Archive of Our Own

1. Wooyoung

Seonghwa is itchy.

Scratch that, Seonghwa aches.

He lies on his bed, staring at the top bunk and willing, wishing, his body not to irritate him anymore. His nails dig into his palms because if they weren’t then he’d be scratching at the blisters and patches all over his skin.

He has to lay flat on his bed, not curling up around a pillow or his stuffed animals in fear of scratching his patches in order to alleviate the pain. It’s a struggle, laying here thinking about how with just a few scratches, he won’t have to feel that itch ever again. But he knows that’s only a temporary solution. The relief will subside only for it to worsen later.

Seonghwa reminisces on the days where he had no eczema, not until the days of stress and training and practice and expectations piled high upon him, left his own body to protest his treatment of it.

Sleeping for only a few hours, waking up early in the morning, dieting to be at a certain weight aggravating his body that it had to revolt through itchy, red patches and blisters that went more than skin deep. It’s as if he can feel it in the marrow of his bones sometimes, that ache and desire to claw off his own skin.

His eczema is usually well managed. He makes sure to apply the ointment cream on daily, just as he does his skincare routine, but sometimes that’s just not enough. Even if he misses it by one day, his body will turn on him and he’ll break out in an instant. It must be the weather. It’s been raining off and on and the turn of the seasons must be aggravating his skin.

He has callouses on his feet from dancing, hard won and fought for as he worked to achieve his dreams, but it also means that the blisters have nowhere to go except for the soles of his feet. It’s hard to walk sometimes, stabbing pains as pressure pushes against his soles. He tries not to put so much pressure on the soles of his feet, but he’s working hard to film, to entertain, to practise. He just has to push through it. He’s been doing it for years.

His arms and neck usually bear the brunt of the scarring, stress breaking it out and crystallising it into scales and patches of uneven skin. It was worse during Illusion era with the stress of being a new KPOP boy group from a small entertainment company, being pushed aside and barely given any chances to put their name out there. The stress and anxiety of wondering whether or not they’ll even be able to make it as big as their seniors in the industry, whether they’ll be seen as idols after all they’ve worked for.

Living with seven other men who, just on the cusp of adulthood, had barely any understanding of cleanliness had set him on edge. It might have also been another reason why his eczema had exacerbated, the dirt and squalor of living in a cramped dorm with seven other people. While the other members aren’t absolute pigs, they aren’t the cleanest in the world either. Especially after practice and interviews and what have you, exhaustion is part of the job and that can lend to negligence.

His members have always relied on him, as the oldest, even with Hongjoong as his same age friend, there’s a reason he used to be called “eomma” by his members. He can’t rely on them to look after him and his problems. This is something he’s dealt with for years now. It’s just one bad day.

He’ll get through it. Now he just needs to sleep and stop thinking about how his skin feels like it’s pricking and peeling apart at the seams, stinging and irritated as he tries not to claw his own flesh off.

“Hyungie,” Wooyoung’s voice whispers in the dark, “hyungie, are you awake?”

Maybe if he closes his eyes and stays still, Wooyoung won’t jump on his bed—

Seonghwa grunts at the sudden weight on his chest, not having noticed the bed shift or the door open. “Wooyoung,” he groans, accommodating for the new person in his bed. He lets Wooyoung snuggle and squirm in his hold, his legs tangling with his own. “Do you know what time it is? We have an early schedule tomorrow.”

“You were scratching again,” he says matter-of-factly, and Seonghwa curses under his breath in realisation that he’s been so focused on not scratching his feet that his hands have crawled up to pick at his neck. Wooyoung looks at him with a hint of reproach, “Did you forget to put on your ointment on your feet this time? You know it’s almost spring.”

He holds back the insult behind his teeth, knowing that Wooyoung just means well. “No, Wooyoung. I didn’t forget to put it on. It’s just a bad day.”

Wooyoung hums in sympathy, gently grabbing his hands and interlacing their fingers. Usually, he doesn’t like holding other people’s hands, not liking the sweatiness, but he’s grown to enjoy it with the help of his members. It’s also a neat solution that satisfies Wooyoung’s need for skinship while also stopping Seonghwa from physically scratching himself. He’s done it multiple times before, even during fansigns and fanmeets that ATINY have taken notice. “Do you need any ice or anything? I can make Hongjoongie-hyung pick some up while he’s on his way home from the studio.”

“It’s fine,” he says, the weight of Wooyoung making him feel comfortable and sleepy. “I don’t want to bother him when he gets home. He’ll be tired since we have schedules for the whole day.” He yawns, exhaustion passing over him in a wave. “Why’re you here, Young-ah? This isn’t your dorm. Did you miss San’s room? It’s the one across from mine.”

