuvin’s eyes soften, but he’s still frowning. “Ricky. Answer.”
“Okay, okay.” Ricky gives a half-smile. He can’t stay upset when Gyuvin is at his side. “I believe you. I’m trying to.”
“Good. I know you, you know?”
“I know you do,” Ricky repeats. And that’s just it, isn’t it?
(After Ricky gets yelled at, the members all gravitate towards him just a little bit more. He accepts this. He’s trying, after all.)
Ricky isn’t stupid. He knows that Gyuvin doesn’t love him the same way. It isn’t because Gyuvin has ever been mean to him or even remotely negative — Gyuvin would never, ever do anything mean to anyone, let alone Ricky. It isn’t even because of Gyuvin’s upbringing — Gyuvin has constantly scorned how homophobes use religion as an excuse to be hateful.
It’s simply just because Gyuvin doesn’t love him in the same way. Because he never could or can or will.
After all, Ricky is just Ricky. He’s a hopeless romantic and a masochist and a bumbling teenager and an idiot when it comes to all things regarding his heart. He’s not very talented and only known for his looks, which is the most temporary part about him. And really, he should’ve known better than to let Gyuvin peel away his layers and look beyond his face, but how can one not, when Gyuvin is so gentle? When Gyuvin’s fingers are made of sepia and silk and kindness?
“How do you not remember the first official time we talked?” Gyuvin asks once he’s turned off the clip of one of his earlier lives, his cheeks still flushed from laughing at everything Zeroses are saying. “You know, I was so embarrassed when I pointed out your headphones and you didn’t even know what I was talking about.”
Ricky smiles and shrugs. “I think I have, like, a very faint memory of that. I just didn’t understand your pronunciation of beats.”
What Ricky isn’t saying is that he does, in fact, remember the first time they talked, if not in more detail than Gyuvin does. He still remembers what Gyuvin was wearing that day. He still remembers the song he was listening to when Gyuvin came up to him and pointed out the brand of his headphones, because they were young and awkward and that was how you started conversations and made friends.
But Ricky isn’t stupid. He can’t let Gyuvin know that he remembers all of this, because Gyuvin already knows too much of him, and Ricky’s heart has already left too many blood stains on Gyuvin’s palms. Ricky is still bleeding. He can hear his heart cracking and pouring onto Gyuvin’s bed as they sit on the mattress, thighs touching, arms touching, everything touching,
“I didn’t know that the trainee who was always on his iPad would become my closest friend,” Gyuvin says honestly and easily, and yep, there it goes — crack crack crack. Ricky’s heart never stood a damn chance. Ice will always melt at the sight of the sun.
Ricky smiles and pretends that being called ‘friend’ by Gyuvin feels like a balm rather than a knife. “Me, your closest friend? Really?”
“More like soulmate, actually,” Gyuvin smiles, and it hurts because Ricky knows that Gyuvin means it, but he doesn’t mean it the exact same way Ricky does.
“Soulmates,” Ricky agrees, feeling guilty because he also means it. He glances at Gyuvin’s bedside table and sees the ring Ricky gave to him resting there, on a ceramic tray, glittering in the lamplight. Gyuvin wears it to sleep sometimes. He wore it on a live he did recently and he called it a fucking wedding ring.
“Ricky, oh Ricky, you’re never getting rid of me,” Gyuvin sing-songs, his face terribly close to Ricky’s as he rocks back and forth on the mattress and tugs on Ricky’s arm like a toddler.
Ricky doesn’t say that it’s the other way around — that Gyuvin will never be getting rid of him. “I’d hope not,” he says instead, and it’s an entirely different (but still the same) confession on its own.
Ricky is so busy with trying to not let himself be tugged and dragged down onto the bed that he doesn’t see the honey-soft, honey-sweet, honey-sickened look in Gyuvin’s eyes, the look of a heart bleeding just as much as his. It’s curious how Ricky doesn’t recognize this look in someone else — maybe, just maybe, he’s a little stu —
Later, Ricky is so busy drying his hair before going to bed that he doesn’t notice Gyuvin watching him in the mirror, staring without blinking, staring without anything less than naked devotion. He doesn’t see how the toothbrush in Gyuvin’s mouth has been still for the past two minutes so Gyuvin can stare at him uninterrupted.
