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It’s merely 10pm when Park Sunghoon is kidnapped by his restless mind.
The dim light of his bedroom in the dorm, shared by the seven of them, contorts into a kaleidoscope of diamond fire through the haze of his droopy eyelids.
It’s quiet, but he can make out the faint sounds of Jake and Jay bickering softly in the living room, alongside Sunoo mediating through gaspy chuckles. The gentle hum of the shower a few paces down the hallway is methodical and calming.
They say that home is where the heart is, and Sunghoon has found both in the form of six other boys - his found family, his fate, all of theirs shared.
With this thought, he finds that it would be impossible to deny the soothing comfort of experiencing these quiet moments from the solitude of his room, because truly, it’s the knowing that they’re all together in this.
They may not be in the same room at all times, long gone are the days of cramped bunk beds and top-and-tail late night whispers. They may not all have to share the same scarce cups and bowls and, subsequently, the same colds, but they’re together in a deeper sense.
They’re together in an indescribable way, just like family.
You could be separated by oceans or even death, but you would never be truly apart from your family, whether that’s more of a sweet sentiment or a spellbound curse is up to the jury, but with the seven of them, it’s beautiful. It’s warm.
He recalls his past life now, contemplating.
There are most definitely days where he longs for the ice and all that it means to him, the airy pleasantness of defying gravity, flushed and breathless before the frosty rink. It’s as exhilarating as it is soothing.
Sunghoon has always found that he sees things a little differently, less surface level than they appear to be.
To some, ice skating - figure skating - is simply a sport or an art, even, but it’s always been more than just that to him.
Even during the years where he could feel that invisible string towards the sport loosening and tattering at the ends, whispering to him that it’s okay to let go, that there’s more waiting for him (which there was, he smiles at this), figure skating has always been something so abstract and pure to Sunghoon.
Beyond the dull, bleak and passion-starved fortress of ISU technicalities and gambling with his physicality for more and more points, as his coaches drummed into his youthful mind, figure skating was and always will be his first love. It’s special.
He can only look at it with tenderness.
He understands now his fragility; people try to conquer the ice, but it’s like a fool trying to tame wild lions. The second you’re on that bench and tying up the laces of your skates, you’re embarking to slow dance with the ice, your lover. It’s freeing and it’s collaborative, being one with the element. You jump and you spin and, before you know it, you’re flying.
It’s lonely, though.
So, he listens closely to his members, his family, from his room and feels only love, nothing less.
On stage with his members, this is where he feels most infinite. Every moment shared with them, all together, is shrouded in warmth.
Even all of those years ago, when all of them were still a little tentative and clumsy with haircuts a little too short tickling at the tips of their ears. Their hearts were filled to the brim with the towering anxiety of youth and their rapidly solidifying dreams.
Out on that chilly, vast field beneath that grey sky, shooting their first proper music video for their first proper title track, it was beyond warm.
Tackling each other like muddy, reckless puppies on the long, cold strip of some forgotten beach for ‘Orange Flower’. Sunghoon remembers their togetherness - their airy laughter, almost inaudible over the sound of lapping, foamy waves.
And now much earlier, how when it got too much, when everything was so new and so impossibly sudden that every word felt like a pressing thumb on a fleshy, yet-to-be-healed scab, how he cried and cried into Heeseung’s lap in their shared little kitchen before whispering teary apologies to the others.
A few heartbeats pass.
“Sunghoon?”
There’s a soft knocking at his door now, and if the intentional crafted pattern of knuckles meeting mahogany (three quick, rhythmic taps) weren’t enough of a tell, the gentle, honeyed voice calling from behind the door was all he needed to be made aware of who exactly was visiting him this late at night.
“Come in, Heeseung-hyung.”
So, there he is, in an instant.
The door swings open and now Lee Heeseung is at the foot of his bed.
