Archive of Our Own

They’re really here—the Met Gala.

Sitting inside a black nondescript van, Hyunjin can almost convince himself this is a fantasy. The result of an overactive imagination, dragged into the real world as some sort of hallucination. Although even his most outlandish fantasies couldn’t bring a moment like this to life.

He’s attended red carpets, pushed through crowds at events, so he should be used to the paparazzi. And yet he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the flurry of flashing lights or the masses of people that pack the sidewalks, swarming the celebrities who approach the Pink Carpet.

“That’s… a lot of people down there,” Jeongin says from the row in front of Hyunjin, gaping out the window.

Seungmin perches his chin on Jeongin’s shoulder and follows the line of his gaze. “It’s basically like being at the airport, right? There are fewer people down there compared to a concert or fan meeting.

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“It is,” Hyunjin agrees, hesitantly adding his two cents. “Half of these people probably just learned who we were this morning.”

“Hey, let’s hope it’s less than half.” Changbin breaches the gap between their seats to pat Hyunjin’s thigh. “These celebrity types and reporters should know better.”

“I guess…” Hyunjin hugs his Hilfiger coat tighter against his body and swallows around the lump forming in his throat, turning to the window seat.

Naturally, the flash of red captures Hyunjin's attention. Peeking out of Jisung’s coat, identical in color to his own jacket. As his gaze travels upward, he follows the path of Jisung’s neck, angled towards the voracious horde that awaits them. His usually honeyed complexion is paler than usual. Hyunjin knows it’s partially thanks to their makeup artists, but outside of that…

Check on him, a tiny voice in the back of Hyunjin’s head pipes up.

And he wants to. The compulsion makes his palms sweaty, his mouth dry. There might be enough time if he asks now instead of stalling.

“H…” Hyunjin wets his lips. Barely caring about what it may do to his lip stain. “Jisu—”

“Alright, boys!” Their manager’s voice booms as he claps his hands together, and Hyunjin straightens, shifting in his seat. “We’ll be stopping in a couple of minutes, so you need to make sure you’re ready. This will go much smoother if everyone’s prepared.”

On cue, Chan rises from his seat. Minho is quick to follow, seeing as they’re both in the front seat. “Yes, absolutely.” A glance over his shoulder at the other members. “We’ll be ready.”

The ‘or else’ goes unspoken, but everyone jerks to their feet as if he said it out loud.

From there, Hyunjin isn’t afforded any spare time to check on Jisung. Everything moves quickly, just as expected. The eight members file to the front of the van, ushered outside by a legion of buff body guards. Most are cute, but Hyunjin only has a matter of seconds to appreciate their physiques.

As they’re shoved forward, he loses track of Jisung. He knows their security team wouldn’t let the crowd overtake him, but—he worries. He can’t help it, given what’s happened in the past. That fateful day at the airport, two years ago, when Jisung fell because "fans" boxed him in and surrounded him on every side. One incident out of many.

The memory of frustration feels like a phantom limb, almost dulling Hyunjin’s excitement.

Past the sea of reporters, the public, Hyunjin spots a hallway filled with guests. Most are celebrities he’s only ever seen on Instagram or on the massive screen of a movie theater. And on the other side lies the Pink Carpet itself, bracketed by camera flashes and interviewers brandishing microphones. Reporters line the looming staircase, as well as decorations, opulent and floral. It’s difficult to tell from a distance which leaves and petals are real, especially when they’re tangled with twinkling lights. But regardless, Hyunjin itches to grab a paintbrush.

Once again, they don't have much opportunity to think. Not past ‘walk in this direction’ and ‘follow this person.’ Hyunjin is more than happy to listen to his baser instincts and abandon critical thinking. The latter can only get him into trouble in these situations. Thoughts of failure, the various ways he can embarrass himself in public. Or thoughts of what people think of him as he strides past, their first impression.

Social anxiety—it’s a real party pooper. Pun intended.

They’re funneled down a passageway with the other guests, and even the ever-confident Chan radiates nerves as he transitions into ‘Mother Duck’ mode, coaxing them into a huddle. Felix gravitates to him and Changbin, while the younger members obediently trail after. Jeongin glues himself to Seungmin’s side, scanning the crowd with wide, innocent eyes. While Minho… Well, he and Hyunjin have always had this in common.

Maybe not always, but long enough that it feels that way. Long enough for Hyunjin to know what to look for.

Near the center of their huddle, Jisung stares ahead. Blank. Expression schooled into something suspiciously neutral. Hyunjin gently pushes past Jeongin and Felix, sidling up next to him. He can’t help but think back to the van. To Jisung, staring vacantly outside almost the entire ride over without saying so much as two words to him. Or, well, two words were about the extent of it. A quick, ‘be careful,’ as Hyunjin settled into place and adjusted his massive coat.

He must be hating this, Hyunjin thinks. Jisung has gone through the same exposure therapy as him, forced into social situations on the daily, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. He lives to perform, to sing and dance and, most importantly, put on a show. But with interviews and public appearances, it’s nothing more than an obligation to fulfill. A way for him to connect with the people he loves—their fans. Even if it means the occasional uncomfortable question and pressure to provide a certain answer.

Hyunjin can’t say he doesn’t relate, but stepping into the world of fashion has certainly helped.

And yet Jisung exudes a confidence that Hyunjin has always envied. Or maybe ‘charm’ would be more appropriate. Sporting a grin that the average person would see as effortless—enticing, in some instances. He slaps it on like a mask, carefully peeling it off once he’s returned to the safety of their flat.

Brave, resilient. That’s Jisung, never failing to impress Hyunjin.

Trying to be discreet, Hyunjin observes Jisung out of the corner of his eye. He’s gone from staring into the distance to glaring holes through his coat sleeves. Fiddling with the hems, sneaking his fingers inside to mess with the cufflinks of his concealed suit coat. A flash of red, that same red, same as Hyunjin’s jacket.

Usually, Jisung is the one to keep Hyunjin’s spirits up. To make him feel safe in a public setting where they’re surrounded by strangers. Hyunjin has warned Jisung about putting everyone’s comfort before his own, going so far as to bring it up during their last “2 Kids Room” recording together.

So, then, why does it feel like he has to protect Jisung right now?

Gently, so as not to spook him, Hyunjin taps Jisung’s arm. He experiences a twinge of regret when Jisung flinches. But luckily he doesn’t move away, peering up at Hyunjin.

“Are you alright?”

“Ah…”

“Hey.” Hyunjin flashes a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this. We look amazing, yeah?”

Jisung huffs. “Speak for yourself.”

“Oh? Is that a compliment?”

For the first time, Jisung’s eyes light up with an emotion other than trepidation. “Just speaking facts, Hwang Hyunjin.”

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to wince. “Alright, now—you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s a pretty name!”

A quip sits on the tip of Hyunjin’s tongue, but he’s interrupted, once again, as the nearest guard insists they keep walking. He’s reluctant to pull away from Jisung, especially after the breakthrough they just managed, but he has no room to argue. After all, this is a prestigious event, and he doesn’t make the rules—or manage the schedule.