“I really can’t wake up with a puffy face tomorrow,” Ricky pouts as he lifts up the hair dryer again.
“You’re pretty either way,” Gyuvin says, so softly that Ricky might not have heard it had he switched on the hair dryer.
“Shut up,” Ricky says, cheeks pink, and they both smile and look at each other in the mirror. Ricky sticks his tongue out. Gyuvin winks. Ricky laughs and cringes at how squeaky it comes out, but it makes Gyuvin laugh, so maybe it’s worth it.
But Ricky isn’t stupid. Gyuvin loves him, and it’s not in the same way, never the same way. He isn’t stupid because he’s told himself this so many times he genuinely believes it. He believes it as Gyuvin dries the rest of his hair for him because his arms are sore from dancing, he believes it as Gyuvin pokes his cheek and calls it soft like bread, he believes it as they tuck themselves into Gyuvin’s bed, their limbs folded together like a pretzel, even though Ricky has his own bed just across the room.
(Ricky is, maybe, a little bit a lot stupid.)
“You and Gyuvin-hyung text each other a lot,” Yujin says, glancing from his homework to look at Ricky’s phone, which has been non-stop lighting up each time Gyuvin sends him something, which turns out to be a lot of somethings. The couch keeps vibrating with each notification: bzz bzz bzz. Ricky can’t stop smiling.
“I guess we do,” Ricky says, almost nervous to answer for some reason. He taps his sketchbook. “It’s mostly him texting me, though. Just saying.”
Bzz.
Yujin looks at Ricky with both his eyebrows raised and what can only be classified as a smirk on his lips. “Right. Because that matters so much.”
“It does.” Ricky taps at his sketchbook again, the pencil in his hand leaving stray marks on the cover. He glares at Yujin’s widening smirk. “Ugh. Stop being so nosy and focus on your homework.”
Yujin smiles like he knows something Ricky doesn’t. “Okay, okay. I’ll change the subject. Sheesh.”
Ricky leans over to pinch Yujin’s cheek. Brat, he thinks, much too fond even in his own head.
When Yujin squirms and scooches away, he pretends not to notice how Ricky scooches closer. When Ricky stops moving, Ricky pretends not to notice how Yujin makes their thighs connect, his leg shaking up and down as he tries finishing his last few math problems. Ricky can’t help the warm little squeeze his heart makes at that.
Bzz.
Bzz.
Yujin lets out a heavy sigh, much too heavy for someone of his age. “Ricky-ge, please just reply to him already. Please.”
“Later,” Ricky smiles, putting his phone on do-not-disturb, shutting up a Bzz right as it sends. There’s something a little fun about making Gyuvin wait, about letting his messages build up so Ricky can check them all at the same time. Gyuvin usually hovers over his shoulder once he does finally sit down and open them. It’s a bit of a routine. He’s comfortable with routine, and anything Ricky gets from Gyuvin, he will savor.
“You two are disgusting, and I need you to remember that,” Yujin grumbles, erasing one of his answers so roughly the paper starts to tear.
Ricky side-eyes him, then his worksheet. “Your answers for seventeen and twenty are both wrong.”
Yujin mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “Fuck this,” but Ricky laughs instead of lectures.
“Fuck this,” Ricky echoes in agreement. He’s not Hanbin, after all. He’ll curse. And he’ll pine and pine and pine without ever doing anything about it, but then again, Hanbin did a whole lot of pining before he finally asked Hao out, so maybe Ricky is a lot like him in that regard.
Ricky shrugs. He’ll open all of his messages later.
