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They're on the last cans of the six-pack Seunghan bought from the convenience store downstairs. It's not their first pack of the night; they finished off the last cans of the Japanese beer Shotaro would drink by himself at times. This one was a pain to get through the security guard that their manager was friends with, but Seunghan emerged victorious and snuck it into their dorms where Wonbin was waiting.
It isn't enough to get them drunk drunk, but Wonbin soon discovers that it doesn't take much for Seunghan to get bold with his questions. Wonbin feels Seunghan's eyes scour him from head to toe before he asks, "Hyung, you're a virgin, aren't you?"
Wonbin scoffs, though he can't help the way his hand tightens around his can. "What the fuck."
Seunghan laughs and drops his forehead onto Wonbin's shoulder. They're in Wonbin's bedroom, the floor around them littered with crushed cans and half-finished bags of snacks. It's warm, too warm for an April evening, but Wonbin can't tell if it's because of the alcohol or Seunghan's breath ghosting over the fabric of his shirt.
"Come on, be a good sport. I've asked everyone else." Wonbin raises his eyebrow, telling him to spill. "Shotaro and Eunseok hyung, obviously. Sungchan hyung too, though I wouldn't have guessed it."
Wonbin feels shame crawling up his neck. Sungchan's been a trainee since he was a kid, and even he had the chance to do it? "What about Sohee and Chanyoung?" he asks, needing someone to be on his side. At Seunghan's smirk, he pales even more. "Don't tell me—"
"Chanyoung grew up in America," Seunghan reminds him, and Wonbin can imagine that his sweetness and quietness and tallness would win him a lot of points anywhere in the world.
"And Sohee too?"
Seunghan's slow nod is enough of an answer. His eyes are gentle, patronizing. And the slim fingers that stroke Wonbin's hair do nothing but make his heart race even faster. "I can't believe I was right," Seunghan mumbles, and he pouts when Wonbin huffs and glares at him. "My sweet Wonbin hyung, so innocent—"
"Shut up. Not everyone has the time and energy to mess around with girls like you do." Wonbin grumbles, picking on a loose thread on his shirt, even as his head turns towards Seunghan's touch. "Are you still seeing her?"
Wonbin never found out what her name was, but she was on Seunghan's home screen every time he could get a glimpse of it. Seunghan was overprotective of his phone for that reason, which never made any sense to Wonbin. If he was so afraid of getting caught, why not just change it, hide it for good?
Well, maybe that's just the kind of person Seunghan is. Affectionate. Stupidly sweet, even if he shouldn't be. Wonbin wonders what he's like as a boyfriend, but— what's the point of thinking about that?
Seunghan narrows his eyes at how forward he's being when they've all implicitly decided to dance around it. Still, he responds with a shrug. "I broke up with her as soon as they said we'd be debuting." Now he pouts like he's been hurt by the question. "Come on, hyung. You think I don't take this as seriously as you?"
"Of course you do," Wonbin mumbles. His hand rests on Seunghan's head, stroking his hair as gently as Seunghan touched him earlier.
Wonbin often feels like Seunghan is older than him— not by age but by experience. And not in terms of sex or relationships, just… life. He feels like Seunghan has lived more than he has: finishing school, meeting people, getting into relationships, training for longer and facing more ups and downs than Wonbin could imagine at his age. He admires Seunghan for that, for everything.
Another aspect of Seunghan that he admires: the way he so easily brushes things off, moves on with a smile and that playful spark in his eyes. "But you've had a girlfriend, right? I feel like you've talked about having one before," he says, picking their conversation back up so quickly.
Wonbin sighs, already feeling his shoulders aching from the alcohol. "Yeah, when I was in middle school," he says. Belatedly, he blurts out, "We've kissed. At least. Just so you know."
It almost feels more embarrassing to have to say that, but thankfully, Seunghan doesn't laugh. He sounds genuinely curious when he asks, "And that's it? Nothing since then?" Wonbin nods, growing more and more embarrassed as the silence stretches on.
