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Hongjoong’s in love with Seonghwa.
It is a fact of the universe, as quotidian as any other factual statement—the North Star shines bright every single night, sandwiches taste better with the crusts removed, and Kim Hongjoong is in love with Park Seonghwa.
There was no eureka moment, no singular momentous instance capturing a groundbreaking discovery—Hongjoong wakes up from a nap one day and realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with the boy curled up against his side.
It is, simply, just a fact of the universe.
So Hongjoong knows almost immediately that there’s something wrong with Seonghwa.
The older man initially tries to conceal it from them, undoubtedly so that the other members wouldn’t worry, but as it turns out, it’s actually rather challenging to hide your coughing fits when they cause you to violently hack your lungs out in the middle of the night, waking your roommates up in the process. The medicine their primary care doctor prescribes helps to tamp down the frequency of the coughs just the slightest bit, but even Hongjoong can tell that they’re not very effective at doing their intended job, as limited as his time with Seonghwa is. Wooyoung’s mother drops off some traditional herbal drink, and Hongjoong is lucky enough to be there to witness the first time Seonghwa tries it, the odd blend of salty and bitter causing the older to scrunch his nose like a cutely disgruntled cat. It doesn’t work, despite Wooyoung’s misplaced confidence, and Hongjoong chuckles as Seonghwa rinses his mouth out over the sink, while he shrugs on his coat to buy some honey to soothe the other man’s throat.
It’s not just the coughing too. Seonghwa’s always so listless these days, napping at every opportune moment. Even more concerningly, for Hongjoong at least, was the weight loss. Hongjoong knows how much appearances mean to Seonghwa, but the crash diet during the Inception era had left a lasting scar on Hongjoong’s psyche. It had torn at his heart to see how skinny Seonghwa had gotten for what he had misguidedly believed to be for the sake of the fans, even though ATINYs would never ever consider trading Seonghwa’s health for aesthetics. It was weird, though. When Hongjoong had asked, Seonghwa had insisted that he wasn’t dieting, and Hongjoong had trusted that he wasn’t lying. It doesn’t seem like Seonghwa is deceiving him either—sure, he hasn’t been eating as much as before, but he did always seem full after every meal. So Hongjoong does what he can, which is to send Seonghwa’s favourite foods to his dorm in hopes that at least they would be able to whet his appetite. His food delivery expenses start racking up exponentially, considering some of Seonghwa’s favourite restaurants were across the city and demanded a pricey delivery fee but Hongjoong thinks that it’s worth it, when he sees the excited string of ‘!!!!!!’ that never fails to light up his phone, a clear notification that Seonghwa has received the goodies.
His smile does dim a bit when he sees the contact name he has Seonghwa saved under, though.
친구.
Hongjoong knows that when it comes to displays of affection, he’s slightly stunted. Some of the other members, like San and Wooyoung, are far more affectionate, always so ready to give and receive love. Unfortunately for Hongjoong, Seonghwa fell neatly under this category as well. What that entailed was that no matter how hard Hongjoong tried to express his love for the other man, it would be treated as mere signs of friendship.
Like Hongjoong would spend ₩1,000,000 on food delivery for a friend.
Hongjoong’s in love with Seonghwa, but Seonghwa isn’t in love with him.
But that’s okay.
Hongjoong thinks he’ll be okay.
…
There’s a profound sadness that haunts Seonghwa’s eyes these days.
He looks at everyone like they’re about to drop dead any second now, like they’re about to leave him behind at any given moment. Hongjoong doesn’t know what’s causing the anxiety that has suddenly engulfed the other man, but he’s determined to dispel it, one way or another.
“It’s, uh, cheesy. Cute, but cheesy,” Kyungmoon reclines into his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the paper Hongjoong had passed to him when the younger had bulldozed his way into the production room with the grace and power of a hurricane.
Hongjoong huffs, pink high on his cheeks, “Does it work or not?”
The man sets the lyrics down on the table with a short bark of laughter, “It does, it does. It’s just—are you sure? People are going to notice that you were the main lyricist, you know.” There’s an undercurrent of impishness when he continues. “No more big, bad, scary Hongjoong.”
“I think I lost that image the moment we released 친구, hyung,” Hongjoong states drily.
“True, true,” Kyungmoon sighs forlornly, and Hongjoong rolls his eyes. The atmosphere abruptly shifts when the man levels him with a sharply appraising look. “Is this for Seonghwa too?”
“Uh.” Hongjoong averts his eyes, sweat beading at his forehead as he blinks rapidly.
Oh wow, was that lampshade always that colour? It kinda looks like a duck—
Kyungmoon exhales, his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, “Why don’t you just confess, Hongjoong?”
“Seonghwa—” Hongjoong calls out, when he spots the other man near the toilets. They had just concluded their debut stage and their manager, frazzled and overworked, had sent Hongjoong to pick up their oldest whilst trying to corral the other members along with the other staff, trusting that the captain wouldn't get sidetracked in getting the job done.
“Hey, Seonghwa-ssi!” Hongjoong ducks behind a wall when he sees a member of a senior idol group jogging over to Seonghwa, who glances around in bewilderment before pointing at himself.
“Me? Are you talking to me, sunbaenim?”
The older idol chuckles, “Is there another Seonghwa nearby?”
“Ah, no, no, it’s just—” Seonghwa flushes in embarrassment, the rosiness blushing his cheeks only serving to make him look more endearing in spite of the dark makeup accentuating his features. “I didn’t think you’d know my name, Kiyoon-sunbaenim.”
“Cute,” the bluntness causes Seonghwa to jerk his head up, his round eyes blinking owlishly, “You aren’t easy to forget, Seonghwa-ssi.”
“I-uh—” Seonghwa stammers, clearly taken aback by the straightforwardness. Hongjoong’s not sure when he should step forward and intervene, if at all. Even though Seonghwa seemed shocked, he didn’t seem entirely… uncomfortable.
Yet, at least.
“Could I interest you in coffee someday, Seonghwa-ssi?” Kiyoon proposes with a wink, one hand reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. It’s apparent that he doesn’t believe that Seonghwa would reject his advances.