Ricky plops right onto his bed, checking his phone with one hand and very carefully drying his (recently re-bleached) hair with the other. He isn’t sure how long he spent in the shower, but it was long enough for him to have twenty-one unread messages from Gyuvin, and five unread ones from Hao. While it’s true that Ricky doesn’t have any of their numbers saved (with the exception of Hao), he’s memorized which number is whose, and that’s more special to him. In a way.
(He doesn’t say that he doesn’t save anybody’s numbers because he is afraid of getting too attached. He doesn’t say that having contacts and never texting the person after drifting apart from them hurts, like having a list of ghosts in his phone, in his heart. He doesn’t say that he wishes he’d saved the contacts for his members because now he sees them in random number combinations that could’ve stayed meaningless had he not already memorized each of them.)
He gets another text:
this is so you lol reads a notification from Gyuvin, alongside a TikTok link.
Smiling, Ricky opens up their texts. The link brings him to a short video of a white bunny licking a strawberry. He smiles more.
i thought i was a cat, Ricky replies.
ur any cute animal who loves strawberries, Gyuvin says mere seconds later.
Ricky scoffs. It’s only been a few hours since he last saw Gyuvin, but he still feels the lack of his presence. Their shared room is way too quiet without Gyuvin to fill it, whether it’s with his laughter or breath or snores, and it just feels wrong.
i miss you, Ricky nearly types out.
why can’t our schedules align all the time? he almost sends.
whatever you say, he sends instead, scrolling up to look at the other various memes Gyuvin spammed. A part of him aches.
That’s the thing about Ricky: he keeps taking things for granted and he doesn’t realize it until it’s too late.
He opens WeChat and sends a text to his mother.
“I can’t believe Gyuvin treats you like a princess when you’re such a brat,” Taerae says, rolling his eyes as he watches Ricky finish Matthew’s drink.
Matthew laughs. “Our Ricky is just too cute.”
Ricky nearly spits out the juice in his mouth. “I’m not that cute,” he says, quickly gulping the juice down. “Also what do you mean, Gyuvin treats me like a princess?”
“Um, exactly what I said,” Taerae smiles, eating his noodles as though he didn’t just say something totally wrong and potentially life-altering.
“He does not,” Ricky counters, angrily finishing the rest of Matthew’s drink.
“He absolutely does.”
Ricky glances at Matthew, who only shrugs. “He’s right, Ricky. Gyuvin does treat you like a princess.”
Traitor! Ricky glares, and Matthew only laughs. Ricky glares harder. “Gyuvin doesn’t… He just doesn’t.” If Ricky’s ears turn bright red, that’s his own business. If he allows himself to hope, for just a split second, that’s also entirely on him. “Can we go back to eating and practicing our Korean and English?”
Taerae laughs and shares a knowing glance with Matthew before clapping and smiling at Ricky. “Okay. Princess.”
(It’s funny how the word for princess in Korean is pronounced almost exactly the same as it is in Mandarin. However, this fact is not fun enough for Ricky to not be angry.)
“Kim Taerae, I will kill you,” Ricky says in English.
“You would not,” Taerae replies back, also in English.
“Settle down,” Matthew says in English, which earns him a glare from Ricky and a confused look from Taerae. Poor Taerae. There are too many sayings in English to teach.
(It’s going to be a long night.)
Princess treatment.
Ricky is familiar with the term and what it might entail. He can’t get what Taerae and Matthew said earlier out of his head, especially now that it’s dinner time, and he’s surrounded by his members, and his empty stomach is doing nothing to serve the coherence of his thoughts.
When they were first getting acquainted, Ricky could see the restraint in Gyuvin’s eyes each time he wanted to reach out and slap him on the butt or clap him heartily on the shoulder the same way he would with the others. It happened with other trainees too, who danced around Ricky like they were avoiding eggshells.
The main difference with Gyuvin is that it wasn’t an angry or overly-cautious-fearful or impatient kind of restraint, like he was trying to force back a tsunami with only a spoon, or not spook a sleeping fox. It was calm. Patient. Understanding.
