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Working well past midnight was somewhere between gruelling and romantic. Jooyeon didn’t mind it too much so long as they were allowed to sleep in sufficiently the next morning, but the biggest problem was that if he had dinner at around a normal time, then by the time they were finishing up ensemble practice, he was starving all over again.
He was planning to ask Jiseok if he wanted to make a trip to the convenience store on the corner, but by the time he was done packing away his bass and equipment, Jiseok had already disappeared without a word.
Jooyeon tried not to let it bother him. They were all putting in whatever counted as overtime in this profession, but none more so than Jiseok with his new MC gig, and the recent news that what was supposed to be a three-man job would now be done by just two was definitely weighing on him. Jiseok hadn’t admitted as much aloud, of course, but it was obvious by how quiet he’d been all day.
Even so… that Jiseok had disappeared after practice without so much as a word came with an odd sense of foreboding. Jooyeon supposed he was a little worried. Or he was just that hungry.
As the others all trickled away to their respective post-one a.m. activities, Jooyeon shrugged his jacket on and made the short journey to the convenience store. He was in the mood for something crunchy, so he picked out some prawn fries and a couple of triangle gimbap.
He wasn’t exactly known for his situational awareness, but it was a new low even for him to not notice his literal boyfriend seated by the window eating tteokbokki with one hand and tapping on his phone with the other until Jooyeon was right in front of him.
Actually, it was a little funny that they had ended up in the same place even without meaning to, but that was them all over, really—like magnets.
Jiseok didn’t look up from his phone when Jooyeon pulled out the chair opposite him and dropped into it. He didn’t look up until Jooyeon had ripped open his shrimp fries and started crunching away.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Jiseok said, smiling.
Automatically, Jooyeon smiled back, but it was accompanied by an odd sort of twinge in his chest. “You disappeared.”
“I was hungry.”
“So was I.”
“I can tell. Here.” Jiseok picked up three tteok at once with his chopsticks, holding them out with his free hand hovering beneath to catch any sauce drips.
Jooyeon leaned forward to accept the offering, the rice cakes filling his mouth and gumming his teeth for a long moment as he chewed. It dully occurred to him that he’d just been tricked into shutting up. It kinda stung, but it was a clear warning: Jiseok wasn’t in the mood to talk. That was probably why he’d taken off on his own in the first place.
But Jooyeon didn’t need to talk. Jooyeon was happy just to be beside Jiseok, even in silence. And he’d always thought Jiseok felt the same, so why…?
Jiseok at least didn’t do a repeat of earlier and take off as soon as he was done eating. He waited for Jooyeon to finish his second gimbap, watching with his chin in his hand as if he wanted some, but when Jooyeon wordlessly offered it, he shook his head.
The night air was brisk as they left the convenience store. Jiseok shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, and Jooyeon slipped his own hand under Jiseok’s wrist to twine their fingers together. It was something they’d done a hundred times, but why did Jooyeon feel so sheepish? As if Jiseok might pull away?
He didn’t pull away, but he did glance down at the lumps and bumps of their knuckles pressed against the fabric of his pocket. There was an odd expression on his face that made Jooyeon’s heart sink.
He looked tired. He looked sad. He looked… reluctant.
“We’re in public, Jooyeon,” said Jiseok.
“There’s no one around,” Jooyeon replied instantly, hating how childish he sounded. “And it’s dark.”
Jiseok didn’t reply, but after a moment, he took their joined hands out of his pocket and let go.
Jooyeon’s hand suddenly felt like ice. He shoved it into his own pocket and tried not to feel hurt, but it was like pretending his eyes weren’t brown.
“What’s wrong?” he sighed.
He half expected Jiseok to reply with a near-automatic “nothing”, but instead, he replied with a literal nothing. His eyes were fixed on the pavement as they walked, as if concentrating very hard on putting one foot in front of the other. His bleached hair hung over his eyes in a way that had to be irritating, but he made no attempt to push it out of his face the way he normally would.
Jooyeon couldn’t stand it. “Jiseok.” He grabbed Jiseok’s elbow and pulled him to a stop. “Don’t do this. Talk to me, please. Did I do something wrong?”
Jiseok glanced up at him through his bangs, the hangdog look on his face more painful to witness than a knife to the gut.
“No,” he said. “You didn’t do anything, it’s just…” He sighed. “This industry, Jooyeon. Idols get put on indefinite hiatus just for being seen at a club. What do you think would happen if someone saw… this? Us?”
Oh. It seemed the news about Jiseok’s co-MC had been weighing on him even more than Jooyeon had anticipated… in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
“We’re careful,” Jooyeon said in a small voice, knowing it wasn’t good enough. “We’ve been doing okay this long, haven’t we?”
Jiseok swept a hand through his hair, the streetlights illuminating the blond strands into sunset yellow. “But it’s different now,” he said tightly. He was avoiding Jooyeon’s eyes, bottom lip disappearing into his mouth as he chewed it furiously.
Jooyeon could only watch, feeling nothing but a dull buzzing in the back of his head and an unbearably dense ache in his chest.
“So,” he said, and he recognised his own voice from his mouth, but it didn’t feel like he was really saying these words: "You want to... break up?”
Now Jiseok looked at him, and from the vulnerable, wide-eyed hurt on his face, no one would guess that Jooyeon was only voicing what was already being hinted at.
“I…” Jiseok looked away again. “I just need some time to think.”
When do you ever stop thinking? Jooyeon wanted to ask, but what came out of his mouth was: “Right.”
