Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Jeonghan first comes across the article, it is already dark outside. While that does not say much about the time of day – it is winter after all, which means that starting 4 o’clock the world outside the windows is so dark it is barely recognisable – it does mean that the screen of his phone is uncomfortably bright against the soft yellow lighting in their living room. 

He is huddled in the furthest corner of their tattered beige couch (a colour Seungkwan still claims reminds him of the sand on a beach, but Jeonghan suspects might have once been white before the previous owner bought it), a blanket tucked around himself and his legs pulled all the way up underneath his chin. 

He knows that if Seungcheol was here, he would scold him for his rounded back and turtle-like neck, would pull Jeonghan against his broad chest so that he could use his shoulder as a pillow and laugh about whatever video is playing on his phone. 

But Seungcheol isn’t here, and that’s exactly the problem because Jeonghan is lonely and cold, the pictures of snow blanketing the streets of Seoul that Jun sent him earlier enough to make a shiver crawl up his spine, while Seungcheol is in a completely different city, shooting an advert. 

Jeonghan is sulking. 

They promised to call in the evening, but it's already late at night, and the last text he sent Seungcheol is still marked as unread, which is completely normal when someone is as busy as they are but also kind of makes Jeonghan feel as if Seungcheol no longer loves him.

Well. 

Logically, he knows that photoshoots can be unpredictable sometimes. Exhausting, most of the time. Maybe Seungcheol fell asleep sprawled on his dusty hotel bed, trying to stay awake long enough to talk to him. Maybe he is still at the site, clad in expensive designer clothes and hair sticky with gel, wishing he could call. Maybe he took the staff out for dinner, kind and generous as he is. 

But nothing about the unrecognisable mush of bitter jealousy and heavy sadness swirling inside the mixer of Jeonghan’s chest is logical, and so he stays hunched over on the couch, his phone clutched in his hand and eyes fixed on the screen so intently, he is starting to go cross-eyed. 

Outside, the wind is howling and pressing itself against the ancient walls of their apartment. Jeonghan pulls the blanket tighter around himself. 

In a surge of petty pride, he exits the messaging app with quick fingers and instead mindlessly opens one app after the other. He does not want Seungcheol to catch him waiting online like a lovesick fool, thinks he would die from embarrassment right on the spot. Because it would look a little too much like he’s pining, and if Yoon Jeonghan is one thing, it’s independent. Completely able to spend a single evening without pathetically yearning for a call from his boyfriend. 

First, he opens Instagram. Thousands of tiny pictures immediately scream for his attention. Look what nice colours I have, they shout. Can’t you see how pretty I am, they roar. But Jeonghan’s head is already loud and full enough, so he closes the app right away. Next is Twitter, but the chaos of black and white letters hurts his eyes. To the web, then. 

He is greeted by his for-you-page; a mess of articles so varied the difference is startling. Ten tips to lose belly fat, one headline reads. Tensions between North and South Korea continue, another says. Already overwhelmed by the number and noisiness of them, he moves to close the browser as well, and continue to hover over Seungcheol’s contact when a headline catches his eyes. 

The 5 Love Languages: How to Receive and Express Love. 

For a moment, Jeonghan simply stares at it, his finger hovering awkwardly in the air. There is a weird feeling of suspense in the room that he normally only experiences during award shows and horror movies. Then, he clicks it. 

Given that Jeonghan has never been particularly interested in psychology or those tacky relationship advice columns you can sometimes find even in the most reputable newspapers, he isn’t sure what makes him do it. Will deny to this day that it is because the headline has the word love in it, and right now, Seungcheol is the only thing occupying his mind. 

But click on it, he does nonetheless. And then, he starts to read.  

The five love languages describe five ways that people receive and express love in a relationship. These are words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch, acts of service, and receiving gifts…

~~~

The first gift Seungcheol gave him can barely be considered one. For most people, it would have seemed ordinary, insignificant even. But for Jeonghan, it meant the world.

It was right at the beginning of his time as a trainee with Pledis. The memories are fuzzy now, like the afterimages of a dream just about to slip through his fingers, but he can still remember the constant nervousness fluttering in his chest, the feeling of having gotten lost on the way home.

In the beginning, Pledis had been like that. A part of the city that he had never been to before, filled with strange people and even stranger rules, and Jeonghan had had no idea how to navigate either. It had been intimidating, and he had asked himself more than once whether becoming a trainee had been the right decision, whether he would ever fit in with the others.

While it may seem unthinkable now, his stage persona so confident and playful, Jeonghan tends to be shy around strangers. But being so out of depth had made him even shier, downright frightened. For the first few days – weeks, if he is honest with himself – he had not dared approach the others, had not spoken to anyone but his parents, hunched over his phone in a well-hidden corner of the dorms, suppressing tears.

They had all seemed so much more at ease than he had been. Talented, experienced. Handsome, hard-working. As if they had a map to guide them that he had been unaware of. Only later did he learn that they, too, had been afraid. That none of them, young as they had been, had had any idea of what they were doing.

It happened on his eighth day at Pledis. They had been practising dance, and Jeonghan, who had had low stamina and a too-thin body even back then, had been exhausted enough for his lungs to burn with every new breath and the back of his throat to taste faintly metallic.

He remembers the pure relief when the music stopped, and their instructor announced they were done for the day. The hard floor digging into his spine when he flopped onto the floor, breath rapid and vision swimming in front of his eyes. His cheap shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest.

The mirrors were damp with condensation, his reflection blurred. Since Pledis had been able to afford neither nice rooms nor functioning air conditioning, the crammed dance studio smelt of sweat and mould. Next to him, the sound of the other trainees groaning with exhaustion and quietly talking to each other echoed.

But what he remembers even more vividly is Seungcheol’s face as he leaned over him. At first, Jeonghan hadn’t even noticed the older member, too caught up in trying to slow his racing heartbeat. It was only when Seungcheol’s shadow fell on him and blocked the bright studio lights, that he opened his eyes and stared right back at him.

Seungcheol had been an enigma as a trainee. Even then, he had been one of the oldest, and though Jeonghan is not much younger, the age difference of a few months could as well have been a few years with how much he had cowered before him.

Seungcheol had been all the things he hadn’t been, confident, knowledgeable, and well-liked. And he had what Jeonghan wanted, a good relationship with almost anyone he passed, and an idea of how things worked around there.

It had not helped that Seungcheol is devastatingly handsome.

Sure, he is more handsome now, his silhouette sharper, his style better, his shoulders filled out. He had already been confident as a trainee but now he carries himself with a quiet surety, an indicator of how much he has grown compared to the scrawny teen desperately trying to stay afloat.

But for the Jeonghan back then, one look at Seungcheol’s toothy grin, chocolate-brown eyes and messy hair had been enough to make him fall head over heels for the older boy.

So when he opened his eyes and found Seungcheol hovering over him, hair damp with sweat and shirt hanging open dangerously, his heart stuttered in his chest only to then start hammering against his ribcage with a speed that felt both frightening and exhilarating at once.

“Jeonghan-ah”, Seungcheol greeted him with a smile that crinkled at the corner of his eyes. The now familiar endearment felt out of place coming from him then, indicating a closeness they had not reached yet.

“Hi”, Jeonghan croaked uncertainly, suddenly becoming overly aware of the strange bend to his limbs on the floor, the way his shirt had ridden up his side and exposed the soft flesh of his hips, the cakey feeling to his sweat-soaked skin.

In what he hoped was an inconspicuous movement, he sat up like a flower stretching towards the sun, making sure to tuck his shirt down and card a hand through his still-short hair.

Seungcheol, who had moved back slightly to give him space, grinned again in a way that he knew would one day be loved on screen and stretched his right hand forward. In it, he held a small bottle. When Jeonghan squinted at it, he recognized it as banana milk, the yellowish plastic shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

“I know it’s not much”, Seungcheol said and shrugged his shoulders in a way that was probably supposed to look nonchalant but only made him seem bashful, “But sweet things always cheer me up. I know how hard the first dance practice can be.”

With another sheepish smile, he reached forward and took Jeonghan’s clammy hand in his broader one. His skin was warm and rough as he wrapped his fingers around Jeonghan’s and closed them around the bottle. Jeonghan felt a jolt of electricity run through him as they touched.

“Fighting!”

(Even though with time, Seungcheol’s gifts became both more personal and much more expensive, Jeonghan will never forget the heavily sweet taste of that first banana milk running down his parched throat.)

~~~

These days, no one, neither the fans nor the members, is surprised whenever Seungcheol gives up a chair for him, picks up his trash, or opens a can of soda without being asked. But it hasn't always been that way.

As trainees, friendships had seemed like a commodity they could ill afford. After all, their days had consisted of so much practice they barely had time to care for themselves, let alone others, and the only constant had been competition. Someone had always been leaving the dorms, only to be replaced by two more fresh-faced terrified boys. An endless cycle of faces, too many of them to actually remember. 

To get attached had been a sure way to get your heart broken, and so getting too close to each other had felt like leaping into a body of water so deep you could not see the bottom. Possible, but also fucking scary.

