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Yuma hadn't meant to start noticing things about Jo. It just happened, the way autumn sneaks up on summer — gradually, then all at once. Over their first several months of working alongside one another, details kept catching his attention: how Jo's ears turned pink whenever someone complimented him, how he'd echo phrases that caught his fancy in that velvety voice of his, how his default expression of careful neutrality would crack into surprised delight whenever someone included him in their plans.
The noticing wasn't the problem. The problem was that once Yuma started, he couldn't seem to stop. He found himself tracking Jo's movements across rooms, automatically saving seats for him at dinner, buying extra marshmallow candy just to see that tiny pleased smile when he shared them. And somewhere between all the noticing and the saving and the sharing, Yuma's heart had started doing ridiculous things whenever Jo was near — like trying to escape through his ribs.
Which led to his current predicament: sitting in their dorm's living room on a lazy Sunday afternoon, trying to work up the courage to have what felt like the most important conversation of his life. He'd carefully waited until most of the members were out — K and Fuma had gone shopping, Harua was taking a nap, Taki was teaching Maki some new video game in their dorm bedroom, and Nicholas was probably wherever EJ was, doing whatever it was they did when they thought no one was watching.
The timing was perfect. The setting was perfect. Yuma's heart was threatening to escape through his throat.
Jo sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, sketching something in his notebook — another one of his portraits. His long fingers moved the pencil in careful strokes, wholly absorbed in his work. He looked... peaceful. Beautiful, if Yuma was being honest with himself, which he was trying very hard not to be at the moment.
Yuma had sat down properly, but he was now leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He seemed to be thinking carefully before he spoke, though really he was just trying to remember how to form words. Jo waited, quietly and patiently, for him to find them.
Finally: “Jo, we’re friends, right?” He looked up at Jo, watching emotions flicker across his face like starlight through clouds.
Jo nodded, a smile breaking out across his face. There was affirmation there, but also something bright — an eagerness, as if he hadn’t been sure and was now delighted to hear Yuma say it was so. As if he’d been waiting for the light to come on after plugging in the cord — confirmation.
“Amazing,” Yuma breathed, half to himself as he watched the expressions shift across Jo’s face. He had thought this conversation was going to be awkward.
Jo’s eyes flickered with sudden uncertainty. “Amazing? Not really. I mean, we’re close in age and we’re…” His voice trailed off as he loosely gestured at the living room. “… living with the group together.”
Yuma shook his head. “I meant your face just now. Keen. Hopeful. You really want to be my friend and you didn’t know if you were. Am I right?”
As he spoke, Jo’s face altered yet again, eyes drifting downward to look at his hands, lying in his lap. He looked suddenly softer, sadder. Yuma’s breath came out in a sympathetic puff.
“Hey,” he said, leaning forward and putting his hand on Jo’s. “We are friends. We are. It’s okay to want that.” His hand gave Jo’s a slight squeeze. “At least, I hope it’s okay to want that. I want that too.” Jo’s eyes raised to meet his, and Yuma poured what he hoped was all the sincerity Jo needed to see into his words. “I really, really want that too.”
Jo's face did something complicated then, like his features couldn't quite decide which emotion to land on. He ended up somewhere between touched and overwhelmed, with a dash of that careful hope that made Yuma's chest feel tight.
"I've never been very good at..." Jo gestured vaguely with one hand, apparently encompassing everything from friendship to basic human interaction. "I mean, I'm not really..."
"You're great," Yuma interrupted, horrified to find his voice had gone slightly squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You're really great. At... you know. Being you."
Jo's ears went pink. Yuma's heart bungeed in response.
"I just mean," Yuma continued, suddenly terrified he wasn't being clear enough, "that I like spending time with you. And I'd like to spend more time with you. If you want. We could..." His brain helpfully abandoned him mid-sentence. "...do things?"
"Things?" Jo asked, but he was smiling now, that rare full smile that made his eyes disappear into moon shapes.
