Work Text:
Chan’s days began to blur into a haze of work. His life was reduced to the four walls of the studio, where time seemed to slip away, replaced by the hum of the mixing board and the quiet buzz of the monitors. The once sacred space where he could get lost in the rhythm now felt suffocating. The music was still there—strong, alive—but his drive felt distant, his inspiration waning. Late into the night, he found himself slumped over the desk, eyes burning from staring at the same screen for hours. He sighed, pushing his headphones off and rubbing his tired eyes. The late-night sessions were draining him, and it wasn’t just the work—it was the feeling that he hadn’t been home in days.
Home. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, something about needing to stop by the grocery store. He quickly brushed it away, focusing back on the project.
It was during these long, sleepless nights that Hyunjin first started stopping by.
At first, it was subtle—he’d wander into the studio with questions about upcoming projects, asking for advice on vocal techniques or mixing tips. Chan didn’t think much of it; he appreciated the company, especially when the studio felt too quiet. But over time, Hyunjin’s visits became more frequent, and the conversations less about work.
One evening, when Chan was hunched over his laptop, trying to force a melody into place, Hyunjin slid in quietly, placing a cup of coffee beside him.
“Thought you could use this,” Hyunjin said, his voice soft.
Chan glanced up, offering a tired smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“You’ve been here all night again?” Hyunjin asked, sliding into the chair next to him, his presence unbothered by the late hour.
Chan nodded, exhaling. “Yeah… guess it’s becoming routine.”
Hyunjin chuckled softly, the sound echoing off the dim walls. “Same here. Feels like the studio’s my second home now.”
Chan hummed in agreement, though his mind wandered. It did feel like home, these nights at the studio. The silence, the music—it was the only place he felt like himself lately, the only place that seemed to exist.
And Hyunjin… well, he was just there. Like an extension of this place. Like he belonged in the quiet, in the routine, in the long hours. Chan didn’t mind it. If anything, the company was easy, comfortable in a way he couldn’t describe. He didn’t have to think too hard around Hyunjin. Just work.
——————————
Days passed in a blur of late-night sessions and unfinished tracks, Hyunjin always there, always lingering. He’d taken to dropping by with coffee, a snack, sometimes just to sit beside Chan in silence, observing his work.
“Want a break?” Hyunjin asked one afternoon, leaning against the studio doorframe with a playful grin. “You’re gonna wear yourself out if you don’t take five.”
Chan rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a break. “Maybe in a bit. Still have to finish this.”
Hyunjin crossed the room and leaned over Chan’s shoulder, peering at the screen. “You always say that, but the song’s never finished.”
A small laugh escaped Chan’s lips. “You’re not wrong.”
“Come on, take five. I’ll even buy you lunch.” Hyunjin’s voice was teasing, but there was something else there—a lightness that made Chan glance at him.
He caught the briefest flash of something in Hyunjin’s eyes, something that wasn’t just about music or breaks or lunch. But before he could think on it, Hyunjin tapped the table. “So? What do you say?”
Chan hesitated, but the offer was tempting. Besides, the studio had become more than just his world—it was his whole existence. Hyunjin’s presence, his company… it felt natural now. “Fine, lunch sounds good.”
It felt like Hyunjin had a way of seeing things that others didn’t. Maybe it was because Hyunjin was here, in this world, seeing what no one else did. The long hours, the sleepless nights, the pressure. Maybe that’s why it felt so natural to lean into his presence, to take the comfort offered.
Because Hyunjin was part of this world—the only world that existed right now.
——————————
Chan sat hunched over the desk, fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. The track played softly through the speakers, barely filling the quiet room. He didn’t even notice the time passing anymore—everything outside this room felt like a blur.
The door opened quietly. Hyunjin stepped in, moving carefully so as not to disturb him. He had a takeout bag in his hand, and the smell of warm food filled the studio, cutting through the stale air. He didn’t say anything right away, just placed the bag down on the desk beside Chan.
“Thought you might be hungry,” Hyunjin said softly, watching him.
Chan blinked, finally looking away from the screen. His eyes were tired, the shadows under them darker than usual. He gave a small nod, but didn’t reach for the food.
“Didn’t even notice how late it was,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You never do.”
A faint smile crossed Hyunjin’s lips, but he didn’t press. He sank down onto the couch, glancing around the room. It felt like a second home to both of them now—the dim lights, the hum of the equipment, the endless hours spent here. But lately, it seemed like Chan was always here. Always working.
Chan’s hand hovered over the takeout bag, hesitating for a moment before opening it. He glanced at Hyunjin, who was watching him quietly.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Chan said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Hyunjin shrugged, leaning back into the couch.