Only after their debut, when they had tentatively started to believe that the thirteen of them would stay together for at least the next seven years of their lives, had the first real friendships started to form. So when Seungcheol had first begun to be nice to him – he had always been painfully kind, but never in a way that could be considered exceptional – Jeonghan had believed it to be a natural adjustment to their new circumstances. Especially considering that the managers had asked them to at least pretend to be comfortable around each other on screen.

Only after a few months did he notice that Seungcheol treated him differently than the others.

During those months, Seungcheol had opened take-out bags of food for him, bought his favourite snacks, recommended music that had made him think of Jeonghan, and kept the others quiet whenever Jeonghan had wanted to retire early because all of them had known how much of a light sleeper he was.

It had been overwhelming at first, so much so that Jeonghan had felt himself blush and fluster whenever he was in a room with Seungcheol. It had not been the first time someone had done him favours in order to catch his eye. Even though he still feels bashful when admitting it himself, Jeonghan is generally considered pretty, and more than one smitten girl - or boy - had tried to get closer to him this way.

But something about the sincerity in Seungcheol’s eyes, the almost casualness with which he did these things, sometimes not even glancing Jeonghan’s way as he handed him a pair of chopsticks or held open the door for him, had felt different. Not so much like vying for attention and more like genuine affection. With time, the overwhelming feeling changed into comfort, and Jeonghan got used to Seungcheol saving him a seat during meetings and a steaming hot cup of tea at his bedside after a particularly strenuous day of recording.

Yet, it took a live stream for him to finally discover that there was more to Seungcheol’s small acts of service.

At first, he hadn’t even been meant to appear. Instead, Seungcheol and a few other members had taken up one of the recording studios (back then, they had been nothing more than empty basement rooms with provisional backdrops) to talk to the fans. But those days, everything had still felt so new, every interaction with the fans precious.

Not that they don’t now, but the Jeonghan of the past was filled with a jittery need to take part in every schedule they had, to put his face out there and make sure he was remembered. Their success had been so uncertain then, and there had been a very real possibility of them not surviving the year, with Pledis being one of the smaller - and less wealthy - companies in the industry.

And so, Jeonghan, his hair long and brushing just past his shoulders, its weight still as uncomfortable as an ill-fitting shirt, made his way down the dim hallways to the studio. The members sat in a straight line, their smiles awkward and conversation stilted. They had nothing of the ease they possess now, all too big gestures and too wide grins.

When Jeonghan entered the room, the smell of instant ramen filled his nose almost instantly, and his stomach, the traitor, let out a loud growl. Their diets prohibited them from eating ramen, and as he breathed in deep, he could almost taste the spice on his tongue. Seungcheol waved him closer.

“Hi Carats”, he greeted and flashed the cameras his best winning smile. “How are you doing?”

Before he could actually read any of the comments, Seungcheol poked his side and raised his bowl of noodles towards Jeonghan. His stomach fluttered with anticipation as Jeonghan bend down awkwardly, one hand gripping his long hair, only to be stopped by Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, who handed him a hair tie. A hair tie he had kept on his wrist. A hair tie that was very obviously not intended for himself.

If they had not been live-streaming, Jeonghan might have asked why Seungcheol was carrying it. Might have given voice to the hot air balloon feeling swelling in his chest and floating up his throat at the sight of Seungcheol looking at him so expectantly, eyes wide and concerned.

Concerned for Jeonghan’s growling stomach, presumably. For his hair, that would have hung into the food.

Jeonghan swallowed, once, twice, before accepting the hair tie from Seungcheol. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the older member, not even as he bit into the noodles and his mouth filled with the comfortingly familiar taste of the broth, not when Seungcheol raised a hand to hold onto his fringe to keep it from being splashed with broth.

From that moment on, when looking at the circular red marks left behind on Seungcheol’s wrists and the tiny splatters of red sauce on his hand, Jeonghan knew that if he asked, Seungcheol would do anything for him. That if only he said so, Seungcheol would gift him the moon.

~~~

It was in 2022, Jeonghan’s elbow freshly wrapped in a cast and his stomach queasy with the very potent painkillers he had been given before being discharged from the hospital, that he first realized to what lengths Seungcheol would go to ensure they spend time together. 

By then, their relationship had lost its initial shyness and instead had settled into something a lot more secure and uncomplicated. Jeonghan, of course, had known that Seungcheol loved him. That there was very little the older member would not do for him. But there were still moments in which Seungcheol surprised him. 

He had gotten home earlier that day, the flat he shared with Seungkwan empty and too quiet for his liking, especially after the hectic non-privacy of the hospital. His arm had hurt, a constant sharp pain accompanying his every moment, and so Jeonghan had abandoned all good intentions of calling his parents and making himself something to eat in favour of wallowing on the couch. 

He had tossed and turned underneath the knitted orange blanket Seungkwan’s mother had sent from Jeju last Christmas, unable to find a comfortable position to lie in that did not aggravate his elbow. He had been exhausted, dangerously so, and the fact that none of his members had been there to listen to him whine and pout had made the situation infinitely worse. 

He had been prepared to pay them back after he had rested for a bit. Maybe by putting salt in their drinks, tying their shoelaces together, and hiding their phones. But then, the familiar jingle of the door code being typed into the keypad had rung through the hallway, and the front door had opened with a quiet swish. 

Jeonghan, too tired to care whether the newcomer was Seungkwan returning with convenience store food, or a robber prepared to knife him in the stomach, did not give any reaction. 

The person who made their way into the living room shortly after with heavy steps and rustling clothes was neither Seungkwan nor a robber. 

It was, clad in a jacket too big for him and clutching two plastic bags that looked close to bursting, his boyfriend. Seungcheol. 

“Tadaa”, Seungcheol chirped and, trying to hold out his arms wide in a gesture of surprise, stumbled under the weight of the bags. When Jeonghan did not give a reaction, he lowered them with a pout and crossed them over his chest. “Are you not going to greet your favourite boyfriend?”

“What are you doing here”, Jeonghan eventually asked. Don’t get him wrong, he was overjoyed. Ecstatic, in fact. But Seungcheol was supposed to be in a meeting. An extremely important, extremely mandatory meeting with the staff tasked with organizing their tour. The tour, that was taking place in a little more than a week. 

“I cancelled the meeting”, Seungcheol said, carrying the bags into the open-plan kitchen without sparing Jeonghan another glance. 

“You did what”, Jeonghan wheezed, dark spots dancing in front of his vision as he jumped up from the couch. The painkillers made the world in front of him blur and wobble. Seungcheol ignored him completely. 

“Coups-yah”, he pleaded, his legs underneath him as stiff as those of a newborn fawn as he made his way across the room. “What do you mean, you cancelled the meeting?”

“I cancelled, what do you think I mean?”

Jeonghan stopped on the other side of the kitchen counter, unsure what to do with himself as he watched Seungcheol unpack the bags. They were filled with meal kits, instant ramen, tea, and some of those colourful but bitter health drinks Jihoon brought everywhere with him. The more food Seungcheol pulled out of the bags, the more there still seemed to be, like one of those enchanted bags that sometimes showed up in fantasy movies. 

“But – “, Jeonghan floundered, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish, yet no sound coming out. He knew that he looked ridiculous. That if he had pulled this expression on camera, he would have been scolded by the managers. He could not bring himself to care. “But why?”

Seungcheol stopped unpacking in favour of levelling Jeonghan with an incredulous stare, which felt infinitely worse. There was a quiet steadiness to him that seemed to indicate Jeonghan was the one being ridiculous.

“I cancelled the meeting”, Seungcheol explained, his words long and slow as if he was speaking to a child, “Because my boyfriend just got discharged from the hospital after he underwent surgery. I would have come earlier to pick you up, but they wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Seungcheollie”, Jeonghan groaned, panic mixing with ill-advised fondness. With quick steps, he closed the distance between them and grabbed Seungcheol’s hand with his good one, staring imploringly up at the older member. “You need to go back to the company. Call them and tell them you’re having the meeting. You can’t just – that meeting was important!”

Seungcheol watched his frantic rambling with something akin to pity curling around the corners of his mouth. When Jeonghan’s words started to tumble over each other, he interrupted: “Hanie-yah. I know that the meeting was important. I was there when they announced it.”

Jeonghan was just about to open his mouth again and ask why on earth Seungcheol had cancelled it then only to spend a few more hours together, wanted to grab him by the collar and shake some sense into him, when Seungcheol let go of his hand to frame his face with his broader ones. 

“The meeting was important. But you’re more important to me. Let it be. They’ll survive waiting another day.”

And with that, he pressed a kiss to his lips. It was quick, just a fleeting touch. More of a distraction than anything else. But Seungcheol didn't need to distract Jeonghan, who was back to his fish eyes and fish mouth, watching Seungcheol as if he had grown a second head. 

“You’re impossible”, he murmured a second later, insides slowly relaxing at Seungcheol’s delighted laugh, a hysteric giggle already forming in his chest.   

~~~

Neither Jeonghan nor Seungcheol have ever been good with words. It’s mostly Jeonghan’s fault, his abhorrence for any expression of feeling that has not been bubble-wrapped in layers of sarcasm well-known, while Seungcheol is stubborn and tends to bouts of emotionality that make his toes curl. Jeonghan prefers to leave things unsaid, and Seungcheol needs to analyse a situation until it loses all its meaning in order to move on.