“I wanted some hyungie cuddles,” Wooyoung says, rubbing his face against Seonghwa’s chest. He pulls Seonghwa’s arms to wrap around him more firmly. “And I noticed that you were rubbing your feet again. I wanted to be sure that you actually remembered to put on your medication instead of putting it off.”

The swell of annoyance fades into a recognisable fondness for his inadvertent sleeping partner. Wooyoung may be one of the younger members, but that doesn’t mean he’s irresponsible. He knows when to be serious and he’s a dream at helping take care of the other members. He hugs Wooyoung closer to his chest, rubbing his nose against his hair.

“Sleep, Young-ah,” he says, kissing the top of Wooyoung’s head, “we have a busy day tomorrow.”

2. Yunho

The busy day only got busier.

It doesn’t help that his hands started breaking out into rough patches as well. He wakes up with that distinctive ache and uncomfortableness on the sides of his fingers. The raised bumps on the sides of his fingers feel like callouses grown wrong, skin peeling and patches of red. Slathering on the ointment is tedious as he has to make sure that it doesn’t smear and smudge for efficiency.

The workday is a bit of a blur. Photoshoots, rehearsals, recordings (both singing and televised), live streams. A life of an idol singer is never done. He thinks he’s done an alright job in making sure that none of his members noticed that he’s breaking out. Taking aside one of the makeup-noonas to warn them about his sensitivity and inflammatory skin is light work.

Management has always taken into consideration his skin’s sensitivity, ensuring that the makeup they use aren’t full of irritants and being understanding when he’s had flareups. The makeup artists are, thankfully, kind and understanding, going straight to their makeup cannisters and containers and putting aside the ones that haven’t passed preliminary inspection.

He trusts the workers and the crew here to put his well-being over him looking like the idol he is. KQ may be a small company (though arguably, it’s growing in worth with ATEEZ and xikers as its main source of income), but it’s cultivated its workforce to be trustworthy and efficient. (Most of the time. There are moments where Seonghwa has wanted to rage at their treatment against certain members, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Seonghwa continues on with his schedules, joking around and playing with the members and ignoring Wooyoung’s conspicuous glances his way. He doesn’t think about the pinpricks of pain that the blisters leave behind. He doesn’t think about the subtle ache in his fingers and feet. He doesn’t think about the uneven patches of skin, callouses and scars etched and left in its wake.

He pushes those away and thinks about the new choreography. Thinks about the upcoming schedules and when he’s assigned his booths and recording hours. Thinks about his language lessons and tries to think about whether he can fit a live before he goes to sleep. Talking to ATINY always helps with distracting him from his itchiness.

“Alright,” the main choreographer claps, and the room comes to a halt as Seonghwa pants from exertion, stumbling to where his water bottle is to take a large swig, draining over half of it. He slumps down against the wall, curling his toes as he’s starting to gain extra awareness of his body, the damp sweat slicking his skin and the soles of his feet, even with the socks, making him feel too much. He grabs a hand towel, wiping himself off as best he can, still feeling grimy despite being marginally dry, and let it hang around his neck.

She motions for the videographer to come to her. “Let’s take a twenty minute break and regroup. So far, everything looks good. A few of you seem to be missing a beat or are too loose in the foot positions—” she pointedly doesn’t look in his direction, but he feels the reprimand all the same.

Yunho ambles over to him, and Seonghwa shouldn’t be surprised when Yunho throws himself onto Seonghwa’s lap. He hugs Seonghwa’s waist, pinning his arms to the side. It’s not a comfortable position, and he feels a little strangled. Wiggling, Yunho tightens his arms around Seonghwa before marginally loosening his grip.

“What’s this now? Hmm?” He pets Yunho’s hair, inwardly grimacing at the sweat. He pulls off his towel and drops it gently on top of Yunho’s head, patting away the sweat and ignoring the muffled whines. “Yunho-yah, you know I can’t speak puppy.”

“Just wanted a hug, hyung,” he says, words half-muffled into Seonghwa’s stomach. The words aren’t so out of the ordinary from Yunho since he’s eager to show casual affection to his members. He has nothing on Wooyoung—who would absolutely kiss everyone on the cheek and hold everyone’s hands if given permission—but Yunho is much more natural in his affection. A hand on the shoulder, falling over and hugging his victim in laughter, a quick squeeze and then immediately letting go. Nothing so blatant like this.

Seonghwa won’t deny it and say that he hates it. It’s nice to have someone to rely on and to lean on and in the reverse as well. He pats Yunho’s head over the towel, the comfort of having him near almost makes Seonghwa forget about the underlying itch of his feet.

“Alright!” Their choreographer claps her hands, calling for attention. “Break’s over, and I want to talk about the most common mistakes that we seem to be having.”

“Come on, Yunho-yah,” Seonghwa plucks the hand towel from his face, ignoring the grimace on his face when the fluorescent lights shine down on him, “seems like we have to actually do our job now.”

