Work Text:
Yuma sat cross-legged on his bunk, staring at the open notebook in his lap. Usually, the words would flow, filling page after page once he found a quiet moment to concentrate. But tonight, his pencil just hovered, barely touching the paper, his mind stuck on breakfast. On Jo leaning close — so close Yuma caught the clean cotton scent of his white t-shirt — murmuring, "Could we talk later? When I'm back from practice?"
anticipate
hesitate
complicate
concentrate
The words appeared without conscious thought, his hand moving mechanically across the page. He and Jo had hardly spoken these past two weeks, not since that night at Han Park. Just the necessary things during practice, during meals. Though sometimes he'd catch Jo watching him with those dark, thoughtful eyes of his.
But this morning had been different. Nicholas and EJ were having one of their playful arguments about coffee brewing methods when Jo, who'd been focused on buttering his toast with precise, careful movements, suddenly said, "Pour-over." Just one of those echo-phrases Jo sometimes used, processing conversations around him. Then he'd turned to Yuma, who'd been pretending to read something on his phone while secretly watching Jo's long fingers handle the butter knife with characteristic grace.
Later, Jo had said. But how much later? His evening practice wouldn't end until 10 PM, and the thought of waiting that long made Yuma's skin feel too tight. Today had been agonising.
He closed the notebook with a soft snap and sat up. Maybe a bath would help. Something, anything, to keep his mind off the way Jo had looked at him during breakfast — like he was trying to memorise Yuma's face, or maybe like he was working up the courage to say something more.
Steam curled up from the bath as Yuma slid into the water, careful to keep his freshly-dyed pink hair dry. He'd hoped the heat would help unknot the tension in his shoulders, but he found himself staring at the ceiling tiles instead, Jo's words from breakfast echoing in his head.
Talk later.
What did that even mean? They hadn't really talked — not properly — since that night at the river. Oh, they'd exchanged words. Pass the salt. Your turn for the shower. Good morning. But nothing real. Nothing about how natural it had felt when their lips met, or how Jo's hand had trembled slightly when he'd touched Yuma's face afterwards, fingers ghosting across his cheek.
Yuma closed his eyes. The memory was still vivid: chilly autumn air carrying the scent of roasted sweet potatoes, lights sparkling along the river like spilled stars, Jo's shoulder warm against his as they sat watching couples and groups thread past their bench.
The kiss itself had been gentle. Sweet. Almost shy, like a question being asked. Afterwards, they'd just... sat there. Finishing their cocoa. Stealing glances and quickly looking away when caught, like kids. Which they were, sometimes Yuma forgot that. Being an idol made you grow up fast.
He watched his toes break the surface at the far end of the tub. Jo had offered his arm again for the walk back to meet EJ and Nicholas. Such a Jo thing to do — perfect manners even after kissing your groupmate. The thought made Yuma smile, but it faded as he remembered the next morning. How they'd sat side by side at breakfast, barely looking at each other, both probably wondering the same thing: Did he regret it?
A knock startled him, water sloshing over the edge of the tub.
"Yuma?" K-hyung's voice. "You've been in there almost an hour. You okay?"
An hour? Yuma blinked at his pruned fingers. "Yeah, sorry! Just working on lyrics."
anticipate
contemplate
percolate
cannot wait
Percolate? Where did that — oh.
“Pour-over," Jo had whispered at breakfast. Yuma smiled now, remembering. That was Jo — catching words like butterflies and releasing them again in that cashmere voice of his, warm and soft. Yuma had always found it fascinating, the way Jo would echo phrases, and found himself pleased whenever Jo repeated one of his own words. The words themselves were usually nonsense, but it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered except that Jo wouldn't be back for hours yet, and Yuma was going quietly mad, wondering what he needed to say.
Yuma dressed quickly, his skin still damp from not drying off properly. His reflection in the steamy mirror looked flushed — from the hot water or his thoughts, he wasn't sure. The green flannel pyjamas were soft against his skin. He'd bought them last week, not really thinking about why he'd chosen green when his drawer was full of blue ones.
He looked at the clock again. 9 PM. He couldn't wait. Not until 10 PM, when Jo said his tumbling session would finish. Not when his mind kept circling back to the way Jo had looked at him this morning, like there were words caught behind his teeth, waiting to be set free.
Yuma paced their room, K-hyung watching him with raised eyebrows from his desk.
"You're making me dizzy."
"Sorry." Yuma flopped onto Fuma’s bed, then immediately sat up again. "I think I'm going out."