The two of them do not make a great pair in that regard.

It had been more difficult as trainees. Back then, everything had been unfamiliar, and the tension high. Jeonghan and Seungcheol had ended up fighting more than once, one of them withdrawing and the other chasing after, a never-ending cycle of misunderstanding and frustration. 

But with time, they had become better at communicating. Seungcheol had learned how to give space, how to wait for what was offered freely instead of demanding. And Jeonghan had learned how to be honest. Seungcheol has always remained better at it, though.

His words take on many forms and tones. They come in teasing lilts and shared laughs, but also in serious conversations shared over drinks or a fire. Sometimes, they carry a hint of something more, coming so close to betraying what is between them to the cameras that Jeonghan feels his heart jump into his throat. But most of the time, they are reassuring.

The year was 2023, and with Seungcheol’s knee injury, Jeonghan currently had the responsibility of the leader resting on his narrow shoulders, his nerves already frayed with the pain in his own ankle and his calendar a rainbow of colourful schedules. The fact that he had always despised being the leader and having all eyes on him, paired with the way the additional responsibilities kept sucking his already low energy reserves dry, did not help.

That day, Jeonghan was perched on the edge of a wooden bench in their waiting room – the staff had probably capitulated at the thought of arranging more than twenty chairs for them – and his body was brimming with nervous energy.

He had been fiddling with his hands for the better part of half an hour, only his iron will keeping him from picking at the nail beds and making the stylists’ job even harder. His leg was bouncing up and down with a speed and vehemence that was probably driving Seungcheol, who was sitting next to him, mad. The older member did not comment on it though, and Jeonghan was a little bit in love with him for it.

Seungcheol, clad in sweatpants and a loose hoody, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him and looking severely underdressed between the members in their shimmering costumes and heavy make-up, was leaning back against the wall, legs slightly open and shoulders loose. He looked relaxed in a way that Jeonghan wasn’t, and it made him feel slightly unhinged.

“Hannie”, Seungcheol sighed eventually, and Jeonghan was surprised it had taken him this long to interfere. “Stop that.”

A hand landed on his thigh, successfully pushing his leg down and keeping it still. Warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his pants, and Jeonghan felt it expel some of the airy anticipation in his veins.

“Why are you so nervous anyway?”

A thousand images swirled in his head at the question. The increasing attention they had gotten this year because of their recent album releases. The rising numbers of viewers whenever one of them turned on a live stream. The remaining concerts of their tour. The hours of recording blocked in his calendar for the next album. The faces of the members, worn out and exhausted after months of hard work. Seungcheol’s eyes filled with pain as he hobbled over the doorstep and into Jeonghan’s flat after his surgery. The number of painkillers Jeonghan was secretly swallowing every morning in hopes of making it just another month on his shattered ankle.

In the end, he settled for: “It’s the greetings.”

Next to him, Seungcheol broke into laughter.

“The greetings? Out of all the responsibilities that come with being a leader, it’s the greetings that do you in?”

Upon seeing Jeonghan start to bounce his other leg, he immediately grew serious again, but before he could pry deeper, Jeonghan burst out: “That and the staff meetings.” When hearing the croak in his voice, he cleared his throat and tried to twist it into more of an exaggerated whine. “There’s just so many of them.”

This time, Seungcheol did not laugh. Instead, he reached across the already small distance between them, a bridge across turbulent water, and grabbed Jeonghan’s hand in his. With careful fingers, he stroked across the irritated skin, pressed into the soft flesh at the base of his thumb.

Even that little touch, no matter how normal for them, had Jeonghan glance through the room in fear of hidden cameras and staff that did not work for them.

“Jeonghan-ah”, Seungcheol whispered quietly. “I don’t know why you’re worried exactly, but you don’t need to be. You’ll do great. I know you will.”

And for the first time that evening, Jeonghan let himself still, forced the jittery agitation away for as long as it took to take in Seungcheol’s velvety deep voice wrapping around the words, the unwavering trust in his eyes as he glanced at Jeonghan, the firm grip of his hand.

With a deep sigh, Jeonghan forced his lungs to expand slowly and as a result, felt his heartbeat slow.

“There you are”, Seungcheol smiled at him proudly, “You’ll be fine.”

~~~

Touch is possibly the most difficult to think of, if only because there is so much of it between them. Even as trainees, before the initial awkwardness had been worn down and moulded into something a lot softer and simpler, there had barely been a moment where they did not touch in one way or another.

Seungcheol’s touch is familiar. A broad hand resting at his hip, or a steady arm slung across his shoulder so obviously Seungcheol’s, Jeonghan does not need to turn around to know who it belongs to. It is protective. A hand pushing him behind Seungcheol’s back when a manager is particularly rude, a warm hug whenever they film outside and Jeonghan’s slim frame starts to tremble with shivers. His touch is calming. A chest pressed against his back, warm and steady. Fingers wrapped around his own, kneading the skin where his thumb meets the rest of his hand, a spot that – according to an article Seungcheol read somewhere – eases anxiety when pressed.

There isn’t a specific moment that the way Jeonghan and Seungcheol touched stood out. But if he had to choose, he would probably go back to their vacation in Jeju.

Seungkwan threw a fit when he learned they were visiting without him, his mouth pulled into a pout, and his voice pitched as high as on TV. His eyes, though, were fond as he saw them off, waving at them from the sidewalk with soft crinkles in the corner of his eyes until his figure became too small to see in the rearview mirror.

They took their own car, foregoing both the company of a manager and a borrowed car that might or might not have been tracked. On the motorway, Seungcheol rolled down the windows and let his arm hang outside while the wind tousled Jeonghan’s hair – long enough again to tickle the skin on his shoulders.

They played music not by Seventeen simply because they did not need to worry about copyright. They stopped at a rest stop and pulled their masks and caps deep into their faces to avoid being recognised, laughing at how much they resembled two people preparing to rob a bank and bought so many snacks they struggled to carry them back to the car.

Perched onto their seats with their feet resting on the dashboard, they stuffed their faces with tteokbokki, potatoes and chicken, wiping the sauces off each other’s faces and lingering just a tad too long. They kissed too, briefly, but without worrying about who might be watching, the tinted windows of their car a shield against the rest of the world.

Once they made it to Jeju, they walked along the beach, their arms linked and shoulders brushing, the sand protruding between their toes and the water salty against their skin. They ate at less-famous restaurants and they lazed around in their AirBnb, the sunlight warm through the generous windows and their bare skin tangled in scratchy sheets.

When Jeonghan thinks back to that time, he remembers the ease of their touch. Because while it is true that they touch all the time, there are certain limits they have to draw. Precautions they have to take. And even though Seungcheol has always given his affections freely, on Jeju Jeonghan experienced how it might have been if they had not been famous.

The open desire in Seungcheol’s eyes as he watched Jeonghan suck on an ice cream cone while walking along the coast. The protective way in which he grabbed Jeonghan’s hand when a girl watched him a bit too intently. The pure joy on his face when Jeonghan didn't try to be quiet during the night for fear of their members overhearing them, when he let Seungcheol hear just how much he wanted him. The next morning, the lines of their bodies blurring and melting into one.

When Jeonghan thinks back to Jeju, he cannot help but smile. 

~~~

Jeonghan blinks, his eyes burning from staring at the screen for too long. The article stares back at him. 

Huh, he thinks as he leans back against the couch, rolling his aching shoulders as he slowly comes back to himself. He has never heard of love languages before, still isn't sure if he believes in the grand psychological concept of them, but something about the way they made him think of Seungcheol, of their relationship throughout the years, has helped ease the aching yearning drumming against his ribs. 

And it made him smile. Thinking of how whole-heartedly Seungcheol loves him, how oblivious Jeonghan had been as a trainee even though Seungcheol had never once tried to hide his feelings. Yes, he grins silently and does not care how deranged he must look, laughing into the empty space of their living room. The article had been a good distraction. A great one even. 

But when he glances back down at his phone, determined to pull his chat with Seungcheol back up and maybe even get over his stupid pride enough to text him first – after all, Seungcheol had taken the first step so many times in their relationship – another thought occurs to him. This one a lot darker and sharp enough to cut through the cotton-candy-soft joy in mind. 

Over the years, Seungcheol has shown him his affection in so many different ways. Has made sure that Jeonghan feels loved again and again with no regards to his personal comfort. But what about Jeonghan? How do the love languages apply to him?

He tries to remember, searches the vast memories he shares with Seungcheol for any indicator of him using a love language. But he cannot find anything. Not a single memory.

If he is honest with himself, it does not even surprise him. After all, even the fans know that he makes Seungcheol pay instead of giving him gifts. That he isn’t good enough with words to provide comfort. He often lets Seungcheol initiate touch and would rather tease and play pranks than spend what others might consider quality time with his loved ones. And often, he is too lazy – or selfish, a hissing voice at the back of his head supplies – to do something for his members.