“I don’t mind. Besides… you’ve been in here for hours. Thought you could use the company.”
Chan didn’t respond. He looked back at the screen, but for once, the music didn’t hold his attention. His fingers tapped against the desk absentmindedly, his thoughts wandering. There was something about the way Hyunjin stayed, without saying too much, without asking for anything.
Eventually, the silence between them became comfortable. Hyunjin stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes, while Chan stared at the flickering cursor on the screen, feeling a weight he couldn’t quite name pressing down on him.
——————————
The night dragged on. The hum of the track playing in the background was barely noticeable now, just another layer of noise in the studio. Chan was still in his chair, though his head rested against the back of it, eyes closed. He hadn’t moved in a while.
“You should take a break,” Hyunjin’s voice was soft, almost tentative.
Chan didn’t open his eyes.
“Can’t.”
Hyunjin shifted on the couch, sitting up. He studied Chan’s profile, the way his jaw clenched, the tension in his shoulders. The silence between them felt heavier now, like there were things left unsaid, things Hyunjin wasn’t sure he had the right to ask about.
“You look exhausted,” Hyunjin tried again.
A long pause. Then, a sigh.
“I am.”
It wasn’t like Chan to admit something like that, not out loud. Hyunjin frowned, watching him carefully.
“You don’t have to stay here all night, you know. It’s okay to take a step back sometimes.”
Chan opened his eyes then, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t answer right away, just let the silence stretch between them.
“It’s not that simple,” he muttered finally.
“There’s always… something.”
Hyunjin didn’t push, though he wanted to. He could see the weight Chan was carrying, even if he didn’t say it. He could see the way it was pulling him under, little by little, every day. Hyunjin thought of all the times he’d found Chan here late at night, alone, working himself to exhaustion. “You’re not alone in this.”
Chan turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Hyunjin’s. There was something in his expression—something tired, something conflicted. But whatever it was, Chan didn’t voice it. Instead, he just looked away, back toward the screen. “I know.”
For a moment, Hyunjin considered saying more, asking more. He wanted to know what had been keeping Chan so distant lately, what had changed. But instead, he leaned back on the couch, deciding not to push. Chan’s walls weren’t easy to get through, not now.
“You should go home, get some rest” Hyunjin said softly after a long pause.
Chan’s lips twitched into a faint, almost sad smile. “Maybe.”
But they both knew he wouldn’t.
Hyunjin leaned his head against the couch, closing his eyes. He’d stay as long as Chan needed. Even if it meant just sitting in silence, even if there were things Chan wasn’t saying. He’d stay, and he’d wait.
Because even if Chan wouldn’t admit it, Hyunjin knew something else was on his mind.
——————————
As the hours ticked by, they drifted into conversation. Hyunjin perched himself on the edge of the couch, leaning closer as they talked about the progress of the album. Chan caught himself watching the way Hyunjin’s lips moved when he smiled, the way he tilted his head, his body language open and relaxed. The distance between them had closed significantly over the past few weeks.
As the night wore on, Chan played through the new track he’d been working on. Hyunjin watched from across the room, but at one point, Chan felt the impulse to pull him closer. It was subtle, the way Hyunjin moved toward him, but soon enough, Hyunjin was leaning over the keyboard, close enough for Chan to feel the warmth of his body.
Without thinking, Chan tugged Hyunjin close to him “Come here. I want to show you something.”
Chan’s heart raced, the line between professional and personal blurring as he pressed play on the track. The soft notes filled the room, but his focus was no longer on the music.
He hadn’t shared this song with anyone yet. It was too personal, too raw. The lyrics were about longing, about being apart from someone who was always just out of reach. He shook it off the feeling of regret creeping in, instead focusing instead on the warmth of Hyunjin’s body, the way they were almost intertwined in the small space.
“Beautiful,” Hyunjin whispered, his breath soft against Chan’s neck. Chan swallowed hard, the guilt that had been simmering for weeks now boiling to the surface. He shouldn’t be enjoying this—he wasn’t supposed to enjoy this.
But he did.
As the last note played, Hyunjin shifted, his hand brushing lightly against Chan’s arm. “We should take a break,” he murmured, his voice low. “How about some fresh air?”
Chan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
They made their way up to the rooftop, the cool night air wrapping around them. The city lights stretched out below, twinkling like stars in the distance. For a while, they just stood there, breathing in the silence and the night, neither of them speaking. But the tension between them was palpable, and it wasn’t long before Hyunjin moved closer, his arm brushing against Chan’s.
“You ever wonder what it’s like to be out there?” Hyunjin asked, gesturing to the city below. “Instead of always being stuck in here?”
