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The fluorescent lights of the KQ Entertainment building buzzed faintly as they cast a cold, clinical light over the otherwise empty practice rooms. It was well past midnight, the kind of hour that makes the silence feel thick and heavy, like a blanket muffling the world. The other trainees had long since gone home, their weary bodies giving in to exhaustion. But not Seonghwa.
Seonghwa was a relatively new face at KQ, having only joined the company a few months ago. His quiet demeanor often left him overlooked by the others, but that was exactly how he preferred it. He didn't want anyone to notice the cracks in his facade, the way his confidence wavered every time he stumbled over a dance move or hit a wrong note. To the others, he might have seemed cold, distant even. But inside, Seonghwa was a storm of insecurities, each mistake threatening to pull him under.
The practice room had become his sanctuary. Here, he could fail in peace, away from prying eyes and judgmental whispers. So every night, long after the others had left, Seonghwa would stay behind, perfecting his routines, trying to quiet the voices in his head that told him he wasn't good enough.
It was during one of these late-night sessions that Hongjoong first noticed him.
Hongjoong was the first trainee at KQ, the one who had been around the longest. The unofficial leader. He had earned the respect of the others through his dedication and hard work, but the title came with its own burdens. Nights in the production studio had become his norm as he worked tirelessly to create something worthy of their debut.
But as he left the studio that night, his ears caught the faint sound of music echoing down the hall. Curious, he followed the sound to one of the practice rooms and found Seonghwa there, dancing alone.
Hongjoong lingered in the doorway, watching the way Seonghwa moved—each step precise, yet filled with a tension that spoke of something deeper. There was something almost haunting about it, the way Seonghwa seemed to dance as though his very soul depended on it. And maybe it did.
This wasn’t the last time Hongjoong had seen Seonghwa practicing late into the night. Over the next few weeks, it became a regular occurrence. Each time, Hongjoong would find himself drawn to that practice room, watching from the shadows as Seonghwa worked himself to exhaustion. And each time, something within him stirred.
It wasn’t pity—no, Seonghwa would hate that. It was more of an understanding, a recognition of the same drive that pushed Hongjoong to stay up until dawn, trying to perfect a beat or a melody. They were both chasing something, both trying to prove themselves in a world that was ruthless and unforgiving.
One night, Hongjoong made a decision. Instead of just watching from the shadows, he stepped into the room.
Seonghwa froze mid-step, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he turned to face Hongjoong. His eyes were wide, startled, like a deer caught in headlights.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Hongjoong said softly, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just… I noticed you’ve been practicing late a lot.”
Seonghwa’s shoulders tensed, and he looked away, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I just… I need to get better,” he murmured, barely loud enough for Hongjoong to hear.
Hongjoong nodded, understanding all too well. “Mind if I join you?”
The question hung in the air for a moment, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Seonghwa gave a small nod, and Hongjoong stepped forward, moving to stand beside him.
They danced together in silence at first, their movements falling into sync as though they had been partners for years. Seonghwa was hesitant, his steps unsure, but Hongjoong matched his pace, offering silent encouragement with each shared glance.
As the hours passed, the tension in Seonghwa’s frame began to ease. He found himself relaxing in Hongjoong’s presence, the weight of his insecurities lifting just a little. And when they finally collapsed on the floor, chests heaving with exertion, it was with a sense of camaraderie that Seonghwa hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You’re good, you know,” Hongjoong said between breaths, a smile tugging at his lips.
Seonghwa looked over at him, surprised. “I’m not… I’m not as good as you.”
“That’s not true,” Hongjoong replied, his voice gentle but firm. “We all have our strengths. You just need to trust yourself more.”
Seonghwa didn’t know how to respond to that. Trusting himself was the hardest thing in the world. But as he looked at Hongjoong, sitting there beside him, offering him nothing but kindness, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, with Hongjoong by his side, he could learn to believe in himself just a little more.
Over the next few weeks, their late-night practice sessions became a routine. Every night, after the other trainees had gone home, Seonghwa and Hongjoong would meet in the practice room. Sometimes they would dance, other times they would just sit and talk, the conversation flowing easily between them as they shared their fears and dreams.
Seonghwa found himself opening up to Hongjoong in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. He told him about his insecurities, about how he felt like he was always one step behind everyone else. And Hongjoong listened, really listened, offering words of encouragement that soothed Seonghwa’s troubled mind.