“You feeling better now, hyung?” He stands up first, doing a weird motion that involves pushing up on one leg and using his whole body movement for upward momentum to stand up and that has Seonghwa dropping open his mouth in shock. “What?”

“How did you do that and not fall on your ass?” He demands, grabbing onto Yunho’s hand and hauling himself up.

“Well—”

“Seonghwa-ssi, Yunho-ssi, I suppose that the two of you are doing so well that you can demonstrate the entire dance break without assistance?” Their choreographer calls over at them sweetly, and the two of them wince.

“No, seonsaeng-nim!” The two of them shout in unison.

“I’ll show you later, hyung,” Yunho says with a wink, jogging over to the front to get back into formation and rolling his eyes at whatever Wooyoung jeers at him.

Seonghwa can’t help but fall into place and worry about that pervasive itchiness later, his mind focused on learning the new dances for their upcoming shows and conventions. Maybe he’ll do a live with ATINY later to distract himself.

3. Hongjoong

“Yes, the new rings are perfect,” Seonghwa responds to a comment from the chat. He brings up his left hand to the camera, pretending to flip them off as an homage to the MATZ VCR at their concert. “Hongjoongie worked so hard on the design, and it paid off. He’s very good at creating and producing works of art. There’s a reason why he’s our Captain.”

He preens at the endless scrawling comments of congratulations and chuckles at some of the ones congratulating their eight-way marriage. Fans truly love making a big deal out of little things. Showing off the rings and all of Hongjoong’s hard work only grows the pride that he has in their group and all the achievements they’ve made together.

Six years after debut and he had no idea where the eight of them would end up, let alone be as successful as they have been now. Now they’re seniors with their own set of juniors to care for and guide. More and more people recognise them on the street. More and more cameras wait for them at the airport.

He hasn’t realised that he’s been showing off his hands for a little bit longer than usual, trying to play it off as his excitement.

Is it just me or is there something on Seonghwa-oppa’s hands?

Ehh? What’re you talking about?

Seonghwa-ssi, I love you so much!!!!

No, I think I see what you’re talking about. There’s something like a scab on his fingers?

Seonghwa-oppa, come back to Busan!!

It’s probably his eczema, it flares up sometimes. They must be really stressed if you can see them.

Oh, I hope he’s okay! Take care of yourself, Seonghwa-hyung!!

Seonghwa-ssi, show us your animal crossing village!

The words are almost too fast for him to catch, but the years of being an idol have trained him to read through the scrawling, fast-moving chat to catch what his fans wanted to tell him. He flashes a smile at the screen, something a little too fixed and too bright.

“Ah, should I pull out my switch?” He changes the subject, putting his hands down on his lap. “Oh, but I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I have an early schedule tomorrow. I just wanted to show off Hongjoongie’s work.”

No, yeah, did you see how fast he put his hands down after? He must be very stressed out with their oncoming tours.

Congrats on your eight-way marriage!

What’s happening???

Hongjoong-ssi did such a great job on the rings!

He has to end this now. It’s getting a little late, and he’s been on live for nearly an hour. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s embarrassed by how his fans have caught sight of his eczema on his hands. Absolutely not, that would be ridiculous.

“Ah, I’m sorry, but I have to go get ready soon or else we’ll be here all night. I have an early schedule tomorrow. Bye! Bye! Bye!” Seonghwa waves his goodbyes to the chat, reaching to hit the end live and turn off the camera. He leans back heavily on his chair, smile falling off of his face. He enjoys talking to his fans so much, but sometimes he hates how keen-eyed they can be. It makes him feel that much more exposed in this job all about exposure.

There are some parts of himself that he deserves to keep to himself. His eczema should be one of them. While he’s sure that his fans will be understanding and sympathetic to his plight, perhaps even relate to it, there still remains the desire of not wanting to seem vulnerable to strangers. He’s shared it before and he was glad that, for the most part, his fans have been understanding, there have been some comments that hit too close to comfort. For all that he loves ATINY, he already gives so much of himself over to them, he wants to keep at least this one flaw to himself.

The door cracks open at the same time as a gentle knock echoes through the room, Hongjoong pops his head around the corner. “I saw your live,” he says apropos of nothing. “I’m about to go live myself. Did you want to stay? Maybe say hi or something?”

Seonghwa thinks about it. He had just gotten off his own live with ATINY and schedules are early tomorrow but they have a day off tomorrow, preparing for the concert. He had planned on just relaxing and hanging out with Wooyoung and Jongho. He’s been looking forward to exploring like a tourist for a day, even if he’s here for work.

“Is it okay if I’m just here playing my switch? I don’t want to go on live again so soon.”

“Did you want to pop in at all?”

He shakes his head, blinking away the sleep dogging at his heels. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, but I want to stay in the room, is that alright?”