He was already halfway to the door, mind racing ahead to where Jo would be, to what he needed to say.
"At least take a jacket!" K-hyung called after him. "It's cold out!"
Yuma snagged the thick hoodie hanging from a peg at the door as he kicked off his slippers and slid into the first pair of trainers he found lined up at the door. “I’ll be back later," Yuma called over his shoulder, already gone.
The dorm elevator was out of service again — maintenance, according to the sign — so Yuma took the stairs two at a time, the sound of his feet echoing in the stairwell. He knew Jo's practice schedule by heart. He'd memorised it without meaning to, the way he seemed to memorise everything about Jo lately.
Dance studio B. The one with honey-coloured floors and dark grey walls, practice mats stacked in neat rows along one side. Jo would still be there, probably one of the last to leave. He always stayed late when he was working on something new.
Outside, the evening air hit Yuma's face like a shock. October had crept in while they weren't looking, bringing a sharp chill that cut straight through his flannel pyjamas. K-hyung had been right about the jacket. The urgency that had driven him from the dorm was still thrumming under his skin, making his fingers twitch and his heart race.
breathless
reckless
necklace
(of stars above the city)
The words tumbled through his mind, unfinished and imperfect, but Yuma barely noticed. Somewhere above Seoul's ever-present glow, stars were scattered like dropped gems, but he couldn't see them now and wouldn’t stop to search. His nerves were wound too tight, like an over-tuned guitar string ready to snap.
The company building wasn't far. Just a few blocks of quiet streets, past the convenience store where they sometimes bought late-night snacks, around the corner where the tteokbokki cart always parked during the day. The hoodie helped against the October chill, though Yuma realised halfway there that it wasn't his own — the sleeves were too long, and it carried the faint scent of Nico's cologne. The trainers were definitely someone else's too; they pinched slightly at the toes with each step. He looked down at them as he trotted down the street, catching the flash of vinyl stickers in the shapes of cherries. Harua’s.
The building loomed ahead, its windows still blazing with light despite the late hour. Yuma slowed his pace as he approached, breathless and suddenly aware of how he must look — pink hair unstyled, borrowed hoodie over green flannel pyjamas, shoes that didn't quite fit. His reflection in the glass doors made him wince, but he pushed forward anyway. He swiped his keycard and stopped to have his face scanned at the checkpoint. The security guard barely glanced up, too used to idols coming and going at odd hours to question his attire.
The elevator ride to the practice floor felt endless. Yuma watched the numbers tick upward, his earlier urgency morphing into something closer to nervousness. He tugged at the hoodie's oversized sleeves, trying to occupy his restless hands. He could hear it before he saw it — the distinctive sound of feet landing on practice mats, followed by the squeak of shoes on polished wood. Studio B's door was propped open slightly, warm light spilling into the hallway. Yuma approached quietly, not wanting to break Jo's concentration.
Through the gap, he could see Jo in the mirror-lined room, focused entirely on his movements. He was working on a tumbling sequence - something new, something that made Yuma's breath catch as Jo launched himself into a controlled flip. His landing was almost silent, years of dance training evident in every controlled motion.
Jo was alone. Everyone else had left. Yuma slid sideways through the door, standing nervously just inside with his shoulders brushing the wall.
Yuma must have made some small sound, because Jo suddenly looked up, catching his eye in the mirror. For a moment, they just stared at each other's reflections. Then Jo turned, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt, and Yuma tried very hard not to notice the flash of skin this revealed.
"You're early," Jo said softly, and something in his voice made Yuma's chest tight. "I thought... later."
"I couldn't wait," Yuma admitted. He took a step into the studio, then another. "I mean, I tried. I took a bath and everything. But then I just... couldn't anymore."
Jo's lips quirked up at the corners. "You're wearing pyjamas."
"Yeah." Yuma glanced down at himself, then back up with eyes that looked almost manic, like he was barely holding himself together.
𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃
"I like blue," Jo said absently, his mind still caught on all the times he'd seen Yuma padding around the dorm in his usual sleepwear. Then he blinked, actually seeing what was in front of him. "I like green, too." He felt his ears turning red at the admission. "I wear green ones."
Yuma stood there in somebody else's oversized hoodie and what looked like Harua's trainers, his pink hair still damp and messy, looking simultaneously lost and determined. Something twisted in Jo's chest. He'd been practising for hours, trying to exhaust himself enough that the conversation ahead wouldn't terrify him. But seeing Yuma like this — clearly as anxious and off-balance as Jo felt — made him want to cross the space between them and...