Chan chuckled. “All the time.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Chan shrugged. “Work. Stress. It’s all I’ve got right now.”
Hyunjin turned to face him, his gaze intense under the moonlight. “But you could have more.”
I do.
There it was again. That look. That pull. Chan felt it, but he didn’t know what it was. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Chan didn’t reply. Instead, he felt a tug, an almost magnetic pull between them that had been growing stronger for weeks. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, the distance between them was gone, and Hyunjin was right there, his breath warm and close.
Hyunjin’s hand hovered near Chan’s arm, his fingertips just grazing the fabric of his shirt. The touch was so light it could’ve been an accident, but it wasn’t. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken words and the undeniable tension that had been building ever since Hyunjin first stepped into his studio.
“Chan…” Hyunjin’s voice was a whisper now, his eyes flickering down to Chan’s lips, then back up, waiting.
Chan swallowed hard, the conflict inside him swirling faster. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. But as Hyunjin took a small step closer, the pull became impossible to resist.
Without thinking, Chan leaned in.
Their lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss, both of them testing the waters. But the moment their mouths touched, something ignited, a spark that had been waiting to catch fire. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate. Hyunjin’s hands found Chan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and Chan let himself fall into it, his mind shutting off everything but the feeling of Hyunjin pressed against him.
Chan’s hands instinctively reached for Hyunjin’s waist, drawing him closer as they kissed. The warmth of Hyunjin’s body, the press of his chest against Chan’s, made it all feel so real, so present. Chan tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his mind going blank except for the way Hyunjin felt under his hands.
Hyunjin responded eagerly, his fingers sliding into Chan’s hair, tugging gently as their lips moved together. The rooftop around them faded into the background, the only thing that existed was the connection between them—the taste of coffee lingering on Hyunjin’s lips, the heat of their bodies, the quiet moan that escaped as the kiss grew bolder.
Chan’s heart pounded in his chest, his pulse racing as Hyunjin pressed even closer, his body molding perfectly to Chan’s. Every thought, every worry, every shred of guilt was drowned out by the intoxicating rush of desire. He could feel Hyunjin’s heartbeat through their kiss, fast and erratic, matching his own.
And yet, as his eyes fluttered shut, something strange happened.
Stars.
Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were those constellations. The stars that made up his world, the ones he’d neglected for so long, holed up in his studio to the point he forgot they were just a glance away.
Chan’s hands fell away from Hyunjin’s waist, and though Hyunjin didn’t seem to notice, a sinking guilt began to settle deep in Chan’s stomach. His heart was pounding, but now, the rush was tainted with something darker, something heavier.
Hyunjin finally pulled back, his breathing ragged, his lips swollen from the kiss. He looked at Chan with a mixture of desire and uncertainty, waiting for a sign that it had been okay—that this was what Chan had wanted.
As they caught their breath, Hyunjin’s voice broke the quiet, soft but tentative. “Chan-ie?”
The sound of the nickname made Chan flinch, something sharp twisting in his chest. Chan-ie. The way it rolled off Hyunjin’s lips felt wrong.
For a split second, he wanted to correct Hyunjin, to tell him to never say it again. But instead, his lips parted, the words lost in the tension between them.
But despite the discomfort Chan’s body acted on its own. It felt like something else had taken control, like a part of him he didn’t recognize was moving without his permission. His hand reached out, finding Hyunjin’s hip, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater, and before he could stop himself, he was closing the distance between them again.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, as though Chan was searching for something, anything, to fill the empty space inside him.
Hyunjin responded eagerly, pressing closer as Chan’s hands slid under his sweater, the warmth of Hyunjin’s skin meeting his fingertips. His hands roamed slowly, softly tracing the smooth expanse of Hyunjin’s waist. The feeling was different, unfamiliar, but somehow comforting. His fingers teased the skin there, the soft dip just above his hips, as if searching for something to anchor himself to.
For a moment, Chan let himself get lost in the sensation, trying to drown out the guilt gnawing at the back of his mind, and yet, his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration, as if they had a mind of their own.
The warmth of Hyunjin’s body, the way his breath hitched at the touch, should’ve made him feel something—excitement, desire—but instead, it only deepened the hollow feeling inside him. His lips stayed pressed to Hyunjin’s, his hands resting on his waist, clinging to the last thread of distraction.
Hyunjin broke the kiss first, slowly looking around until he spotted a lonely bench looking over the beautiful nighttime view of the city, he softly grabbed Chan’s hand and guided him towards it. Once they were seated Chan turned to face him, his breath hitching as he saw the way Hyunjin was looking at him—like he was the only thing that mattered. And for a second, Chan allowed himself to believe it. Allowed himself to get lost in the moment.
Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing Hyunjin’s again, this time with more urgency. His hands found their way back to Hyunjin’s waist, sliding under his sweater again, fingertips grazing the warm skin beneath. Hyunjin let out a soft sound, pressing closer, and Chan’s heart pounded in his chest as he deepened the kiss.
Hyunjin shifted, his fingers trailing up Chan’s arm, tugging him closer, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. The chilly wind, the night, the city—all of it faded away, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the sound of their breaths mingling together in the space.
As they kissed, the intensity between them grew, a fire neither had the willpower to extinguish. Hyunjin’s hands gripped the back of Chan’s neck, pulling him in closer, deepening the connection. The space around them seemed to shrink, filled only with their breath, the soft rustling of fabric, and the occasional sigh that escaped between kisses.
Without even thinking, Chan’s hands found Hyunjin’s waist again, and this time, with a gentle but firm pull, he guided him onto his lap. Hyunjin followed without hesitation, settling into place, his legs draped on either side of Chan’s hips as he straddled him. The sudden closeness sent a shiver through Chan, and he let out a low sigh, feeling the solid weight of Hyunjin against him.
It was an unfamiliar presence, but for a moment, the warmth of another body was enough. He could feel Hyunjin’s heartbeat through his chest, their breaths mingling as Hyunjin pressed his forehead against Chan’s. The warmth, the pressure—it was comforting in a way Chan hadn’t expected. He let himself just feel, brain filled with static as his hands roamed the others body, exploring the other and just existing until his hands roamed into the others bottom and lightly caressed the clothed skin, earning him a loud moan that pulled him out of his trance, slowly coming back to himself and struggling to catch his breath, slowly resting his hands on safer territory, feeling the soft fluffy fabric of Hyunjins sweater under his palms.
Hyunjin’s hands ran through Chan’s hair, tugging gently as their lips found each other again, the kiss slower this time, more languid. The weight of Hyunjin in his lap grounding Chan, giving him a fleeting sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Chan held onto Hyunjin, his arms wrapping around him, feeling the weight of the other’s body settle comfortably against his. It was grounding, calming even. For the first time in what felt like forever, Chan wasn’t consumed by the noise in his head—the constant stress of work, the pressure of deadlines, the guilt of never being home. Here, with Hyunjin in his lap, the world seemed to pause, and for a moment, he could breathe.
——————————
Later, much later, Chan finally left the studio, the silence of the late-night streets wrapping around him as he walked home. His mind was still spinning from the night’s events, the closeness he had allowed with Hyunjin. The guilt gnawed at him again, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the music, the deadlines, anything but the sinking feeling in his chest.
When he finally arrived at his apartment, the quiet was almost deafening. He slipped off his shoes at the door, his movements mechanical.
The apartment was dark, bathed in a soft glow from the moonlight filtering through the windows. It was enough to see by, but it made everything feel still, almost sacred. Instinctively, he moved quietly, blending into the silence, as if the night itself demanded it. His steps were soft as he made his way to the bedroom, the familiar creak of the door sending a tiny pulse of guilt through him.
Inside, the room was awash with pale light, the silver beams catching on the corners of the bed, the dresser and the desk next to the window. Chan’s movements were careful as he changed out of his clothes, slipping into fresh pajamas. The cotton of his t-shirt felt cool against his skin, but the weight of the night still hung heavy on him. He tried to move as silently as possible, hoping to go unnoticed, to blend into the quiet and the darkness.
Just as he tugged his shirt over his head, there was a soft rustling from the bed, followed by a sleepy voice, heavy with slumber, calling out, “Chan-ie?”
The sound froze him. His heart did a strange little dance—simultaneously sinking and soaring at the same time. He turned toward the bed, his breath catching in his throat as he saw him, eyes half-open, blinking in the dim light. The moonlight gently caressed Felix’s face, illuminating the constellation of freckles across his cheeks and nose.
Chan’s chest tightened. The soft glow on Felix’s skin made the freckles shimmer like stars scattered across a galaxy. Those stars—his stars—the ones he had forgotten in the haze of studio hours and stolen kisses. The guilt washed over him in waves, but for a moment, all he could do was stare at Felix, the boy who had waited for him, the boy whose voice saying his name made him feel both at home and like a stranger in his own skin.
“Chan-ie?” Felix whispered again, his voice soft, fragile in the quiet.
Chan swallowed hard, the weight of everything he hadn’t said, everything he hadn’t done, pressing down on him. But Felix’s presence, his quiet warmth, made it all feel both unbearable and necessary.
“Yeah,” Chan whispered back, his voice barely audible. “I’m here.”