Out of the depths of his sudden doubt, another thought emerges, this one so terrible he feels his blood rush into his ears and his hands sweat. What if Seungcheol doesn’t even know how much he loves him? What if, one day, his boyfriend realises that there are people out there able to show their affection much more openly than Jeonghan?

With a whole-body shudder, Jeonghan abandons the thought, shoves it deep into the almost bursting box at the back of his mind he uses to dispose of anything and anyone that feels just a bit too uncomfortable for his linking. 

So what if Seungcheol is the more expressive one in their relationship? What if Jeonghan receives more than he gives? In the end, that just means he is exceptionally lucky. 

~~~

The next day starts off great. Jeonghan is on his way to film a variety show together with Seungkwan and Minghao, and throughout the whole car ride, the sun is shining through the windows. When they arrive at the location, the staff immediately hand him an iced coffee, just bitter enough to wake him up the rest of the way. As he sits down to get his hair and make-up done, one of his favourite songs plays through the speakers, and Jeonghan feels so full of joy that he hums to it as the make-up artists dusts his cheeks in a pretty pink.

Life is good, he thinks as he twirls the ice in his coffee and listens to the satisfying click of it. And it will be even greater when Seungcheol gets home tonight.

With a sudden surge of inspiration, Jeonghan pulls out his phone and snaps a mirror selfie, admiring the sharp contrast of the curlers in his still messy hair and the unnatural glow to his skin. Without thinking too much, he sends the picture to Seungcheol because he knows how much the older member will fawn over the exposed skin of his forearms and how long his hair has gotten.

He is rewarded only seconds later with a string of texts from Seungcheol – all caps and no punctuation. He locks his phone with a pleased grin and tunes into the stylists’ conversation.

“She’s just so different from how I thought she would be”, Haerin is mumbling around the hair clip clenched between her lips while her two hands are busy fussing with his hair.

“Mhm”, Eunbi hums from where she is perched on the chair next to Jeonghan, staring at the collections of eyeshadow spread out on the counter in front of her and making a pensive face. “First impressions can be deceiving.”

And maybe it’s because he has known the two of them for so long, or maybe it’s because of the giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach, but Jeonghan, who normally sleeps through the stylists’ conversations, asks: “What was your first impression of me?”

He notices the meaningful glance the two share even through the cherry blossom pink of his happiness. He hopes they don’t feel uncomfortable telling him the truth just because he is an idol.

“To be completely honest with you, Jeonghan-ssi”, Haerin begins, ignoring the warning glances Eunbi sends her way, “At the beginning, I thought you would be mean.”

“Mean”, Jeonghan bursts out, the bubble of joy he has been floating in all morning rudely popped. His coffee lies forgotten on the counter, the ice melting and its bitterness washed out into something watery and tasteless. His favourite song ends and is replaced by a ballad he has heard so often, he wants to roll his eyes at the melancholic guitar. The next notification popping up on his phone is from their manager, reminding him of his new diet. Life, suddenly, is not so good anymore.

Haerin laughs at the offended look on his face, and even Eunbi giggles behind her perfectly manicured hand.

“Not because of anything you’ve done per se”, she clarifies, and continues to rearrange his hair into something less resembling a bird’s nest. “You’re just so pretty. No one would be mad if you were vain.”

Jeonghan shrugs, feeling slightly relieved. This, at least, is something he has heard often. But Haerin does not stop there.

“And then there is the way you are on screen”, she smiles wistfully, her dimples showing, as if she is not currently delivering a lethal punch to Jeonghan’s heart. “You just seem a bit – egocentric, I’d say. The way you always tease the members. As if you’re playing them.”

And that’s, yeah, that’s fine, he thinks hysterically, even though his insides curl and shrivel at the words, and it feels as if his heart is ripped out of his chest, actually ripped out of his chest, blood and torn veins and all.

There’s a ringing in Jeonghan’s ears, sharp enough to drown out her voice as she continues: “In the beginning, I could never really tell whether you actually liked them.”

The rest of her words fade away as Jeonghan’s world becomes fuzzy at the edges, his heart slamming against the cage of his ribs with all his might and the bottom of his stomach falling away. The box, so carefully locked at the back of his mind, opens and all of his doubt starts pouring back out in a wave as black as the night, swallowing him whole.

He does not hear how she explains how different he is in real life compared to his image on screen, that the stylists all love working with him.

No, he is already far away, free-falling into the pitch-black darkness, drowning in himself.

~~~

He decides that Joshua is probably his safest bet. He briefly considered approaching either Seungkwan or Minghao, the former because he is living with Jeonghan and therefore the most practical choice, and the latter because Minghao has always been a mixture of emotional intelligence and peculiar calm, and Jeonghan could use both right now. The thought, however, was abandoned after he imagined Seungkwan’s teasing and Minghao’s disappointed glance.

And so, by means of exemption, his decision fell on Joshua.

It isn't even a bad choice, he thinks as he makes his way into Joshua's apartment building, the security guard stationed in the foyer nodding at him with a bored glance. Apart from Seungcheol and Seungkwan, Joshua probably knows him the best. And while the fellow 95 liner is prone to dramatics and almost as hopeless at talking about feelings as Jeonghan, he is much better at remaining focused when the situation requires him to, all gentle doe-eyes and soft words.

Yes, Jeonghan argues as he steps into the elegant elevator, certainly much fancier than the run-down one in his and Seungkwan’s building that is just as fickle as their boiler, Joshua will be able to help him. He has no doubt about it.

His conviction is tested only a few minutes later when Joshua, clad in a grey fluffy bathrobe and sunglasses on his head despite the darkness in the hallway, opens his front door with a wine glass in his hand.

Jeonghan makes an unintelligible sound that miraculously must have expressed his confusion correctly because Joshua leans in and whispers in a voice so harsh it sounds as if he is dragging the words across sandpaper: “The best cure for a hangover is more alcohol.”

Jeonghan flinches back, both because of the ridiculousness of the statement and the staleness of his breath and shoulders his way past Joshua and into the sparkling interior of his apartment.

The flat, high on the thirty-eighth floor of a modern high-rise building overlooking the streets of Seoul, looks very much like Joshua. The furniture is sleek and coloured in a tasteful black that Jeonghan has only ever seen on display in furniture houses. The walls are a deep green, the paint spotless. On the shelves, Joshua keeps expensive wines and oils, Italian pasta, and sophisticated artwork.

In summary, his apartment is polished and tasteful, and Jeonghan hoped to find Joshua in the same condition so that he could arrange the mess in Jeonghan’s head into something equally as neat. Instead, the Korean American lets himself fall onto the couch with a sigh so deep and full of suffering it could indicate that he is tired, dying of cancer, or lamenting about the world ending tomorrow.

“What’s up”, he finally drawls, ever Jeonghan’s counterpart in all things dramatic and fixes him with – what he presumes to be underneath the sunglasses – a curious stare.

Jeonghan, against his better judgement but aligned with his hate for feelings (especially the jittery anxiety and self-doubt tugging insistently at his pulse), reaches across the table for Joshua’s wineglass and downs it. It tastes bitter and dry, and he has to breathe deeply through his nose to avoid coughing. Joshua raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him, in curiosity or acknowledgement, he isn’t sure.

“I want to ask you something”, Jeonghan says, and watches Joshua’s mask of cockiness slide off his face at the quiver in his voice. “It’s about me.”

“You”, Joshua asks and abandons his curled-up position in favour of sitting straight across from Jeonghan and giving him his full attention. “What about you?”

“It’s just –“, Jeonghan starts but suddenly it feels as if the words have formed a slim rope that wraps itself around his throat, tightening with every second and cutting off his airflow. He wipes his shaky hands against the expensive fabric of his pants and watches Joshua follow the movement with hawk eyes.

“It’s just me”, Joshua says gently, his words soft enough to snuggle underneath the rope around Jeonghan’s throat and loosen its hold on him.

He breathes deeply and reminds himself that Joshua is one of his oldest friends. The one who, when as trainees the world seemed too much and both of them were close to collapsing under its weight, promised to leave the company together with him.

But no matter how much he trusts Joshua with his life, talking about his relationship with Seungcheol seems as impossible as climbing a mountain. A very tall, very rocky mountain. Even though Joshua had been the first to notice Jeonghan’s attraction to Seungcheol (even before he had known himself), they had rarely spoken of it afterwards.

Jeonghan suspects it’s because Joshua and Seungcheol are also friends. Or maybe because he rarely feels as vulnerable as he does when allowing even the slightest glance at the bright ball of feelings in his chest that belongs exclusively to Seungcheol.

So even though Joshua is his best friend, talking about Seungcheol feels a tad too personal. Or maybe it is exactly because he is his best friend that Jeonghan is sure Joshua will be able to see right through him and notice what is hidden underneath. All his ugly insecurity and self-doubt.

He settles for something less risky but still close enough to the truth.

“Do I seem”, Jeonghan begins slowly, “As if I don’t love you guys?”

For a second, the world around them seems to hold its breath. Jeonghan, his shoulders hunched into himself and the expression on his face undoubtedly pathetic. Joshua, earnest and alert, leaning across the table between them. The old-fashioned clock on the wall, ticking loudly.