He took another drink from his water bottle instead, buying time. The studio lights caught in Yuma's hair, making it shimmer, and Jo found himself remembering that it was as soft as it looked. He'd last touched it two weeks ago, when his fingers had brushed Yuma's cheek after their kiss, but he could barely register it then, startled by his own boldness.
"I can wait," Yuma said suddenly, the words tumbling out fast and slightly breathless. "If you're not finished practising. I can just..." He gestured vaguely at the floor near the door, and Jo could picture it perfectly – Yuma curled up against the wall in his borrowed clothes, watching Jo practice with those shining, catlike eyes of his.
"I am finished," Jo said quietly, setting his water bottle down with careful precision. "I was just..." He trailed off, unsure how to explain that he'd been killing time, working through combinations he already knew by heart, just to keep his mind clear.
"Can we talk now?" Yuma asked, his voice small but determined. "About... everything?"
Jo nodded as his heart slammed against his ribs. "Yes," he said. "I think we should."
"We should sit," Jo said, nodding toward the practice mats along the wall. They were stacked neatly to bench height, a familiar resting spot during long practices. His legs felt heavy — from the hours of work or from the fear of what needed to be said, he wasn't sure.
He watched Yuma pick his way across the practice room floor in his borrowed trainers. The squeak of rubber soles seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet studio. Jo followed, then surprised himself by stretching out full-length on the mats, his long legs extended in front of him. The basketball shorts rode up slightly as he settled.
"Are you tired?" Yuma asked, hovering uncertainly beside the mats.
"A little." Jo stared up at the ceiling, at the neat rows of can lights reflecting off the mirrors. It was easier than looking at Yuma just then. "You can sit if you want."
He felt more than saw Yuma settle on the edge of the mats beside him, facing the long wall of mirrors on the other side of the practice room. The familiar scent of Nico's cologne drifted over — the hoodie must be his. Jo kept his eyes fixed upward, glancing sideways to watch their reflection in the mirror across the room. Yuma looked small in the borrowed clothes, his pink hair falling into his eyes as he gazed down at his own hands, gripping the edge of the mat.
"About this morning," Yuma started, then stopped. His hand moved restlessly against the mat's surface, inches from Jo's leg. "When you said we should talk..."
Jo's ears burned. He could feel the heat spreading down his neck, knew Yuma would notice. But before he could respond, Yuma's hand settled on his thigh, just above his knee — it was unconscious, habitual, the sort of reassuring touch he’d used dozens of times before their night at the Han river park.
They both froze.
Jo couldn't breathe. Yuma's hand was warm through the thin material of his shorts. The silence in the practice room felt thick, broken only by the distant thrum of bass from another studio and the soft whisper of the air conditioning.
Their eyes met in the mirror across the room, and something in Yuma's expression made Jo finally turn his head to look at him directly even as Yuma turned to look at him. Yuma's face was flushed, his eyes wide and questioning, but there was something else there too — a spark of the same need that had been burning in Jo's chest these past two weeks.
"Jo," Yuma whispered, and his hand shook slightly on Jo's thigh. "I've been thinking about—"
"Me too." The words came out before Jo could stop them, low and a bit rough. His ears felt like they were on fire, but he didn't look away. "Every day since..."
Yuma moved then, turning more fully toward him, and Jo pushed himself up on one elbow. They were close now, so close Jo could see the slight tremor in Yuma's lips, could feel the warmth radiating from him. Someone's practice music thumped through the walls, but it felt distant, unimportant.
This time, they moved together.
The first brush of lips was gentle, familiar — like that night by the river. But then Yuma made a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat, and something inside Jo broke loose. His free hand came up to tangle in Yuma's hair — finally, finally — as the kiss deepened. Yuma's fingers gripped his thigh tighter, and Jo could taste the smile on his lips, could feel the way Yuma was trying not to grin even as he pressed closer.
This kiss wasn’t the hesitant question of their first one. This kiss was the period at the end of the answer.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard. Yuma's pink hair was mussed where Jo's fingers had been, and his borrowed hoodie was sliding off one shoulder. He looked dazed but radiant, his eyes glowing with happiness.
"I've wanted to do that again," Yuma admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "since the moment we stopped the first time."
Jo's ears burned, but he couldn't help smiling. "Me too."
"So..." Yuma drew out the word, his fingers still resting on Jo's thigh. "I guess we should talk about what this means?"
Jo nodded, pushing himself up to sit properly. Their shoulders brushed as he settled next to Yuma, both of them now facing the mirror. Jo's reflection looked back at them, cheeks flushed and hair slightly mussed. "I think I'd like that."