Would he?
Hongjoong’s heart sinks as the older idol presses his phone into Seonghwa’s palm, who glances at it pensively. A few seconds tick by.
Why wouldn't he?
Kiyoon’s rich, has an established career, is only a couple years older than Seonghwa, is unbelievably handsome, and is tall, to round it all off. His entire existence infuriates Hongjoong—how could one individual be so perfect—
Seonghwa’s demeanor shifts. He hands the phone back to Kiyoon, with an apologetic bow. The older idol’s jaw slackens at the clear rejection.
“I’m sorry, sunbaenim, I can’t.” Seonghwa smiles, adorably sincere, and Hongjoong visibly sees the frustration melt away from Kiyoon’s face, as powerless as ice cream under the hot Sun. The older idol is not willing to let Seonghwa go so easily, though, as he fishes for an explanation, “Why not, Seonghwa-ssi? I’ll-I’ll treat you well.”
“I already have someone I like, sunbaenim,” Seonghwa’s still smiling, ever so sweetly, as though he didn’t just drop the equivalent of a nuclear bomb.
Kiyoon pouts (how was the dude’s pouting handsome, what the fuck?). “Aww, alright. I can’t compete with that.”
Hongjoong’s still reeling from the bombshell that Seonghwa has somebody he likes that he doesn’t even notice when Seonghwa and Kiyoon bid farewell to each other, the younger bowing politely at the waist while Kiyoon returns to his waiting room. He’s only shaken from his stupor when—
“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa waves, bounding excitedly towards him.
They still bump into Kiyoon occasionally during comeback stages, and the older man’s sheer existence never fails to irritates Hongjoong, even though he’s pretty sure he’s dating somebody else now.
“I don’t deserve him, hyung. He’s too good for me.”
“... He’s young, rich and hot. You’re young, rich and hot. That sounds like a good match to me.”
Hongjoong dimly recalls a debut party, a drunken night, and an errant question from a curious San.
Regret strangles his voice when he whispers, “I think I’ve lost my chance, hyung.”
Kyungmoon stares at him, then throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “Fine! Whatever you say. I can’t believe I have to be a wingman for an idol.” The older man continues to grumble as he loads up a ballad track, but there is no bite to his words.
In the recording studio, as the first lilting notes of the instrumental streams through the headphones, Hongjoong leans into the microphone to say, “Thank you, hyung.”
Kyungmoon waves him off.
Surprisingly, the ballad is chosen as the title track for their next comeback.
It’s a fairly odd outcome, given the bold, energetic, performance-intensive impression the general public typically has of ATEEZ, but their CEO didn’t even consider the other songs for more than a couple seconds each before settling on the slow, crooning track. Some of the other employees on the production committee try to argue for Gyuwook to consider the other contenders on the album, but their CEO doesn’t budge.
Instead, his eyes are affixed onto Hongjoong, whose nerves can’t help but fray under the CEO’s piercing stare. Hongjoong wonders whether he’s done something wrong without knowing.
The back of his shirt is drenched in cold sweat by the time the meeting is over, the ballad track emerging victorious as the title track. Kyungmoon asks him if he’s done something wrong without knowing.
When the members gather with the production team to have their first listen at the new album’s tracklist, they are understandably confused when they’re presented with a ballad for their title track. But they aren’t ATEEZ if they don’t know how to roll with the punches, so they eventually settle down and work on internalising the lyrics and the emotions of the song. Seonghwa is slightly distracted throughout the session, his leg bouncing uncontrollably with excess energy.
Hongjoong places a hand on Seonghwa’s knee. The other man whips his head over to look at him, but doesn’t move away.
The bouncing slows down, then stops. Seonghwa calms down enough to focus on the lyrics. Hongjoong pretends he doesn’t notice when Seonghwa’s eyes grow misty, his fingers trembling over his lips as he mouths the words to himself.
Seonghwa places his hand over the one Hongjoong has on his knee, interlacing their fingers. He squeezes Hongjoong’s hand three times, slowly, carefully, firmly.
Hongjoong doesn’t know what dark thoughts have wormed their way into Seonghwa’s mind, that are making Seonghwa look at all of them like they’re dying these days, but he’s determined to prove him wrong, one sappy ballad at a time.
…
Hongjoong’s wrong—Seonghwa is the one who’s dying.
…
Upper management calls for an emergency meeting.
They convene in one of the meeting rooms, and it’s slightly intimidating to see all of the C-suite gathered in one place. For some reason, one of their managers, Yunjae, is there as well. They’re spread across two sides of the room, the long, polished mahogany table artificially creating a divide between them. There’s only seven of them on one side.
Seonghwa sits on one end of the table, on the side of the management.
Hongjoong hates it. It’s always been eight, never seven. It’s always been eight, until today. He takes the seat right opposite Seonghwa, his heated gaze almost boring a hole into the top of Seonghwa’s head with its intensity, ignoring the panic that ripples through the members when they realise their captain has decided to not captain today. Yunho, whose face is still completely void of colour, purses his lips when Hongjoong brushes off his questioning stare, but takes the seat in the middle wordlessly. The other members follow suit, but Hongjoong hardly even notices.
There’s only a short piece of wood between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, but with the way Seonghwa shrinks into himself further with every passing second, it’s starting to resemble a yawning chasm.
Hongjoong hates it.
Gyuwook starts the meeting.
“Seonghwa’s sick.”
From his side of the table, he can see how unimpressed all the members are with the statement. Jongho levels their CEO with such a scathingly impassive stare that makes even Hongjoong feel a little bit ashamed of his ineptitude, and he wasn’t even the one leading the meeting. Gyuwook raises a hand.
“It was Seonghwa’s decision to not let you in on his condition. Seonghwa,” Gyuwook’s voice is much softer now, almost gentle, turning slightly to look at the younger man, “can I let them know now?”
There’s a brief moment of silence where everyone just stills, and waits.
Seonghwa inclines his head stiltedly. Gyuwook exhales.
“Ok. Seonghwa has hanahaki.”
Jongho leans forward, intellectual curiosity his driving force when he asks, “What does that mean?”