“Stay together,” Chan calls over the crowd’s chatter. Hyunjin glimpses his brown hair before he’s hidden by his taller group mates.

They waddle as a unit, their troop of penguins. Hyunjin’s designer dress shoes suddenly feel too tight on his feet. They had several fittings prior to the event, and yet the jacket—Why does it also feel tight? Constrictive? Maybe it’s the sweat sticking the fabric to his skin.

He shouldn’t be sweating, though. This is his forte. Or at least it should be at this point. He’s sure most celebrities would scoff if they found out he was this anxious. That a member of a world-renowned music group can’t handle chit-chat with interviewers, posing for the cameras.

In the near distance, he glimpses the Pink Carpet. Within a matter of feet away, meaning they’re one of the next guests to claim the spotlight. The thought turns his stomach, pools sweat in the already clammy splay of his palms. He buries his hands deeper in his jacket pockets.

But—but when he finally regains control of his body, he finds Jisung.

He’s hiding; that much is obvious. It’s more blatant than Hyunjin’s attempts to direct questions to Chan or Felix since his English has improved, but he’s far from the proficiency of native speakers, like their resident Aussies.

Jisung’s short stature certainly helps him disappear, too. Hyunjin isn’t necessarily tall, but it’s tough to blend in when he towers over most of his tinier group members. And being a brand ambassador means he might as well have a blinking neon sign on his chest that reads, “Yes! I Know Fashion!”

Fucking fantastic.

Regardless, Hyunjin focuses on Jisung. It’s a welcome distraction from his own inner turmoil. But ‘distraction’ doesn’t feel like the right word. Jisung is way more than a simple ‘distraction.’

He’s one of Hyunjin’s closest friends. No matter how often they fought in the beginning, although that’s what seemed to bring them closer. Something Hyunjin didn’t realize until Jisung proudly proclaimed it to the world.

Jisung, he’s—well, him and Hyunjin—

“See what I mean?” Hyunjin lowers his voice and leans into Jisung. “These journalists can’t get enough of us.”

“Enough of you,” Jisung corrects, but his voice comes out raspy. Hyunjin's insides go warm whenever he hears that gravelly whisper. “I doubt they’re clamoring to get pictures of me.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m not a big, bad brand ambassador.”

Hyunjin stiffens. While there’s humor in Jisung’s tone, there’s also an underlying seriousness. “As if that matters. If anything, those brands are missing out.”

Jisung stumbles on his next step. A slight, jerky motion that only Hyunjin notices. He tilts his head back and peers at Hyunjin through his lashes. Black and carefully curled to perfection, kissing his high cheekbones with each blink. And although they dusted a fine layer of blush across his cheeks, Hyunjin swears the color deepens to a pleasantly rosy shade.

“Hyunjin-ah…”

“I’m just saying!” Hyunjin tries for light and carefree, but even he can hear the strain in his voice. It doesn’t help that his heart is pounding relentlessly inside his chest. Only partially for Met-Gala-related reasons. “I’m sure the designers will be dying to get their hands on you after this.”

Without breaking eye contact, Jisung licks his lips. A flash of pink, lightning-quick, and Hyunjin’s hypnotized. He turns his words back over in his head and—okay, maybe the last part was unnecessary. ‘Get their hands on you.’ Get their hands on Jisung. With his broad shoulders that taper into a slim waist...

“Alright, you boys are up next!”

Hyunjin sucks in a breath as he’s brutally dragged back to the present. Already, Chan has assumed his position at the front of the group. He offers a smile bracketed by dimples, and Hyunjin finds his pulse slowing to something relatively normal. He watches Jisung get swept into Chan and Felix’s orbit, while he slips between Seungmin and Jeongin. It’s not their usual arrangement, but that hardly matters.

His hands at his side, he maintains a stoic expression. Hyunjin is well-accustomed with the “Look.” Most photographers prefer either a serious expression or an artificially cheery one. Nothing much in-between.

“I’ve never seen so many emotionless faces before,” someone says. In English. A voice Hyunjin can’t place.

In much the same mocking tone, another voice adds, “They’re like robots.”

Hyunjin’s heart sinks. That’s not even close to the reception he expected. Not from his previous pleasant experiences with professional photographers. He swallows dryly, unable to wet his parched throat, and tries to focus on what’s next: the reveal.

Several feet over, Chan clears his throat. It’s a sound that contains multitudes. Ranging from a desperate ‘please behave’ to a resigned ‘ignore them’ and, of course, the cue they’ve been waiting for.

Hyunjin brings both hands to the lapels of his jacket and, in sync with the rest of the group, shrugs the mass of fabric off his shoulders. Their staff shuffles into view to receive the jackets before disappearing once again.

Drawing in a shaky inhale, Hyunjin turns around with his hands in the pocket of his pants. Red, like his suit coat. Like Jisung’s matching suit coat.

He defaults to his usual performance for the press. Turning in increments, assuming poses and sporting the occasional polite smile. Ignoring the jeers circulating around them. “Now, let’s do it with feeling!” “They’re gonna start performing, right?” “Everybody, jump!”

That stupid lump in Hyunjin’s throat keeps growing. But it’s not solely for him. The nerves, the aggravation and disappointment—it’s for someone more easily affected than Hyunjin. Someone too far away at the moment.

To his relief, Chan has had enough. He claps his hands together and plasters on a strained smirk. The kind that would make anyone who knows Chan shake in their boots. These reporters have no clue who they’re dealing with. The monster they’ve awakened.

Although, they should be more scared of Stays than anyone else.

Even Hyunjin shudders at the thought of what their fans will say—what they’ll do when they hear what’s happened.

“C’mon, boys,” Chan says, his tone deceptively cheerful. “Up we go.”

Hyunjin falls into step with the rest of the group. The stairs are shallower than they looked from a distance, but Hyunjin manages not to trip or anything equally embarrassing. Even with the distant laughter of the reporters on every side.

From there, it’s easy to find Jisung again. Weaving through the group as they ascend the stairs. When Hyunjin locates him, he notices his posture first—his head slightly bowed, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Fingers curl around Hyunjin’s heart and squeeze.

He suddenly wishes they were somewhere private. Quiet. A place far from the writhing mass of busybodies and sycophants.

Hyunjin isn’t sure what to say. What will actually serve its purpose and ease Jisung’s concerns. So, he settles on silence. No matter how much it pains him.

When they reach the top of the staircase, they encounter another cluster of reporters, who fixate on the members with hungry eyes. Their microphones clutched tight in hands adorned by glistening rings, nails like claws, and wrists encircled by bangles.

“Are you taking questions?” Someone asks. A face Hyunjin doesn’t recognize—no surprise there. “You… speak English, right?”

Hyunjin flinches. It’s a simple, friendly question, but… But.

Chan and Felix smoothly step forward, maintaining artificial smiles. A necessary technique in their line of work. “Yeah, we—of course,” Felix says.

