Work Text:
The sunlight streamed into Hyunjin’s bedroom in soft, golden ribbons, casting a dreamy glow across the wooden floor and the pale linen sheets that framed the morning in warm stillness. His curtains hadn’t been drawn completely, so the early light spilled through in gentle beams, refracting against the glass vase by the windowsill and illuminating the room like a film scene—something one might find scrolling through romantic Pinterest boards or watching a European art-house movie. The light didn’t demand attention. It whispered its arrival. It kissed the corners of his room like a secret, quiet and tender.
Today was important. Hyunjin was scheduled to fly to Milan for Fashion Week. As the global ambassador of Versace—crowned affectionately by the public and press alike as the “Versace Prince”—his presence was not only expected, it was essential. Donatella herself had expressed an almost maternal fondness for him, always insisting on his front-row seat, his photo-ops, and his presence in Versace’s editorial campaigns or dressed in their latest collections. But how could she not? How could anyone not? To the world, Hyunjin was radiant. A muse in motion. A boy made of blush-toned marble and summer winds. With a face that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods and a presence that lingered even after he’d stepped out of the room, it was easy to think he might’ve been a demigod—a forgotten child of Aphrodite, left on Earth to show the rest of them how love could walk and talk and laugh.
But to Jisung, Hyunjin wasn’t just the ethereal star of billboards and magazines. He was silly. A little clumsy when sleepy. He pouted when he couldn’t open jars and squealed in excitement over new watercolors. He was soft in all the ways that mattered—a hopeless romantic who still wrote poetry in the Notes app, someone who craved not adoration from a crowd but affection from the one he loved. He liked being held almost as much as he loved holding others. His kindness was not a curated trait—it was instinctive. And Jisung had fallen for that boy. Not the ambassador or the prince. Just Hyunjin.
And Hyunjin, in turn, had chosen to delay the day just a little longer.
Though he’d packed the day before—meticulously ticking off each item on his list, double-checking his carry-on and garment bag—he still usually gave his things one final look the morning of a flight, just to soothe his own mind. Sometimes he squeezed in a quick workout too, or flipped through his books while sipping coffee. But not today. Today, his bed had won. And tangled in that bed, wrapped in warmth and cotton and love, was Jisung. There was no alarm to be heard, no frantic shuffling of bags or panicked rustling of tickets. Just the sound of two boys breathing in sync beneath a soft duvet, sharing kisses that were slow and almost reverent. They were bare, not just in skin but in presence—vulnerable and gentle in the way only people who trusted each other completely could be.
Hyunjin lay on his side, one arm draped loosely over Jisung’s waist, thumb stroking gentle circles along his lower back. His lips pressed light kisses to Jisung’s shoulder, then jaw, then the delicate place just beneath his ear where he knew Jisung was ticklish. And Jisung—always the giggler in the mornings—squirmed and laughed softly, fingers instinctively lacing with Hyunjin’s.
“You’re annoying,” Jisung murmured, voice still hoarse from sleep, but there was no venom in it—just that affectionate lilt he saved for Hyunjin and no one else.
Hyunjin only grinned and kissed him again, this time just under his chin. “You love it.”
And he did. God, he really did.
Outside the safe cocoon of Hyunjin’s room, the world waited. Deadlines. Schedules. Studio calls. Jisung’s calendar was stacked too—he had to check in with Chan and Changbin later to go over new demos for their upcoming album, then squeeze in a late-afternoon music class. But none of that felt pressing right now. Inside this sun-dappled room, with Hyunjin’s sheets pulled halfway down their waists and a quiet warmth shared between them, time felt irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was now.
Jisung had stayed the night, knowing today would be busy. Not just for Hyunjin, but for both of them. And he could’ve easily said he had too much to do. That he should sleep in his own bed, that rest would be better uninterrupted. But he hadn’t. Because this was the last morning he’d get to hold Hyunjin like this before the other had to leave—before the world got their hands on him again. So he’d stayed. So he could cling, just a little longer. Memorize the shape of Hyunjin’s back when he stretched. The way he mumbled in the mornings. The way the soft buzz of Hyunjin’s hair felt under his fingertips, how it revealed even more of his delicate features—his expressive brows, the gentle slope of his neck. He wanted to commit it all to memory, like taking a thousand mental photographs.