The silence is broken by a burst of laughter, so abrupt that even Joshua is surprised by it, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. But once he starts, he cannot seem to stop. He looks possessed, as if his teenage self has come to take over, much more immature and impressible, Joshua’s normally calm face pulled into a grimace, his body curled into itself. He is giggling and clutching at his stomach, and Jeonghan watches him with a sinking feeling in his gut.

“You –“, Joshua presses forth between laughter, his voice breathy and quivering. “Of course you do. You are terrible.”

Behind his obnoxious sunglasses, Jeonghan cannot see his eyes. But he can imagine what they must look like. Suddenly, he is reminded of the staff member that had approached him after a Going Seventeen shooting once, lips curled in disgust and eyes glittering with hate. Do you enjoy betraying them, the man asked and before Jeonghan could answer, turned his back on him. (He figured it out later, after the episode had been released and twitter was flooded with tweets written by Carats saying much of the same thing)

His insides tighten uncomfortably at both the memory and the realisation that maybe his pranks aren’t as well received as he thought they were. That maybe, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth, the members believe he does not love them. That Seungcheol believes he does not love him.

Jeonghan’s head whirrs with an onslaught of questions and thoughts, none of them safe enough to examine. A few still make it past the thick walls he has built around his mind, and he clenches his eyes shut as they start to grow louder. Have his members been hiding how upset they really are all this time? How long does he have left before Seungcheol decides to end their farce of a relationship? And – here Jeonghan’s heart feels like breaking – what if one day, Seungcheol really does leave him because he cannot love him back as much as he deserves?

While Jeonghan is experiencing an existential crisis the scale he has not felt since his twenty-third birthday, when none of his choices seemed right and his skin stretched across his bones uncomfortably as if it belonged to another, Joshua waves a dismissive hand at him.

“Bring me a glass of water”, he demands. “You terrible, terrible man.”

When Jeonghan leaves his apartment not long after, it is with a heavier heart but also with a plan. Because while he cannot change the past, he can damn well make sure that Seungcheol never has enough reason to leave left him. Armed with the fateful article and newfound knowledge about both the five love languages and his own inadequacy at using them, Jeonghan sets to work.

~~~

He decides to start it off easy. Something that doesn’t draw too much attention. Something Seungcheol might not even notice, at first.

Contradictorily, it is touch. Because whereas the Jeonghan of old, the insecure trainee intimidated by everyone and everything, had been so flustered by Seungcheol’s hand wrapped around his own, their relationship now is founded in it.

Not a day goes by where they don’t interlace their pinkies underneath the table during a meeting, where Seungcheol doesn’t wrap his arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder while they’re on standby when filming, where Jeonghan does not let his head fall against Seungcheol’s shoulder during the ride back home.

Surely, it won’t be too obvious if he starts to initiate touch a little more. Or so he thinks.

He first tries it during a family night. They decided to order delivery food and Soju to Mingyu and Wonwoo’s flat, and Jeonghan had been looking forward to the evening all week, a rare commodity these days. Mainly because he will be able to spend time with his members outside of work. But also because Seungcheol will be there.

The flat is surprisingly clean for two guys in their twenties, and Jeonghan doesn’t even have to look into the fridge to know that it is a lot better stocked than his own. If not for their many disagreements, he would have chosen Mingyu as a roommate. His cooking makes for a very convincing argument.

When he gets there, Seungcheol is already perched on the dark blue sofa, the huge TV painting him in blue light, looking tender and domestic in wide sweatpants and an even wider sweatshirt. Jeonghan is gripped by the sudden urge to crawl beneath the excess fabric, to curl himself underneath Seungcheol’s shirt like a blanket. He settles for pressing a shy kiss to his forehead.

Mingyu hollers from the kitchen. Seungcheol blushes. All is normal.

But that’s when Jeonghan gets the idea. Because this is normal for them, right? They have never hidden their relationship from the others (Seungcheol’s idea), but they have also never made a big deal out of it. Sure, they touch in front of their friends. But they also touch in front of the cameras.

It’s never scandalous, or sexy, or possessive. Because they are idols. Because the other members are like their children, and Jeonghan feels hot shame at the thought of doing anything inappropriate in front of them. But maybe they need to spice things up? Maybe that will show Seungcheol how much he means to Jeonghan?

The thought of it feels strange, too much, but isn’t that what love is supposed to be? Too much? A little uncomfortable? Are you not supposed to step out of your comfort zone in order to grow? Jeonghan makes a decision.

With sure steps, he halts his journey into the kitchen to steal whatever delivery food Mingyu is currently arranging onto plates that are a bit more durable than the see-through plastic they were delivered in and instead veers back towards the couch. When he plops down next to Seungcheol, he finds himself on the receiving end of an incredulous stare.

But his boyfriend wouldn’t be his boyfriend if he didn’t take his weird habits in stride, lifting an arm to wrap it around Jeonghan’s shoulders as he lets himself fall into his side. It’s warm and tame and not at all what Jeonghan was going for. They do this on camera.

With a deep breath, he wriggles higher until he comes face to face with Seungcheol. His boyfriend’s eyes are slightly wide and perplex. He smells like caramel and practice room sweat and alcohol, and Jeonghan closes his eyes and breathes him in. Then, he leans forward and captures his lips with his own.

There are no butterflies. Never have been, because soon after they had first started dating, Jeonghan realised that butterflies were for performing on stage, speaking in front of an audience, and meeting new people. Butterflies were for anxiety, and with Seungcheol, there was nothing to be anxious about. Seungcheol was steadfast comfort, and quiet words, and safe hugs. Seungcheol was home, and Jeonghan had never been so sure of anything else.

Instead, there is warmth, first small, and then bigger, an inflating balloon pressing into his ribs and expanding, expanding, until he isn’t sure his body is big enough to hold it. It feels like coming home after a long day, like falling into bed, and letting out the longest sigh ever, and feeling all of the tension seeping out with it. It feels like kimchi jjigae in winter, cold limbs slowly heating up until all they are filled with is comfort, the kind of warmth that only comes from within.

He feels Seungcheol tense underneath him, and for a second, he is worried he is going to push him away, but then Seungcheol’s arm sneaks to his waist, and his other hand comes up to cup Jeonghan’s cheek and, oh, yes, now the feeling is certainly too much because it spills out of his eyes and his mouth and –

“Hyungs”, Chan squeaks.

Seungcheol rips himself away, his face beetroot red, and Jeonghan tips forward at the sudden loss of support and only barely manages to catch himself before faceplanting into Seungcheol’s lap. He wouldn’t mind, normally, but even for him, that would be a bit too daring right now.

“Ah”, Seungcheol coughs intelligently and blinks, his eyes wide. “Ah, yes. Chan.”

“Yes”, Chan says, his hands stemmed into his hips. “I have been known to call myself that.”

The look he gives them is so scathing, that Jeonghan would have been proud if it had not been directed at him.

“Seriously, hyungs”, he chides, and Jeonghan has never felt so small. “Get a room or something. You’re not usually like this.”

“I – yes”, Seungcheol stammers. It’s a betrayal in Jeonghan’s book because he knows that Seungcheol enjoyed himself, and also, what is so bad about kissing his boyfriend in front of his family?

But Seungcheol doesn’t seem to think the same because he stays meekly quiet throughout dinner and flinches every time someone speaks to him. He also doesn’t look at Jeonghan.

Even though he can still taste Seungcheol’s cherry lips against his own, it stings.

~~~

He decides to go for words of affirmation next. Even though it’s probably the love language that gives him the greatest headache, he figures it would be good to get it out of the way. Doing the hardest task first, and all that.

It’s just the question of how to go about it that he can’t find an answer to, because if he suddenly starts blurting out lovesick nonsense, the others will catch on immediately. It’s not something he would usually do, which kind of is the whole problem, but also makes his plan a lot more difficult.

But luck seems to be on his side for once when the members gather to discuss the lyrics for an upcoming song. Over the years, even though Jihoon still takes on most of the behind-the-scenes work that comes with writing and producing their music, the members have started to contribute more and more.

The part that Jeonghan hates the most about that is having to participate as well. Writing lyrics, unsurprisingly if one considers his current mission, is just as much of a headache as expressing his feelings. He handles words like hot coal, and all Jeonghan can produce are crumbling pieces of lyrics, scorched black and too hot to touch.

Some of the others are doing a much better job, though. And with the upcoming album, he knows that many of them are looking forward to submitting their work and showing the fans that they, too, are talented. He certainly knows how much Seungcheol has waited for it.

“Right”, Jihoon begins awkwardly, still not used to the collective attention on him. He pulls up a document containing all the lyrics the members sent him over the last few weeks to project it onto the wall behind him. “Let’s have a look at it.”

Jihoon is good at these things. He takes the lead without making it seem as if he is the one making the decisions. He praises Seungkwan’s writing until the younger member blushes so hard he has to fan his face and lets Hoshi down gently while explaining that his lyrics aren’t suitable for the concept.

Jeonghan watches the whole affair with fondness, his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile tugging at his lips. He is a little – very – proud of Jihoon.