The woman looks Felix over, her gaze appreciative. “Perfect!”

“We can take a couple, at least.” Chan sidles up to Felix. Hyunjin doesn’t miss the way his hand moves to Felix’s lower back. “Gotta make the rounds. You get it.”

A plastic smile. “Completely understand.”

Hyunjin casually steps into the open space between Changbin and Jisung. The familiar scent of Jisung’s cologne hovers in the air, and Hyunjin holds onto that familiarity. A crutch, in some ways. To help him get through the night without making an ass of himself or the group. To divert his attention from his imposter syndrome as it rears its ugly head, and a tiny voice in the back of his head that’s begging to go home. Escape the noise and apprehension curdling in his gut.

Once they’ve finished their obligatory interview, Hyunjin releases a sigh of relief. His gaze darts to Jisung and finds him studying the carpeting.

“Still alright?” Hyunjin murmurs. “I know the ground can’t be that interesting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Looks like premium stuff to me.” Jisung doesn’t even lift his head, kicking at the carpet with the toe of his shoe.

Again, they move, and Hyunjin curses the universe’s shitty timing. He trots along without leaving Jisung’s side, fully intending to keep it that way.

“Or is it because you’re trying not to trip over your own feet?”

“Well, I’m in trouble now.” Finally, he makes eye contact with Hyunjin. His heart-shaped mouth twitches into a wavering smile. “If I trip, it’s officially your fault.”

Hyunjin huffs. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“It totally is. One of those universal rules—you said it, you willed it into existence.”

Their fingers brush, just for a second, and Hyunjin stifles the urge to pull away. Not because he’s uncomfortable, but because of the fucking cameras, the paparazzi… he doesn’t need another scandal. Never again, if he’s lucky. He certainly doesn’t want to drag Jisung into anything either.

And yet there’s comfort in the gesture. That split second of contact.

Hyunjin wonders if Jisung feels the same.

“I didn’t ‘will’ anything into existence,” Hyunjin quips, fighting off the warmth creeping up his neck. “You’re responsible for your own actions, Jisung-ah.”

“Normally, yes, but I have no control over Hwang Hyunjin-related incidents.”

“Okay, we have got to change my name on your phone. Permanently wipe that from your vocabulary.”

Jisung fixes him with a shy grin that feels realer than anything thus far. They’re closer than Hyunjin realized. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in Jisung’s eyes, smell the extra cologne he applied to his wrists and the hollow of his throat. Hyunjin has the sudden and irrational urge to lean over and inhale directly from the source.

Something decidedly not platonic that would completely freak Jisung out.

“I really do think it’s a pretty name,” Jisung says, far too earnest for Hyunjin’s liking. “I’m only teasing because you get so—” He mimes something resembling cat paws, kneading a blanket. “Cute. Flustered! When I use it.”

Hyunjin attempts to save face, averting his gaze. “Sure,” he drawls.

Jisung goes quiet, then, and Hyunjin accepts it. His makeup artists must be cursing his name already, hoping his red face doesn’t affect the look they spent hours meticulously crafting. And Chan, well, the last thing he needs is any of them making a scene during one of their first high-fashion events as a unit—internationally, too.

After sweeping his gaze across the hall, over the countless celebrities and influencers, he returns to Jisung. Naturally drawn to him tonight, it seems. To his styled hair and pouty lips. To his brave face, carefully concealing what’s likely a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

Maybe this is more than just a “tonight” problem, but Hyunjin doesn’t have time to unpack that right now.

They walk deeper into the building where the lights dim, creating an atmosphere distinct from that of the Pink Carpet. An illusion of privacy—of being part of a selective crowd. Nothing totally new to Hyunjin, but it still creates knots in his stomach. He’s struck by a restlessness that goes beyond his legs operating on autopilot. Like he needs to be holding something. Microphones have always sufficed on stage, but here, he can’t escape thoughts of what this opportunity means, what people may think of him.

He glances at the space between him and Jisung. Infinitesimal, really. A matter of scant inches. Outside of phones, the cameras are gone in this section of the building. The organizers prohibit reporters from coming this far—from seeing what the 'Hollywood Elite' get up to at an event like this. On another day, that sentiment would make Hyunjin queasy. Now, though, he’s filled with relief. It would be so easy to reach out and take Jisung’s hand in his.

So easy, in fact, that Hyunjin doesn’t realize he has done it until it’s too late.

‘Sweaty.’ That’s his first thought. Followed soon after by, ‘Warm.’

Of course, he’s not sneaky, and Jisung’s eyes are on him the instant their hands touch. He studies Hyunjin’s face, searching for an answer Hyunjin’s not sure he has.

“Hyun…” Jisung thins his lips. “You don’t have to…”

I do, Hyunjin thinks stubbornly. What remains of the logical side of his brain is actively protesting this decision. But the other side, larger and tapped into his emotions, that guides his hand as he paints—it knows this is the right move. Not that he can explain his motivations to Jisung. Especially not directly and in a public setting.

Hyunjin of the past, during the early years of their career, would hate this progression. But he’s mature enough now to know Jisung holds a special place in his heart.

(Something he still isn’t capable of admitting to Jisung, but so the fuck what?)

He tips his chin toward Seungmin and Changbin, who have interlaced their fingers. “I thought it might help.”

Jisung stares at Hyunjin’s longer, slender fingers, entangled with his. Their varying complexions paint a pleasant picture in Hyunjin’s eyes. Jisung’s palms are as clammy as his, and his rings are cold metal. But combined with Jisung’s body heat, the sensation grounds Hyunjin.

“I…” Stress tugs at the corners of Jisung’s mouth, faint wrinkles creasing his forehead, but he relaxes into Hyunjin’s hold. “Okay.”

Hyunjin blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, a word tacked on the end of a shaky exhale. “As long as it makes you feel better.”

That’s more like our Jisungie.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Once the offer is out there, Hyunjin leads Jisung around wherever he goes.

There are few celebrities Hyunjin knows on a first name basis. Especially in the U.S. where they’ve only visited for tours and, just recently, promotions. He does recognize people from fashion events, though; faces he didn’t notice when they entered the venue.

But, to be frank, he’s following Chan’s lead.

In terms of socializing and ‘making the rounds,’ he and Felix are professionals. Two of the few true extroverts who enjoy amicable chatter. Of course, it helps that they're fluent in the same language as most of the guests. But Hyunjin has been diligent in his lessons, realizing he can understand more than in the past. Able to maintain actual conversations with people he’s never met before.

Jisung, however, isn’t so lucky.

His English certainly isn’t bad, but he’s grown self-conscious of his accent. An inevitable hint of Aussie mixed with a dash of British.

“They can’t understand me,” Jisung professed after Hyunjin’s first attempt to loop him into a conversation. “God, it’s because of the way I talk.”

“The way you—Absolutely not.”

“What other reason would it be?”

“It’s loud in here,” Hyunjin said. “That’s all. I understood everything you said.”