In return, Hongjoong shared his own struggles. The pressure he felt as the unofficial leader, the fear of letting everyone down. Seonghwa was surprised to learn that someone as confident as Hongjoong could have doubts too, but it made him feel less alone.
One night, as they were cooling down after an especially intense practice, Seonghwa hesitated before speaking.
“Why do you stay?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Hongjoong looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you stay late with me?” Seonghwa clarified, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “You could go home, get some rest. But you’re always here.”
Hongjoong was silent for a moment, considering his words. “Because I see a lot of myself in you,” he admitted finally. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not good enough, like you have to work twice as hard to prove yourself. And… I guess I don’t want you to go through that alone.”
Seonghwa looked up at him, something warm and unfamiliar swelling in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say.
Hongjoong smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made Seonghwa’s heart skip a beat. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “We’re in this together.”
And in that moment, Seonghwa knew that Hongjoong wasn’t just someone he admired from afar. He was someone he could trust, someone who understood him in a way no one else did. And that made all the difference.
The air was thick with the familiar scent of sweat and exhaustion, but tonight, it also carried something heavier—an unspoken tension that neither Seonghwa nor Hongjoong could quite name. They were seated on the floor of the practice room, legs stretched out, backs against the mirrored wall, the cool surface a small comfort after hours of grueling practice. The lights above cast a dim, golden glow over the room, making the space feel smaller, more intimate.
Their usual banter had given way to a quieter, more contemplative conversation, and for the first time in a while, Seonghwa found himself at a loss for words. It was Hongjoong who broke the silence first.
“Do you ever think about relationships?” Hongjoong’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as though he was unsure if this was a boundary he should be crossing.
Seonghwa blinked, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected the conversation to shift in this direction. He swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts. “I… yeah, I guess I do,” he admitted quietly.
“Have you ever been in one?” Hongjoong asked, his tone curious but gentle, as if he were treading carefully.
Seonghwa hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. But something in Hongjoong’s eyes, something kind and patient, made him feel safe enough to answer truthfully. “Yes. But we broke up a while ago.”
Hongjoong’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Really? What happened?”
Seonghwa glanced away, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the floor. “We met when we were fifteen. It was… it was good. Really good, actually. We were together for two years, but then… we just kind of outgrew each other. We broke up when I moved to Seoul, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Hongjoong nodded, processing the information. “Sounds like it was serious,” he said, his voice tinged with something Seonghwa couldn’t quite place.
“It was,” Seonghwa confirmed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “But it was hard, too. We had to hide our relationship.”
“Hide it?” Hongjoong repeated, frowning slightly. “Why?”
Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go this far, and now, faced with the choice to either share his most dangerous secret or retreat, he felt a wave of anxiety crash over him. He could feel Hongjoong’s gaze on him, waiting patiently, and for a moment, Seonghwa considered lying or deflecting the question. But then he remembered all the late nights they had spent together, the trust they had built, and something within him whispered that he could trust Hongjoong with this, too.
Taking a deep breath, Seonghwa steeled himself for what he was about to say. “We had to hide it because… because I was dating a boy. I’m gay.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, and the silence that followed was deafening. Seonghwa watched as Hongjoong’s expression shifted—first to surprise, then to something unreadable. The longer Hongjoong remained silent, the more Seonghwa’s heart sank. He had miscalculated. Maybe he had let his stupid little crush on Hongjoong cloud his judgment, make him believe that Hongjoong would accept him without question.
As the seconds ticked by, the panic within Seonghwa began to spiral out of control. Hongjoong was going to tell KQ, and they were going to kick him out, and his dreams would be over before they even began. The thought of losing everything made his chest tighten painfully, and before he could stop himself, Seonghwa was on his feet, desperate to escape before Hongjoong could see the tears gathering in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa blurted out, his voice shaking. “I shouldn’t have told you. I… I understand if you want to tell KQ.”
He made a move to leave, his heart hammering in his chest, but before he could take another step, he felt a firm grip on his wrist, halting his escape.
“Wait.”
Hongjoong’s voice was steady, but there was an urgency to it that made Seonghwa freeze in place. Slowly, he turned to face Hongjoong, who was now standing, his eyes wide and filled with something Seonghwa couldn’t quite decipher.
“I’m not disgusted by you, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said, his grip on Seonghwa’s wrist loosening, but he didn’t let go. “I’m… I’m proud of you. Proud that you trusted me enough to tell me something like this.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitched, the relief so overwhelming that he felt weak in the knees. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until Hongjoong’s thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped down his cheek.