“Coups-hyung”, Jihoon smiles, and Jeonghan sits up a little straighter. “I really liked your submission, but I think it would be better suited for the next comeback, tone-wise. Would you be okay with saving it for later?”

And Jeonghan has known Seungcheol long enough to recognise that the eager nod he gives Jihoon is false. That somewhere deep down, he feels hurt at the rejection. Jeonghan takes his chance.

“I think they’re great”, Jeonghan blurts out and when twelve heads swivel in his direction, feels as if his face is on fire. He is vaguely reminded of monthly evaluations as a trainee, particularly that one time when his voice broke so often singing a single song, the lyrics were barely recognisable.

“I – thank you?”

Seungcheol is looking at him with wide eyes, obviously flustered. Next to Jeonghan, Mingyu leans across the table to study him carefully.

“Hyung”, he says slowly, and Jeonghan can hear the teasing tone in his words. God help him. “Are you having a heart attack?”

Turning his head, he whispers to Wonwoo, the words unnecessarily loud and exaggerated: “Is he having a heart attack?”

Jeonghan wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, wants to flick a switch and become invisible. His stomach clenches violently, and his hands are sweaty. He hasn’t been this nervous since he was a trainee, but still, he pushes on because he has promised himself he will do better. For Seungcheol.

“It’s just”, he stammers, the words burning like acid on his tone. His instincts tell him to swallow them right back down, but he forces them out anyway. “You’re great. And your lyrics are also – great. So don’t listen too much to Jihoon-ah, because your music is really –“

“Let me guess”, Seungkwan drawls next to him, but Jeonghan ignores him with the determination of a soldier heading into battle.

“- great”, he finishes at the same time as Vernon, who is mouthing along the words next to him.

Across the table, Seungcheol looks slightly dazed which makes it obvious he is caught somewhere between marshmallow-squishy fondness and real concern.

“Thanks, Jeonghan-ah”, he settles on, a bit more formally than Jeonghan would have liked, but it’s an acknowledgement nonetheless. He lets out a breath of air and feels some of the nervousness leave his body. The embarrassment stays, though. It says for the rest of the meeting. As does the slight feeling of failure.

~~~

After the meeting, Joshua approaches him. He tries to be smooth about it, shows him pictures of a new restaurant he wants to go to and slings an arm across Jeonghan’s shoulder. Joshua uses it to steer him out of the meeting room and into an adjacent deserted studio so naturally, that Jeonghan does not realise what he is doing quickly enough to protest.

Once they’re in the studio, though, the tense atmosphere settling like a blanket over them is hard to ignore.

“Jeonghan-ah”, Joshua starts. He ruffles a hand through his hair like he does whenever he is mad, or frustrated, or extremely flustered, and looks at a spot somewhere above Jeonghan’s shoulder. He hasn’t seen him this uncomfortable since Joshua admitted he had been using his toothbrush during their last tour. “I just – I feel like there might have been a misunderstanding:”

“What misunderstanding”, Jeonghan asks. He tries to remember a conversation Joshua could be referring to but comes up blank. They haven’t talked much at all recently, their schedules much too busy for idle chit-chat.

“When you came over that day”, Joshua begins and looks at him with wide eyes. Jeonghan can’t tell what he is supposed to see in them. “And asked me whether it seemed as if you don’t love us.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you –“, Joshua looks as if he wants to disappear into thin air, “Did you mean that? Like, was that a serious question?”

“Of course it was.”

“Right. Of course”, Joshua stutters. He seems ill and confused, like someone who has spent a lot of time napping in the sun. Is it possible to have a heatstroke in winter? Does he have to tell the company to turn down the heating?

“I just – The question was so ridiculous, I didn’t think you actually meant it”, Joshua explains. He has started nervously worrying at the artful fringes on the bottom of his cropped hoody and Jeonghan wonders absentmindedly if he should stop him, if the material is expensive. “You know it’s not true right? I don’t think any of us have ever doubted that you love us for even a second.”

And that’s sweet of him, it really is. Very typical of Joshua, to worry about Jeonghan’s hurt feelings more than the truth. He doesn’t know whether he should feel offended or touched by the gesture given how obviously Joshua is lying.

He settles for awkwardly patting Joshua’s shoulder and ignoring the slightly green tint to his skin. After all, what does it matter anyway? He has a plan and it’s working, more or less. Soon, Joshua will mean it when he says he knows Jeonghan loves them.

“Thanks”, he says and smiles widely. Words of affirmation, right? “For telling me. That was very nice. Very, very nice.”

~~~

Here’s the thing. They don’t often have time off together these days.

Of course, they have always been busy. They’re idols, after all. But recently, with the unprecedented success of their most recent album, there are more photoshoots, advertisements, and variety shows than ever. It feels a bit like running a marathon; muscle memory propelling them forward, so they don’t lose momentum.

Jeonghan likes it. Likes the acknowledgement he knows many of the members have been so desperately waiting for and the pride of their fans. What he doesn’t like is the effect their success has on his relationship. Seungcheol, ever the busiest of them with his additional responsibilities as a leader, is barely ever home, let alone at Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s flat and with time, he sees the dark circles underneath his eyes, and the tense set to his shoulders get worse.

So when Seungcheol tells him that his schedules for the day were cancelled (a manager had caught the flu, and the company did not want to risk Seungcheol’s health), it takes him all of three seconds to whip out his phone and cancel his plans with Soonyoung as well.

The nagging voice at the back of his head scolds him for it. After all, they had made plans to visit a new restaurant, a promising but less-famous one Soonyoung had managed to find, weeks ago but the thought of finally working on the quality time aspect of his love languages outweighs the guilt.

When he jumps into the same car as Seungcheol without saying a word, his boyfriend throws him a quizzical look.

“Weren’t you supposed to meet up with Soonyoung today”, he asks, and Jeonghan ignores him with ten years’ worth of practice. Instead, he spider-walks his fingers across the car seat between them until he can wrap them around Seungcheol’s pinkie. It shuts him right up, Seungcheol’s ears red as he averts his eyes. It always does.

Jeonghan lets himself fall back against the headrest with a pleased hum, and his eyes slide shut. The car rumbles beneath them, the sounds of the city muffled. Seungcheol lets go of his fingers in favour of wrapping his hand around them instead. He feels content. For a second, he doesn’t even think of the love languages looming at the back of his head.

When they get to Seungcheol’s flat - his brother out of town on a business trip - Jeonghan knows he won’t be able to escape the questions much longer but follows Seungcheol anyway. The elevator ride is quiet, and the bright light paints their skin in a sickly pallor. He leans against Seungcheol’s side and revels in the way his arm wraps around him automatically.

When they enter the flat, Seungcheol turns around and fixes him with a strict stare, and, okay, Jeonghan has seen the argument coming from a mile away, but can he not take off his shoes first?

“Why are you here”, Seungcheol mumbles, and even though Jeonghan knows it’s not meant to be mean, he bristles.

“Gee”, he laughs, forced. Bends down to take off his shoes to avoid Seungcheol’s eyes. “Make a man feel welcome.”

“You know that’s not what I mean”, Seungcheol protests, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. “But you were meant to meet up with Soonyoung. And now you’re here. I’d like an explanation.”

“Is it really so weird that I want to spend time with you?”

Jeonghan switches gears, and lays on the aegyo, thick and sticky on his tongue. Bats his eyelashes in a way that would have the stylist noonas giggling. Steps a bit too close when he makes his way past Seungcheol and into the living room. It seems to work for a moment, if the bobbing of Seungcheol’s throat as he swallows is anything to go by, but –

“Did you fight”, Seungcheol asks as he grabs his sleeve and keeps him in place. Jeonghan freezes. Is it really that hard to believe he is spending time with Seungcheol just because he wants to? Does Seungcheol think Jeonghan only uses him as some kind of consolation whenever the other members don’t have time for him?

“Of course not”, he chides but it sounds fake and shrill. “Come, let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

Seungcheol doesn’t believe him, that much is obvious. But he lets himself be tugged into the kitchen anyway and Jeonghan considers it a win.

He considers it less of a win when Seungcheol looks at him over dinner – all concerned chocolate-brown eyes and warm hands on his arm – and asks him whether Jeonghan wants to talk about his argument. The one with Soonyoung. When Jeonghan laughs him off, the concerned lines on Seungcheol’s forehead only get deeper.

He gets slightly annoyed when Seungcheol, wrapped around him on the couch, and a movie playing in the background, tells him that he knows how difficult discrepancies with the members can be for Jeonghan and that he is here to listen to him. He’ll even help if asked. Jeonghan awkwardly pats his leg.

But he really loses his patience when Seungcheol turns his head away from him when Jeonghan moves to kiss him and says gravely: “Don’t do this when you don’t feel great, Jeonghan-ah. I know how upset you are about Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung.

Normally, Jeonghan loves their dance leader with all his heart. He plays along with his tiger agenda, teaches him computer games, and sometimes, to commemorate their trainee days, even lets him tag along his weekly walks around Seoul’s prettiest parks. But right now, he would like to erase him from existence.