The next couple minutes are horrifying, the blood slowly draining from all their faces (except for Yunho, who just starts turning ashen grey, at this point) as Gyuwook gives a barebones explanation of the disease. Nausea churns turbulently in Hongjoong’s gut with each terrible word that leaves their CEO’s mouth, and even then, nothing compares to the final nail in the metaphorical coffin.
“It’s terminal.”
Hongjoong presses a hand against his stomach to stop himself from hurling. Distantly, beyond the ringing in his ears, he hears Wooyoung’s muffled wails, the younger likely tucked under San’s arms. San wouldn’t let him suffer by himself.
Gyuwook pushes a box of tissues across the table, compassion swirling deep in his eyes as he waits for them to regain some semblance of composure.
“There’s a surgical option to remove the flowers, but it comes at a hefty cost. Seonghwa has decided he won’t pursue it, for now.”
Seven identically inquisitive eyes land on the oldest member.
Seonghwa doesn’t react, throughout all the cacophony.
He wants to shake the older, to scream, to shout, if only to elicit some kind, any kind of reaction out of him.
How could you be so emotionless in the face of your own death?
“Daepyonim, um,” Yeosang starts off softly, confusion creasing at his forehead, “I don’t think you’ve mentioned this but, what causes this hanahaki disease?”
Gyuwook chances a quick glance at Seonghwa. The younger man continues to pick at his fingernails with no indication that he’s registered anything that’s happened in the past hour.
“Unrequited love.”
The meeting room explodes into chaos.
Hongjoong hates how he’s only able to focus on one thing.
Seonghwa loves someone.
Seonghwa loves someone, and it is slowly killing him from the inside.
Seonghwa loves someone, and he was willing to give up everything and more for them.
Seonghwa loves someone, and that someone isn’t Kim Hongjoong.
…
The ride back to the dorms is so fraught with tension that you could slice through the air like it was made of butter. Seonghwa is carefully avoiding all of their gazes, eyes trained dutifully on the hands in his lap. He’s fidgeting though, likely without even realising it, his fingers tracing circles over the grooves of his thumbs mindlessly in an attempt to self-soothe.
The kids, realising that they were getting nowhere with Seonghwa, then turn to look at him.
And then promptly look away.
Hongjoong isn’t bothering to control his expression right now, and he knows that the all-consuming frustration and ire that’s suffocating the air out of his lungs and has all the tension wrought through his frame in a chokehold is likely also setting his face ablaze with red hot fury that’s scaring the kids. One of his hands clenches into a fist around his knee, the nails digging crescents into his skin as he gnaws unthinkingly at his bottom lip.
Hongjoong’s so angry.
He’s been angry since they filed into the vehicle, since they left the meeting room with more questions than answers, since they were in the meeting room.
His fiery, smouldering gaze is pinned on the man sitting in the front row, dissecting him with the intensity of a biologist who was just offered a fresh specimen, as if Seonghwa held all the answers to all his questions.
But the reality is—
He already knows why he’s so angry, and it’s through no fault of Seonghwa’s.
He just doesn’t want to admit it to himself, for the admission feels like surrender.
Hongjoong can try to shovel it under the denial and anger and sadness, can pretend all he wants that his admittedly immature display of resentment and vexation is born from the prospect of chaos and uncertainty that his—their—imminent future had just been thrust into, but the truth buried deep in his heart manages to tear it way through and rear its ugly head at the end of it all.
In the end, Hongjoong was nothing more than a jealous, pathetic coward.
…
Hongjoong is stubborn. It’s widely notorious that the captain of ATEEZ was obstinate, always ready to defend himself or his members against anyone who spoke ill of them, or even looked at them the wrong way. It’s a trait developed over years of being the sole trainee in an agency that did not even have plans to debut an idol group before Hongjoong drifted along—if you didn’t stand your ground, you risk getting shoved away for something newer, something trendier, something better.
Yunjae stops at Seonghwa, Mingi and San’s dorms first. Seonghwa gets out silently without a backwards glance, and the other two members are wide-eyed as they exchange sheepish looks. It’s already been determined that they would be spending the night at the dorm he shares with Wooyoung and Jongho, and so there’s no movement from them to get off.
But Seonghwa wouldn’t be alone, tonight.
Hongjoong gets out of the car, and closes the door behind him. His breath escapes past between his parted lips in a cloud of white mist, Hongjoong rubbing his gloved hands together as he looks up at the apartment building, their manager already speeding away to send the kids home.
Hongjoong is stubborn, so he’s already made a solemn vow to himself that he’s not leaving tonight without getting the answers to the many questions he has. The first of which—
“Why won’t you get the surgery?”
Unfortunately for him, Seonghwa could be equally intractable when it came down to it.
A classic case of an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
It’s not an answer. At least, it’s not the answer Hongjoong is looking for. It doesn’t tell him anything more than what he already knows. Hongjoong knows the situation Seonghwa currently finds himself embroiled in is a terrible one to be in. He’s not lambasting Seonghwa’s choice—hell, if he were in Seonghwa’s shoes, he doesn’t think that he’d be able to go through with the surgery either, not if that meant losing Seonghwa-
You might as well be offering to end his life right then and there.
But he wants to learn Seonghwa’s honest, naked truths here. He wants to understand, from Seonghwa’s perspective, the intricacies of the barter that is being made, the details of the bargain that he has accepted. He wants to know the thoughts that are running through Seonghwa’s mind, the never-ending twists and turns that have led them to this ill-fated juncture.
He wants to know.
He needs to know, because—
He needs to know what’s so special about this person Seonghwa loves that he’d rather die than give them up and—
He needs to know why that person couldn’t be him.
Hongjoong is also prideful. Perhaps it was because of how his family doted on him growing up, which meant that he has never had to bow his head to anyone for anything, or perhaps it was because of how he had to fight tooth and nail for each and every achievement and accolade now under his belt, the only thing he had to rely on—could rely on—back when he had been nothing but a young upstart of a trainee was confidence and conviction in his skills and talent.
Hongjoong is prideful, and he’s collapsing, falling down onto his knees in front of Seonghwa.
Hongjoong is prideful, and he’s crying, pressing hot tears into Seonghwa’s cold, limp hands.
