Work Text:
Tension was still rippling down EJ's spine and across his shoulders as he entered the dorm, barely stepping fully inside before pausing to eagerly step out of his shoes. The door swung closed, bumping his back and forcing him to take the final steps forward. The click behind him sounded like a cue, and his body responded: the knotted muscles of his upper body released, and he relaxed, the strain of the day melting away.
Home. It feels so good to be home.
The smell of sautéed onions and other vegetables floated to him, a comforting scent that promised more than just a meal. It meant gathering together, sinking into laughter and escaping, for a time, the myriad stresses that had crisscrossed his day. EJ smiled, his heart swelling with affection for the other members of &Team.
Nicholas was away on a schedule. EJ's mind caught briefly on this fact before sliding away like fingers grazing a railing while walking down the stairs. During his absence, the dorm continued to hum with its usual energy, though sometimes EJ found his gaze drifting to empty spaces, not quite sure what he was looking for.
Tonight, the kitchen was bustling with familiar chaos. Taki was setting the table while telling an animated story about dance practice, his hands moving so expressively that Fuma had to catch a plate before it slid off the edge. K was tasting the ramen, adding a pinch of something with the serious concentration he usually reserved for tea ceremonies.
Harua noticed him first, patting the empty chair beside him. "We waited," he said simply, and the others turned with welcoming smiles. EJ settled into his place, warmth spreading through his chest at their consideration. The meal unfolded with the comfortable familiarity of ritual, yet EJ found his gaze drifting to the empty space where Nicholas usually sat.
After dinner, as the others drifted away, Jo and Harua seated themselves at the table again, art supplies in their hands. EJ sat with a book he’d bought that morning, watching as they spread their materials across the surface, careful to leave room for Yuma, who was busy in the kitchen preparing tea.
“You're drawing a portrait?" Yuma's voice carried a gentleness that made EJ look up. Something in that tone caught his attention — lately, he'd noticed how Yuma's usual slight bossiness dissolved completely around Jo, replaced by this soft encouragement. Jo kept his eyes on his phone screen, but EJ had noticed how those eyes tended to follow Yuma lately, tracking his movements with a curious awareness.
"Yes, I thought I'd try a new style. I'm drawing Nicholas, but I'm not confident." Jo tilted the phone, showing a reference photo of Nicholas. EJ found himself leaning forward slightly, though he couldn't have said why. There was something about the way the photo captured Nicholas's expression — that particular quality of his gaze that could shift from playful to intense in a heartbeat.
"I'm sure it will be good. All of your work is good." Yuma settled across from Jo, pulling out his small notebook. Every few moments, Yuma's gaze would drift up, lingering on Jo's concentrated expression, the tip of his tongue just visible as he worked.
EJ returned to his own book — Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop — and tea, relaxing in the comfortable silence. The scratch of pencils against paper became a meditation, and he found his thoughts drifting to last night's phone call. Nicholas had called just to check in, he'd said – wanting to hear about everyone's day. Something about the memory of his voice, soft through the phone line, made EJ's fingers tighten slightly on his teacup. He tried to focus on his book instead.
Time passed in gentle waves until Harua's voice broke through the quiet. "I think I'm getting better at shading." He held up his drawing, and they all leaned in to admire the careful gradations of graphite, the way shadow and light played across the page. Jo, however, was frowning at his own work, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders.
"Something's wrong with the proportions," Jo muttered, though his rendering of Nicholas's eyes was startlingly precise. Not just their shape but something in them that brought EJ’s mind to life, like it had caught a familiar scent in the wind. Before anyone could offer encouragement, Jo had torn the page free and dropped it in the trash, gathering his supplies with quick, disappointed movements. EJ watched as Yuma's eyes followed Jo's retreating form, eyes shining with light concern and an unmistakable fond softness.
After the others had gone, EJ reached into the bin and carefully extracted the discarded portrait. He smoothed it gently, folding it to preserve just the eyes. Something about them caught his attention, like a half-remembered melody. He slipped the folded paper between the pages of his book, not examining too closely why he wanted to keep it. He thought he might show it to Nicholas after he returned.
EJ moved through his evening routine, his mind drifting. As his fingers caught on the soft cotton of a worn t-shirt, a memory surfaced:
Nicholas appears in his doorway, wearing a tank top and sweatpants, laundry basket propped against his hip. "Laundry inspection," he announces, his voice stern but his eyes bright with mischief.
The low reading lamp softens the sharp angles of Nicholas's face as he steps into the room. There's something soothing about watching Nicholas work — the careful way he checks his pockets before adding items to his basket, his quietly systematic approach that belies his usual playful nature.
"I still don't understand why you volunteered for laundry duty," EJ says, though he's asked this question before.
"Someone has to protect my designer pieces," Nicholas replies with a wink while reaching for the clothing EJ offers him. Their fingers brush in the exchange, and EJ feels a slight shock, like static electricity but warmer. He dismisses it as simple surprise. Nicholas dumps all the gathered laundry onto EJ's floor and begins to sort through it, humming some melody EJ doesn't recognise but finds himself wanting to learn.