It was purposeful, almost like he knew he didn’t have to be so so so careful but he wanted to be. Like a beekeeper who knows how to tread carefully so no bees end up underneath their feet. Like a grandmother who has been cooking for decades and no longer needs measuring cups or teaspoons, knowing the amount of ingredients she needs from heart and memory.
Ricky can hear Gyuvin’s words clearly in his head all the time, but a sentence he can’t let go of isn’t even one Gyuvin said directly to him:
“Ricky may look cold from the outside, but he gets hurt easily.”
Because that’s just it — most of all, besides the gentleness, Ricky is not used to being seen so clearly and so easily.
Gyuvin, the chronic butt slapper and hugger and face pincher and teaser, is someone who knows exactly when and how to touch Ricky and tease him so that his feelings or boundaries aren’t hurt or crossed. Gyuvin, who will smack Ricky with no real strength behind it, who knows where and when to poke and prod so it doesn’t actually sting. Gyuvin, who is startlingly aware of Ricky’s sensitivity and adjusts just so, wordlessly and consistently.
How Gyuvin manages to adjust to Ricky — who has been compared to a hurricane before, unpredictable and moody, although he knows that those descriptors don’t quite fit him — is truly impressive. It’s almost a given fact that Gyuvin is one of the only people in the world who can navigate safely through Ricky’s apparently torrential winds.
Even while deep in thought, Ricky feels a thigh against his own, and he knows by the curve of the bone and knee that it’s Yujin. He melts into it a little. Yujin presses closer and Ricky smiles.
It’s not that Ricky is averse to touch, like many people assume. It’s just not really how he primarily expresses his affection for people, but he does still like receiving it. He craves it nearly just as much as, say, Hao or Matthew does.
He also doesn’t openly act averse to it when he’s secretly okay with it, like the way Yujin often gets when he’s playfully being a ‘tsundere,’ a term that Yujin himself taught Ricky while they were watching anime even though Ricky already knew what it meant (but pretended not to.)
It’s only the small fact that Ricky has lines in the sand that must not be crossed, even if the tide washes them away until they’re nothing but faint marks, marks that everyone has either intentionally or accidentally ignored before. Everyone, except for Gyuvin, who saw the marks mere months after meeting Ricky officially. So is that princess treatment? Or is it just Gyuvin, in all of his naked gentleness?
And what if, screams a part of Ricky, what if Gyuvin is only extra careful with you because you are cold and he is afraid you will bite? What if he is careful because he is afraid his warmth will burn you? What if you are afraid because you know it will burn?
If only Ricky could accept love as easily as other people do. If only he was a puddle on the street instead of a hard wall of ice, still learning how to melt.
“Hey,” Taerae’s foot nudges his ankle, “Ricky, you there?”
Ricky blinks, brought back to the present: he’s lounging on the couch with Taerae and Yujin at his sides and everyone else is bustling about in the kitchen. It’s movie night, one of the first times they’ve had a full movie night during the past few months. They finally have the time now that Melting Point is out.
Taerae nudges him again. “Hey? Ricky?”
Ricky blinks and looks at Taerae with what he hopes is a genuine smile. “Ah, yes. I zoned out for a second. What did you say?”
Taerae gives him a quick smile. “It’s okay. Jiwoong-hyung was asking what kind of snack you want. He said the kettle corn is pretty sweet.”
Kettle corn. Gunwook likes kettle corn. And so does Gyuvin. Gyuvin, his mind repeats.
“Pfft,” Yujin says, sinking further into the couch and leaning slightly against Ricky’s arm as he scrolls through his phone. “Does he mean sweet like Ricky-sweet or sweet like grandpa-sweet? Do we really trust his grandpa taste buds?”
“Hey!” Jiwoong calls from the kitchen, his glare potent even from across the dorm as he stares at Yujin. “I can hear you from here, you know?”
Ricky laughs, shooting Yujin a quick thumbs up that Yujin returns. He turns his head to face the kitchen. “Kettle corn sounds nice, thanks hyung.”