Jisung groaned, folding his arms and pouting. “You’re just used to me.”

At that moment, Hyunjin stifled every urge to pinch Jisung’s round cheeks. To coo and drag him into a hug. “Well, either way… I think your English is cute. So don’t let it get to you.”

“Cute?!”

Hyunjin made the smart decision to not dignify Jisung with a response. Instead, he guided him to the next gaggle of stars they’d sweet talk. Without giving Jisung the opportunity to refute his claim. Or worse: bring up the fact Hyunjin called him, Han Jisung, cute.

That didn’t line up with their unspoken arrangement. Jisung could flirt with Hyunjin, tease him relentlessly, but not the other way around. It didn’t fit their dynamic.

“No way,” Felix hisses between his teeth. “That can’t be who I think it is. Right?”

“He’s headed right this way.” Chan’s voice comes out as a squeak. Chan’s.

Hyunjin doesn’t notice him at first. But when he does, he’s not sure how he missed one of the largest men in attendance. A literal Adonis, standing a head taller—if not more—than everyone in Stray Kids. Most people in the room, for that matter. Thick and muscular, dirty blond hair neatly styled. And his infectious laugh is the first thing Hyunjin hears as he approaches.

“You’re the boy band, yeah?” Chris Hemsworth sports a prize-winning grin. A real, honest-to-god celebrity in the flesh. “From South Korea?”

“Uh, we, uh,” Chan stammers, more tongue-tied than Hyunjin has ever heard him sound. Excluding any time he speaks to Ryan Reynolds. “Yeah. Yes, that’s us.”

Chris’s eyes widen, a booming laugh bursting from his chest. “Wait, an Aussie?”

“Both of us.” Chan wraps an arm around Felix’s waist, pulling a tiny gasp from his throat. “Aussies!”

“Well, whadya know. I had no idea!”

“Yeah, mate, small world,” Chan says, matching Chris’s energy effortlessly. “We’re Stray…” In typical fashion, he addresses them as if they’re actually his kids. That this is his family. “Kids? That’s us, yeah. Crazy to see you here! I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re, you know. Chris Hemsworth. But I didn’t know—”

“Hey, hey.” Chris places a meaty hand on Chan’s shoulder, and Chan clams up, sucking down the rest of his rant. “Calm down there. No reason to panic.”

Felix steps in, but Hyunjin knows him well enough to sense he’s just as nervous as Chan. His enthusiasm, however, is completely genuine, and Hyunjin sees that familiar spark in his eye. Camaraderie. Encountering someone who grew up in the same country as you with shared experiences. Someone who connects you to home, even if you’ve never met before.

“And you.” Chris steps up to Changbin and literally has to look down. It does nothing to deter Changbin as he puffs out his chest, assuming his full height. “Damn. How much are you benching, huh?”

“I…”

“He can easily bench me,” Felix interjects with a giggle.

“You can’t weigh more than 120 pounds, soaking wet,” Chris says, gesturing to Felix. “But I’m sure you’re benching close to 200. A guy like you.”

Then, Chan blurts: “I bet you could pick him up.”

Hyunjin swears he can hear Changbin curse under his breath, cheeks going pink. But Chris merely laughs again, another rich and bellowing sound that brings a smile to the surrounding faces. He moves the hand on Changbin’s shoulder to the space above his waist.

“Yeah? Whadya say, big guy? You up for it?”

Changbin nods, a quick and jerky movement. And that’s all the permission Chris needs.

With incredible ease, he places both hands under Changbin’s armpits and lifts. Scooping Changbin into the air with only the faintest of huffs. He raises him a couple feet in the air, and presents him to the rest of the group as if he’s Rafiki from ‘Lion King,’ presenting Simba to the kingdom.

“See?” Chris’s jaw is tense, but his arms aren’t shaking. He was telling the truth; this is a cinch for him.

“Do Chris next!”

He furrows his brow. “Chris…?”

“Channie-hyung,” Felix corrects, shaking his head. “Sorry, force of habit.”

Lowering Changbin to the ground, Chris focuses on Chan. “You’re Chris, too, mate?”

Chan looks like he’s torn between bursting into flames and prostrating himself at Chris’s feet. “Yeah! Yeah, I am! I know, so crazy.”

Hyunjin snickers as they giggle and rib each other. It reminds him of that English saying. How does it go? ‘Boys will be… Boys will be boys,’ right? After watching Chris easily hoist Changbin into the air, it comes as no shock when he lifts Chan, a couple inches higher and with a triumphant cry. He progresses through the group, picking whichever member Felix instructs him to grab. Poor Jeongin seems like he might pass out when Chris gets his hands on him.

“He’s huge,” Jisung whispers, and Hyunjin startles, half-forgetting he was there. “I can’t believe there are actually people that big out there.”

Hyunjin scoffs and turns to Jisung, raising a brow. “Star-struck?”

“How could I not be, dude! He’s literally Thor!”

A slew of teasing remarks circle inside Hyunjin’s head, but… Jisung appears relaxed. More so than he has at any other point tonight. Even in the face of an A-list celeb. Hyunjin likes to think it’s because they’re holding hands again, but something about Chris’s casual attitude seems to do wonders for Jisung. And it helps that all the focus has shifted to Chris, schmoozing with the resident Aussies.

Lowering his voice, Hyunjin leans in. “You feeling better?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Jisung says with a roll of his eyes, “I’m fine. You’ve asked me, like, a hundred times already. And the last time was only a few minutes ago.”

“And?”

“And it’s nice to think you’re worried about me. But I don’t want to…” Jisung nibbles his bottom lip. “You know. Ruin the night for you. This is a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal for all of us,” Hyunjin is quick to remind him. “You’re not ruining anything. Promise.”

Jisung holds Hyunjin’s gaze, his irises dark in the low lighting of the hall. They’re captivating, twinkling like the string lights and crystals dangling from the chandeliers. Hyunjin can imagine how a painting of this Jisung would look. How the brush would shape his eyes, detailing his pupils and chocolate brown irises. The thin strokes of eyelashes, pink dusted cheeks. Round, like everything else about Jisung. The curve of his throat, which Hyunjin can’t help but feel would look prettier marked with faint red splotches and—

Woah. Where’d that last thought come from?

“Wait a minute,” someone says, an unfamiliar feminine voice cutting through Hyunjin’s spiraling thoughts. “You two! Are those suits matching?”

Hyunjin could kick himself. He’d been doing a damn good job of keeping tabs on their surroundings and, more specifically, Jisung. Or he thought he was doing a decent job until now. He hides their tangled fingers behind his hip.

She’s gorgeous, really. Long amber hair tumbles over her shoulders in waves, and embroidered lilies adorn her elegant gown. Unfortunately, Hyunjin can’t say that he recognizes her.

“Oh, well—” Hyunjin hates the way he stumbles over his words, but charges on. “Tommy insisted.”