Nicholas pauses, holding up one of EJ's sweaters. "The cuff is starting to fray," he says, thumb running over the worn edge. "I'll ask coordi noona to fix it before it gets worse." The casual care in his voice makes something flutter in EJ's chest, a sensation he sets aside without examining.
"You're staring, JuJu," Nicholas teases, his voice warm and low. "Do I look particularly handsome while doing laundry?"
EJ laughs it off, but something about the way Nicholas holds his gaze makes his breath catch for just a moment. Nicholas turns away, resuming that unknown tune.
The memory faded, leaving EJ standing still, his arms full of laundry. He dropped the clothes into his hamper and reached for his book, wanting to look at the portrait again. The eyes looked back at him from the folded paper, and there was something in them he hadn't noticed before — a warmth that made his fingers linger on the edge of the page.
As he prepared for bed, the evening's easy camaraderie settled around him; it was comfortable. His roommates' quiet conversation created a gentle backdrop, but his mind kept catching on small details — the portrait eyes, the memory of Nicholas humming while sorting laundry — small things that shouldn't have felt significant.
‧₊˚ ⋅ ✎ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The next day wrapped around EJ, restrictive and too tight. He sat in the conference room, stacks of promotional materials spread before him, each page requiring decisions that felt heavier than paper should. A photoshoot for handbags — Jo and Harua would be perfect for this one, their delicate features matching the luxury aesthetic. He tilted his head at the sample photos, hearing Nicholas's voice in his mind: "See how the light catches the leather here? That's what makes it feel expensive."
The thought caught him off guard. When had he started noticing things like that?
Another proposal for a popular snack brand — Taki and K, their playful energy was exactly what the campaign needed. But something about the suggested styling felt wrong. EJ frowned at the mood board, trying to articulate why the proposed outfits didn't work. Nicholas would know instantly, would probably say something about how the silhouettes competed with the product packaging or how the colour story clashed with the brand's identity. The words were there, just beyond his reach, learned from countless evenings of Nicholas sprawled across his bed with fashion magazines, explaining concepts EJ hadn't realised he was absorbing.
A particularly challenging lookbook made him pause. The designer wanted them in oversized suits with dramatic draping, and EJ couldn't decide if it would work for their upcoming variety show appearance. He caught himself reaching for his phone, wanting to share the pages with Nicholas, to watch those fierce eyes light up with understanding. Nicholas had an instinct for these things — could look at an outfit and immediately see how it would photograph, how it would move on stage, how it would make the wearer feel. EJ found himself pausing over each decision a moment longer than usual, as if waiting for something he couldn't quite name.
He had Fuma for support, of course. His co-leader managed their physical training schedules with quiet efficiency, tracking their health and wellbeing with the dedication of an older brother. EJ wondered briefly how Fuma would report his current state in one of those weekly summaries: Leader showing signs of distraction. Seems to be missing something.
The something had a name, a face, a laugh that echoed in the dance studio and hung above the chaos of the living room. Someone whose presence in EJ's thoughts felt… inevitable.
Lunch brought a brief reprieve.
EJ claimed one of the small music practice rooms, seeking solitude in the familiar space with its desk and piano keyboard. He settled against the wall, pulling out his book more from habit than the intention to read. The folded portrait slipped free, landing in his lap.
He found himself caught in the details Jo had captured — the way the graphite suggested that familiar sparkle, the hint of gentleness beneath the fierce lines. Time slipped away until a knock startled him from his reverie.
He was seven minutes late to his next meeting, the first time he'd ever been anything but precisely punctual. During the discussion, his mind kept drifting to small details — the way Nicholas's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, how they softened when he was really listening to someone speak. The portrait remained in his book, but EJ could feel its presence like it was waiting for him to pick it up and look at it again.
Evening found EJ before the bathroom mirror, methodically applying his night cream. Steam from his bath still fogged the edges of the glass, but the centre was clear enough to catch his own reflection. His eyes met themselves in the mirror — gentle, wide-set, nothing like Nicholas's fierce gaze.
Though Nicholas had once said they were comforting — "like warm tea," he'd said, then quickly changed the subject. The memory caused a sensation he couldn't name.
The bathroom felt unusually quiet. No one knocking to borrow face wash, no one reaching past him for moisturiser while sharing stories about their day. Small absences that shouldn't have felt noteworthy, yet somehow did.
Back in his room, EJ settled onto his bed, book in hand. His gaze drifted to the foot of the bed, where Nicholas usually sprawled with his fashion magazines. The quiet rustle of pages turning, his running commentary about silhouettes and colour stories — EJ found himself missing these small moments without quite understanding why.
His phone lay silent on the nightstand. He caught himself glancing at it, each time pretending he was just checking the time and not seeing if there was a message. These small connections — a meme, a random observation, a complaint about being tired — had become part of his daily rhythm without him noticing.
He carefully propped the portrait against his bedside lamp, angling it so that no one else in the room could see it.
Like he's looking at me, EJ thought, meeting that graphite gaze. Just me.
Something about having those eyes watching over him felt right in a way he couldn't explain.