"You know. Friend things." Yuma's hand was still on Jo's, he realised belatedly. He should probably move it. He definitely wasn't going to move it. "Like... getting coffee? Or going to an art supply store? Maybe a movie? Or..." He was babbling now, he knew he was babbling, but Jo was looking at him with such warmth that his mouth just kept moving without any input from his brain.
"I'd like that," Jo said softly, saving Yuma from listing every possible activity two people could do together. "Being friends. Doing... things."
"Great!" Yuma said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "That's... that's really great."
They sat in silence for a moment, both smiling, until Yuma remembered his hand was still covering Jo's and finally withdrew it. Jo's eyes followed the movement, something flickering across his face too quickly for Yuma to catch.
"So," Jo said after another moment, "friend things?"
"Friend things," Yuma confirmed, trying not to focus on how the word 'friend' suddenly felt simultaneously too big and too small for what he wanted. But it was a start. It was something.
It wasn't until later, lying in his bunk and replaying the conversation for the fourteenth time, that Yuma realised he might have accidentally made things more complicated for himself. After all, how was he supposed to confess his growing feelings to someone he'd just convinced he only wanted to be friends with?
Somewhere in the darkness, he heard Jo's quiet laugh at something Taki had said, and his heart did that acrobatic thing again.
Oh, he was in trouble .
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
Living with nine people meant privacy was a theoretical concept at best, like quantum physics or a good night's sleep. But somehow, three months after The Friendship Conversation (which Yuma's brain insisted on capitalising), he'd managed to find himself alone with Jo in their dorm's living room again.
Well, technically not alone. Harua was sprawled on the floor nearby, but he'd been reading the same manga volume for an hour and occasionally giggling to himself, which Yuma had learned meant he was thoroughly lost to the real world. It was as close to privacy as they were likely to get.
Jo was curled into the corner of the couch, sketchbook propped against his knees. His tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated, something Yuma definitely hadn't catalogued as adorable in the mental list he definitely wasn't keeping. From his position on the other end of the couch, Yuma could just make out the edge of what looked like two figures in Jo's latest drawing.
"What are you working on?" Yuma asked, trying to sound casual despite having spent the last ten minutes gathering courage to speak while blindly scrolling social media on his phone.
Jo tilted the sketchbook slightly, letting Yuma see more clearly. "Just some character studies. For a story idea." His ears went pink, which was interesting. “I was thinking a comic… No, it's probably silly."
"Nothing you draw is silly," Yuma said automatically, then felt his own face heat up at how earnest he'd sounded. But Jo's small pleased smile made the embarrassment worth it. "Can I see?"
Jo hesitated for a moment, then carefully passed over the sketchbook. Yuma's breath caught. The page showed two characters sitting side by side on what looked like a rooftop, their shoulders touching as they gazed up at a star-filled sky. The details were beautiful — the way their hands nearly touched between them, how one figure leaned ever so slightly toward the other.
"It's for a story about stars," Jo explained softly. "About two people who can only meet at night, when the constellations align just right."
"That's..." Romantic , Yuma's heart supplied. Beautiful. Exactly how I feel when I'm with you. "...really nice."
"Yeah?" Jo's eyes lit up. "There's this exhibition at the modern art museum next week about astronomical art. I was thinking of going, maybe getting some more inspiration..." He trailed off, suddenly looking uncertain.
Yuma's heart did a complicated series of gymnastics. "We should go!" he blurted, then immediately wished he could bite the words back out of the air. "I mean, if you want. Together. To look at... stars."
"Really?" Jo's whole face brightened. "You'd want to?"
"Yes!" Yuma said — perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Yes, absolutely. It's a date!" His brain caught up with his mouth approximately two syllables too late. "I mean, not a date-date. A friend date. A frate. No, that sounds weird. A..."
"An outing," Jo suggested with a satisfied, childlike nod.
"Yes! An outing. Perfect." Yuma resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. "Just two friends. Looking at space art. Together."
"Together," Jo echoed softly, and something in his tone made Yuma look up. Jo's face looked almost wistful, but it disappeared so quickly Yuma thought he might have imagined it.