To Seunghan's credit, he doesn't tease at all. He only strokes Wonbin's hair again, this time tangling his fingers in the growing strands.
Wonbin doesn't think much of it, not until Seunghan cups the back of his head and kisses him, softly sucking on his upper lip.
Two seconds, another soft peck, then Seunghan pulls away. Just like that.
Wonbin's brain quiets into a soft buzz, the noise permeated only by Seunghan's voice as he murmurs, "There you go. That'll last you another five years before the next one."
And then Seunghan laughs because it must be funny, Wonbin's inexperience. It must be absolutely hilarious to kiss him out of nowhere, to say all that as if he's doing charity work for a poor, lonely soul.
He's right, partially. But it must be the alcohol mixing with the embarrassment in Wonbin's gut that makes him push Seunghan away, grumbling, "What the fuck."
Seunghan laughs it off again, crossing his legs in front of him. "Don't act like you didn't like it."
And he's right again, partially. Wonbin wouldn't admit it, not to Seunghan's smug face.
Not to the lips that he's still staring at, even more drawn than ever to them now that he's had a taste.
Seunghan, still glib, smacks his lips together and tilts his head to stare at Wonbin again. "Hmm. It's different."
Wonbin bites. "What's different?"
"The feeling. I thought it'd feel the same. A mouth is a mouth anyway," Seunghan says, almost like a drunk man rambling. Wonbin can't follow, and his brain shuts down once more when Seunghan touches his hair—holds the back of his head—again. "Maybe it's the hair. I'm used to it being longer."
Wonbin's eyes, his face, his chest— it all starts to burn. Seunghan's words make him feel like he's wrong, so wrong, for being everything that he is. "Sorry," he spits out, clenching his teeth. "You must have hated it so much. Kissing me."
Seunghan's laugh, still playful and bright, makes the pit in his stomach grow even deeper, hollowing him out to the core.
He doesn't expect it when Seunghan leans in to brush their noses together, whispering, "I said it was different, not that it was bad." Wonbin's eyes are closed, but he can feel Seunghan smiling. "Not that I didn't like it."
Wonbin is ready when Seunghan kisses him again. This time, his hands move from his lap and find their way onto Seunghan's waist, the fabric of his shirt bunching up beneath Wonbin's shaking fists.
The angle is different now, more comfortable, guided by Seunghan's palm cradling the back of his head. Wonbin leans back against the side of the bed for support, and Seunghan presses him against the wood, broad chest against his beating heart.
It shouldn't feel this good. It shouldn't be this easy. Wonbin gasps when he feels the first stroke of Seunghan's tongue, and he so quickly lets him in, lets Seunghan taste him and touch him, all at his relentless pace.
Seunghan's kiss unlocks something in Wonbin, a curiosity he's never allowed himself to explore: what does it feel like to want somebody?
Wonbin knows desire; he knows what it's like to be horny, at the very least. He was a teenage boy too, not long ago.
But he knows it in an abstract way. Pictures and videos and links his classmates would spread amongst each other, giggling like they're the only people in the world who know their secrets. Wonbin joined in because it felt like the right thing to do, like what everyone else expected him to.
He doesn't know what it's like to want a person, a real person, right in front of him and on top of him, kissing him with a real desire that he's unfamiliar with.
Does Seunghan want him too?
Wonbin almost gets an answer, almost feels it brushing against the top of his bare thigh, but the anticipation makes Wonbin's arm jerk out to the side, knocking against a row of crushed beer cans that clatter loudly in the room. The sound tears Seunghan off him, his hands braced against either side of Wonbin's head.
And then they're staring, panting. Seunghan's hair falls forward, framing his eyes. Wonbin feels a drop of sweat trickle onto the side of his mouth, and he licks it away mindlessly, not expecting Seunghan to groan and squeeze his eyes shut at the sight of him.