Fuck love languages and quality time and all this talk of betterment. Right now, Jeonghan is furious. Not even the cold kind of furious that creeps into his veins and turns them into ice. The one where he can keep a clear head. No, this is hot, boiling fury. Jeonghan is a volcano about to erupt.

“If you continue talking about Soonyoung”, he says, and it takes all his strength to keep his anger from bleeding into the words, “I might start to think you like him more than me.”

“You know I would never pick sides.” Jeonghan wasn’t aware that there had been sides, so it’s possibly the worst thing he could have said. The toothpaste Seungcheol is currently pressing onto his toothbrush gives a little squeak. Jeonghan thinks it’s right to be afraid. “I just don’t like it when you guys fight.”

“All night”, Jeonghan presses out from behind clenched teeth. He sees Seungcheol still and slowly glance up at him. If he wasn’t so mad, the regret clearly painted onto his face would have been funny. “All night, you talk about him. Soonyoung this, Soonyoung that.”

“That’s not – ”, Seungcheol starts, but Jeonghan does not let him finish. He has had enough. All his effort, all his hard, hard work, and Seungcheol is still more oblivious than a goldfish.

“No, it’s okay”, Jeonghan waves him off and knows his face is doing something grotesque. When he turns around to stalk out of the bathroom, Seungcheol hot on his heels, it feels like a necessary evil. He is a ticking time bomb, and he needs distance to avoid blowing up right into Seungcheol’s face. “I’ll leave since I am clearly not wanted.”

“Jeonghan-ah.”

“You could call Soonyoung over”, he laughs cruelly. Hates himself a bit for it. “I’m sure that would be lovely. A nice hyung-dongsaeng evening. He will be so happy.”

“Jeonghan-ah.”

“I hope you have fun”, he trills, and because he knows it will hurt, throws Seungcheol the loveliest smile he can muster. “I know when I’m not needed.”

The door swings shut behind him with a bang. If he tries really hard, he can pretend he never saw the quiet anguish on Seungcheol’s face. That he never felt a pang of disappointment when his boyfriend didn’t run after him.

~~~

The way home is long and cold. Against better judgment, Jeonghan has forgone calling a driver in favour of walking, and the pathetic tremble in his leg has made him regret it after the first few hundred meters. He is an idol. He should have better stamina than this.

The winter air bites at his skin as a cool breeze ruffles his coat, and he has to suppress a shiver at the feeling. He isn’t wearing the right shoes for this, the sneakers he put on for dance practice not doing much to keep out the cold, and he is pretty sure he cannot feel his right big toe anymore.

As he shuffles his way down Seoul’s busy streets, Jeonghan cannot help but think back to their fight. The helplessness he has been feeling recently whenever one of his tries at making Seungcheol feel loved backfired. And now this. The damn cherry on top.

How could a single well-meant evening turn into this? Into ugly words and disappointed glances and ice-cold hands? Relationships are difficult, and feelings are even more difficult, but at least between the two of them, Jeonghan and Seungcheol were always able to figure things out.

Now, it seems there is a rift between them too wide and deep to cross, and Jeonghan fears that he put it there.

With a sigh, he slides his clammy fingers into his coat pocket to fish out his phone. He hoped to see a missed call from Seungcheol, but instead, there are about thirty messages from Soonyoung. He huffs an ironic laugh. Soonyoung again.

He glances at the deserted sidewalk and bony leaf-less trees passing him by. Still such a long way from home. He presses the call button.

“Hyung”, Soonyoung squeals as soon as he picks up. “Are you okay? You didn’t explain why you cancelled, and then you never answered again. Did you fall ill? Did someone break into your house? Did the company cancel our contracts?”

“Soonyoung-ah”, Jeonghan sighs. His voice sounds brittle, but he is too tired to turn it into something a little more whole. “What are you up to?”

Soonyoung pauses. Jeonghan takes a deep breath and waits for him to figure it out.

“Did JJongddol die?”

Soonyoung has never been the brightest of them.

“No”, Jeonghan laughs and switches his phone into his other hand. His fingers have gone numb, and when he breathes out, little clouds form in front of his mouth. He vaguely registers that the snow has seeped through the thin material of his sneakers and wet his socks.

“Are you – are you outside”, Soonyoung asks incredulously. “Walking? Hyung, are you okay? Why would you be walking?”

“Just felt like it”, Jeonghan says. When a particularly loud car thunders past him, he asks himself the same question. His legs – burning only minutes ago – are so numb he can no longer feel them and he is surprised to see they are still trudging on when he looks down.  

“Did something happen with Seungcheollie-hyung”, Soonyoung asks finally, much quieter. While he has never been the brightest, he always managed to get there in the end.

“Mhm”, Jeonghan hums.

“He texted me earlier”, Soonyoung whines and Jeonghan can picture the pout on his lips, the downturn of the corners of his mouth. “Went all leader-like on me.”

“Leader-like”, Jeonghan asks and stares at the sky high above. Remembers the panicked confusion on Seungcheol’s face, toothbrush halfway up to his mouth. His heart twinges.   

“Yeah, apparently I upset you”, Soonyoung drawls but Jeonghan has known him long enough to detect the real hurt underneath the words. “He told me to apologise to you.”

“Ah”, Jeonghan sighs and fiddles with the buttons of his thin coat. Seungcheol the protector. “I’m sorry.”

“Hyung”, Soonyoung asks after a few seconds of silence. “Are you okay? You’ve not been acting like yourself lately.”

“Yeah”, Jeonghan says, even though they both know it’s not true and tries not to remember how all his plans unravelled right in front of his eyes tonight. “I’m okay.”

~~~

So, Jeonghan knows he fucked up. Big time. Feels the guilt sit in his stomach like a stone. It drags him down; makes him feel nauseous and sluggish enough for Seungkwan to offer him his coffee the next morning. He scrunches his nose at the pitying look on the younger member’s face but takes the drink nonetheless.

But Yoon Jeonghan wouldn’t be Yoon Jeonghan if he was not a master at pushing bad memories away. He screwed up their choreography on stage? No problem, he’s sure that happens to a lot of idols. He forgot an important meeting at work? At least he’s too popular for them to fire him. He tried to spend a lovely evening with his boyfriend so that said boyfriend would not grow tired of him and leave him, but ended up slamming doors and screaming instead? Well, he’ll just have to try harder next time.

The chance to try harder presents itself a few days later when he helps Seungcheol clear out his old recording room, which has terrible air conditioning, and move into a new one. They have been careful around each other, but all in all the aftermath of their fight has been smoother than expected, both of them mumbling sheepish apologies when they ran across each other at work the day after.

Now, he helps collect the records and trinkets lining the shelves of Seungcheol’s studio and stuffs them into paper boxes. He can see his boyfriend throwing him what he thinks are subtle glances and knows that it's unusual for him to actually be helping instead of just lounging on the sofa and letting Seungcheol do all the work. But at least, with the recent argument, it seems like an effort to make things right between them instead of the desperate clinging to a plan that originated out of a psychology article.

Jeonghan moves from the shelf he was clearing to Seungcheol’s desk. The first thing that catches his eye is a picture of them in Japan, hair curly and un-styled, grins so wide their teeth reflect the camera’s flash. He thinks back to that day, how tired he was from the tour and how much his limbs hurt as Seungcheol dragged him into the busy streets of Tokyo to for sightseeing.

He remembers the ramen noodles they ate at a small corner shop, the broth so spicy Seungcheol could barely breathe. Jeonghan’s laughter as a member of staff took their pictures and almost dropped the phone. The fortunes they had bought at a shrine promising them a happy future. How easy life was back then, how sure he was that they would continue like this forever, Seungcheol’s hand warm in his own.

His stomach clenches as he carefully packs the picture into another box.

“I think that’s it”, Seungcheol sighs behind him. His face is slightly sweaty and his hair sticks to his forehead in dark waves. Jeonghan wants to run his hands through it, but recently he is questioning every small interaction between them, overthinks and overanalyses until the moment slips through his fingers.

“Looks like it”, he says instead, and Seungcheol smiles at him. Careful but bright.

“I’ll start carrying the lighter boxes to the new studio. Jihoon can help me with the heavier ones later.”

And Jeonghan sees his chance. Acts of service is still on the list of love languages he hasn’t tried, and he feels a surge of hope shoot up his chest at the thought of being able to make up for their fight. He sprints past Seungcheol and grabs onto the box he was just about to pick up. His back lets out a protesting pop as he hefts it up. Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow in concern.

“No, let me”, Jeonghan presses out between clenched teeth while lifting the box filled with musical equipment. It’s huge in his hands, very obviously way too heavy for him, and he can tell by the confusion on Seungcheol’s face that the older member has realised it, too.

“That’s sweet”, Seungcheol tries diplomatically, even while he is reaching across the distance between them to take the box from Jeonghan. “I can take it, though.”

“No”, Jeonghan shouts and flinches back from him. He knows he sounds a little too desperate for the situation to be considered funny. In his mind, he can see all his failed attempts play like a slideshow. The kiss on the couch, the stuttered words at their meeting, the fight. This time, he will do better. Seungcheol, however, holds up his hands as if he is calming a spooked animal, his bushy brows pulled into a frown.