"Next Thursday?" Jo asked, taking his sketchbook back. His fingers brushed Yuma's as he did, sending little sparks of electricity up Yuma's arm. "After practice?"
"It's a da— thing. It's a thing." Yuma wondered if it was possible to die from verbal incompetence. "A good thing."
From his spot on the floor, Harua let out another giggle. This time, Yuma wasn't entirely sure it was about the manga.
By Thursday afternoon, Yuma had spent hours researching astronomical art. His browser history was a mess of constellation maps and artist biographies, and his notes were covered in scribbled facts he thought might make Jo smile. He now knew more about celestial cartography than any reasonable person should, including six different ways to pronounce "Cassiopeia" and the entire history of star mapping in medieval Europe. He'd even practised talking about nebulae in front of his mirror until Nicholas had knocked on their shared wall and asked if he was having a stroke.
None of which prepared him for sitting next to Jo in the taxi on its way to the museum, trying desperately not to notice how their hands were resting so near one another on the car seat. Jo had been quiet on the ride, occasionally pointing out interesting buildings or dogs being walked, while Yuma fought the urge to share every single fact about astronomy he'd crammed into his head the night before.
"Did you know that early star maps were actually drawn on these special spheres called celestial globes?" Yuma heard himself say as they walked through the museum’s entrance, apparently having lost all control over his mouth. "And some astronomers would paint their star charts on ostrich eggs? Which seems impractical, really, but I guess if you've got an ostrich egg lying around..."
"Yuma!" A familiar voice cut through his astronomical rambling. "Jo!"
Oh no.
No no no .
But there was Harua, bounding toward them with all the enthusiasm of an overgrown puppy, dragging an equally bright-eyed Taki in his wake.
"Isn't this perfect?" Harua beamed. "When I heard you talking about star art, I just knew Taki would love it too! He's really into space stuff lately."
"I am?" Taki blinked, then caught Harua's meaningful look. "Oh! Yes! Stars. Love them. The big bright... round ones."
Jo, because he was fundamentally kind, offered them a small smile. "That's nice," he said quietly, and shifted almost imperceptibly closer to Yuma.
Inside the first gallery, Taki practically bounced off the walls with manufactured enthusiasm. "Did you know," he announced, "that some stars are actually planets?"
"That's... not exactly..." Yuma started, but before he could correct this astronomical error, Taki had grabbed Jo's arm.
"Come on!" Taki said, dragging Jo toward a hall entrance with a pointed glance at Harua. "You have to see this really cool thing about... space... stuff!" Jo threw a slightly panicked look over his shoulder at Yuma as Taki launched into an enthusiastic, if wildly inaccurate, explanation of the solar system.
Harua sidled up to Yuma, who was definitely not pouting. "So," he whispered, "how's the frate going?"
"It's not a —,” Yuma hissed back, realising with horror that Harua had witnessed his complete intellectual meltdown days before. "It's a thing. A friend thing. With stars."
"Uh huh." Harua's knowing smile was insufferable. "That's why you were practising your nebula speech in your room?” His eyes twinkled. “K-hyung told me.”
Yuma flushed with embarrassment, suddenly wishing for the inevitable heat death of the planet. Who else knows?
They caught up to find Jo standing in front of a large canvas showing a spiral galaxy in shades of blue and silver. The gallery lights caught in his dark hair, creating a halo effect that made him look almost otherworldly. He turned back toward Yuma, somehow having escaped Taki's grip, his eyes bright with barely concealed relief.
"The ancient Greeks," Yuma heard himself saying, "thought the Milky Way was made of spilled rice from a goddess's table." The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to staple his lips shut. He knew perfectly well that wasn't true — he'd spent three hours researching space mythology last night. But somehow, his brain had connected Jo, stars, and rice, and now here he was, casually rewriting Greek mythology. Plus, there was no way he was going to say 'breast milk' in front of Jo.
Let Hera be mad about it.
Jo's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Rice across the sky,” he said softly. "I like that."