When their eyes met, Seonghwa was startled to see that Hongjoong’s eyes were also glistening with unshed tears. But while Seonghwa’s tears were born of relief and fear, Hongjoong’s seemed to be rooted in something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name.
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them no longer suffocating but filled with unspoken understanding. Hongjoong’s hand was still on Seonghwa’s wrist, the warmth of his touch grounding him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.
Finally, Hongjoong let out a shaky breath and released Seonghwa’s wrist, stepping back slightly. “We’re in this together, okay?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Seonghwa nodded, unable to trust his voice. The relief that washed over him was so intense that it left him feeling light-headed. He had been so sure that he had ruined everything, but now, standing here with Hongjoong, he realized that he had never been more wrong.
“Thank you,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
Hongjoong shook his head, a small, almost sad smile on his lips. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “You’re not alone, Seonghwa. Not anymore.”
They stayed up late in the practice room that night, talking about everything and nothing. The weight of Seonghwa’s secret no longer felt like a burden, but something that had brought them closer together. And as they talked, sharing their hopes, fears, and dreams, Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.
But beneath the surface, Hongjoong was fighting his own internal battle. Seonghwa’s confession had stirred something within him, something he had always pushed down, ignored. But now, standing at the edge of something new, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it buried.
For now, though, he pushed those thoughts aside. Tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight was about Seonghwa, about the bond they had forged in the quiet hours of the night, and the trust they had built piece by piece. And that was enough—for now.
The practice room had become a second home to both of them—a place where the noise of the world faded away, leaving only the rhythm of their hearts and the soft echoes of their footsteps on the polished floor. It was a space where they could be themselves, where they didn’t have to hide behind the masks they wore for the rest of the world. But tonight, the air between them was charged with something unspoken, something that had been building for weeks.
Seonghwa noticed it first. The subtle tension in Hongjoong’s movements, the way he seemed distracted even as they practiced, his gaze distant and troubled. It wasn’t like Hongjoong to be anything less than fully present during practice, and the change was enough to make Seonghwa worry.
After the music faded and their breaths evened out, Seonghwa couldn’t hold back any longer. He turned to Hongjoong, his brow furrowed in concern. “Hongjoong, is everything okay? You’ve seemed… off lately.”
Hongjoong looked up, startled by the directness of the question. He hesitated, trying to find the right words, but Seonghwa’s steady gaze urged him to be honest.
“I’m fine,” Hongjoong said, but the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. He could see that Seonghwa wasn’t convinced, his eyes searching Hongjoong’s face for the truth.
“Are you sure?” Seonghwa pressed gently. “If you’re not okay with me being… with me being gay, you need to tell me, Joong. I can handle it.”
Hongjoong blinked, taken aback. The idea that he could ever resent Seonghwa for something like that seemed ridiculous to him—impossible, even. He shook his head quickly, stepping closer to Seonghwa as if to prove his sincerity. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s not that at all. I could never… I could never be upset with you for who you are, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa’s expression softened, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Then what’s bothering you? I can tell something’s wrong.”
Hongjoong felt something inside him crack, a fissure in the wall he’d built around his heart to keep the truth locked away. He knew Seonghwa wouldn’t judge him, that Seonghwa would understand, but that didn’t make it any easier to say the words that had haunted him for so long.
Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong looked down at the floor, trying to steady himself. “Do you remember when I told you I’ve never been in a relationship before?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Seonghwa nodded, staying quiet so that Hongjoong could find his own way through the confession.
“There was a girl in school,” Hongjoong began slowly, his eyes focused on a spot on the floor as if it held all the answers he’d been searching for. “She liked me, and we went on a date. Everything was fine until… until she tried to kiss me.”
He paused, swallowing hard as the memory came rushing back, the confusion and guilt that had plagued him for years. “In that moment, I pulled away. It didn’t feel right. And that’s when I knew… I knew I was different.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t interrupt, sensing that Hongjoong needed to get this out, needed to be heard.
“I wanted to be an idol so badly,” Hongjoong continued, his voice shaking slightly. “And I was terrified that if I admitted who I really was, it would ruin everything. So I ignored it, shoved it down, pretended it wasn’t there. I thought maybe if I pushed it away long enough, it would just disappear.”
“But it didn’t,” Seonghwa said softly, more a statement than a question.
Hongjoong shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “No, it didn’t. And when you told me… when you came out to me, it woke something up inside me. Something I’ve been trying so hard to forget.”