The woman hides a laugh behind a pale hand with bejeweled acrylic nails. “Oh, yeah? Either way, you look incredible. That red? And to be matching?” She blows them a kiss. “Very bold.”

“This one was also determined to match,” Hyunjin teases, jabbing an elbow into Jisung’s side. “How could I say no?”

Jisung juts out his lips in a pout, struggling to glare at Hyunjin in a way that’s actually threatening. But his responding flush was immediate, cheeks assuming the same vibrant red as his suit coat. He lowers his head. “Thank you.”

“How cute,” she coos, just shy of mocking. “I hope you have a fabulous night!”

She flits away, then, without another word. Disappearing into a huddle of nameless faces. Meanwhile, Jisung releases a shuddering breath.

“You know,” Jisung says, voice low but clearly teasing, “if you squeeze my fingers any tighter, I’m going to lose circulation in them.”

So much for keeping his cool.

“Oh, god.” Hyunjin loosens his grip but refuses to unlace their fingers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—she just appeared out of nowhere.”

“I know, I know. I’m not mad! Just messing with you.”

“Okay, I… I was just joking around, by the way. I hope it was okay?”

“That you said I told Tommy we should match?” The pinkish hue of Jisung’s cheeks hasn’t faded one bit. “Nah, I don’t care.”

Hyunjin searches his gaze. He’s so used to their back-and-forth, the unserious banter they’ve grown accustomed to. Apart from a handful of late-night chats, going as far back as when they all lived under the same roof, he and Jisung avoid ‘deep’ conversations like the plague. Not by Hyunjin’s choice, but more Jisung’s.

“But…”

Oh no. What has he done now?

“But?”

“I don’t know, I… our outfits.” Jisung looks over his suit, before his eyes shift to Hyunjin. “The fact they match could be part of it, I think. Or I hadn’t thought about it until she said something.”

“Oh, I—”

“It’s not your fault,” he’s quick to add. “I’m just, uh. I feel like everyone’s staring.”

Hyunjin relaxes, somewhat relieved. “Oh. Oh, I mean, of course they’re staring.” He smirks and stoops to be more level with Jisung. “We’re the best-looking duo here.”

Jisung huffs. “In a room full of celebrities? A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Celebrities, shmelebrities. We’re idols.”

“Well…”

While Jisung’s demeanor has improved, Hyunjin senses a change. Or, rather, a regression. The tension returns to Jisung’s frame and tightens his voice, the muscles in his jaw. He’s pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.

Hyunjin wishes he knew the perfect thing to say at a moment like this. He takes pride in interpreting Jisung's intentions and accurately gauging his moods. Navigating his emotions and supporting him. But he feels woefully unprepared here. Hyunjin’s out of his element, too, so finding his own footing, while helping Jisung find his—

It’s a much bigger challenge than he expected.

Comforting words sit on the tip of his tongue, but Jisung acts quicker. “I’m gonna—I need to use the bathroom.”

And in a flash of red fabric, he’s gone.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

No offense to Chan, but Hyunjin couldn't care less if he’s calling out to him.

Ducking and weaving through the crowd, Hyunjin wishes he had paid attention earlier when the staff gave them a rundown of the layout. Specifically, where the bathroom is. The table arrangement is much like a maze, with hundreds of reserved seats and standing guests congesting the limited space, complicating things further.

After a few minutes of aimless searching, the panic mounts. And Hyunjin knows he doesn’t have a better option.

“Excuse me,” he says to the next person he comes across, in soft, accented English. “Do you know where the bathroom is?”

An older woman, reminiscent of Donatella, looks him over and smiles, thin lips outlined in crimson. The ornate flower fixture on top of her head bounces when she nods. “Of course, sweetheart.” She swivels to point toward a narrow hallway, perpendicular to the bar. “It’s right over there.”

Hyunjin offers her a quick bow before taking off in the direction she indicated. The passageway is barely noticeable and surprisingly quiet. Hyunjin supposes it’s still early in the night, but he half-expected tipsy guests to be loitering nearby. Sneaking a cigarette or even a kiss with a fellow celebrity. Here, where truly no one can find them.

But only a couple of people are standing by. They’re locked in a heated conversation, their hands gesturing wildly. Luckily, they’re too involved to notice Hyunjin. Or maybe the discussion is so important that acknowledging Hyunjin would spoil the mood. Either way, he’s glad he’s able to slip into the men’s bathroom without much grief.

Fluorescent lights assault him right away, and Hyunjin squints, surveying the room. It’s not an enormous bathroom, by any means. The far wall boasts three urinals seamlessly built into the structure. Adjacent to them, on the right, there is a pair of stalls and overhead lamps. While gold leaf details the sinks and mirrors, the spotless glass is perfect for someone to check their makeup. And, overall, the decor and rich red walls definitely befit the venue.

But Hyunjin realizes Jisung… is not at any of the urinals or sinks.

His gaze slides to the stalls. They’re not metal like in standard bathrooms, but constructed from wood. He’s pleased to find a small gap between the stall doors and the marble floor. Skimming the front, he doesn’t notice feet or a pair of shoes. Not until he bends over, finally spotting a pair of black dress shoes.

Shit. Part of him wonders if he should’ve followed Jisung. If he should’ve just left well-enough alone. Sometimes, that’s what Jisung needs: solitude. But more often than not, he needs the shelter, the reassurance, that comes from another person’s presence. Specifically, a member of the group.

Maybe Hyunjin in particular, but that could be wishful thinking on his part.

“J…” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Jisungie?”

The heels of those shoes click together, and Hyunjin stands. He approaches the stall, hovering just outside with his fingers brushing the handle. He can’t imagine Jisung didn’t lock the door, but he wouldn’t push inside without Jisung’s explicit permission.

“Sorry, I was concerned.” Hyunjin presses a palm to the door. “After what you said earlier…”

The door falls open, creaking on its hinges. Revealing Jisung slumped on the toilet, his doe eyes peering up at Hyunjin through his lashes. To Hyunjin’s relief, there’s no telltale wetness of tears.

“What I said,” Jisung deadpans, trying to force a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “About people staring?”

With a sigh, Hyunjin steps fully inside and lets the door close behind him. It shuts with a soft thud—final. He stays at the door, though, out of respect for Jisung. Keeping careful boundaries. “Everything you said, honestly.”

Jisung sits up straight and swipes his hands through his hair. His fingers come away with product, and he grimaces, quickly wiping them off on his dress pants. Only to go bug-eyed a moment later with the realization of what he’s done.

“I don’t think Tommy will care,” Hyunjin says. Quick, before Jisung spirals any further. “I don’t even think it left a stain.”

Echoing Hyunjin’s sigh, Jisung climbs to his feet but maintains the distance between them. Hyunjin’s eyes drop to those hands, hovering awkwardly at his sides, fingers only previously tangled with his. The memory makes his face go hot.

“I appreciate you following me,” Jisung says, “but I promise I’m gonna be okay! Just needed a few moments to myself, you know. To cool off. Ground myself or whatever.”