Hyunjin kissed him again—softer now, like a sigh. “You okay?”
Jisung nodded against his chest. “Just sleepy. And maybe sappy.”
Hyunjin chuckled, low and warm. “You’re always sappy in the mornings.”
“Only for you.”
And it was true. With Hyunjin, Jisung let himself be gentle in ways he hadn’t known he could be. It was easy, here. Easy to love him. Easy to want to stay. Easy to be soft.
Hyunjin tucked a strand of Jisung’s hair behind his ear, then leaned forward to kiss his forehead, letting his lips linger there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“I wish I didn’t have to go.”
Jisung’s arms tightened around him. “I know.”
Neither of them said the words don’t go—they were too grown for that now. But love didn’t always need to be loud to be heard. Sometimes, it was just the way Jisung curled a little closer into Hyunjin’s chest. The way Hyunjin held him tighter, like he could delay time with his arms alone. Outside the window, the world kept turning. But inside, in this tiny sunlit pocket of morning, it was just them.
It was already past eight when Hyunjin’s phone buzzed beside the bed, the familiar ringtone of their manager’s contact breaking through the warm quiet of the room. He groaned softly, cheek still pressed against Jisung’s shoulder, and reached over lazily to grab the phone. As expected, it was the usual call they always got before an overseas schedule—gentle reminders to double-check their essentials: passport, ID, chargers, skincare, custom pieces from Versace, and a light meal if possible before the flight. Their manager had a rhythm to these check-ins, a blend of care and weary professionalism, honed from years of making sure idols didn’t forget underwear or accidentally bring expired cologne to international events.
The funny thing was—Hyunjin had picked up the call while very much in the middle of doing it.
His voice cracked on a breathless “hello,” and before he could even finish greeting him, their manager sighed. There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then the unmistakable tone of resignation came through:
“You’re with Jisung, huh.”
Hyunjin had to bite his lip to stop from bursting into laughter, but the sound still came out in the form of a stifled snicker against Jisung’s neck. Jisung, half-dazed and flushed beneath him, went wide-eyed in alarm, whispering a panicked, “Is that our manager?!”
Hyunjin nodded and dropped the phone onto the mattress. Jisung clutched a pillow to his chest with a giggle as Hyunjin quickly retrieved the phone, clearing his throat to murmur, “Yes, hyung. I’ll be ready by that time.”
Another sigh. “Just—don’t miss the van.”
“I won’t,” Hyunjin promised, eyes crinkling in amusement.
The call ended, and they both dissolved into laughter, rolling across the sheets, skin warm and flushed from both the intimacy and the hilarity of being caught—well, almost. But their laughter softened again, the kisses returned, and so did the warmth between them. It was never a secret to those closest to them—what they were, what they meant to each other. There were no labels plastered over their foreheads, no public declarations carved into stone, but those who mattered simply knew. And respected it.
Still, there had been a time, not too long ago, when everything felt like it was slipping. When the exhaustion of the industry and the weight of being them—idols, creatives, human beings under a spotlight—began to wear down their softness. Tempers frayed like hems tugged too hard. Words were exchanged in voices not quite their own. And somewhere in between rehearsals, recordings, and sleepless nights, they found themselves needing space more than comfort.
But space doesn’t always mean distance.
And love, the kind they had, didn’t shrink under pressure. It simply bent—like sunlight through a rainstorm, changing form but never disappearing. It stayed in unsent messages, in the familiar ache of missing someone so much you can feel it in your lungs, in the certainty that when they’d find their way back, they’d be even stronger. And they were. Now, the sweetness between them had ripened. It lingered in every brush of the hand, every lingering glance. Their love wasn’t fragile anymore—it was weathered and warm, like something well-worn and deeply beloved.
They showered together, steam curling around them like a second skin. Jisung had to playfully shove Hyunjin back more than once because the other wouldn’t stop clinging, trailing kisses from his collarbone down to his shoulder with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
“Hyunjin, we don’t have time,” Jisung half-laughed, half-scolded, trying not to slip as he rinsed the conditioner out of his hair.
“But we could make time,” Hyunjin pouted, arms looping around Jisung’s waist from behind, voice soft in his ear. “Just a quick one.”