“Hey.” Hongjoong grabs his hand, curling his hands over Seonghwa’s fingers. It distracts him from Hongjoong not answering his question right away. “You know you’re not supposed to pick at the blisters. Do I need to get out the gloves again?”

Seonghwa flushes, both at the gentle scolding and at being caught at picking at the scabs and blisters on the sides of his fingers. Something that he doesn’t even consciously realise that he’s been doing.

“No,” Seonghwa scowls. “You don’t need to treat me like a child, Hongjoong-ah. I know my limits.”

“Hmm,” Hongjoong gives him a gentle disbelieving look that Seonghwa would take offence to if not how he pulls away with one last squeeze of his hands. “If you say so, but if you start picking at them again, they’ll heal wrong, and then I will get out the gloves again.”

The gloves are actually for those with a problem biting their nails, a moisturising pair that will prevent the bad habit from occurring, but it is humiliating to be wearing them where then the others would inevitably take notice and realise how their hyung can’t control himself from picking scabs. Like a child who needs to be taught how to behave.

“I don’t need them,” he mutters and would be kicking a foot against the floor petulantly if he were standing. “Stop threatening me with those. I’m not a child, Hongjoong-ah.”

“When you stop picking at your scabs and scratches like a child, then I’ll stop treating you like one,” Hongjoong says simply, and Seonghwa makes a face. “And stop making faces when you know I’m right. Come on, we’re putting on the gloves.”

“What?” Seonghwa tries to tug his hands out of Hongjoong’s, not even realising when he had grabbed them again. “I just said that I don’t need them!”

“Let me see what they’re like then,” Hongjoong tugs Seonghwa forward gently, expecting him to follow. And because it’s Hongjoong, he does.

Hongjoong clicks his tongue, and Seonghwa wants to shrink back at the disappointment in his Captain’s face. “Well, these could be worse. Have you been putting on your ointment? The seasons are changing, and I know they get worse sometimes when it does.”

“Yes, I’ve been using it,” Seonghwa mutters, snatching his hands back and feeling the loss of Hongjoong’s warmth with the sting of his cuts. “You don’t need to remind me.”

Hongjoong hums as if he’s only humouring Seonghwa, and Seonghwa gets the irrational urge to grab the nearest thing and bash Hongjoong’s head with it. There’s a pillow right next to him so he picks it up and smacks Hongjoong as hard as he can with it, jumping on top of him and sending a flurry of attacks.

Yelping laughter escapes Hongjoong as he tries to fend off Seonghwa’s targeted strikes, arms up to cover his face. “Okay! Okay! I get it! You’re not a kid. Yah! Seonghwa-yah! Stop with the pillow fight!” Seonghwa doesn’t let up, moving to straddle Hongjoong’s hips and pin him to the couch, pillow continuously aimed at Hongjoong’s face. Hongjoong falls back onto the couch, trying desperately to fend off Seonghwa’s attack but failing miserably with laughter.

Seonghwa doesn’t stop until the laughing turns into squirming and his chest heaves with that exhilarating adrenaline of fighting. “I hope you understand the consequences of your actions now.” He sits back on his heels primly, still straddling Hongjoong’s hips.

“Okay, okay, I understand, hyung-nim,” Hongjoong’s words are still laced with breathless giggles, and Seonghwa’s blown away by how beautiful Hongjoong is under him in the splay and the hazy, yellow lighting of the hotel room.

Again, Seonghwa understands why his parents named Hongjoong as such because there is no other way to describe how staring at him feels like Seonghwa has cannot look away, as if Hongjoong is the centre of Seonghwa’s broad world.

“Seonghwa-yah,” Hongjoong says, poking his cheek, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Are you going to let me up now? Or do you need some help?”

Seonghwa scrambles off of Hongjoong like it burns, and the itch along his neck and on his feet dull to a throbbing ache. His cheeks feel flushed, and Hongjoong’s ears are bright pink. “Weren’t you going to go live?”

“Ah, ah, you’re right,” Hongjoong says, jumping up and moving around in a flurry of movement as he starts to set up his live. “Are you planning on staying?”

The unspoken question being asked here: with me?

“Ah, I should… I should put on my medication, shouldn’t I?” Seonghwa looks anywhere but at Hongjoong and runs away with barely a word of confirmation from Hongjoong, his heart beating a tempo faster than any of their songs.

4. Yeosang

Seonghwa forgets to put on his ointment one day and just… continues to forget to put it over his hands and feet.

It’s bound to happen as an idol. Schedules are busy and always gets busier. Travelling around countries and cities, promoting their comebacks and their group, touring concerts and cities, luggage and small items get lost and left behind sometimes. There are things that just can’t be helped.