Jiwoong smiles. “Of course, Ricky. Thank you for having manners, unlike some other dongsaengs around here.” He throws an aggressive point at Yujin’s direction, which has the other seven of them laughing.
Ricky takes a few seconds to watch Gyuvin’s face light up at all of the teasing because he gets his energy from watching his members suffer.
Ricky definitely, totally, does not think something embarrassing like, Wow, Gyuvin always looks so good even underneath kitchen lighting, before looking away.
“Rui-ge,” Yujin says, in a near perfect accent that has Ricky smiling.
“Hmm?”
Yujin holds up his phone. “Look at this funny video. Taerae-hyung, you too. Stop looking at Matthew-hyung and watch.”
Taerae freezes. “Wha — I wasn’t — ” he splutters, but he quickly gives up and leans over to look at Yujin’s phone.
Ricky can’t blame Taerae. He’d keep looking at the person he likes too, if he could. After they finish watching the first funny video and Yujin spares them a few seconds of freedom as he scrolls to find another one, Ricky takes the chance to do just that, his eyes finding the back of Gyuvin’s head immediately. He’s about to look away when Gyuvin turns and catches him staring, shooting an obnoxious wink his way. Ricky sticks out his tongue.
“Look at this puppy!” Yujin says, phone shoved in Ricky and Taerae’s faces again.
I’m already looking at one, Ricky thinks, feeling his insides warm at the sight of Gyuvin sending him a finger-heart. He’s going to look for as long as he can.
It’s a quiet evening. Hao and Hanbin just finished washing the dishes, and their Sunday schedule isn’t as packed as it normally is, so the two of them are laying down on Hanbin’s mattress, ankles touching as they look down at their respective electronics.
Hanbin looks over at Hao, blinks, and then rewinds the video. He chuckles and leans over to show his iPad screen. “Hey. Have you ever noticed how differently Gyuvin treats Ricky?”
“What do you mean?” Hao scooches closer on the bed, leaning over to look at the video.
“Here. For Gyuvin’s mission when he had to touch all our faces.”
Hao squints as he watches Gyuvin saunter around and jab everyone’s faces, affectionate in his excited-puppy way, until that is, he gets to Ricky — opting to poke Ricky gently on the side of the neck instead. “Huh,” Hao says. He glances at Hanbin. “Yeah, but isn’t that normal? Don’t we all do that with Ricky?”
Hanbin hums in agreement. “We do, of course we do! I mean, we treat everyone differently based on their personalities. But Gyuvin treats Ricky especially differently.”
“Their dynamic has been special since they first met,” Hao smiles, thinking back to their Yuehua trainee days. Once upon a time, the closeness between Ricky and Gyuvin would’ve made Hao slightly jealous, but now he only feels fondness. He wonders when that changed, and comes up with the answer easily: it had to have happened mere months after he first joined Yuehua and came to love his younger trainees like his own family.
“Hmm. You know, I believe that entirely,” Hanbin mirrors his smile. “I think we can say the same for you and me.”
“We can,” Hao says, poking Hanbin’s cheek with his nose. He glances down at the iPad and replays the clip again, observing the way Gyuvin carefully pokes Ricky to redirect his attention and then use it as an excuse to talk about the choreo, taking much more time and care compared to the way he’d just smushed the other members’ faces together with his grubby-grabby hands. “So, what made you decide to rewatch this video? It was weeks ago.”
“It’s really interesting,” is all Hanbin says. “I just want to make sure I notice these things.”
Sighing, Hao pats Hanbin on the head with a soft smile. “You’re a good leader, Hanbinnie. You really are, okay? Let’s put the iPad away and sleep.”
Hanbin’s protest dies on his tongue as he lets out a yawn. “Okay, okay. Sleep. No more internet for me.”
“Yes. Sleep, please.”
“I will. You’re a good leader too, Hao.”
“Mm.”
They both fall asleep smiling.
Ricky reads the comment again. And again. And again.