“You said that earlier,” Jisung pointed out, snorting. “And look what happened.”
Hyunjin grinned into his neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. “Worth it.”
They were both hopeless. Unapologetically clingy. It wasn’t just physical—it was the ache to be near, the constant gravity they had toward each other even across a room. Sometimes, Jisung would call Hyunjin late at night just to drag him to the studio with the flimsiest excuse, saying he needed feedback on a track. And Hyunjin, always eager, always proud, would show up wide-eyed, ready to listen.
Because no one loved Han Jisung’s music more than Hwang Hyunjin.
He was a certified #1 HANPOP stan and the self-declared president of the club. He’d sit through every version of a demo, offer real notes when asked—and sometimes not even asked—and beam like he was the one who wrote the song. But not every studio visit stayed about music. Sometimes, it turned into heated kisses in the low light of the control room, hands trailing over headphone wires and soundproof walls. Bent over the studio console—right, console, not table—Jisung would gasp into Hyunjin’s mouth, both of them flushed and desperate in the thrill of stolen moments. The mix of sweat, reverb, and affection created a soundscape only they knew.
Hyunjin wasn’t any different. When he invited Jisung to come over and “watch anime,” they both knew it was code. Sure, they’d start with chips and bickering over who got the remote. But by the third episode, the TV would be a faint background noise to the sound of kisses deepening, of buttons undone and soft moans filling the room. By morning, clothes would be strewn around the floor like casualties of love, and the walls—oh, the poor walls. Changbin, Hyunjin’s next-door dorm mate, would walk into the kitchen with headphones still jammed in, grumbling, “No amount of ‘I’m sorry’ will ever bring back my inner peace.” They’d just laugh. Jisung would throw him a protein bar in apology. Hyunjin would hide behind Jisung, shoulders shaking from trying not to crack up again.
Despite the teasing and the occasional noise complaint, their members supported them completely. In the truest sense of the word: with love, with privacy, with gentle understanding. They gave them space when they could see the way Hyunjin and Jisung gravitated toward each other after a long day. Let them share little looks, sit too close on the couch, nap on each other’s shoulders during travel. But there were also boundaries—healthy ones. Chan, as their leader, had drawn a firm but kind line early on.
“I’m happy for you guys. I really am,” he’d said, one night when they were all packing after a tour stop. “But when we’re working? Keep it professional. That’s all I ask.”
And he meant it.
They respected that. They respected him, and each other too much not to. So onstage, in the studio, during meetings—they kept things clean. Professional. No matter how much Hyunjin wanted to reach for Jisung’s hand under the table, or how Jisung sometimes got caught mid-stare when Hyunjin smiled during interviews.
But the moment the schedule ended? The moment the cameras were off, the earpieces out, and the door closed?
That was their world again.
*
Days flew by faster than either of them expected. One second, Hyunjin was waving goodbye at the airport, and the next, he was back in Seoul — and before they even had the chance to lie in bed and just breathe next to each other, they were already back in the practice room, rehearsing choreography for their Japanese comeback. Their bodies moved on autopilot, gliding through each routine with muscle memory.
But their eyes? Their eyes were traitors.
Jisung caught himself more than once watching Hyunjin dance in the mirror, completely hypnotized — his sharp angles, the way sweat beaded down the curve of his neck, how his shirt clung to his back like it was trying to become a second skin. Meanwhile, Hyunjin could barely stop himself from glancing at Jisung every few seconds. The way Jisung moved, controlled chaos and raw intent — it was enough to short-circuit something in Hyunjin's chest.
And the worst part? They hadn't been alone yet.
Sure, they'd texted constantly while Hyunjin was in Milan. The kind of back-and-forth that went from "look at this outfit" to "I miss you so much I might physically combust." But texts were only words on a screen. And when you’re used to touching someone, breathing the same air, falling asleep to the rhythm of their heartbeat — no message ever comes close.
The tension was unbearable. You could almost hear it humming under their skin.
So when their choreographer finally clapped his hands and told them they had a twenty-minute break, Hyunjin slipped out of the room without saying anything, his towel slung around his neck like it could cool him down. It didn’t.
Exactly sixty seconds later, Jisung quietly followed.
They didn’t even have to text. They always knew where to go.