The schedules just don’t stop. And even when there are days off, they’re all working in some small way. Editing a small vlog, taking pictures (with and without the random ATINY they meet out in the wild), networking, promoting. There’s no shortage of business in the life of an idol.

Once the habit of forgetfulness starts, it’s hard to start it back up again. Seonghwa is inundated with work and practice and rehearsals and just… life in general, there are some nights that he’s barely able to even do his midnight washing up. He’s just that tired. Sleep claims him every night without even a moment’s hesitation and if he’s asleep then he could ignore the rashes. If he’s working, then he just has to focus on what needs to be done.

It’s days that turn into weeks that turn into months that feel like it’s too late to do anything about it. There’s always a lingering guilt that follows him just as much as the reminders of his scaly, peeling skin, stinging with every time he bends them.

They have just gotten back from Osaka, and he still hasn’t completely finished unpacking yet. The carryon bag is still there, taunting him with the reminder.

Seonghwa wakes up, stretching, and the dull, painful sting of the rashes and the blisters are a constant reminder of his affliction. It’s worsened since his last few lives—getting not so few comments as he’s building his legos—forming some callouses and blisters that evolve into scaling skin.

The feeling of his skin is distinctly unpleasant, and he knows that if he leaves it like that any longer then it’ll only get worse before it gets better. He sighs, bending his fingers slightly and wincing as it pulls the cuts. It’s already worse than better.

Stumbling to the bathroom, he starts his morning routine, speeding through it as the water and moisturisers splash into the little cuts. The stinging dulls as he gets used to it, and he rummages through his things to find that small tube of ointment. His feet twinge with the gnawing stinging of his cuts and blisters. He can barely walk without

There’s a little sticky note—cute characters printed and doodled on it, a very strong inclination of San—that says: Don’t forget to apply your medicine today, hyungie!! 😘🩷🩷🩷 It’s new, and he feels that burn of embarrassment that one of his dongsaengs had noticed his struggling and might need a reminder like a child.

Seonghwa keeps the sticky note up, however. It’s cute, and San would pout if he found it in the trash.

It takes him a bit more than a few minutes to figure out that the ointment isn’t in his bag, the dregs of sleep stilling dogging his heels. “What the fuck?” he mutters, voice still raspy with sleep. He rustles through his bag again as if somehow miraculously he’ll be able to find the ointment tube this time when he hasn’t been able to for the past five minutes.

He turns down his suitcase, his bed, his bedside drawers, crawling around the floor in the hopes that the tiny, little tube will miraculously appear if he looked hard enough.

“Hey, hyung, did you… what is going on here?” Yeosang’s voice echoes from where he’s sticking his head under the bed. Seonghwa looks up and bangs his head on the bedframe, cursing.

“Oh, hyung! Are you okay?” Yeosang rushes over and helps him up, patting his back in a way that hurts more than it comforts. “What were you even doing down there? Did you lose a charger or your airpods case or something? Turning into Hongjoongie-hyung there, hyung?”

“I was—ugh, dang it—I was just looking for my ointment. You know, the one I use for my eczema?” He rubs his head, grateful not to feel any bump just a sting of pain. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks around dejectedly. “I thought it would be in my carryon but it’s not there. And I don’t know where else it would be.”

“Oh,” Yeosang says, eyes brightening up with the idea of being able to help, “just wait right here, Seonghwa-hyung, I’ll be right back.”

There’s a moment that Seonghwa feels absolutely betrayed by his member who has left him in his greatest moment of need. He slumps back on the bed, bouncing slightly from the cushioning. He should tell his manager to put in a new order for his medication. Maybe if he just lays here and rots, it’ll take care of itself.

A large shadow casts over his vision, and he squints to see Yeosang looming over him. He looks like some kind of angel, the bright, fluorescent lights casting a halo effect around him. Seonghwa wants to shield his eyes from how lovely Yeosang appears.

“Here, hyung,” Yeosang says, hand revealing a tiny tube of ointment, and Seonghwa recognises his prescription easily.

“Wh—” Seonghwa sits up in a rush, just barely avoiding knocking foreheads with Yeosang, “where’d you get my prescription? Why do you have that with you when you weren’t even rooming with me?”

“It was on the ground on the bathroom at the last hotel we were at,” Yeosang says simply, shrugging. “I think in the rush to catch our flight you must have knocked it on the ground and not realised. I did one last sweep of everyone’s rooms to make sure we didn’t forget anything, and I found it there.”

Relief and rage wells up inside him, and he has to take a deep breath to calm down before Yeosang could misunderstand and think that Seonghwa is angry at him, rather than himself. “Thank you, Sang-ah,” Seonghwa ruffles Yeosang’s hair, momentarily regretting it when that bends his fingers with the cuts, “but next time maybe just tell me when you find something of mine right away?”

Yeosang nods, giving a jaunty little salute in understanding, “Yessir, hyung-nim, sir.”