Gyuvin loves Ricky so much and is always teasing him and stuff. Why does it seem like Ricky doesn’t love him as much?
He feels a tear fall from his eye and watches as it drops into the sink. His throat is starting to burn from the sheer effort it takes to swallow the sobs threatening to escape his throat. Normally hate comments like these slide off Ricky’s back easily, but he’s felt extra sensitive about comments like this recently, and he desperately does not want them to be true in any way.
When he hears a knock at the door it takes a good few seconds for the sound to register. “Hey, Ricky? Are you done brushing your teeth?”
“Gyuvin?” He freezes, looking at his very dry toothbrush. “Hold on,” Ricky winces, wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve. “I’m almost done.”
“Alright. I’m boiling some water for us by the way. It should be done by the time you get out.”
“Thanks,” Ricky croaks. His eyes sting from how long he’s been staring at his phone and his legs ache from how long he’s been standing there. He looks up to glance at himself in the mirror.
I love Gyuvin, he thinks. He knows this. His love for Gyuvin is something that consumes him, that eats at him at every hour, loud at times, quiet at others, but a persistent ache nonetheless.
Does Gyuvin know that?
Is Ricky’s love enough? Is the reason Gyuvin doesn’t love him the same way because Ricky simply just isn’t… isn’t enough? What does enough even mean?
He splashes his face with icy water and lets out a shuddery sigh. It’s comeback era. They’ve all been working hard on the choreography for Crush and their lineup of promotions. The seasons are truly changing, and it’s been getting dark and cold much faster. He can always feel his anxiety growing the more the weather drops in degrees, a part of him upset that the sun always seems to disappear too fast.
Ricky wants more time.
Two and a half years.
“Ricky-yah,” Gyuvin sing-songs from outside the door.
“Qubing,” Ricky says back. “Kuibin,” he says right after, emphasizing the tones and smiling because it was he and Hao who first called Gyuvin by his Chinese name.
“That’s me. Now, seriously, I really need to pee, Kim Ricky!” Gyuvin wails.
Even with the storm raging inside Ricky’s head, Gyuvin manages to make him smile. “You can hold it in for just a little longer,” Ricky says, instead of “Just use the bathroom down the hall.”
“Fine,” Gyuvin huffs, instead of going and using the bathroom down the hall.
(Gyuvin waits, so he can brush his shoulder against Ricky’s and smile at Ricky as they walk past. Gyuvin waits, because he’s patient, and he doesn’t mind waiting, especially not for Ricky.
Gyuvin waits, because once the bathroom door finally opens and he walks in, he knows that the tube of toothpaste and floss Ricky deliberately placed on the counter is a reminder for Gyuvin to brush his teeth.
Gyuvin waits, because once he’s done showering and peeing, he walks back into the bedroom where there’s a mug of warm water waiting for him, freshly poured and in one of his favorite mugs, because Ricky remembers small things like that.)
Ricky settles, feeling content with Gyuvin’s head on his stomach and one of Gyuvin’s arms lightly draped around his waist. He’s even content with Gyuvin’s feet hanging off of the mattress, kicking up and down and sending vibrations all over Ricky’s bed.
“Look at this cool fanart of Jiwoong-hyung!” Gyuvin says, eyes bright and screen brighter as he turns his head slightly, gaze scanning Ricky’s face for his reaction.
Ricky’s awe is genuine and he says as much.
Gyuvin goes back to scrolling, occasionally showing Ricky his screen, but the whole time Ricky’s looking whatever fanart or meme Gyuvin angles toward him, a part of him is also taking careful note of the angles of Gyuvin’s semi-damp hair and the way it fans across Ricky’s pajama shirt, the soft angles of Gyuvin’s bare face, the gentle pressure of Gyuvin’s warm head over Ricky’s belly feeling like a blanket, like something that belongs there.
The storm of butterflies and lightning building in Ricky’s chest at the sheer domesticity of it all is familiar and dangerous and something Ricky is still getting used to. Gyuvin is something Ricky is still getting used to.