It was an empty office just a floor above the dance room, a space barely big enough for a desk and two chairs, but it was theirs. They’d discovered it months ago and claimed it as their little secret. A quiet haven when the world got too loud. The second Jisung walked in and shut the door behind him, Hyunjin was already there — pressing him gently against the cool surface of the door, hands bracketing either side of his head like he was afraid Jisung might vanish if he didn’t anchor him down.
Their lips met instantly. Like magnets that had been resisting too long.
Jisung let out a soft, over-the-top moan — dramatic and ridiculous — and Hyunjin burst out laughing mid-kiss, his forehead falling against Jisung’s shoulder.
“You’re such an idiot,” Hyunjin whispered, giggling into his neck.
Jisung smirked. “You like it.”
He did. Fuck, he did. So much it hurt.
They kissed longer than they should have, mouths finding each other like they were starving. Hands skimmed familiar curves and clutched at the backs of shirts. It was desperate, yes — but not rushed. There was something slow and aching in the way they touched, like they wanted to memorize this moment just in case life tore them apart again. Eventually, Hyunjin stumbled backwards into one of the chairs and sat down, his breath uneven.
“Did I ever tell you you were so hot in Milan?” Jisung asked, circling the desk like he was about to interrogate him — and then promptly straddled Hyunjin’s lap, arms looping around his neck.
Hyunjin grinned up at him, already sliding his hands beneath the hem of Jisung’s shirt to touch skin. “You did. You sent me voice notes of you moaning, remember?”
Jisung gasped, clutching his imaginary pearls. “I did?!”
Hyunjin raised a playful eyebrow. “Did you black out while recording them?”
“Maybe I was possessed by the spirit of horny desperation.”
Hyunjin laughed, nose scrunching, then leaned up and gently nuzzled his nose against Jisung’s. “You know,” he whispered, voice lower now, “your moans might be my favorite sound in the world.”
Jisung softened at that, visibly so. His teasing melted into something tender as he looked into Hyunjin’s eyes. “I missed you,” he said, in between gentle kisses to Hyunjin’s lips, cheeks, jawline. Each one was soft like petals, reverent.
“I missed you too,” Hyunjin murmured, chasing his mouth.
Jisung giggled. “We saw each other yesterday.”
“I know,” Hyunjin said, already kissing him again, “but I still missed you.”
And maybe that was the problem — that even a few hours apart felt like too long. When you’ve shared so much of your soul with someone, even silence feels like separation.
A sudden knock interrupted their kisses, followed by a deadpan voice:
“Chan hyung asked me to remind your horny asses that we only have a 20-minute break,” Seungmin announced flatly through the door. “Also, we got bubble tea. Y’know, just in case you two decide to reschedule the blowjob for after practice.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
And then Hyunjin and Jisung absolutely lost it — collapsing into each other with full-bodied, uncontrollable laughter. Jisung buried his face in Hyunjin’s neck, muffling his cackles, while Hyunjin held him tighter, practically crying from how hard he was laughing.
“Seungmin is going straight to hell,” Jisung wheezed between fits of giggles.
“And he’s proudly dragging us with him,” Hyunjin choked out, breathless.
They stayed wrapped up in each other for a while, laughing and leaning on one another like they always did — like they always would. They loved Seungmin, even if he was unapologetically unfiltered. Maybe especially because of that. He knew how to break a moment and somehow make it even better, keeping them grounded, reminding them that they were still just them — still surrounded by people who knew them, who saw them, who loved them.
Eventually, they peeled apart, pressing one last kiss, then another — soft and lingering.
As they stood up, Jisung’s fingers affectionately skimmed the curve of Hyunjin’s buzzed head, his touch lingering like he still couldn’t believe he was real. Hyunjin smiled and reached out to fix the collar of Jisung’s shirt, dusting off nothing in particular, but doing it like it mattered — like he always wanted Jisung to walk out of any room looking like he was loved. When they finally opened the door, flushed and breathless and still grinning, Seungmin was waiting with bubble tea in hand — his expression blank, his soul probably miles away.
“I hope you’re not pregnant,” Seungmin said dryly, handing Jisung his drink. “We have a world tour to finish.”
Hyunjin and Jisung burst into fresh laughter, practically doubling over.