Hongjoong is prideful, and he’s clamoring for a chance, begging, pleading for Seonghwa to give them—give him a chance.
“Don’t give up on us.”
Hongjoong is prideful by nature, but what is pride in the face of Seonghwa’s life?
…
He hadn’t meant for the conversation to spiral so quickly out of his control, for his swelling anger to get the best of his intentions, for callous poison to spit from his mouth.
It didn’t matter what he had meant, though.
It only mattered what he had said.
…
Hongjoong doesn’t remember how he made his way there, but he finds himself standing at the doorstep of his dorm. With his own shaky breaths as his sole companion, Hongjoong can hear the faint murmurs of conversation that have managed to trickle through the door. Hongjoong can’t bring himself to unlock the door, standing still as a statue as the last words he threw at Seonghwa, cruel and unforgiving, echo incessantly in his ears.
“You’re selfish, Park Seonghwa.”
Bile rises up his throat as his stomach churns violently, nausea forcing sharp pinpricks in the back of his eyes as he chokes back a sob against clenched fists, sinking to his knees for the second time that evening. This time, though, he was alone, the ice that accumulated on his shoulders during his trek home melting off into glacial rivulets that settled under his skin and into his bones with a numbing chill.
Seonghwa was dying, and Hongjoong had just called him selfish.
He hadn’t meant it, the accusation, fuelled by sheer, dizzying ire, slipping off his tongue and past his lips in a moment of lapsed judgement.
He had regretted it the instant he said it, overwhelmed with horror and disgust at himself as he desperately thought of how he could claw the words back.
It hadn’t mattered though, because in that fleeting moment when Seonghwa finally, finally looked at him, the only thing he saw in the older’s tired eyes was resignation.
There was no fight left.
Seonghwa had given him everything he had.
So Hongjoong did what what he did best.
Hongjoong ran.
Everything after had been a blur, but he must have found his way back to his dorm somehow, given the way he was currently sobbing on his doorstep.
He doesn't hear the door unlock, but he feels the arms wrapping around him and pulling him up, and Hongjoong sinks into them, heaving sobs ripping through his shaking frame as they half-carry half-pull him past the door and into the apartment. The body encircling him is firm and warm, and Hongjoong leans into the warmth further, chasing it with single-minded desperation, even though he thinks—no, he knows—he doesn’t deserve it, trying to shake off the ice that had enveloped him throughout the course of the evening.
His lungs are burning, straining, wheezing for air with each gasping breath he takes- it feels like he’s drowning, except he’s not in the water and he’s drowning in the one thing that’s supposed to keep him alive.
A steady hand brushes the errant tears away from his cheeks, another murmuring a pitying whisper into his hair, “Oh, hyungie.”
“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong sobs, voice shattering the same way his heart had too, “I couldn’t bring him back.”
“I’m sorry.”
…
Mingi bursts into his studio 83 hours, 37 minutes, 24 seconds after the biggest mistake of Hongjoong’s life.
It’s been a couple days since he saw the younger man. The kids have made their feelings regarding Hongjoong’s actions very known. They’re sympathetic to his frustration, sure—it’s been a hard week for everyone, after all—but not not upset for what he had said to Seonghwa. Wooyoung, in particular, had taken it extra hard upon learning what Hongjoong had done, storming out of their shared dorm, stone-faced and wet-eyed, deigning Hongjoong unworthy of a single backwards glance. Yeosang had chased after the younger swiftly, but not before leaving Hongjoong with a small, mournful, apologetic smile.
The other members weren’t as expressive in their anger as Wooyoung had been, but they made it crystal clear that they weren’t the most happy with Hongjoong right now. The degrees of their displeasure varied. Yeosang was at least cool enough with him to drop him a message that night that Wooyoung had absconded to Yeosang and Yunho’s apartment, which Hongjoong was extremely grateful for. It settled some of his nerves knowing that the pair was safe and sound, at the very least. San and, unexpectedly, Jongho were comparatively more understanding; the latter surprising Hongjoong given how objective and principled the youngest tended to be.
What, or more precisely, who had taken Hongjoong by even greater surprise was Yunho.
If Hongjoong had to rank the members’ discontent, Yunho would take the second-highest spot with ease, nipping at the heels of Wooyoung with just the slimmest margin. On a good day, Yunho would mostly take to ignoring Hongjoong, giving him the bare minimum amount of courtesy that ensured their relationship remained professional.
On a bad day, well.
The younger man was downright hostile.
It had caught him so off-guard the first time Yunho—sweet, easy-going Yunho—snapped a response at Hongjoong so snarky that he didn’t even remember what he had said to warrant the reaction, much less try to call the younger man out. It had spooked the other members too, the outburst even causing Wooyoung to lose some of his moodiness for the rest of the meeting. The sullen demeaner enveloping Yunho only lightened after the meeting, when he suddenly noticed the way Mingi was fretting around him agitatedly.
Hongjoong doesn’t hold it against them—he couldn't, not when the person's most angry at him is himself. He’s aware he messed up, and Hongjoong's more than willing to suffer the consequences.
So he’s more than slightly confused when Mingi, who’s mostly followed Yunho’s lead in pretending Hongjoong didn’t exist outside of work, barges into his studio with zero preamble.
He stares uncomprehendingly at the younger, brows furrowing in confusion. The rapper is practically bursting at his seams with anxiety, frantic rambling a hundred miles per second which he could scarcely make heads or tails of.
Hongjoong is too tired for this.
“Woah, Mingki. Slow down.”
Mingi cuts himself off abruptly, heaving a deep breath. When he continues, the words that leave his lips knock Hongjoong’s world off-kilter.
“They’re saying that they might withdraw Seonghwa-hyung.”
“What?” Hongjoong exclaims incredulously, “Who said?”
“I was practicing with Hyungjoon-hyung and they said management was considering a withdrawal, since hyung isn’t going to…” Mingi’s breath hitches, “isn’t going to go for the surgery.”
They both know that wasn’t what he was originally about to say, but there’s a tacit understanding to ignore the hasty correction.