Seunghan's on his knees, body hovering over Wonbin's. It's far, too far, and the air that hits Wonbin's skin makes him shiver. He wants to pull Seunghan close, wants his body on top of him. They're nearly the same height; Wonbin wants every inch of him to be covered by Seunghan, head to toe, lips on lips once more.
Ah. So this is what it's like to want somebody.
"We're drunk," Seunghan says, as if he's reading Wonbin's mind.
We're not that drunk, Wonbin wants to answer. Instead, he says, "Okay."
Because Seunghan's pulling away already. Because Seunghan must not want him enough to keep going.
Okay.
"Hyung," Seunghan is sitting on his heels, scratching the back of his head, "let's clean up."
Wonbin moves on autopilot, now starting to get a little dizzy. Maybe Seunghan was right, partially. That Wonbin's drunk. Too drunk to know if he really wants this, really wants Seunghan.
But he knows for a fact that Seunghan is more experienced than him in many ways. In life, in training, in drinking. He must be sober enough to realize that he doesn't want this, doesn't want Wonbin at all. That… that makes sense.
Wonbin cleans the floor with wipes, not wanting any drops of beer left to grow sticky over time. When he's done cleaning and Seunghan's gone to throw the evidence of their misdeeds down the trash chute, it almost looks like this night never happened.
Like Seunghan never kissed him. Like Wonbin doesn't know what it's like to want him. It's better that way, it really is.
Seunghan's in the kitchen, a bottle of water in his hands. He tosses one to Wonbin, and they drink quietly across from each other. Wonbin feels like he should say something, like he should be a hyung for once, mature and confident. Seunghan's always taken that role between the two of them.
But right now, Seunghan's peeling the label off the bottle, scratching at the torn scraps of sticker paper in frustration. Wonbin stares at his fingers, stares at his furrowed brows and the locks of hair sticking to his sweaty temple. There's one last strip of paper that won't come off, and the dark residue of the glue gets under Seunghan's neatly trimmed nails. Seunghan doesn't like that. He digs under the nail of his index finger with his thumbnail, but there are traces of it left deeper into the plate. He needs to wash it off, but that's too much effort for tonight.
The dirt stays, even if he doesn't want it to. Even if he hates it so much.
At least Wonbin thinks he does.
Seunghan sways when he moves to throw the bottle away, when he passes by Wonbin to smile at the ground and say, "Good night, hyung."
He doesn't touch him, doesn't even look at him. He must not want him at all.
Wonbin understands. Because he's wrong. All of him.
He climbs into bed and takes a painkiller from his bedside drawer. Dance practice starts before noon. He wonders if he'll get enough sleep tonight.
It only takes a blink for him to imagine Seunghan's lips again, to remember the short kiss that he stole from Wonbin as a joke. A joke. Because Wonbin's a virgin and it's funny and pathetic. Because Wonbin is so starved of touch and affection that it only takes one kiss for him to latch on to his group member, his friend— not that close of a friend, but still.
That kiss will last him five years, no, ten. Maybe the rest of his life, if he rations out the memory bit by bit every day, never lingering too much on it in fear of craving him. He shouldn't think about it too much: Seunghan sucking on his lip, the confidence of his tongue, never too much but teetering towards that edge, making Wonbin moan and wrap his arms around Seunghan's broad shoulders, pulling him in to push him deeper into his mouth, opening himself wider to take him in, what it would feel like to touch him, be touched by him, take more and more of him, those slim fingers guiding his head, sliding down his neck and tracing the veins at the side of it, what else he can do, what Seunghan would do to him if he let him, if Seunghan wanted to, he'd let him, let him do anything, touch him wherever he wants, be whatever Seunghan wants him to be—
He gasps when he realizes that he's touching himself, thoughts wandering farther and farther away from the past hour and into a fantasy so new, it scares him.
It overpowers all of Wonbin's defenses, his excuses, his denial of what he's always known as true: Wonbin wants Seunghan, craves to be wanted by him too.