“Good,” Seonghwa says, smiling when Yeosang starts to quickly fix his hair back to perfection, “now what did you come over here to tell me?”

“Ah,” Yeosang pauses, lips puckered in thought, “um, don’t worry about it, hyung. I’m sure it’s cleared up by now.”

Seonghwa furrows his brow, eyes sharpening at how Yeosang fidgets and looks away. “What do you mean?”

“Uhh, it’s all fine, hyung! Don’t worry about it!” Yeosang slowly makes his way out of the room, slinking towards the door. “I’m sure it’s all gone and there’s definitely not going to be any stains or mysterious blemishes or a new couch or anything.”

“Yeosang-ah! Mah, Kang Yeosang!! We rent this place! Get back here and explain yourself!”

Yeosang dashes out the door as he yells that it’s mostly Yunho’s fault and he tried to stop him, honest, hyung!, and Seonghwa sighs, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. The others were old enough not to need him nitpicking them anymore. He didn’t need to be constantly breathing down their necks.

There was three suspicious thuds that echoed down to his room as well as three distinct yelps—one of them being Jongho?!—and Seonghwa jumps up and races out the door, already yelling.

5. Mingi and San

“Hey, Princess,” Seonghwa says when he walks into the living room and Mingi is lounging on the couch, smashing buttons on a controller. He ruffles Mingi’s bedhead, reaching for him as Mingi tries to stay out of his reach.

Mingi groans, succumbing to Seonghwa’s treatment of his hair. He doesn’t even try to fix it to make it look good, letting it stick up every which way. “Ugh, hyung, that’s such an old nickname, get a new one.”

“But you’re our princess in the group, little Mingki,” Seonghwa coos. He bounces down to sit down next to him, watching the characters on screen shoot at each other. He has no idea which one is Mingi, can barely keep up with the characters on screen as they all dash around, firing guns and weapons into each other. He can play video games, just not first person shooters.

They’ve always been harder for him to get into, so he just sticks to Animal Crossing and other games that require less skill. He has admiration for those that are able to make a living off of it, Faker for one, but he can barely wrap his head around the mechanics.

“Are you winning, though?”

“Mm, it’s more of a collaboration, but I’m getting more of the kills on this team.”

“You’re also getting more of the deaths than assists,” San pipes up, swinging into the room and bouncing down to squeeze in next to them. Seonghwa grumbles but moves obligingly with a roll of his eyes. “Really? Your KDA is that shit, and you’re trying to brag?”

“Our side’s still winning though,” Mingi argues back. “And so what if I’m dying? My kill streak is higher than any of the other scrubs on this team.”

“What does that mean?” Seonghwa is pretty sure he’s heard of that phrase before, but he had thought that it was a band name when (G)I-DLE had collabed with League of Legends.

“Kill, death, assists,” San answers just as Mingi manages some kind of move on the screen that has him whooping in excitement. “They’re part of the stats that determine whether or not you did well in the game. They’re also a consideration of whether or not you get MVP.”

Seonghwa nods his head, eyes glued to Mingi’s character (or at least who he thinks is Mingi’s character) as it races around on the screen, slinging spells and hexes and skills against the enemies and towers. San heckles Mingi as he plays, ridiculing and asking whether or not he wants to make those moves. Mingi sticks his tongue out as he concentrates, leaving Seonghwa feeling ridiculously endeared and fond of his members.

The giant VICTORY blares across the screen and Mingi shouts in joy, banging his fist in the air and falling off the couch as he does so. His long limbs scramble to right himself as both Seonghwa and San laughed their heads off.

“Are you alright?” Seonghwa asks, feeling out of breath from all the laughter. He holds out a hand for Mingi, hauling Mingi up with a grunt as he falls into Seonghwa’s arms with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t help you up just to immediately get crushed by you, Mingi-yah. I need my ribs to protect my lungs.”

“And those are important for our line of work,” Mingi concedes with a sigh. He squeezes Seonghwa one more time before he drags Seonghwa to the couch. “Cuddle me, hyungie. Watch me blow up some zombies.”

Seonghwa huffs but follows willingly, San bringing up the rear and wedging himself in between the three of them. Seonghwa rubs at one of his fingers, the sting is second nature as he says, “You know I’m not the best at these games.”

“You did well during our Wanteez videos,” San says.

“Those were co-ops and not FPS, and Yunho did most of the legwork then. I’m alright just watching you two duke it out.”

“Come on, hyungie,” San wheedles him, “when else are we supposed to have roommate bonding time?”

Mingi’s eyes dart down at his hands holding the controller, then over to Seonghwa’s hands. It’s only a moment, barely perceptible if not for Seonghwa’s keen eyes. Seonghwa knows that the scars and cuts aren’t as visible, but the cutting glance Mingi gives him feels damning. “Here, hyung, I’ll show you how to play. It’s just like those multiplayer games that we did for WANTEEZ.”