Jooyeon didn’t want to be dramatic about it, since they hadn’t broken up broken up, but the next few days were some of the most miserable he could remember in a long time. It wasn’t like he and Jiseok could avoid each other. They had no choice but to work together, and they lived in the same space, and they barely ever got a break from one another, and it somehow hurt more to have Jiseok so close and yet feel an invisible barrier between them; a great, impenetrable wall called “I just need some time to think.”
By the time Wednesday rolled around, it was almost a relief when Jiseok disappeared to go fulfil his MC duties. Physical distance made it easier to pretend that there was nothing wrong.
They had no more group schedules for the rest of the day, so Jooyeon sequestered himself in a private practice room with his bass and a guitar and practiced and practiced and practiced. He recorded himself singing sad song after sad song and when he listened back to the recordings, he couldn’t help but notice the gravity that his heartache lent to his delivery.
He tried to resist temptation, but he briefly tuned into Show Champion to see Jiseok. There was a certain lack of symmetry on the screen with just two MCs, but despite everything, Jooyeon still felt the same overwhelming swell of pride in his chest. Jiseok had been a wan imitation of himself for days, but no one would have ever guessed it from seeing him now—his sunny smile, his sparkling eyes, his professional poise.
He was the perfect idol.
As the night wore on, Jooyeon took a break to get a late dinner, then turned his focus to the bass, drilling their newer songs into his muscle memory. He didn’t even notice it had passed midnight until he was yawning every few minutes and decided it was time to call it a night.
The guitar was Gunil’s, borrowed from their studio, so after packing up his own stuff, Jooyeon dropped by on his way out of the building. He fully expected the studio to be empty—he’d been keeping a vague eye on the group chat, so he knew Gunil and Seungmin were at the gym, Jungsu had said something about going to bed early, and Hyeongjun was probably rattling around somewhere in the building, playing guitar until his hands were numb.
But it left one unknown, so maybe Jooyeon should have expected that he would encounter Jiseok in the studio, catching up on the work he’d missed while he was busy making the industry fall in love with him.
And that was exactly what happened: Jooyeon stepped through the door and stopped dead when he recognised Jiseok’s form slumped in the computer chair. He stood there, guitar in hand, expecting Jiseok to whip around and initiate a painful moment of eye contact, but he didn’t so much as shift. Once the surprise wore off, Jooyeon noticed the strange angle Jiseok’s head was hanging on.
He was fast asleep.
It was a different kind of painful moment.
Jooyeon picked across the room to put the guitar on its stand, then carefully approached the desk.
Jiseok had his hood pulled up, styled bangs curling around its edges. He hadn’t taken his makeup off yet, but even the thick layer of concealer didn’t hide the puffiness under his eyes. If anything, it only served to make him look even more exhausted.
“Jiseok?” Jooyeon called softly.
Jiseok’s face twitched, but he didn’t wake.
And, well… what was Jooyeon supposed to do? Leave him there?
Even when Jooyeon pulled the chair out from the desk, Jiseok didn’t wake. Nor did he when Jooyeon crouched down in front of him, draping his arms over his shoulders, slotting his legs on either side of his hips, and hoisting him into a piggyback. Jooyeon had gotten stronger recently thanks to boxing—he noticed it in how his bass was easier to throw around—but he hadn’t gotten so strong that Jiseok should feel this light. He hadn’t weighed much in the first place. And with all his effort to put on weight…
Since when had Jooyeon become this much of a worrier?
As Jooyeon awkwardly flicked off the lights and shoved through the door into the hallway, Jiseok shifted on Jooyeon’s back.
“Jooyeon…?”
“Did you leave something behind?” Jooyeon asked quietly. Of all things, why was that what came out of his mouth?
Perhaps Jiseok was perplexed by it too: it was a moment before he replied, “No…”
But he didn’t struggle or ask Jooyeon to let him down. He didn’t even lift his head from Jooyeon’s shoulder. He didn’t even speak as Jooyeon carried him out of the building and began the walk back to the dorm. Jooyeon took his time, even if his back started to ache from the angle he was leaning on. The pain was bearable with Jiseok pressed against him, warm and trusting, his hair tickling the side of Jooyeon’s neck.
Neither of them spoke even when they reached the dorm. Jooyeon turned the entryway light on and toed off his shoes before carefully lowering Jiseok onto the step leading out of the entryway. He felt the cold as their bodies parted. He turned to remove Jiseok’s shoes for him.
Once he set them aside, he looked up at Jiseok, and Jiseok looked at him with tired, half-lidded eyes. Slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal, Jiseok reached out to rest a hand on the side of Jooyeon’s face, his touch warm and gentle like morning sunlight.
Jooyeon wasn’t sure which truth was greater: that he leaned towards Jiseok or that Jiseok pulled him closer. Maybe it was nothing more or less than the inevitable magnetism between them. Either way, their lips met for a soft, lingering moment. Then they sat side by side on the step and Jiseok dropped his forehead onto Jooyeon’s clavicle, letting out a long, exhausted breath into his chest.
“You should go wash up,” Jooyeon said into Jiseok’s hair, running a hand down his back, feeling the ridges of his spine through his hoodie.
Jiseok lifted his head and nodded, and Jooyeon knew Jiseok didn’t intend to always be pulling the meanest puppy-dog eyes ever, but the look on his face made Jooyeon’s heart clench nonetheless.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Jiseok asked in a faint, faint voice.
Jooyeon smiled, brushing an unruly tuft of hair behind Jiseok’s ear. “No need to ask.”