Hyunjin’s lips curl upwards. He’s eternally grateful to their staff for helping Jisung find a reliable therapist. And not only for Jisung but for the other members, as well. Hyunjin has already noticed a difference in Jisung’s behavior, and how he navigates high-tension situations. In the back of his mind, he wonders whether their therapist gives Jisung the same tips he’s given him.

“I get it,” Hyunjin begins, cautious. “Seriously. But I wanted to check on you and make sure you were alright. I didn’t want you to think it’s because you look like you’re having trouble or anything like that.”

Jisung’s brow furrows, lips parting, but Hyunjin cuts him off. “You’re doing amazing out there, okay? With all those strangers and people who only think they know you.” Hyunjin laughs softly. “Very brave stuff.”

“I don’t know if ‘amazing’ is the word I’d choose…” Jisung props a hand on the stall wall. “More like ‘adequate.’ Or ‘mediocre.’ But, hey, it’s nothing I’ll get fired or get a stern talking to over.”

Hyunjin huffs. “I meant what I said. Amazing.”

“C’mon, I know you handled your first fashion show better than how I’m handling this. Don’t lie.”

“Ah, well, that’s what I’m talking about,” Hyunjin says. “I struggled just as much, if not… more? I could barely look anyone in the eyes. Seriously, I hovered on the periphery of every little conversation without inserting myself. Tried to hide when I could.”

“Hide?” Jisung appears genuinely shocked. Hyunjin hasn’t talked about his experience much with the members. Not like this. “Why?”

“Plenty of reasons. My English is subpar. My fashion knowledge is still and always growing. It definitely isn’t where it is now,” Hyunjin admits. “And then there’s the whole ‘celebrity’ part of it. I hardly knew anyone there! Except for the people who knew and approached me first.”

Jisung wears an expression, then, that Hyunjin hasn’t seen him wear all night. Certainly not directed at him: pity.

“I didn’t know that,” Jisung says in a low voice. “I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“I’m not telling you to make you feel bad!” Hyunjin can’t help but step closer, hand raised to placate Jisung. “I just… wanted you to know.”

Humming under his breath, Jisung luckily doesn’t back away or put space between them. Instead, he stays half-leaned against the wall with his gaze fixed on Hyunjin. His mouth is soft, posture more relaxed. Hyunjin likes to think he’s at least lifted some of the weight off his shoulders.

“So, how do you deal with it, then?” Jisung cocks his head to the side. “Events. The people, paparazzi and shit.”

A tiny giggle slips out before Hyunjin can silence it. “How do I deal with it… Uh. Great question. I guess I do whatever I can to distract myself.”

“Distract yourself?”

“Honestly, yeah.”

“Okay, but while you’re talking to someone…?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes fondly. “Except for then. But, as long as no one’s paying attention or asking me questions, I pretty much. Let my mind wander? Daydream, maybe brainstorm my next painting. Anything to distract myself.”

“Interesting…” Jisung taps his chin. “I’ve gotta say, it makes sense.”

“That’s what works for me, at least.”

Jisung mumbles, “Right, okay. Gotcha…” His gaze drops to the lapel of Hyunjin’s jacket. The glitzy pins and crisp fabric. It wanders lower to the waistband of Hyunjin’s pants, and oh fuck—is it hot in this bathroom or what? Probably just Hyunjin’s imagination. Yeah, definitely just him.

“Then…” He trails off. “How about we do that, then? Distract ourselves.”

“I’m game,” Hyunjin says, leaning against the stall wall opposite of Jisung. “What do you have in mind?”

“You’re the expert! You tell me.”

Hyunjin scoffs. “I don’t know about expert, but okay, uh… We could play a game? Something quick to pass the time?”

“Eh. I guess.”

“Right, you’re not as much of a gamer as your roommates.”

Hyunjin picks his brain. There are many distractions to choose from. Anything from hanging out, doom-scrolling through their phones, to sneaking around the event, playing something like the world’s most extravagant game of “Eye Spy.”

But an idea pops into Hyunjin’s head—a batshit insane one, but an idea. Mostly something to tease Jisung and definitively distract him from anything else bothering him. He tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Well, I know something that would probably work.”

“Yeah?”

“I bet if I kissed you, it would be a great distraction.”

What the fuck. What the fuck.

He’s teasing, but—when he checks, Jisung’s wide eyes and gaping mouth speak volumes. That maybe, just maybe, Hyunjin’s suggestion didn’t land as a joke.

“I’m just messing with you,” Hyunjin blurts, giving Jisung a playful shove. His hand lands dangerously close to the collar of Jisung’s shirt, pinky brushing bare skin, and he yanks his hand away. “Geez.”

Jisung has yet to come back down to Earth. Gaping at Hyunjin, blinking furiously. Clearly trying to catch up with the hypothetical bomb Hyunjin dropped.

“You…” Jisung clears his throat. “Yeah, right. Because that’s the best way to distract me.”

“Hey, watch it! I’m a great kisser,” Hyunjin says with a smirk.

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but…”

“It would distract you. I mean, I think it would distract most people in this situation.”

Jisung snorts, a nervous edge to the sound. “Well, yeah. Duh. But we don’t—we’ve never, you know.”

“I was just. Joking,” Hyunjin repeats. But it feels like he’s trying to reassure himself more than Jisung. “Okay? I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Jisung shifts on his feet, coming away from the wall. But there’s a purposeful foot of space left between them. About the width of the toilet, funnily enough. Something that, if another member told this story, would make Hyunjin collapse from laughter. This is his life, though, and the result of his questionable decisions. A result of everything that started the moment he took Jisung’s hand in his.

“You’re not wrong,” Jisung says, his voice quiet. “A kiss would be pretty distracting. And you’re—” A frantic motion at Hyunjin. “You know.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. Appraising Jisung. He’s beginning to peel back the layers and see something he never expected from Jisung. As if… he’s actually onboard with this idea? As if Hyunjin speaking one of his deepest, darkest desires into existence has exposed that he’s not the only one who wants it?

It feels illegal to be right. Like it shouldn’t be, but—

“You hinted at that earlier,” Hyunjin says, matching the low volume of Jisung’s voice. Instinctively leaning in, as if there’s any way Jisung can’t hear him in this confined space. “But I still don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please. You know you’re hot, Hyunjin-ah.”

Heat. A heady rush of heat, climbing the column of Hyunjin’s neck with staggering speed. It pools in his mouth as saliva, brings color to his cheeks. Jisung compliments him all the time, albeit in the joking manner he’s coined as his own. But this feels different somehow. Or that could be Hyunjin’s imagination, the hopeful part of it that’s desperate for Jisung to want him. To really want him.

“Oh, I…” Hyunjin drops his gaze to the floor, examining the fascinating toes of his dress shoes. “I’ve never heard you call me that.”

“Dude, I call you hot, like, all the time.”

Hyunjin curls his lip. “Do not call me ‘dude’ while we’re standing around, talking about kissing.” He sighs. “And, yes, but you’re always just… fucking around with me.”