“I know how to use a controller, Mingi-yah,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes, grabbing it from Mingi. He spams a button, immediately dying on screen with an explosion worthy of celebration. “Okay, maybe you should tell me which one does what.”

Mingi tries, and Seonghwa really does want to learn how to play, but the mechanics are a little beyond him. Seonghwa quickly gives up after being shot to death over a dozen times, Mingi wincing at each kill. “I don’t know how you’re able to keep everything in mind and try to win and destroy those towers all at the same time.”

“It’s just like how you’re managing your island, hyungie,” San says, taking the controller from Seonghwa, “it just takes some time to adjust and then once you get the hang of it….” He mashes the buttons in a pattern that Seonghwa thinks looks random but it must be something good because the automated voice congratulates San on his kills.

“Okay, nice job showing off for hyung, San-ah,” Mingi rolls his eyes, taking the controller back. He navigates out into the main menu, opening a multiplayer game. He stands and grabs two of the extra controllers. “One game, hyung, and we promise we won’t make fun of you for dying multiple times.”

“Speak for yourself.” San rolls his eyes, already intently customising his mini avatar to have cat ears and a haughty smirk. “I plan to crush the two of you in this game.”

“Alright, Choi San,” Seonghwa says, readying his hands on the buttons of the controller, “you better be able to put your money where your mouth is. Loser has to clean the whole dorm alone.”

“Wait, we’re betting?” Mingi jumps and lands with a light bounce next to San on the couch, the three of them squashed together with their thighs touching. “Because if we’re betting, then you’re… I don’t know, gonna buy me something then.”

“What? I literally just laid down the terms,” San argued back. “I’m not going to buy you something just because you’re cheap and don’t want to spend money.”

“I’m not cheap!” Mingi launches himself at San, digging his fingers into San’s sides, and San bursts out into shrieks, weakly trying to fend him off. “Take it back right now, Choi San!”

“Never!” San laughs the word out through giggles, squirming. “Seonghwa-hyung, save me!”

Seonghwa purses his lips to try to stop his laughter from escaping, watching the scuffle unfold before reluctantly reaching a half-hearted hand out to the two of them. Mingi snatches it first, yanking Seonghwa into the tussle. All three of them grapple at each other, hands and elbows jabbing in vulnerable places. They fall off the couch with a muted thump on the ground, the carpet thankfully breaking their fall.

“Alright, alright!” Seonghwa laughs, breathless with a racing heart. San digs his hands into his sides, “I said that’s enough!” The words come out squeaky with laughter, gasps pitchy and starting to hurt.

The two of them tickle him for a few more seconds before relenting. San smooths his hair out from the mussed up state the play fight left him in, elbowing Mingi out of the way, and hauls Seonghwa to sit comfortably on the couch.

San cuddles into him, hugging his waist and interlacing their hands. He presses his cheek close to Seonghwa’s intimating a kiss and rubs against him. “Your hands are looking better. The scales have softened up a bit.”

“Mm, I’ve been working on applying the medication more routinely this time. The little notes have been helping, Sannie,” he admits quietly. He still feels the sting of embarrassment that his dongsaeng saw that he needed a reminder to put on his medication, but the tender and fond look San gives him washes away those feelings.

San grins, wide and eyes crinkly, (he’s not doing himself any favours about not being a cat with that wide smile), beaming, “I’m glad, hyung! I know you don’t like talking about it much but I wanted to help in some way without seeming so overbearing.”

“What would I do without my helpful, darling dongsaengs?”

“Probably have a cleaner dorm, to be honest.”

Seonghwa sighs in dreamy bliss, “One day. I won’t have such a messy house or messy roommates.”

“Maybe,” Mingi admits, “but you’d miss us, hyung.”

He would, but Seonghwa would never admit that out loud to them. “Would I?”

Dodging two adult men while already sitting on a couch is not an activity Seonghwa would recommend. He dodges in vain but falls back onto the couch, laughing with his cheeks aching with fondness.

+1. Jongho

Seonghwa is actually doing really well.

He’s been managing his eczema, rubbing his ointment into his rashes, and pointedly not picking at his scabs. Promotions are also going well. He’s been preparing with the others, and the stylists have been going crazy over his costumes for this recent comeback. So have the fans, and he’s feeling so very flattered and much more confident as he’s trying out more and more different styles of clothes.

They’ve just finished another recorded rehearsal and the cameras are recording for their YouTube logbook, and he’s sweating, the thrill of the dance pumping his heart double speed in his chest that he swears there’s going to be a bruise when practice is over. He’s never felt better than when they’re actually performing.