“Hyung,” Mingi reaches out for him with trembling hands, voice warbling. Hongjoong takes them in his, barely noticing the tiny 'clink' as silver rings knock into one another. “Hyung.”
“You have to fix this.”
Right.
Right. It was up to him.
Hongjoong was their captain, after all.
He’s already failed them once. He won’t—can’t fail them again.
Hongjoong lifts his head from where his eyes are glued to their entwined hands, looking straight into Mingi’s red-rimmed eyes.
“I’ll bring him back,” Hongjoong nods, “Don’t worry about it, Mingi-yah.”
He gently smooths back the messy hair, no doubt windswept due to Mingi’s haste in finding Hongjoong, before standing up and heading for the door. Before he leaves, he turns back to Mingi, who’s sniffling into a tissue. Steely determination lines his voice when he simply states.
“I’ll bring him back to us. I promise.”
It’s this flinty determination that punctuates each sombre thud of his boots as he makes his way to the top floors of the building.
It’s this stony conviction that reinforces the echoing slam as he pushes the door to the meeting room private to upper management open.
It’s this unyielding steadfastness that makes the hardened slant to his face ever more frigid as he draws himself up, looking every executive present in the room dead in the eyes, adamantine bracing his voice as he simply states.
“As Seonghwa’s leader, I’m objecting to his withdrawal.”
…
Seonghwa requests to go home to Jinju.
He announces it in the group chat, and the kids are quick to send him their well-wishes, eagerly grabbing the opportunity presented to them to finally be able to do something normal after weeks of self-sabotage and walking on eggshells around the oldest member of the group. They could tell that Seonghwa was yearning for normalcy with them, but it was difficult to act like everything was fine and dandy when it wasn’t, when they weren’t. They just couldn’t bring themselves to play pretend, not when Wooyoung was perpetually on the verge of bursting into tears at the mere thought of Seonghwa, not when San found Yeosang weeping soundlessly in the toilets during one of their comeback stages, icy-cold hands cradling a Ddeongbyeoli plush loosely against his chest, not when Yunho still pushed cherries away, green in the face, not when Hongjoong opened Jongho’s door one night after a long day at the studio, pausing at the sight of Mingi holding the youngest tight against him, Jongho’s phone dangling from his grip, browser opened up to a website about—
They could only hope that Seonghwa could forgive them for everything, one day.
Hongjoong reads the message that Seonghwa sent, but doesn’t reply. He couldn’t, not when he’s no longer sure where Seonghwa and he stood vis-à-vis each other. He didn’t want to ruin Seonghwa’s day, not when the other was surely excited to go home.
Lies, his mind purrs, venom dripping from the words, you’re just scared. Just a coward.
The other group chat, created solely so that Seonghwa wouldn't get spammed with work-related messages, is metaphorically and literally buzzing with excitement. Information regarding the pick up is wrangled out of Yunjae, who’s persuaded to arrive a while later than the original scheduled time so that they get a bit of extra time to send Seonghwa off. Plans are made to gather at the lobby of the other dorm’s building, with the last to arrive punished to buy coffee for the whole group after Seonghwa leaves. Wooyoung instructs San to drop by Yunho and Yeosang’s dorm before the day ends to pick up for Seonghwa some snacks for the road.
Hongjoong watches the messages flood the chat with a fond smile. The kids have been subdued for far too long, trapped between their discontentment towards Hongjoong’s behaviour and their discomfort towards Seonghwa’s condition.
It’s nice to see them having something to look forward to, even if the ‘something’ meant that Seonghwa would be leaving them for a while.
He’s about to set his phone down and leave them to their own devices when he gets a direct message from one of the members.
Hongjoong’s jaw drops.
It’s Wooyoung.
Wooyoung, who hasn’t spoken to Hongjoong on a one-on-one basis beyond what was necessitated for work, who hasn't returned to their dorm since he stomped out that night.
“You’re coming right, hyung?”
Before Hongjoong could respond—
“You better. Or I’m not coming home tonight.”
Hongjoong pretends he doesn’t feel the burn in his eyes when he fires back his reply.
“Of course.”
…
Hongjoong’s not sure if having Wooyoung back at the dorm was a worthwhile reward—if a reward, at all. As he hovers painfully awkwardly behind the kids, doggedly avoiding Seonghwa’s attempts to catch his eye, Hongjoong starts to recollect how peaceful life had been when Wooyoung had pettily sequestered himself away in Yunho and Yeosang’s dorm. Maybe he wasn’t the best negotiator, after all-
“What the fuck, Woo—” Hongjoong curses when Wooyoung, being the devil spawn that he is, runs straight at him with a shove that sends him flying across the lobby. His arms instinctually extend to break his fall, but ends up wrapping themselves around another person, who stumbles when Hongjoong staggers into them.
Hongjoong doesn’t need to look to know who he’s holding flush against his body when, from the close proximity, he’s able to pick up notes of coffee and vanilla, though they are just the tiniest bit masked by Mingi’s cologne.
It smells like home.
It’s such an intimately familiar scent, one that dominated the room he shared with Seonghwa all those years ago, that the poignant wistfulness it evokes causes Hongjoong to tense up, inadvertently.
“Thank—thank you.”
Seonghwa begins to pull away, and Hongjoong, panicking, risks a gamble, even though he’s not one to believe in the potency of luck. He pulls Seonghwa back in, embracing him even tighter, wrapping his arms around Seonghwa with so much desperation that Hongjoong thinks Seonghwa must understand, please understand—
Seonghwa relaxes, his frail frame drooping slightly to press against Hongjoong’s.
Hongjoong breathes.
He tucks his head into the crook of Seonghwa’s neck, nuzzling against the soft wool of his coat.
Hongjoong doesn’t want to let go, not when he’s finally home.
But Seonghwa needs to go. And so, Hongjoong lets him go.
“Rest well. Come back home, soon.”
Please.
“Wait for me.”
Warmth blooms where Hongjoong’s heart beats.
I’ll wait as long as you want me to.
…
Hongjoong squirrels himself away in his studio during the two weeks Seonghwa is gone.