“Well, yeah.” Jisung shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”

Oh god. Oh shit. Hyunjin’s sure he’s about to explode at any moment, the terrible warm magma of his embarrassment close to eruption. Jisung means it. All those times he’s praised Hyunjin, even when they were young, dumb and prone to fights.

“And what…” Hyunjin should stop talking. Should but can’t. “What does that have to do with kissing me?”

“Oh. Oh, I mean.” Jisung flounders. “Your, uh. Yeah.”

“My yeah?”

“You’ve gotta know.”

Hyunjin thinks he does. And while he’s had fun giving Jisung a hard time up to this point, knowing what he does now… Well, he can’t help but push. He purses his lips and taps them, focused on the prominent swell of his bottom lip. “Do you mean these?”

Jisung zeroes in on his mouth. Immediate, ogling Hyunjin like he’s the only thing he sees. And no matter how true that may be, in the literal sense, it makes Hyunjin’s blood go hot. Rushing to his head, damn near dizzying.

“Hyunjin-ah, du—”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Bro,” Jisung compromises, a spark of mischief returning to his eyes. “Bro, yeah. Of course.”

They’ve been dancing around this for too long. Hyunjin is happy to take the reins. He’s here to help Jisung, right? That’s the whole reason he followed him in the first place?

“Then the kiss would be a decent distraction.”

Jisung jerks his head back, pulled from his lip-induced trance. “Yeah, obviously kissing would be distracting.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it would.” Hyunjin laughs, trying to play it off with a wave of his hand. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this right now.”

“You suggested it!”

“As a joke!”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like much of a joke anymore.”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

“Pointing at your—” Jisung sucks in a breath. “You know. Yeah.”

“So, exactly.” Hyunjin shrugs. “Distraction.”

Jisung opens his mouth, and Hyunjin can already imagine the slew of nonsense bubbling over. Steeped in his anxiety, he becomes extremely talkative. Ready to talk anyone’s ear off about any and everything. But Hyunjin thinks they’ve done enough talking. They’ve already figured out what will really help Jisung.

Before Jisung can get another word in edgewise, Hyunjin grips the lapels of Jisung’s suit coat and pulls him off the wall. Reveling in the tiny squeak that leaves his lips as he’s tugged up and forward, until his hands land on Hyunjin’s chest. He barely has a second to process the change in position before Hyunjin is pressing their lips together.

Hovering there for a second, he savors the taste of Jisung’s lip gloss and the faint odor of his shaving cream, enjoying the plush swell of Jisung’s mouth before pulling away.

He doesn’t move far but, even if he wanted to, Jisung doesn’t give him the opportunity. His hands curl into fists in the fabric of Hyunjin’s suit coat, scrunching up the expensive fabric. And when Hyunjin moves, he arches forward, seeking contact. Desperate to continue.

Hyunjin doesn’t like to think it’s his imagination anymore—not after coming this far. But that mean voice in the back of his head still swears he’s hallucinating or misreading the situation.

“Holy shit,” Jisung breathes, each word tickling Hyunjin’s lips. “You really did it.”

“I… Yeah, I guess I did.” Hyunjin is fresh out of smart responses.

“You were right. That was—super distracting.”

“Uh huh.”

“We should do it again.”

“Oka—”

Jisung swallows the rest of Hyunjin’s words. This time, he pushes into the kiss with force. Damn near bruising, would’ve been a disaster if he hadn’t gotten the angle just right. He moves closer, too, urging Hyunjin backwards until his back hits the stall door.

His movements are almost frantic. Fingers scrabbling against Hyunjin’s chest, along the edges of his coat, the buttons of the shirt underneath, the bare skin of Hyunjin’s collarbone. And his mouth—wet and slick, creates delicious friction as it slides against Hyunjin’s.

It’s been at least a year since Hyunjin kissed someone. Honestly, he doesn’t have a stellar ‘love life,’ regardless of him being a massive romantic. His first kiss was with a girl he crushed on in high school. The few since with strangers he met in special clubs, targeted towards idols. This is in a league of its own.

Jisung is solid in his arms. Pressed together in this fancy fucking bathroom, sucking Hyunjin’s top lip between his and pulling a reedy whine from Hyunjin’s throat. No one has ever kissed him as if they’re afraid it’s the last chance they’ll get. Like they’ll swallow Hyunjin whole and die if they don’t.

“Fuck,” Jisung gasps when they spare a moment to break apart. “I knew—those lips—”

But he doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, pushing Hyunjin against the door with force, making him moan. Hyunjin never realized, until this very moment, that he liked to be manhandled. Or… he’s entertained the notion before, but holy shit—in execution? Being pushed around by Jisung specifically?

Once his back strikes the wood, Hyunjin brings his hands to the small of Jisung’s back. Fisting his hands in the fabric in much the same way as Jisung. He can’t seem to pull Jisung close enough in these tight quarters. And when he glimpses a patch of sun-kissed skin, under that dazzling red, he can’t help but slip his hands underneath the coat, teasing the hem of the shirt and seeking warm skin.

Jisung appreciates it, rewarding Hyunjin with a whiny noise of his own. The kiss turns messy, less of a ‘kiss’ and more ‘two mouths moving against each other.’ He slides his mouth lower, over the jut of Hyunjin’s chin and across his jaw, trailing fervent kisses down his throat. Hyunjin instinctively tips his head back, smacking into the stall door and baring himself to Jisung.

Hell, if they weren’t here, Hyunjin would gladly bare everything to Jisung. Pull down his pants and let Jisung finish him off.

Even then, the thought’s tempting.

“I don’t give you enough credit,” Jisung murmurs against Hyunjin’s clavicle. “You have some damned good ideas.”

Hyunjin gasps as Jisung lingers in the same area. Distantly, he thinks he should warn Jisung against leaving marks. Even though he would love nothing more than to suck marks into Jisung’s tender skin, to let his caveman brain stake a claim. But Jisung moves away before he has to stop him. Jisung noses along Hyunjin’s jaw, his ear, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Burying his fingers in the hair of Hyunjin’s nape, stylists be damned, he tips Hyunjin’s head forward.

Their noses touching, they share the same air. Breathing evenly in sync. And pressed together, Hyunjin can feel every rise and fall of Jisung’s chest. His heartbeat gradually slows, struggling after the adrenaline rush that overcame him. He can tell Jisung’s in a similar state, his fingers trailing up and down Hyunjin’s spine, each exhale ghosting across Hyunjin’s lips.

“So…” Hyunjin brushes a strand of Jisung’s hair behind his ear without separating their foreheads. Operating on instinct and feeling alone. “Was I right?”

Jisung’s voice is deliciously hoarse when he replies. “About distracting me?”

“Well, that, too,” Hyunjin says, punctuated by a breathless chuckle. His eyes flutter open, meeting Jisung’s. “But, no, I meant the ‘great kisser’ thing.”