Yuma’s breath softly left his body as a wave of… something crossed his chest. Jo’s voice is a lullaby, a soft daydream, a…
They moved through the gallery together, stopping in front of a massive canvas showing the cloudlike unfolding of a nebula. Somewhere behind them, Taki was enthusiastically explaining something to Harua, but Yuma found himself focusing on how the gallery lights caught in Jo's hair, how his long fingers traced patterns in the air as he followed the gentle curves of the painted galaxyscape.
"I always wondered what it would be like," Jo said quietly, voice pitched low just for Yuma, "to see them up close. The stars, I mean."
"We could..." Yuma started, then caught himself. But Jo was looking at him expectantly, and his mouth kept moving without his permission. "There's an observatory. Outside the city. They do night viewings sometimes."
"Yeah?" Something flickered across Jo's face, too quick to catch.
"We could go?" Yuma suggested, his heart suddenly racing. "Just... you know. To see them properly."
Before Jo could answer, their phones buzzed with a message from their manager about an unexpected schedule change.
But Jo was still looking at him with that soft expression, and Yuma thought maybe, just maybe, some stars were worth waiting for.
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
Two months after the museum incident (which Yuma had categorically forbidden Harua from ever mentioning again), he decided to try a new approach. After all, he wrote lyrics all the time. How hard could it be to write a love poem?
Very hard, as it turned out.
"The stars in your... no." Yuma viciously scratched out another line. He'd been staring at the same page for an hour, and so far all he had to show for it was:
your smile makes me feel
like a ... something something real
when you laugh I ...
Yuma gave an exasperated huff.
"Everything okay?" Jo's voice came from directly behind him, because of course it did. Yuma slammed the notebook shut with more force than strictly necessary, sending a puff of air upward that lifted his pink bangs aside.
"Fine," he managed, trying to sound casual while practically sitting on the notebook. "Just working on some lyrics."
Jo settled onto the practice room floor beside him, looking at Yuma’s forehead and the hair that had drifted across it. Jo’s fingers twitched, and Yuma felt his heart rate double. "Can I see?"
"It's not ready yet." Yuma clutched the notebook tighter, willing his voice to stay steady. "Still rough."
"That's okay," Jo said softly. "I like seeing your process." There was something in his tone that made Yuma look up, but Jo was already standing, looking down at him from a height that forced Yuma’s head back to meet his eyes. "When you're ready to share it."
After Jo left, Yuma looked down at his terrible attempts at poetry:
your smile makes me feel
like my heart might be real
when you laugh I forget
how to make words work right oh god please just kiss me before I die from never saying what I mean to say because I...
He was going to need a new notebook.
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
A month passed. The practice room was nearly empty, just the four of them left after dance practice. Nicholas was walking EJ through a complex footwork sequence, his usual playful demeanour softened into something gentler as he demonstrated the move again and again with his hands gently guiding EJ’s hips. When EJ finally nailed it, Nicholas's face lit up with such pride that EJ ducked his head, grinning.
Yuma watched them from his spot against the mirror, where he sat next to Jo during their water break. He could feel the warmth of Jo's shoulder against his, their usual comfortable proximity that somehow never felt close enough lately. After the museum disaster and the lame poetry attempt, he'd decided to try a more direct approach. After all, what could go wrong with just talking about feelings? (The voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Harua had several opinions about this, but Yuma ignored it.)
“I mean, they're kind of obvious, aren't they?" Yuma continued, picking up their conversation and nodding toward their groupmates. Nicholas was standing in front of EJ, showing him how to add arm movements, his hands ghosting along EJ's shoulders to adjust his posture in a way that was about as subtle as a fog horn. EJ’s gaze was locked on Nicholas’s lips.
Jo hummed in agreement, taking another sip from his water bottle. His ears were still pink from practice, which was incredibly unfair given how it made Yuma's heart patter. Yuma loved Jo first but also had a crush on his ears.
"What do you think about that?" Yuma asked, his heart beginning its familiar racing routine. "About... you know. Within the group?"
Jo tilted his head, considering. "About dancing?"