It's not a deliberate attempt to distract himself from a certain person's absence, no, definitely not—who would do something as insane as counting the days and the hours and the minutes and the seconds? Not Kim Hongjoong, that's who—there’s just nothing else for him to do besides continue working, alright?
Hongjoong’s messing around with some of the new tracks when Yunho barges into the room, the accompanying doorslam echoing down the corridor. He jumps, ripping off his headphones.
“What the hell, Yunho!”
Yunho’s eyes dart around the studio, taking in the mess that’s gradually accumulated over the span of two weeks. A vague sense of defensiveness raises his hackles and Hongjoong crosses his arms in front of his chest, jutting his chin out.
“What—”
“Are you not going to do anything about Seonghwa-hyung ?” Hongjoong’s arms drop to his side at the unexpected line of questioning, lips parting wordlessly.
“Uh.” Yunho quirks an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
Hongjoong slumps into his chair, the fight leaving his body as quickly as it came, “There’s nothing I can do.”
Yunho sneers, his next words vitriolic and incisive, “Such a useful leader, you are—”
“Yah, Jeong Yunho!”
“Kim Hongjoong!” The younger man just about snarls his name, eyes flashing as he leaps from the couch, drawing up to his full height in front of Hongjoong. It’s not often that Hongjoong finds himself intimidated by Yunho, in spite of how the other towers over him when they stand chest-to-chest. The younger man’s usually soft and wanting for affection, practically a baby around the oldest members, but these days, it seems like he is hellbent on fulfilling the sole mission that was pissing Hongjoong off.
Hongjoong keeps his eyes locked with Yunho’s in a deadlock, refusing to be the first to avert his gaze. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you—”
His voice trails off abruptly as he watches, in mounting horror, as Yunho’s eyes well up with tears. The younger’s nose scrunches in an aborted whimper as he presses the back of his hand against his eyes, rubbing harshly at them so that the tears don’t fall. Hongjoong takes a step closer, and Yunho takes a step back, falling onto the couch behind him with a choked whine.
Hongjoong crouches so that they are eye-level, one hand reaching out to caress the side of Yunho’s head, slow and steady so that the younger could move away if he wished to. When Yunho doesn’t reject him, Hongjoong gently guides the younger’s head to lean against his shoulder, cradling the back of his head with a featherlight touch. His other hand runs along the length of Yunho’s spine as the younger hiccups into his shoulder, the sobs wrecking through his frame slowly subsiding.
For a while, they just sit there, quietly—Hongjoong holds Yunho, and Yunho holds onto Hongjoong.
“You didn’t see it, hyung,” Yunho mumbles against his shirt, shaking his head vigorously as though he could also shake away the haunting visage if he did so hard enough. “They were everywhere. Flowers. Blood. Yellow—god, they were stained with red.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No,” Yunho shakes his head, again. “Seonghwa-hyung didn’t want you guys to see. I went along.”
“But you didn’t see it, hyung,” Yunho continues slowly, “you didn’t see Seonghwa-hyung. He looked—he was so pale. So gone.” The next few words rush out in a shuddering breath.
“He looked like he was already dead.”
The knowledge hits Hongjoong with the strength of a semi-truck. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcefully pushing back against the tidal wave of emotion surging in his chest that threatens to pull him under, to drown him in his own anguish and grief.
He couldn’t break down. Not now, not in front of Yunho.
But the knowledge still hurts.
How long had Seonghwa been suffering?
How long had Seonghwa been pretending to be fine?
Even now, Hongjoong marvels at the display of inner strength possessed by the man who holds his heart, despite how gruesome and morbid the circumstances under which it manifested were.
His beautifully, awfully stubborn Seonghwa.
"We're not blind, hyung. We see it—you've given up," Yunho confronts him in a hushed whisper, and accusation bites in the question that follows.
"Why are you giving up?"
Hongjoong opens his eyes to Yunho watching him closely, fear and resignation clouding his expression.
Hongjoong does not have an answer, not right now.
“You’re withering away, hyung.” One of Yunho's hands shoots out to encircle Hongjoong’s wrist, his grip iron-clad in despair, “We’re scared. I’m scared. I-I can’t lose you both.”
Hongjoong’s gaze drifts down, to where he’s now rubbing circles into the hand Yunho’s using to hold onto his other wrist. Yunho's right—Hongjoong's always been so pridefully stubborn in keeping whatever he considered his—his music, his family, his friends—close to his chest, determination and desperation often a potent enough combination to force paths where none existed so that Hongjoong could possess and protect.
So why is it now, of all times, that Hongjoong is laying his arms down?
Now, when he's about to lose what he cherishes most—
When Hongjoong finally glances up, there is a small smile adorning his face. Yunho’s breath hitches when he sees it, the slightest tremble running through his lips.
Perhaps Hongjoong does have an answer, after all.
“When he dies, a part of me will go with him, Yunho.”
“Hyung—”
“I wish I got the hanahaki instead of him, Yunho,” Hongjoong chuckles, but it's devoid of any humour. He reclines against the side of the couch to stare blankly at the ceiling, his vision blurring with each blink. “At least then only one person dies with it.”
“Hyung! You—”
Hongjoong unceremoniously cuts Yunho off, again, unable to bear hearing any more pleading from the younger, “Did you know stars shine the brightest right before they’re about to die?”
Anything Yunho was about to say faces a sudden death, swiftly replaced by the younger’s whiplash at the sudden change in topic. Hongjoong smiles, nudging him for a response. Obediently, Yunho shakes his head.
“Seonghwa’s my star. My North star, my very own Polaris. I’ve spent my whole life chasing after him, because he shows me the way.” A tender, reminiscing smile tugs at Hongjoong’s lips. “He’s always shone so bright, hell, even now he shines so bright. When he burns out, I’m done. There’s not going to be anyone else like him, not in this lifetime, at least. So I’ll wait. I’ll wait until the next, and then the one after that, and then the one after that.”
Hongjoong tilts his head to look at Yunho. The distress is gone now, but pity and sorrow have taken its place.
“Do you get it now, Yunho?” Hongjoong smiles, and the unwelcome tang of salt stings his tongue when his lips part. Yunho looks away, the corners of his eyes growing red.