A laugh bursts from Jisung’s chest, and he droops fully against Hyunjin, burying his face in Hyunjin’s chest. The warmth of his breath tickles Hyunjin’s skin, and he can’t help but join in Jisung’s laughter.

“Yeah, baby,” he says and—oh. That nickname has a completely new vibe in this context. Like Jisung might actually mean it. Like, as Jisung revealed about his flirting, this is real, too. “You were right about it all.”

Hyunjin merely hums in response. At least for the moment, he prefers settling into the atmosphere. To enjoy a rare few minutes of solitude and peace. And, for the time being, he’s able to push aside thoughts of the kiss itself. What this means for his relationship with Jisung.

It doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up. Or, well, it’s technically the perfect time. But if Hyunjin plans to calm Jisung down, to ‘distract’ him, then prodding him about… whatever the fuck just happened seems counterproductive.

So, he remains silent, and Jisung follows suit. They share that same breathing space for several more minutes, as long as they think they can get away with it before a staff member or—god forbid—Chan comes looking for them.

And if they share a couple more heated kisses in the meantime, before reemerging?

That’s nobody’s business but their own.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Leaving the bathroom feels like reentering an alien world.

Inside, Hyunjin could almost forget where they were. That just outside, famous people surrounded them, blissfully oblivious. He’s hesitant to return to the chaos, the questions and small talk. And, honestly, he’d much rather spend the rest of the night with Jisung, sitting in comfortable silence. Even if it meant being holed up in a bathroom scented by potpourris.

But a new confidence surges through his body as he steps into the narrow hallway. As their fingers tangle together, he senses a shared energy with Jisung, a connection that propels them forward. When Hyunjin glances back at him, he no longer sees the tense (but no less handsome) man from the van. He sees a star—an idol. Dazzling in his own way, brilliant with his gummy smile and lively eyes. He’s staring straight ahead with his shoulders back, steps lighter.

This is the Jisung that Hyunjin likes to see. Loves, even. And there’s admittedly a certain rush that comes from knowing he’s responsible for the change.

“Ready to go back?” Hyunjin asks, knocking his shoulder against Jisung’s.

“I mean, I don’t think we have a choice either way. I’d rather not have Channie-hyung hunt us down.”

“Honestly, yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

Jisung flashes Hyunjin a secretive smile. The kind that barely pulls at the corners of his heart-shaped mouth. And for some fucking reason, it makes Hyunjin want to pull him back into the bathroom and kiss him until his legs give out.

He quickly shakes the thought off and mirrors Jisung’s expression. “Shall we?”

“Why,” Jisung says, in his adorably accented English, “yes, sir.”

They drift down the hall and back into the throng of people. They had been gone for what felt like both an eternity and a fleeting instant, their absence playing tricks on their perception of time. The group has moved on from Chris Hemsworth, but hasn’t moved far from that side of the room. Cutting through the crowd and rejoining them is easy and, since they left, the waiting staff has brought plates of food and flutes of champagne out to their table.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Jisung squeaks the second he spots the food. “Is that filet mignon?”

Chan snorts and rolls his eyes. “I take it your trip to the bathroom went…” His gaze drifts to Hyunjin for a second, then returns to Jisung. “Well?”

To Hyunjin’s relief, Jisung speaks for himself. “Yeah, great. Awesome. I’m feeling fine and ready to chow down on some steak. And, wait is that—is that New York cheesecake?!”

As Jisung dives for a bite, Minho teasingly makes a move to yank the plate away. “Who said it’s for you?”

“Of course it’s for me!” Jisung snatches the edge of the plate and gives a light tug, wincing when the cheesecake wobbles. Red strawberry on top, red sauce. “Who else would it be for?”

Hyunjin chuckles into his hand, slowly coming up on the table. He notices two open seats between Minho and Changbin. Their meals sit untouched, as if they’ve been waiting to eat until Hyunjin and Jisung returned. The sentiment fills Hyunjin's chest with warmth, momentarily erasing the bathroom incident from his mind.

“I was almost worried one of you fell in,” Seungmin jokes, shooting Hyunjin a smirk. “Although I had my money on Jisungie.”

“Wha—Me? I’m potty trained!” Jisung matches Seungmin’s sass. “Unlike some puppies we know.”

Seungmin curls his arms, limp-wristed like he has paws. He makes a comically deadpan barking sound, and the rest of the table erupts in laughter. Out of the corner of Hyunjin’s eye, he notices Chan shielding his face behind his hand. Trying to disappear. But there’s no mistaking the smile that flirts with his lips, a familiar expression from whenever they’re hanging out or at an event, creating chaos in their own way.

“I’m glad someone else noticed,” Minho says, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin. “I’ve politely asked him not to make a mess of our bathroom.”

Jeongin outright snorts, almost choking on his water. Seungmin doesn’t seem fazed, but he’s never one to back down to Minho. “At least I don’t have to use a litter box.”

“Litter boxes aren’t nearly as dirty as you make them out to be. As long as their owners know how to properly care for them, puppy.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. He may not live with them anymore, but he’s more than used to Minho and Seungmin’s reputation as the “married-turned-divorced” couple, straddling the line between joking and picking a fight at almost every turn.

He's half-tempted to butt in before Chan is forced to, but—suddenly, a hand appears. On top of his, where it rests next to his silverware. Jisung’s hand.

It only gets worse when Jisung leans in to whisper, “You know, I said it before, but… that kiss wasn’t half-bad.”

Hyunjin swallows around nothing, the fingers of his other hand aimlessly playing with his fork. “You did mention that before.”

“Maybe…” Jisung’s pointer finger glides across Hyunjin’s knuckles, fairly hidden in the dim light. “We should do it more often?”

Chattering guests and music from the DJ fade into the background. Hyunjin can barely hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears. He’s hyper-focused on Jisung’s breath against his ear, a reminder of what transpired between them. That same warmth, where their hands are connected. It takes a moment for him to process the actual words themselves.

Hyunjin carefully turns to Jisung. He’s surprised to find him looking back, his eyes darker than usual. There’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks and, as Hyunjin looks him over, he realizes he might not have done the best job of fixing his disheveled hair before they left the bathroom. The thought alone makes his pulse flutter. He wonders if Jisung can feel it where his ring finger rests against Hyunjin’s wrist.

“I…” Hyunjin runs his tongue over his lips, and Jisung—of course he’s watching.

If only there weren’t so many fucking people here; he would press Jisung into this table cloth right now and destroy him.

Jisung’s eyes flit to Hyunjin’s, then, and hold steady. Waiting for an answer.

There’s plenty Hyunjin would like to say. Plenty he probably should say. But the Met Gala isn’t exactly the best place to have a serious conversation. Especially about their… fuck, their relationship? Friendships are relationships, too, but this feels…

“Yeah,” Hyunjin chokes out. He flips his hand over and drags Jisung’s under the table, where no one can see. Intertwining their fingers, he squeezes. “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

Taking the leap may be daunting, but Jisung's responding grin is absolutely worth it.