He hesitated for a moment, the weight of his confession pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. But he knew he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t keep running from this.
“I’m…” He looked up, his eyes meeting Seonghwa’s for the first time, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I’m gay.”
The room was silent except for the sound of Hongjoong’s ragged breathing. He had never said the word out loud before, never allowed himself to fully acknowledge it. And now that he had, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he had never been before.
He looked away, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he waited for Seonghwa to say something, anything. But all he felt was a gentle arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into a comforting embrace.
“It’s okay,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice soothing and full of understanding. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”
The dam that Hongjoong had built finally broke, and the tears he had been holding back began to fall freely. He buried his face in Seonghwa’s shoulder, his body trembling with the force of his sobs. Seonghwa held him close, one hand gently rubbing his back, the other resting on his arm, anchoring him to the present, to this moment of shared vulnerability.
“I’m so scared,” Hongjoong admitted through his tears, his voice muffled against Seonghwa’s shirt. “I’m scared of someone finding out, of it ruining everything I’ve worked for. I’ve spent so long shoving these feelings down, but you… you gave me hope, Hwa. You gave me the strength to admit who I am, but I’m still so scared.”
Seonghwa felt his own tears welling up, the weight of Hongjoong’s confession hitting him hard. He knew all too well the fear that Hongjoong was talking about, the constant worry that one misstep could bring everything crashing down. But more than that, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride for Hongjoong—for the courage it had taken to finally say the words out loud.
Gently, Seonghwa cupped Hongjoong’s cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “You’re not alone, Joong,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “We’re in this together now. It’s us against the industry, against the world if we have to be.”
Hongjoong sniffled, a small, broken laugh escaping him as he repeated the words. “Us against the industry…”
Seonghwa nodded, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. “Exactly. We’ll face whatever comes our way together. You don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.”
For the first time since the conversation started, Hongjoong felt a sense of relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He leaned into Seonghwa’s touch, finding comfort in the warmth and the quiet strength that Seonghwa radiated.
Slowly, Hongjoong laid his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, the tears finally beginning to slow. They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other’s arms, finding solace in the fact that they weren’t alone anymore. They had each other, and for now, that was enough.
As the minutes ticked by, the practice room grew quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breathing as they held on to each other. And in that silence, they both knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, side by side.
Because now, it was them against the industry.
The practice room had always been a refuge for Seonghwa and Hongjoong, a place where they could escape the pressures of trainee life. But recently, it had become a place fraught with unspoken tension—a tension neither of them could ignore, yet neither dared to address.
Their bond had deepened since Hongjoong’s confession. Seonghwa had become his anchor, helping him accept the parts of himself he’d spent years burying. And as Hongjoong slowly came to terms with his sexuality, Seonghwa was always there, steadfast in his support. But with that closeness came something more, something they were both too shy to acknowledge—a growing attraction that neither of them knew how to handle.
It was the little things that gave them away. The way Seonghwa’s hand would linger just a moment too long on Hongjoong’s shoulder, or how Hongjoong’s gaze would drift to Seonghwa when he thought no one was watching. Their hands would occasionally brush, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them. Each accidental touch left them flustered, a blush creeping onto their cheeks that neither could hide.
But talking about it? That was a different story.
They both knew something was there, something simmering beneath the surface, but neither of them had the courage to bring it up. The risk was too high—if they were wrong, if they were reading the signs incorrectly, it could ruin everything. And so, they continued to dance around the truth, pretending not to notice the way their hearts raced when they were alone together.
One evening, after a particularly exhausting practice, they found themselves alone in the practice room once again. The others had long since left, leaving only the two of them and the faint sound of music playing softly in the background. They sat side by side on the floor, their backs against the mirror, the silence between them heavy with unsaid words.
Seonghwa scrolled through his playlist, trying to find something to fill the silence, while Hongjoong stared at the floor, lost in thought. He was hyper-aware of Seonghwa’s presence beside him, the warmth radiating from his body, the way his breath seemed to hitch whenever their arms accidentally brushed. It was maddening, this tension, this unspoken something that lingered between them.
“Hey, do you want to listen to this?” Seonghwa asked suddenly, holding out one earbud to Hongjoong.
Hongjoong took it, their fingers brushing for just a second too long. The simple contact made his heart skip a beat, and he quickly focused on the music, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. But it was impossible to ignore how close they were sitting, how Seonghwa’s knee was just inches from his, or how the air between them seemed charged with something they couldn’t name.