I doodle you all the time in my sketchbook, Ricky thinks, glancing at his phone and at the way the light from Gyuvin’s phone highlights his eyelashes in pale cerulean. When I look at fanart of the members, but especially of you, a part of me always thinks that you are all so much more beautiful in person. I miss you. Do you know I love you? You know I love you, right? Do you know do you know do you know —
“This fanart of you doesn’t do you justice,” Gyuvin huffs minutes later, as though he’s been reading Ricky’s mind. “You look way better in real life.”
Ricky half-disagrees, but he nods anyway, if only to see Gyuvin’s small triumphant smile. The sun might be setting sooner now, but Gyuvin’s smiles are still just as bright. Two and a half years. Ricky itches to paint Gyuvin and wonders if they will be lucky enough to be put together after ZEROBASEONE disbands. He hopes so. He can only survive for so long without the sun.
When Ricky and Gyuvin share a room, they tend to sleep in the same bed even though they don’t have to. Old habits die hard; especially when the habit-keeper never really tries to break them in the first place. Besides, Ricky gets cold easily and Gyuvin doesn’t, so when they share a bed, Ricky gets to soak up all the body heat he wants. Twenty-seven degrees celsius has never been warm enough for him, and Gyuvin has warmth to spare. (Ricky is selfish — Gyuvin is selfless. This, Ricky knows, is fact.)
True to his puppy-like nature, Gyuvin almost always falls asleep first, but Ricky doesn’t mind. He likes the not-silence of Gyuvin’s soft snores and breathing, of their heartbeats syncing up and ricocheting underneath the sheets. He likes how it’s just quiet enough for him to think, but just loud enough to keep him in the moment.
Tonight, Ricky falls asleep first: a rare occurrence. Gyuvin is whisper-rambling about a drama he recently finished, and Ricky is listening, really, he is. He asks questions every now and then, but his eyelids feel so heavy, and before he knows it, he’s almost totally under.
Ricky barely feels it when Gyuvin shifts to turn off the lamp, when Gyuvin takes his phone out of his hands, when Gyuvin caresses the side of Ricky’s head with his knuckles. He doesn’t hear Gyuvin’s quiet goodnight, or Gyuvin’s quieter, “I wish I could draw you.”
When Ricky wakes up, he pats the side of Gyuvin’s head and distantly wonders if Gyuvin likes being touched that way as much as Ricky does.
“Silly little dog,” Ricky says under his breath, twirling strands of Gyuvin’s hair around his pinky. He brushes the hair out of Gyuvin’s eyes and adjusts the blankets so they properly cover Gyuvin’s feet (can’t let him catch a cold, he’s been coughing a lot lately) and properly fit snugly over his shoulders (can’t let his joints ache from being exposed to the air conditioning, it’d make him feel more sore.)
Ricky doesn’t know that Gyuvin is awake while he’s doing all this. He doesn’t know that Gyuvin knows he says “I love you” through simple actions that mean essays alone, that his anxiety only gets worse if he chooses to believe his hate comments over reality, over his friends.
Ricky snuggles back into bed and checks his phone for a few minutes, relieved that they still have a couple of hours before they have to wake up for their weekend schedule, and quickly falls back asleep after. He doesn’t know Gyuvin then makes sure Ricky has more of the blanket, adjusting it so it drapes over Ricky’s back because he’d mentioned how sore it was last night.
Gyuvin knows. Gyuvin knows that in the silence, Ricky is loudest, and he will always try to be there and listen to the quiet.
It’s one of those days.
Although their comeback has been going well, Ricky feels numb and nervous and nauseous all at once, the exhaustion beginning to eat at him. He can see how it’s starting to gnaw at the other members too. And yet. Nothing Ricky does will ever be enough.
He knows he’s been getting less screen time and less visibility on their Instagram, he knows he’s one of the members who doesn’t have a solo thing going on for them (yet?) and he knows that he’s still very hated as much as he is loved.