"No, about..." Yuma gestured vaguely at EJ and Nicholas, who were now both laughing, heads bent close together like they were sharing the world's most fascinating secret. "About feelings. Between members."
"Oh." Jo's voice went soft. He watched their friends for a moment, something wistful crossing his face. "I think it's nice. When people find someone who understands them."
Yuma's heart leapt. "Yeah? You think so?"
"Mm." Jo nodded. "Like how Nicholas always knows what EJ needs. Even just small things, like bringing him coffee in the morning, or staying late to help him practice..." He smiled slightly, blinking slowly as if recalling a memory. "It's good to have someone like that."
"Someone who notices things about you," Yuma said carefully, wondering if his heartbeat was actually audible or if it just felt that way. "Who pays attention."
"Exactly." Jo's smile widened. "Like how you always buy me treats, or make sure there's extra rice at dinner since you know I eat a lot."
Yuma's breath caught. "Jo, I—"
"You're a really good friend," Jo said warmly, bumping their shoulders together. "I'm glad we can talk about things like this. My conversations with the rest of the group aren’t about emotional stuff.”
Yuma stared at him for a moment, torn between laughing and crying. Instead, he let his head thump back against the mirror with a soft thud that lent rhythm to his internal screaming. In front of them, Nicholas was now teaching EJ some complicated hand movements, their fingers tangling together in a way that was so romantic it was almost offensive.
"You okay?" Jo asked, concern colouring his voice.
"Yeah," Yuma sighed. "Just... thinking about understanding. Or misunderstanding. Or possibly moving to a remote mountain to become a hermit." The last part was mumbled, but Jo still caught it.
"A hermit?" Jo's brow furrowed. "But then, who would make sure I get enough rice at dinner?"
Yuma closed his eyes and wondered if it was possible to die from irony.
At this point, he was willing to find out.
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
Yuma couldn't sleep. This wasn't unusual lately — his thoughts had a habit of spinning in circles around a certain tall, quiet groupmate — but tonight felt different. Maybe it was the December chill seeping through their dorm windows, or maybe it was the way his heart hadn't quite settled since that conversation in the practice room four days ago. He’d woken up at 4:30 a.m. and lain there, stewing in his thoughts.
He really should get more sleep, and he was contemplating the relative merits of warm milk versus counting sheep when he heard the softest whisper of movement from the hallway. Curious, he padded out to investigate, his thick socks muffling his steps.
Jo stood at their living room window, a dark silhouette against Seoul's ever-present glow. He turned at Yuma's approach, and even in the dim light, Yuma could see the gentle curve of his smile.
"Can't sleep?" Jo whispered.
Yuma shook his head. “You either?"
"The sky's really clear tonight." Jo's breath fogged the window slightly. "You can actually see some stars."
Something tugged in Yuma's chest — a memory of another time, another conversation about stars that hadn't quite reached its destination. Before he could overthink it, he heard himself say: "Want to go up to the roof?"
Jo's eyes lit up. "Now?"
"Why not?" Yuma was already moving toward his room. "Just let me grab my coat. And maybe..."
“Blankets,” they said in unison, then shared a quiet smile.
Five minutes later, they were sneaking through the dorm like thieves, arms full of quilts and coats thrown hastily over pyjamas. Yuma nearly tripped over his duvet twice, but Jo's hand shot out to steady him each time, fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.
The roof access door protested slightly but yielded to Jo's careful push. The December air hit them immediately, sharp and clean, carrying the promise of frost by morning. Above them, a handful of stars pierced through Seoul's light pollution — eight, maybe nine of the brightest ones scattered across the pre-dawn sky.
They settled against the low wall, arranging their quilts into a nest of sorts. The cold still bit at their faces, but pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee, sharing warmth through layers of padding, Yuma found he didn't mind at all.
"There's Sirius," Jo murmured, pointing up. "And I think that's Capella?"
"Mm." Yuma wasn't looking at the stars. He was watching how the city lights caught in Jo's dark eyes, how his breath formed little clouds in the crisp air. How perfect this moment felt, just the two of them under a slowly brightening sky.