The song ended, but neither of them moved to speak. The silence stretched on, growing thicker by the second, and Hongjoong could feel the tension wrapping around them like a blanket. He knew he should say something, anything, to break the awkwardness, but the words caught in his throat, tangled with his uncertainty.
He glanced at Seonghwa, catching the way his friend’s eyes darted away as if he’d been caught staring. Hongjoong opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a soft, nervous laugh. “It’s… quiet tonight, huh?”
Seonghwa nodded, his own nervousness evident in the way he fiddled with the cord of his earbuds. “Yeah, it is.”
Another awkward silence fell between them. Hongjoong felt the tension rising, the unspoken feelings threatening to spill over, but he was too shy, too unsure to say what was really on his mind. Instead, he fumbled for something safe to talk about, anything to ease the growing discomfort.
“Have you thought about what song we should work on next?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Seonghwa hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about a few ideas, but I’m not sure yet. What about you?”
Hongjoong shrugged, trying to keep his tone light even as his thoughts raced. “I’ve been working on some lyrics, but… it’s hard to focus lately.”
Seonghwa looked at him, something unspoken passing between them. He didn’t ask why, didn’t push, but Hongjoong could see the question in his eyes. He wished he had the courage to say what he was really thinking, to ask Seonghwa if he felt it too—the strange, magnetic pull between them. But the words lodged in his throat, too heavy with fear and uncertainty.
Instead, he just nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It’s been hard.”
Seonghwa nodded too, his own smile faltering. They both knew they weren’t talking about the music anymore, but neither of them had the courage to admit it. The unspoken feelings hung between them like a shadow, always there, always just out of reach.
A few minutes later, Hongjoong caught himself staring at Seonghwa, noticing the way the dim light reflected in his eyes, how his lips parted slightly as he concentrated on something on his phone. He quickly looked away, his heart pounding. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let these feelings get in the way of everything they had built.
But no matter how hard he tried to push them down, they kept surfacing, making every moment with Seonghwa feel like a delicate dance on the edge of something more.
Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Hongjoong stood up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I think I’ll head out for the night,” he said, avoiding Seonghwa’s gaze.
Seonghwa looked up, a flash of something—disappointment?—crossing his face. But he nodded, standing up as well. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”
They both gathered their things, the air between them still thick with everything left unsaid. As they walked to the door, Hongjoong’s mind raced, a part of him screaming to turn back, to say something, to ask the question that had been gnawing at him for weeks.
But when they reached the door, all he managed was a quiet, “Good night, Hwa.”
“Good night, Joong,” Seonghwa replied, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
The door closed behind Hongjoong with a soft click. As he walked down the hallway, the tension in his chest didn’t ease; if anything, it grew stronger. He knew things couldn’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later, they would have to confront what was happening between them, but the thought terrified him. The bond they had built was too precious, too fragile to risk.
And so, they continued to walk this tightrope of unspoken feelings, too shy to address the growing attraction between them, too afraid to take the plunge and too uncertain of what lay on the other side if they did. For now, all they could do was take it one day at a time, hoping that, somehow, they could figure out how to navigate these dangerous waters without losing each other in the process.
The practice room had seen them through countless late nights, through laughter and exhaustion, through secrets whispered in the quiet hours of the night. But tonight, the air between them was different. Their unspoken feelings had been simmering for weeks, building up like a storm on the horizon, until it became almost unbearable. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge it, afraid of what might happen if they did. But when they were alone like this, the tension between them was impossible to ignore.
Seonghwa and Hongjoong were sitting on the floor again, their backs against the mirror as they caught their breath from another intense practice. The others had left hours ago, leaving them in their usual comfortable silence. But tonight, even the silence felt charged with something new, something electric that neither of them knew how to handle.
Seonghwa could feel it—the way Hongjoong kept stealing glances at him, the way his own heart raced every time their shoulders brushed. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he reached for his water bottle, taking a long sip as he tried to calm the fluttering in his chest.
Beside him, Hongjoong was fidgeting with his phone, scrolling aimlessly through his playlist. He was hyper-aware of Seonghwa’s presence, the warmth radiating from him, the way his breath seemed to catch whenever their eyes met. It was maddening, this constant push and pull between them, this tension that refused to dissipate no matter how hard they tried to ignore it.
Eventually, Seonghwa couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to Hongjoong, his voice soft but filled with a nervous energy. “Joong, are you okay?”