Maybe it was Sunghoon’s tired mind, but it was almost a little funny, Heeseung stood, hands resting on his hips in his amusingly worn-out green flannel, some miscellaneous grey band tee and baggy pyjama pants, locks of cherry hair almost seeming ruffled or windswept, but the culprit was most definitely either a deep sleep or Riki’s playful antics.
A lazy smile creeps up onto Sunghoon’s lips now, because he’s absolutely certain that he can make out a big fleck of jam amongst toast crumbs on Heeseung’s t-shirt and flannel sleeves, alongside a soaked patch of un-blended cologne on the tan pulse of his neck.
He doesn’t have the heart or energy to teasingly scold him for it the same way Jay would though, so he settles for content silence.
“What are you smiling about, you…”
But there’s no malice in his tone, just warmth and maybe a speck of endeared mirth.
“Nothing, hyung.”
There’s a joke, although it’s more of an objective observation, in the dorm, between the members, that Sunghoon operates in a so-called ‘law of opposites’. His catchphrase is ‘nothing’, the word slipping out from his lips more times within the day than can be counted by the human mind, but it’s almost always something. Always.
“Mhm…” Heeseung smirks, dubious, but it’s a ‘good’ sort of ‘nothing’, so he finds that it’s okay.
Heeseung gently climbs into the bed now, and if this had been 4 years ago, Sunghoon considers that he would’ve raised an eyebrow, maybe tensed up. Now, however, things are different. Heeseung, as well as the others, are all but unfamiliar and he’s glad for it, so he wordlessly accommodates to his progressively curling up frame, letting Heeseung rest his head comfortably upon the pillow beside him.
He’s not so sure when he and Heeseung collectively breached the friendly uncertainty of sharing personal space like this, but he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t a fan.
“Long day?” Sunghoon whispers, letting his eyelids flutter shut again as he breathes in the sweet, spring-like fusion of blackberries and vanilla, the room becoming welcomingly steeped in their respective fragrance choices.
“You could say that.” Heeseung breathes out.
Sunghoon can feel the movement of him stretching out his legs, definitely weary from hours of practice.
He nods, and he knows Heeseung registers it, just like how he knows that it’s okay too - his form of replying.
He’s never had to be anything other than himself, Park Sunghoon who was raised as a figure skater with a sweet little sister in Gyeonggi as opposed to Park Sunghoon the ever-perfect idol. They wouldn’t have him any other way.
For a while, it’s just comfortable silence.
Echoes of “Goodnight!” ricochet softly outside in the hallway as the others decide to pull in for the evening. There’s a soft symphony of chuckles, finalising conversations and doors opening and closing, but it eventually dissipates and settles once more.
Occasionally, the sound of car tires on rain-slick roads beneath them ebb and flow in the ambiance of the Seoul nightscape before falling silent once more. Then, of course, there’s the rhythmic, soft rise and fall of their chests, inhale and exhale, as they lay beside one another.
Sunghoon could fall asleep like this, he thinks.
As if reading his mind, Heeseung murmurs his question quietly, “Tired?”
“Mm…”
There’s a light shuffling sound as Heeseung turns over to face Sunghoon better, making out his fatigued figure and closed eyelids in the dark of the room.
His eyes trace the shadows of the beauty marks on his nose bridge and upper cheek for a moment, memorising it, although he already had it down long ago.
If Heeseung were any more awake, he would’ve made a joke that he ‘speaks Sunghoon language now, after all these years’, having understood the groggy, inarticulate hum to be an act of affirmation, but he isn’t awake enough and, clearly, neither is Sunghoon, so he lets himself have this - he lets himself relax - and so he reaches out to lift the blankets up around their bodies better, tenderly.
Fondness wouldn’t begin to describe what Heeseung feels for the boy in the bed in front of him, especially like this. Away from the sweltering BELIFT practice rooms and away from the suffocating airports, he can just be, as can he.
“Night night, hyung.” Sunghoon whispers low and soft, soon to be in the throes of sleep.
Heeseung smiles, letting his own eyes rest now, feeling at ease, as he speaks gently in return,
“Goodnight, Sunghoon-ah.”