One of the stars winked out as dawn began its stealthy approach.
Yuma felt it like a countdown starting. Everything he'd tried to say over the past months — through friendship and art and poetry and dance — suddenly seemed to crystalise in his mind. The words were there, finally, clear and simple and true.
Another star faded.
Jo shifted slightly, pressing closer for warmth, and Yuma's heart did that familiar flip that had become as natural as breathing. When had that happened? When had Jo's presence become as necessary as air?
A third star disappeared into the lightening sky.
"Jo," Yuma started, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to tell you something."
Jo turned to look at him, their faces so close Yuma could see each individual eyelash. "Mm?"
The fourth star vanished.
"I've been trying to say this for... well, for longer than I probably realise." Yuma's heart was thundering, but his voice stayed steady. "But I keep getting it wrong, or losing my nerve, or..."
The fifth star melted into dawn's approach.
"What I mean is..." Yuma took a deep breath. This was it. His last chance, his perfect moment. All he had to do was say the words that had been living in his heart for so long. He screwed his eyes shut tight. “Jo, I—"
"I love you." Yuma’s eyes opened in shock as Jo’s voice — soft and warm as fleece — wrapped itself around his heart in the cold December dawnlight.
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
"I love you."
Jo hadn't meant to say it. Not now, not like this. He'd been waiting, watching Yuma try so hard to find the right words, delighting in each increasingly elaborate attempt. But something in Yuma's voice just then, in the way he'd started gathering his courage like stars in his hands—
Yuma was staring at him, mouth slightly open, previous confession forgotten. "You what?"
A sixth star blinked out above them, unnoticed.
"I love you," Jo repeated, softer this time but just as certain. "Have for ages, actually. Maybe since before you tried to befriend me into romance." His ears were burning, but he couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. "That was a unique strategy, by the way."
"I... you..." Yuma seemed to be struggling with basic language. "But the museum—"
"Was educational. I learned six different ways to pronounce Cassiopeia." Jo's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Though I'm still not sure about that rice-spilling goddess story."
"The poetry—"
"I wanted to read it. But you looked like you might combust if I tried."
The second-to-last star faded into dawn, but neither of them looked up to see it.
"All this time," Yuma managed finally, "you knew?" His voice, barely above a whisper, squeaked at the end like a dog toy. He closed his eyes.
"Yuma." Jo's voice was impossibly fond. "You gave me a play-by-play of Nicholas and EJ feeling each other up in the practice room. Subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit."
"But you kept calling me your friend!"
"Because you kept insisting that's what you wanted to be!" Jo laughed softly. "I was trying to follow your lead. Though I have to admit, watching you try to confess through astronomical facts was pretty entertaining."
"I can't believe you..." Yuma stopped, his face doing something complicated as weeks of memories rearranged themselves into a new picture. "Wait. Is that why you asked me to help you practice that pair choreography last week? The one with all the close holds and—"
"I was losing patience," Jo admitted quietly. "I thought about confessing dozens of times, but you were trying so hard. It seemed unfair to steal your moment." He paused. "Though I did just steal it anyway, didn't I?"
"I can't believe you let me suffer," Yuma said, but he was grinning now, bright enough to replace all the faded stars which, Jo thought, had simply relocated to shine their dancing light in Yuma’s eyes. "Do you know how many notebooks I filled trying to write you love poems?"
"No, but I'd love to read them." Jo's hand found Yuma's under their shared quilts. "Every single terrible rhyme."
"They're not all terrible," Yuma protested. Then, "Okay, maybe they are. I’ve been struggling . But I wrote them for you, so—"
Jo watched Yuma's familiar nervous rambling with a rush of fondness so strong it took his breath away. All these months of waiting, of watching Yuma try so hard to say what was written all over his face...
The last star disappeared into morning light, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.
Jo kissed him.
Later, they'd argue about who technically confessed first. But for now, with dawn painting the sky in gentle pinks and golds, they just held onto each other, sharing warmth and whispered words and all the love that had been waiting for this moment.
Even if they had to travel through the stars to get here.