Nicholas called just as EJ had finally started to focus on his book. The custom ringtone was familiar, but it startled him anyway.
"The shoot went well," Nicholas said, his voice carrying the slight echo that meant he was alone in his hotel room. "But tell me what our pack is doing."
EJ smiled at the casual reference to their concept, closing his eyes to better focus on Nicholas's voice. He shared the day's small dramas: K had laughed so hard during dance practice that he'd fallen and skinned his knee, how Maki and Harua were navigating a minor disagreement about cleaning schedules. The conversation flowed like a gentle stream, comfortable and clear.
"You're handling it well," Nicholas said softly. "Letting them work it out themselves." The praise settled warmly in EJ's chest. A pause followed, filled with something EJ couldn't identify but recognized — like the silent moment before rain falls when the birds withhold their song in anticipation. He could picture Nicholas in his hotel room, probably curled up in the armchair by the window, his fierce eyes gone soft with exhaustion.
"I'll be home tomorrow," Nicholas continued. "Around midday. Have lunch with me?"
After the call ended, EJ lay in bed, the portrait's eyes visible in the dim lamplight. Around him, Jo and Maki talked about a new video game, their low voices a soothing murmur in the darkness. But EJ's mind kept returning to the tiredness in Nicholas's voice, the way it had lifted when talking about coming home.
‧₊˚ ⋅ ✎ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Morning arrived in its usual cascade of noise and movement — doors opening and closing, the shuffle of feet in hallways, someone's forgotten alarm still chirping from beneath a pillow. EJ found himself in the company van with Jo and Yuma, talking softly between themselves about nothing in particular while they glanced at one another with nervous eyes. EJ watched through the window as Seoul woke up around them. His phone buzzed: Landed safely. Meet me in the lobby at 1?
The Hybe building welcomed him with its familiar glass and steel embrace, but today, the world felt slightly different, as if overnight someone had sneakily shifted all of the furniture over two inches as a prank. EJ moved through his morning schedule in a haze of anticipation, his mind continuously drifting to the lobby, to lunch, to the sound of Nicholas's voice last night.
Through meetings and practice sessions, the portrait stayed close in his messenger bag, those drawn eyes seeming to watch him whenever he reached for his notebook or phone. He'd brought it without thinking about why, but now its presence felt like a talisman.
When the time finally came, EJ found himself sitting in one of the lobby's sleek chairs, his fingers hovering over his bag. One last look, he thought, just to remember how Jo had captured that particular spark in Nicholas's eyes—
"JuJu!"
EJ looked up to find the real Nicholas standing before him. Something in EJ's chest caught and held, like the pause between beats of a song. The eyes that met his were tired but bright, carrying that same spark Jo had captured in graphite.
‧₊˚ ⋅ ✎ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Their favourite Japanese restaurant welcomed them into a private room, screens sliding shut to create a pocket of peace in the busy day. They settled onto cushions, the low table between them like a bridge. Nicholas's shoulders gradually relaxed as he talked about his trip, his hands moving in familiar gestures that EJ hadn't realised he'd missed.
A comfortable silence settled between them. Nicholas looked at EJ across the table, and there it was — that familiar sparkle entering his eyes, the one that always preceded gentle teasing. But there was something else too, a kind of watchful patience that EJ hadn't noticed before. Those wolf-like eyes, usually dancing with mischief, held a question that seemed to hover in the air between them, unspoken but persistent.
EJ's heart stumbled over itself, once, twice. He found himself cataloguing every detail of Nicholas's face, the way exhaustion had softened his usual sharp edges into something vulnerable. The sparkle in his eyes flickered and changed, the building mischief dissipating and giving way to a profound warmth.
The portrait in his bag suddenly felt like a secret he wanted to share. Those drawn eyes had been a poor substitute for this — for Nicholas, real and present, looking at him with such tenderness that EJ felt something shift and settle in his chest, like coming home to a room he hadn't known he'd been seeking.
Oh, he thought simply. Oh.
The feeling settled into place as his heart unfolded, a letter written in a language only Nicholas could read.
‧₊˚ ⋅ ✎ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The midday light filtered through the restaurant's paper screens. Soft shadows crossed their private room. Nicholas shifted on his cushion, watching the emotions play across EJ's face like sunlight on water. The past few days had been a blur of unfamiliar places and faces, of feeling slightly off-centre, but now — watching EJ's dark eyes soften with some private revelation — everything felt right again.
He'd missed this, he realised. Not just the group, not just home, but this specific quiet. The gentle way EJ's wide-set eyes held his gaze, calm and steady as a forest pool. Those eyes had always been his anchor, a place to rest when the world spun too fast or too bright. Now, they held something new, something that made Nicholas's heart quicken with recognition.
Something was different about the way EJ was looking at him now, or maybe something was different about the way Nicholas's heart responded to it, sharp and vibrant as an echo. He wanted to stay in this moment, in this private room with its soft lighting and sliding doors, watching understanding dawn in EJ's beautiful, gentle eyes.
Oh, he thought, watching a slight blush colour EJ's cheeks. Oh.
He hadn't been homesick after all. He'd been heartsick for EJ's eyes.