"Are we..." Yuma hesitated. Jo noticed the pulse in his neck and wondered if Yuma's heart was thundering, too. "I mean, do you want to be...?" He trailed off, caught between hope and uncertainty.
"Together?" Jo's voice was soft but steady. When Yuma nodded, Jo's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I think we already are."
𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃
Relief flooded through Yuma, making him feel light-headed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Jo's hand found his, long fingers intertwining. "But maybe we should keep it quiet for now? Just between us?"
"The others might guess." Yuma thought of Maki’s knowing looks, of Taki’s subtle observations, a new trait that had appeared recently and startled the group.
"They might," Jo agreed. "But we don't have to confirm anything yet. We can just... see how it goes?" There was a question in his voice, a hint of vulnerability that made Yuma's chest tight.
"Day by day?" Yuma squeezed his hand. "I'd like that."
Jo turned to look at him then, dark eyes serious. "I don't want to think too far ahead. Not because I don't—" he broke off, ears reddening. "I just want to enjoy this. Now. With you."
something new
breaking through
me and you
what we do
The words danced through Yuma's mind as he looked at Jo — beautiful, hesitant Jo — and felt overwhelmed by how much he wanted this, wanted him. Without thinking, he leaned forward to capture Jo's lips again.
This kiss was different from the others. There was certainty in it now, an assurance that hadn't been there before, and the first signs of hunger. Jo's hand came up to cup Yuma's face as he greedily nipped at Yuma’s mouth. Yuma shifted closer, desperate to eliminate any space between them, pressing his chest and shoulder into Jo from his half-twisted position. His fingers skimmed along Jo's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin, the last damp of sweat from his practice, before moving across to rest against his chest, over Jo’s heart. Yuma pressed his palm flat against the shirt, also damp, and his fingertips twitched lightly, clawlike, as he felt the desperate urge to grab Jo, to cling to him, just in case this all evaporated.
Jo made a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, and Yuma’s body took over — mind no longer in control. His hand slid down to Jo’s stomach, then to Jo's hip, wanting to draw him closer—
Jo broke away suddenly, his breathing uneven, pressing his forehead to Yuma’s to put distance between their swollen, kiss-bitten lips. "Wait," he whispered. "I'm... I'm not ready yet."
Yuma immediately stilled his hand, brought back to his senses by the fear in Jo’s voice. Understanding flooded through him. "Oh! No, I wasn't—" He pulled back slightly to meet Jo's eyes. "I only meant to touch your hip. Nothing more." His thumb stroked once, gentle and reassuring, over the sharp curve of bone and waistband. "See?"
The tension in Jo's shoulders eased. "Oh."
"We don't have to do anything you're not ready for," Yuma said softly. "I'm not ready either, not really. This is enough." He smiled, trying to pour all his sincerity into it. "More than enough."
Jo's answering smile was luminous. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Yuma's shoulder, his arms going around Yuma’s waist. Yuma could feel the heat of his blush through the borrowed hoodie
"Thank you," Jo murmured. Yuma turned his head to lightly kiss the side of Jo’s head, just above the ear, inhaling deeply — subtle floral shampoo, sweat, the creamy milk-like smell of Jo’s skin.
They sat like that for a moment, just breathing together in the quiet studio. Then Jo lifted his head, a familiar soft smile in his eyes, the smile he saved just for Yuma. “It’s getting kind of late. Home?”
Yuma nodded and stood first, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. He'd been sitting still for too long, and while the practice mats were comfortable enough, his muscles were stiff after the day’s tension. He lowered his arms, preparing to turn and help Jo stand.
Yuma heard it before he felt it. A muffled slap, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make a noise that echoed in the empty practice room. He wheeled around.
Jo, shy and hesitant and beautiful Jo, was grinning up at him like a baby-faced devil.
"I slapped your butt." His statement was simple, like his echo-words. Like he was repeating something heard in his thoughts.
Yuma's startled laugh bounced off the mirrors. "You... what?"
Jo shrugged, still grinning as he got to his feet. "Just checking to see if I’m allowed.”
They gathered Jo's things, turned off the practice room lights, and made their way through the quiet building. At the entrance, they paused to scan their keycards to exit, then pushed open the heavy glass door. The October night air rushed in, crisp and clean.
As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Jo's hand found Yuma's, their fingers intertwining naturally. "Oops," Jo said softly, the hint of a smile in his voice, the memory of their first kiss at the Han river obvious in his voice. "Looks like we both fell."