“Is there something wrong”, he asks, and Jeonghan hates him for always being so considerate. “Are you feeling okay?”

Right now, Jeonghan is feeling very far from okay. He feels ridiculous and out of character, is sure his face has rearranged itself into a crazed grimace of urgency that mirrors the jittery anxiety cursing through his veins at the thought of Seungcheol leaving him, the one he hasn’t been able to rid himself of.

His body, too, is wrecked, his arms quivering with the weight of the musical equipment and his breath coming a lot faster than is appropriate for a guy his age when carrying a – albeit heavy – box.

“No, I just –“, he heaves and rearranges his grip on the box. His fingers have started to go numb. “I’m free right now. I can help you carry the boxes to the new studio. It’s no problem at all”, he emphasises, just as the box slips through his fingers and lands on the floor with a bang.

For a long moment, he just stares at Seungcheol. His mind is blank, an empty sheet of paper with no words he can use to make this moment less terrible. Seungcheol looks back. He doesn’t seem angry. But he also definitely doesn’t seem happy.  

He wonders if whatever is in the box was expensive. Or has sentimental value. Or, God forbid, both. He hopes it wasn’t the picture of them that had sounded so close to cracking, prays it was a stupid promotional gift Seungcheol felt bad about throwing out. Judging by Seungcheol’s expression, it wasn’t.

Jeonghan feels vaguely ill. He feels like dying, if he’s honest with himself, which he’d prefer not to be. Four love languages, and not a single one he could do right.

“Jeonghan-ah”, Seungcheol begins slowly. Jeonghan lets out an undignified squeak. His hands fly up to cover his mouth, to stop more noises from escaping or to cover his face, he isn’t sure.

“Jeonghan-ah, are you okay?”

And, well, he didn’t expect that. Shouting, maybe. Cold disappointment, for sure. But concern? What business did Seungcheol have feeling concerned for someone who just dropped an undoubtedly important box full of his possessions?

“Me”, Jeonghan asks, voice shrill and airy. “Of course, of course.”

“I just –“, Seungcheol begins, then stops. Runs a hand through his hair. He looks uncomfortable, like he sometimes does when he has to tell the group bad news. “You helping with the boxes. And then, lately – you cancelling on Soonyoung and – I’m just wondering whether you’re okay? If you’re feeling well?”

Jeonghan nods, first slowly, then with more force. He looks like one of those figures people like to keep in the back of their cars, the ones that bounce their heads whenever the car moves.

“You know you can tell me though”, Seungcheol states, but it sounds like a question. His eyes are so, so kind. “If something is wrong. You can tell me.”

Jeonghan isn’t sure what to say to that, so he just nods again.

~~~

So this is it. The last love language, his last opportunity to make things right. The last few weeks have been a train wreck at best and a disaster at worst, and Jeonghan cannot wait for this awkwardness and strange streak of bad luck to be over.

Because today, he really can’t go wrong. He is well aware that he has been telling himself that every time he has tried to work on one of the love languages, but he is confident. Because today, it’s gift giving and it is well-known that Seungcheol loves birthdays, presents, and expensive things.

And Jeonghan made sure to get him expensive gifts. They’ve been making good numbers, after all.

There are shopping bags in the kitchen. Many shopping bags, perched on the chairs and the kitchen counter, stacked on the floor. There are different colours and shiny labels, soft clothes, luxurious skincare and sparkling jewellery. Food, still warm. Cute little accessories for Kkuma. Surely, no one can say no to all that.

Jeonghan bought everything he could remember Seungcheol even remotely expressing his interest in. It feels strange, being the one to buy gifts for once. Normally, he makes such a show of Seungcheol getting him something, but now he appreciates it even more. He isn’t sure how Seungcheol is able to handle the sickening anticipation for his boyfriend’s reaction, the gnawing worry of whether he has bought the right presents. Did he get the right size of clothing? Does KKuma already have a pink bow? Is all this a bit over the top?

But, no! He squares his shoulders. This is going to be good. It’s going to be perfect. No negative energy, Minghao would say.

“I got you something”, Jeonghan explains when Seungcheol finally enters the flat, ignoring the look of foreboding on Seungcheol’s face. Today, his shirt is red which reminds him of Seungcheol’s recent stage outfit for the unit performances and Jun, who first told him that it is considered a lucky colour in China. He tells himself it’s a good sign.

“It’s not much but –“, here he points to the mountain of shopping bags covering every available surface, “I think you might really like it.”

“Jeonghan-ah”, Seungcheol says after a short silence, his face pulled into The Expression (in his head, this look on Seungcheol is scary enough to be capitalised) he makes whenever he is about to scold one of the members.

“No”, Jeonghan chirps and jittery with anxiety as he skips through the room and comes to stand in front of Seungcheol. Not again. He doesn’t think he can stomach another failed loved language. “No complaining! This is for you, I want you to be happy.”

Seungcheol still seems sceptical, but at least The Expression is gone. Jeonghan feels like he can breathe a little easier as he tugs at Seungcheol’s sleeve to show him all the presents. He keeps babbling, about the shops he visited and how strangely their driver had looked at him and how the trunk of the car had barely closed with all the bags in it and had Seungcheol seen the new clothing line of his favourite brand yet because he was going to love it and –

“Jeonghan-ah”, Seungcheol says carefully and has to stem his feet into the floor to stop Jeonghan’s incessant dragging through the living room. He speaks slowly, and his voice is pitched low. It’s the voice he uses whenever one of them is upset. “I don’t want you to get mad, but are you okay?”

When Jeonghan stares at him, he quickly adds: “It’s not that I don’t love the gifts. Or appreciate you helping me move out of the studio and spending time with me, but – and I mean this in the nicest way possible – why are you doing all of this? Did something happen?”

And Jeonghan feels small, so small and stupid and irresponsible. He feels like he’s sixteen again after Seungcheol bared his heart to him, and he stood there, with the pumping organ in his hands and the knowledge that he could break it and didn’t know what to say at all. Just like he did back then, he has to take a leap of faith and bare Seungcheol his soul in return. He trembles with the knowledge.  

“There was this article”, he says slowly, and Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. It sounds like a question when he continues: “About, about love languages?”

“Love languages”, Seungcheol asks carefully, his eyes alert. He looks at Jeonghan as if he doesn’t want to miss a single thing he says and that seems to help, because suddenly Jeonghan cannot stop talking.

“Yeah, and that got me thinking, you know? Of like, Jeju island and that milk thing you got me back when we were trainees, and I just”, he clutches at his heart, the agony of it, “It was so much. There is so much you’ve – and I haven’t and just –“

“Breathe”, Seungcheol says and steps closer. He still does not touch him, though and somehow that makes Jeonghan feel even worse. This new distance between them, the one that hadn’t been there before his stupid plan and that stupid, stupid article.

“And maybe that’s just who I am, you know”, Jeonghan continues. “Maybe I just don’t really know how to love. Maybe I’m this ugly person who just takes and takes and never –“

He chokes on his feelings, feels them spill into his head and mouth and heart. The initial joy at realising how much Seungcheol loves him. The worry when he started to think of the members and his own inability to express how much they mean to him. The pain at the image of Seungcheol, eyes still kind – always so kind – but bags packed as he leaves Jeonghan behind.

“What”, Seungcheol asks. It sounds as if the word has been punched out of him, more air than sound.

“I just don’t want you to fall out of love with me”, he forces, the words ugly and jagged against his throat. He almost checks to see if he is bleeding. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and realise I’m not enough.”

“I don’t understand”, Seungcheol says, and he looks so, so hurt. “Have I not made you feel loved?”

“You have”, Jeonghan whispers and takes his hands. “But that’s exactly the problem. You do so much, but I never repay you for it. You buy me things, and you make time for me, and you touch me, and reassure me, and do stuff for me. I don’t want to be the only one that feels loved in this relationship.”

Miraculously, Seungcheol’s face clears at that, a sunny summer sky after rain. He smiles at Jeonghan and grips his hands even tighter, pulling him closer. Jeonghan feels blinded by all the love in his crinkling eyes, his half-moon mouth, the warmth of his body.

“Hannie”, Seungcheol says. “Oh Hannie.”

He pulls him in all the way, Jeonghan’s body slotting against his as if there had never been any doubt about whether they still fit together. It’s warm and safe, and it feels like a bandage has been wrapped around his heart.

“I love you so much”, Seungcheol mumbles against his hair, his mouth so close to Jeonghan’s scalp that he can feel the words against his skin, the hot breath that comes with them. “There’s no need to repay me because I love doing all those things for you. Because I care about you, and seeing you happy is, like, my greatest joy.”

Jeonghan chuckles at that, his voice wet and muffled against Seungcheol’s shirt.

“I’ll never think you’re not enough”, Seungcheol promises in that steadfast way of his. An anchor, finding purchase again. “You make me the happiest, love languages or not.”

And that, yeah, that could have solved the whole problem right at the beginning, could have saved them a lot of trouble. But it’s still nice to hear the words, he thinks as he curls himself into Seungcheol’s arms, and lets him wrap himself all around him.  

It’s nice to know you’re loved as you are.