Hongjoong does have an answer, in the end. He just had to answer himself, first.
“There was no one before him, and there will be no one after him.”
Hongjoong’s in love with Seonghwa, but Seonghwa isn’t in love with him.
But that’s okay.
Hongjoong will learn how to be okay.
…
Seonghwa returns earlier than he expected, but Hongjoong isn’t complaining. They organize a welcome home party for the oldest, even though Seonghwa insists there was no need. His opinion didn’t matter, though, not with Wooyoung and San spearheading the operation, happily equipped with Hongjoong’s credit card. The party is cut short when they catch Seonghwa yawning for the 7th time within the span of 10 minutes, all of them exchanging furtive, worried glances before San herds Seonghwa to the bathroom to wash up while they tidy up. Hongjoong finds himself caught in an impromptu rock-paper-scissors competition to decide sleeping arrangements. He can’t even get mad at the younger members when they tease him for ending up with the couch, not when their faces are sporting the first, genuine smiles he’s seen in a long while.
Hongjoong slips away in the middle of Yeosang and Yunho’s fussing over the placements of the futons. When Hongjoong arrives at Seonghwa’s door, the other man is drying his hair in front of his vanity. Seonghwa smiles at him and reaches out for him, sweet as ever, but Hongjoong’s rooted to the spot.
Coward, his mind hisses venomously.
Seonghwa falters, the corners of his mouth falling.
No—
Hongjoong drops to his knees in front of Seonghwa, apologies spilling profusely from his lips, blindly grasping for Seonghwa’s hands, never, never is he ever letting them go—
Seonghwa’s pulling away, why is he pulling away, from Hongjoong, why is Hongjoong never enough and so he pulls him in even tighter, because no—
Hongjoong can’t breathe—
Then Seonghwa’s arms are around him, and Hongjoong latches onto him like he’s his one and only lifeline, and Hongjoong is drowning in air. He sobs into Seonghwa’s shoulder, and Seonghwa holds him patiently, kindly, lovingly through it all.
Hongjoong doesn’t deserve Seonghwa’s compassion, he thinks.
Seonghwa asks for a chance to explain himself, and Hongjoong agrees, without a shred of hesitation. There was never a need for you to ask, Hongjoong wants to tell him, because what’s a second chance in comparison to Hongjoong’s heart?
“Can I be selfish for once?” Seonghwa finally asks, and Hongjoong feels the current of fear that quivers through Seonghwa’s frame, thin beneath the bulk of his cotton pajamas, “Will you permit it?”
Hongjoong wants to say no.
He presses his forehead against Seonghwa’s, a lump forming in his throat. This close, he can feel the warmth of Seonghwa’s breath fanning against his cheek.
Hongjoong wants to say no.
Instead, he swallows down the lump in his throat, and it sinks into a pit in his gut.
Hongjoong has always loved Seonghwa more than he loved himself.
“I trust you.”
Hongjoong loves Seonghwa, so he’ll let him go.
Under the harsh liminal light of the bathroom, Hongjoong’s heart breaks into a million little shards.
“You see, the person I love… without me even realising, he’s become such a fundamental part of me. If I lose that, if I lose him, I don’t think I’ll be ‘Park Seonghwa’ anymore.”
He recalls the fondness that colours Seonghwa's words, soft and effusive like sticky cotton candy. He thinks back to the sparkle that set Seonghwa's eyes alight with the delicate dance of firelight.
Seonghwa had never been so... alive.
How must it feel to be thus loved by a star, that it would burn all its radiance in exchange for a brief flicker of remembrance?
Hongjoong only wishes he knew.
…
Hongjoong had initially been glad that Seonghwa decided to return from his parents early, because that would mean he’d be able to spend more time with the other man. Once again, Hongjoong’s plans were foiled by the one and only—Jung Wooyoung.
With the second-youngest virtually glued at the hip to Seonghwa, Hongjoong barely gets any time with the older man. Even his nightly cuddle sessions had almost been disrupted, if not for Seonghwa issuing an ultimatum that meant either Wooyoung went back to San’s bed, or Seonghwa himself would take the couch. The younger had whined and pouted and wailed, kicking an adorable tantrum on the floor, but Seonghwa had stood his ground.
As Wooyoung left the room dejectedly, dragging his plushie behind him, Hongjoong couldn’t resist sticking his tongue out at the younger, which in turn earned him a raised eyebrow from Seonghwa.
It wasn’t all terrible, though, the way Wooyoung constantly hung off Seonghwa’s shoulder, because it meant Hongjoong got intel. There was a disarming air to Wooyoung that made you want to let your guard down and indulge the younger, which meant that Seonghwa often divulged more than he probably hoped for during their conversations. With Seonghwa and Hongjoong mending their relationship, it also meant that Wooyoung and Hongjoong had mend their relationship, and the younger was more than happy to feed Hongjoong the information he wanted in exchange for funding for his expensive photography hobby.
“Seonghwa-hyung told me some stuff about the person he likes today,” Wooyoung sings as he prances into Hongjoong’s studio, sinking comfortably into the couch. Hongjoong squints at the younger, the perfect picture of innocence as he blinks guilessly up at his captain. Sighing, Hongjoong retrieves his credit card from his wallet, sliding it across the coffee table.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Wooyoung grins, looking exactly like his alter-ego of a cat that got its cream. His mood switches all of a sudden, though, a smidge of irritation darkening his features as he leans forward. “Dude’s an asshole.”
Hongjoong chokes on the sip of water he just took.
“The guy said that he would never date Seonghwa-hyung? And that it wasn’t worth it? Like, hello?” Wooyoung complains, kicking his feet against the sides of the coffee table. “Dude should be thanking his lucky stars he managed to pull hyung in the first place.”
Kick.
“Stupid.”
Kick.
“Asshole.”
Kick.
“Bet he’s one ugly prick.”
Kick.
“And has a small—”
“Wooyoung, please—”
Crack.
“My coffee table…”
“Oops, sorry, hyung.”