The camera comes towards him and he grins, meandering over to where Jongho is, pointing at his beanie that Jongho is also wearing. “Do you see this? We’re wearing couple beanies. Matching outfits. Do you see, ATINY?” He jokes with the camera some more before they move on to another member.

He rewatches the choreography footage, brow furrowing and biting his lip as he notices how some of the members course correct when they dance, trying not to hit each other with their wide arm movements.

“Okay, so I had a few ideas,” he says earnestly, explain what he noticed and some ideas on how to fix it. It’s old hat to ignore the cameramen filming their every move, knowing that the editors will cut out any scenes they’re not doing much in.

The members and his BBTrippin’ hyungs listen raptly to his explanations, nodding seriously and with thoughtful looks on their faces. Bouncing ideas off each other, they all try various methods. Experimenting with different motions and steps and moves. It takes several minutes of tweaking until the choreography looks as close to perfection as anything can be.

He’s sure that ATINY will love seeing him barefaced and sweaty, probably salivating at the sight. Seonghwa doesn’t quite understand the appeal. The grime and perspiration caked onto his skin only made him want to run to the nearest shower. But looking at the others trying to catch their breaths, chests heaving and faces shining and gleaming with perspiration, he could start to understand the thirst.

Wiping his sweaty hands on his pants, he itches to wash his hands of the grime of the day. It gets to the point where he’s glancing between the clock and the door to the restrooms. Jongho calls for a moment, wanting to go to the restroom, and he shoots the maknae a look of gratitude.

The choreographers call for a quick break—cameramen included—and Seonghwa dashes to the restroom around the corner with Jongho following leisurely behind him. The cool water from the sink is a relief against his heated skin, and he pumps out some soap and spends exactly thirty seconds lathering and then rinsing it off only to do the same thing one more time. And then a third and final time.

Jongho comes out of the stall and smiles at Seonghwa through the mirror, also washing his hands, but with much less exaction. Seonghwa splashes some cool water on his face before patting himself dry with the paper towels.

“You ready to go back, hyung?” Jongho asks, and Seonghwa nods with a grateful smile, knowing that Jongho asked for the break for him. The two of them walk back to the practice room, ribbing at each other before Jongho breaks away from him to make fun of WooSan.

Seonghwa gravitates towards the computer desk in the corner of the room, typing into the search bar for a Chungha song. He grabs a hand towel and wipes at the back of his neck and his hands. He looks down at the callouses on his palms and compares them to a few days before, now already back to a much softer touch, taking the water bottle that Jongho hands him.

“You’re doing great, hyung,” Jongho says, quietly but sincerely. He claps a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulders, squeezing in comfort before immediately letting go.

Seonghwa grins back at him, knowing that Jongho is referring to more than just idol work. “Thanks, makdoongie.” He ruffles Jongho’s hair who yelps and tries to dodge. Laughing, Seonghwa asks, “do you want to go out for dinner or something later tonight? I feel like I should pay you back for Oshawa.”

“Depends,” he says. “Are you going to make a big deal out of our couple beanies again?”

“Absolutely.” He grabs his phone and bullies Jongho into posing for a few photos, gesturing pointedly at their matching outfits with a broad smile on his face and a faux look of annoyance on Jongho’s. Jongho doesn’t put up more than a token protest, even smiling for some of them. They compare all the photos, deleting the ones that neither of them like as much.

“Are you going to post any of those, hyung?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, “Nope. Those are just for me to keep. Then I can brag to Wooyoungie that I’m your favourite hyung, right? In exchange for some dinner?”

Jongho sighs long-sufferingly, as if spending time together is such a hardship. “If I must. I have to spend my hyung’s hard earned money, don’t I?”

“Mah!” Seonghwa slaps him upside the head, cherishing the giggles that Jongho lets out. “Watch it or we won’t get your favourites.”

“Steak?” Jongho asks hopefully.

Now Seonghwa is the one to let out a long sigh, “Yes, we can get steak after this.”

“Wah!” Wooyoung jumps in with a small cheer, “Hyungie’s gonna pay for steak for all of us? Thank you so much, Seonghwa-hyung!”

“I didn’t say that, Wooyoung-ah!”

The other members dogpile on him, jeering and teasing him that as the eldest that he should treat his dongsaengs for dinner once in a while. Even Hongjoong joins in on the teasing, calling him hyung despite their being same-age friends. Seonghwa protests and argues and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Jongho grabs his hand and squeezes it as a thanks, a thumb rubbing at their shared ring and the peeling skin underneath and a proud smile. He lets go and then turns to insult Mingi without so much as another glance.

The arguments pile on, getting more and more ridiculous by the second until the choreographers have to whistle shrilly to get their attention and then it’s back to work.

For once, Seonghwa isn't as embarrassed to have his eczema acknowledged by one of his dongsaengs. They’re his members, his family, the people he would go to the ends of the earth for, his forever people.