He knows. He doesn’t need the threads on Twitter or Weibo to tell him. He doesn’t need the sadness or fury in his members’ eyes. He doesn’t need the sentiments of encouragement from his mother or his sister. They mean well, but he can’t take it.
He can’t take it.
“I don’t know if it’s helping,” Ricky says, quiet, but the silence of he and Gyuvin’s room past midnight is loud enough for his words to echo.
“Oh Ricky…”
He fights back the tears, trying not to ruin the moment because he and Gyuvin were literally laughing minutes ago at dumb videos, but his brain just couldn’t shut up. “I’ve been in so many of your lives now, Gyuvin. It’s not working.”
“You know it’s not your fault, right?”
“Then why does it feel like it is?”
“Whatever our shitty manager might say, our hate comments say, or whatever, they’re all wrong. It’s all just wrong.” Gyuvin puts down his phone and places a gentle hand on the small of Ricky’s back.
Ricky can only glare at him. “How can you say that and mean it so much?”
“Because. You made it,” Gyuvin answers easily, smiling bright. “You’re enough, Shen Quanrui. You’re trying and practicing hard.”
That’s when Ricky finally lets out his tears, crying more when Gyuvin pulls him in for a half-hug. “Your Chinese pronunciation is ass,” he says, laughing and crying at the same time.
“I’ll practice more,” Gyuvin promises, sounding genuine as always. “Maybe if I practice it for three hours like you do for your TikToks, I’ll become fluent.”
Ricky laughs, his tears drying. “I think it’ll take more than three hours for you.”
“You’re right. But that just means you’re stuck with me, because I’m gonna make you teach me a lot.”
I’ll teach you anything, Ricky thinks. How to say ‘I like mango.’ How to say ‘I like dogs.’ “You’ll be my worst student,” he teases, jabbing Gyuvin’s side with his elbow.
“I’m your only student!” Gyuvin gasps, mock-offended.
“No, actually. Yujin is my other one.”
“Ah, I see.” Gyuvin pouts. “I guess I will be your worst student, then.”
Ricky smiles, nearly forgetting why he was crying so hard in the first place. “ Wǒ ài nǐ,” he says, softly, watching as Gyuvin’s eyes light up.
“What does that mean?”
Ricky rolls his eyes. “You know what it means, asshole.”
Gyuvin only grins. “Ha. Yeah. I do.”
Wǒ ài nǐ.
(I love you.)
It was one of the first Chinese phrases that Ricky and Ollie ever taught to Gyuvin.
“Let’s go out to eat on Saturday before our schedules get too full again,” Gyuvin says, although it comes out a bit jumbled with his toothbrush still in his mouth.
Ricky pauses, just about to smooth out any wrinkles in his facemask. “What about the others?”
“We can have a small meal with them before. This’ll be just you and me.” Gyuvin smiles as he makes eye contact with Ricky in the mirror. Their shared bathroom suddenly feels too small. “Sound good?”
“Mm,” Ricky hums, knowing the face mask does nothing to hide his pleased smile.
Gyuvin leans in, the tip of his toothbrush poking Ricky’s neck. “Ricky. Answer.”
“Good,” he says, quiet, still meeting Gyuvin’s eye in the mirror.
“Ricky loves food so much,” Gyuvin drawls in his Ricky-voice, slow and deep and stupid.
I love Gyuvin, too, Ricky thinks. But not in the same way Gyuvin loves me. Ricky pats his face mask and steps away so Gyuvin’s toothbrush isn’t poking him anymore. “You should buy me three bobas on Saturday,” he says, glancing away.
“I bet I can drink a Large boba faster than you.”
“If you can’t, you’re paying for our whole meal.” Ricky looks back to find that Gyuvin is still staring at him, a toothpaste-foamy grin plastered all over his face.
“Bet.”
Ricky smiles again; he can’t help it. Even if his heart bleeds, well, he’s starting to get used to this. He has been for a long time.
Crack crack crack.