Hongjoong looked up, surprised by the question. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Seonghwa hesitated, his eyes searching Hongjoong’s face as if trying to read his thoughts. “You just… seem a little distracted.”
Hongjoong bit his lip, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I guess I am. It’s just… a lot on my mind lately.”
Seonghwa nodded, understanding all too well what he meant. He could feel the same weight pressing down on him, the same thoughts swirling in his mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. But he didn’t know how to bring it up, didn’t know how to put into words the feelings that had been building inside him for so long.
Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against Hongjoong’s. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but it sent a jolt of electricity through both of them. Seonghwa felt his heart skip a beat, his breath hitching in his throat as he watched Hongjoong’s reaction.
Hongjoong’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest. He looked up at Seonghwa, his heart pounding in his ears. The air between them was thick with tension, the kind that made it impossible to think clearly. He knew what he wanted, what he had been too scared to admit even to himself. But now, with Seonghwa so close, those feelings were impossible to ignore.
Before he could stop himself, Hongjoong leaned in, closing the small distance between them. His movements were hesitant, unsure, but the pull between them was too strong to resist. Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered shut, and Hongjoong felt his own heart skip a beat as he pressed his lips against Seonghwa’s in the softest, most innocent kiss.
It was a gentle, fleeting touch, the kind of kiss that felt like the beginning of something new and terrifying. Hongjoong’s heart raced as he pulled back slightly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He had never kissed anyone before, had never felt anything like this, and the reality of what he had just done made him want to run away.
But before he could retreat, Seonghwa’s hand found his, squeezing it gently in reassurance. Seonghwa’s eyes were soft, filled with something that made Hongjoong’s heart swell with warmth. He didn’t look scared or upset; if anything, he looked… happy.
“Is this okay?” Seonghwa whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he were afraid of breaking the fragile moment between them.
Hongjoong nodded, too shy to speak. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, followed by a nervous excitement that made his hands tremble. Seonghwa’s gaze never left his, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them, sitting together in the quiet practice room, sharing a secret that belonged only to them.
Seonghwa leaned in again, this time a little more confidently, brushing his lips against Hongjoong’s once more. The kiss was just as innocent as the first, but there was a sweetness to it that made Hongjoong’s heart flutter. It was new and exhilarating, but also terrifying in a way that made his head spin.
But Seonghwa was careful, his movements gentle and patient. He could sense Hongjoong’s nerves, the way his body tensed under the unfamiliar touch, and he didn’t want to push him too far. Instead, he kept things light, pulling back every few seconds to check in, to make sure Hongjoong was still okay.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Seonghwa asked again, his voice full of concern, his eyes searching Hongjoong’s for any sign of discomfort.
Hongjoong swallowed hard, nodding again. “Yeah… I just… I’ve never…”
Seonghwa’s expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It’s okay, Joongie. We don’t have to rush anything.”
Hongjoong’s heart swelled with gratitude, the warmth in Seonghwa’s voice easing some of the anxiety bubbling inside him. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, but Seonghwa’s gentle touch made it all feel a little less scary.
They sat there for a long time, sharing sweet, innocent kisses that left them both breathless and a little dizzy. Each touch was a silent promise, a reassurance that they were in this together, no matter how confusing or terrifying it might be.
Eventually, they pulled back, their foreheads resting against each other as they caught their breath. Hongjoong’s heart was still racing, but the fear that had been gnawing at him had lessened, replaced by a warmth that spread through his entire body.
“Thank you,” Hongjoong whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.
Seonghwa smiled, his thumb gently brushing against Hongjoong’s cheek. “For what?”
“For… for being here. For not running away.”
Seonghwa’s smile widened, his heart swelling with affection for the boy in front of him. “I wouldn’t run away from you, Joongie. Not ever.”
Hongjoong’s eyes filled with tears, but he quickly blinked them away, not wanting to spoil the moment. He leaned in one last time, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Seonghwa’s lips before pulling back and resting his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder. Seonghwa wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close, and they sat like that for a long time, the tension that had been building between them finally easing.
Neither of them spoke about what had just happened. The fear of what might come next still lingered in the back of their minds, but for now, they were content to just be together, finding comfort in each other’s presence. It was new and uncertain, but it was also something they had both been searching for, even if they hadn’t realized it.
As they sat there, the world outside the practice room faded away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped up in a moment that felt too sweet to be real. They didn’t know what the future held or how they would navigate the feelings that had been awakened between them, but for now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were together, and for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt so alone.