Truthfully, Wooyoung’s description hadn’t really narrowed down the pool of suspects very dramatically. With Seonghwa’s job as an idol, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for an individual, famous or otherwise, to think that the risks were not worth the rewards (though Hongjoong would beg to differ, because said ‘reward’ was Park Seonghwa himself. In Wooyoung's own words, "like, hello?").
And well, saying that they would never date Seonghwa—that was the issue in and of itself, wasn’t it?
(At one point, Hongjoong thinks of himself. He dimly recalls a debut party, a drunken night, and an errant question from a curious San. He chalks it up to late-night delusion. If it were him, Seonghwa wouldn’t be dying, no?)
He decides that Minho would be his guess for tonight. He doesn’t fit the bill for the suspect perfectly, since Hongjoong couldn’t imagine Minho ever being so blunt and rude, especially to Seonghwa. Plus, he and Jisung were already dating when Seonghwa and Minho became friends after Kingdom.
But it was a safe, if not slightly ridiculous, guess. So Hongjoong tucks himself comfortably under the covers and waits for Seonghwa to finish washing up.
He’s wrong, as he expected, and he gets a light slap against his hip for his cheek as Seonghwa snuggles up closer to him. Hongjoong watches, fondness filling his chest with fuzzy warmth, as the older presses his cheek against Hongjoong’s chest, his breathing slowly evening out.
“I just don’t understand,” Hongjoong admits in a hushed whisper that lingers in the silence. His hand cups the side of Seonghwa’s face, tracing circles against the smooth, porcelain skin.
“You shine so bright, Hwa. Even amongst the stars, I’ll bet that you’ll still shine the brightest.”
Amongst everyone, all I can see is you.
“How does anyone look at you, Park Seonghwa, and not fall right into your orbit?”
Not for the first time, nor the last, Hongjoong weeps bitter tears, letting the unfairness soak into skin as all he can do is, all he will do, is mourn the 'what-if's.
…
Wooyoung bursts into Hongjoong’s studio, frantically rambling a hundred miles per second which he could scarcely make heads or tails of. It reminds Hongjoong eerily of Mingi, who had barged in in the same exact fashion just a couple months ago to deliver news that had sent Hongjoong on a week-long crusade against KQ's executives.
Hongjoong doesn’t know if he has the energy to stage a repeat of that shitshow.
“Woo, slow down—”
Wooyoung cuts Hongjoong off, stepping forward to grab Hongjoong by the lapels of his polo shirt, shaking him so aggressively Hongjoong thinks he could hear his brain rattling in his skull. When he continues, the words that leave his lips knock Hongjoong’s world off-kilter.
“Seonghwa-hyung loves you! It’s you, it’s always been you! I don’t know how we’ve been so blind—”
Hongjoong pushes Wooyoung away, disbelief marring his features, “You’re crazy, Woo.”
“He threw up chrysanthemums, hyung.” Wooyoung’s digs a finger into his chest, a crazed glint lighting up his eyes. “And between the two of us, I’m pretty sure I’m not the one he loves.”
“There’s so many people with birthdays in November—”
“Have you seen him cough recently, hyung?”
Hongjoong frowns, blindsided by the non-sequitur. “Yeah, I mean, I’m sure he has—”
No, he hasn’t.
Wooyoung smiles wetly, a triumphant grin pulling at his cheeks, “His condition hasn’t progressed in a month, hyung. The doctor says it might be due to exposure. Proximity.”
Hongjoong dimly recalls a debut party, a drunken night, and an errant question from a curious San.
“I have to—I need—”
Hongjoong nearly trips on his (brand-new) coffee table in his haste to get to the door, only saved from crashing into a unceremonious heap on the floor by Wooyoung, whose hand lingers against Hongjoong in the lightest of touches.
“Save him, hyung. Please.”
…
“I love you, Park Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa’s still beautiful, even blotchy with tears, blood staining the corners of his mouth.
When Seonghwa finally, finally looks at him, all Hongjoong can see in his eyes are stars.
Hongjoong leans in, diving into the galaxy.
…
The aftermath is slightly nasty. As it turns out, once the feelings are requited, the flowers, the roots, the whole plant just spontaneously wilts in the afflicted’s lungs. It’s recommended for the host to try and cough up the rot naturally, or as much as they are able to, before considering the surgical option. Not because of a complex, macabre reason like a mystical price to pay or anything like that, but the rather simple one that, well, surgery is taxing on the body, especially when operating on a delicate area like the lungs.
Seonghwa sulks at that, because nobody had cared about how strenuous the surgery might be on him when they were hankering after his approval to cut out his feelings.
It’s more disgusting to cough out dead flowers, Seonghwa comments. The rot doesn’t make him bleed, since it’s on the verge of disintegration and thus crumbly, but the aftertaste does make him nauseous, and his coughing fits are now often accompanied by vomit. Hongjoong wouldn’t know, but he makes sure to always be there to help clean the other man up. The first few times, Seonghwa tries to push him out of the toilet, embarrassed by the mess but with how fragile the state of Seonghwa’s health is as it stands, Hongjoong is more than capable of manhandling Seonghwa into sitting down.
One night, as Hongjoong finishes up wiping the toilet floor, Seonghwa calls out for him from where he’s perched on the toilet.
“Hey.”
“Hm, jagi?”
“I—you—” Seonghwa blushes prettily, still not used to blatant displays of affection from Hongjoong. “Anyways. Remember how you told me you were so angry all the time because you were jealous?”
Hongjoong glances up at Seonghwa, unsure of where exactly this conversation is heading, but nods regardless. He takes off his gloves.
Mischief glitters in Seonghwa’s eyes, sparkling like stars in the sky as he asks, slowly, “Do you feel stupid now, knowing that you were jealous of yourself the whole time?”
Hongjoong blinks at Seonghwa. He throws a glove at Seonghwa. It smacks him right in the face.
“Joong, I—”
“Shit, Hwa, sorry—”
A wet splatter hits the floor.
“Sorry.”
“No, no… I deserved that.”
…
Hongjoong’s in love with Seonghwa.
It is a fact of the universe, as banal as any other factual statement—the North Star shines bright every single night, Kim Hongjoong is in love with Park Seonghwa, and Park Seonghwa is in love with Kim Hongjoong.