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Jo was used to random cameras being shoved in his face, it wasn’t anything new. But after wrapping up a nearly three-hour setlist, all he wanted was to crash at the hotel and sleep.
They waited backstage for a few minutes before being ushered into another room, just a quick appearance for a morning show airing the next day.
Without thinking, Jo fell into step behind Taki. He missed him.
As the cameras started rolling, Jo smiled. He really did love his job. But right now, he was bone-tired. And Taki was standing so close. He wasn’t even sure if they’d spoken today, the chaos of the concert prep had swallowed everything.
Jo was always hard on himself. Performing well, living up to LUNÉ’s expectations, it meant everything to him. One mistake, and he’d spiral for days.
He could always talk to Taki about this. Taki understood. Taki made him feel lighter.
Jo needed to talk to him.
He doesn’t know why he reaches out.
Not really. Not until he’s already touching him.
Taki’s in front of him, standing close, just a little closer than usual, and Jo’s hands find his shoulders without thinking. He eases forward, barely, just enough for his chest to hover at Taki’s back, for his head to tip in and rest near the curve of his neck, just to see what K’s doing in front of them.
That’s all. Just that.
He tells himself it’s nothing. He does it lightly. Like it’s casual. Like it’s just about positioning, camera angles, crowding, K talking fast with his hands.
But Taki stiffens.
Only for a second. Only enough that Jo feels the hesitation beneath his palms. Taki lifts his hand slightly, fingers ghosting back, towards Jo’s waist. He doesn’t even turn around. Just reaches, almost.
Jo lets himself hope, even though he knows there's nothing they could do. They were on camera.
But then Taki falters. The hand doesn’t land. It drops back to his side like it wasn’t supposed to move at all. Which, in a sense, it wasn't.
Jo stays still. His arms don’t move. Neither does his voice.
He doesn’t know if it’s stubbornness or fear, the reason he doesn’t pull away. Maybe both. Maybe if he lets go now, he’ll disappear. Maybe if he lets go now, he’ll be embarrassed for the rest of the night.
K is still talking. The camera is still rolling. Jo nods and smiles along like he’s listening, but all he can hear is his own heartbeat, high and hard and stupid, pulsing against the shape of Taki’s back.
Taki smells like shampoo and something sugary, soft. Maybe detergent. Maybe something from the hotel. Maybe Jo just wants to bury his face there and not have to think for a while.
He wants to touch more.
Not a lot. Just a little. Just... lean a bit closer, maybe. Let his chin brush Taki’s shoulder. Let the tip of his nose catch the edge of his stupid loose tanktop. See if Taki shivers again, and whether it’s because of him, or in spite of him.
But he doesn’t move.
Because they’re on camera. Because someone might see. Because Taki already hesitated once.
He wonders if Taki knows he’s trembling a little. Not visibly. Just under the surface, skin buzzing,
He wonders if Taki thinks about the way things have shifted while they're on camera, the way Jo turns into Taki's stupid playful kisses now, instead of away from them. The way he lets himself linger. (And Taki still flinches everytime.)
Sometimes he sees it in Taki’s face: the confusion, the panic, the hope. Like he doesn’t know where this new version of Jo came from, the one who reaches, the one who wants. Jo’s not used to reaching.
Not like this. Not where it matters.
But something in him breaks a little every time Taki doesn’t meet him halfway.
And Still.
He wants more.
Not because it’s safe. Not because he’s sure.
Because it’s Taki. And it’s worth it.
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The moment the hotel door clicks shut, Jo exhales.
Not loud. Just enough.
They’ve been moving nonstop, rehearsals, hair and makeup, stage lights, cameras, Their manager’s voice echoing in his ears even now. His back still remembers the pressure of Taki’s shoulders under his palms. The way his nose had almost touched the line of Taki’s neck. The urge he had, sudden, overwhelming, to just lean in and taste.
He’d stayed like that too long. Everyone else was laughing, talking, moving on. Jo had just stood there behind Taki, hands still on his shoulders, letting his lips hover too close to skin.
And Taki had gone stiff.
He’d started to wrap an arm around Jo’s waist, like always. But he’d pulled back. Subtle. Like maybe no one would notice.
Jo had noticed.
More than anyone, Jo knows how to behave on camera. He knows that Taki not reaching back wasn’t his own choice. But Jo was still hungry.
Now, in the quiet of the hotel room, he wants that distance gone. Wants to lean into everything he’d had to ignore all day, the itch under his skin, the ache in his chest, the need to just be near him. To touch, feel, breathe him in.
Taki’s over by the desk, pretending to look at his charger.
Jo watches him.
He looks small again. Tired. Hoodie sleeves past his knuckles, head a little down. Like he’s unsure, like he’s waiting.
Jo doesn’t say anything.
He steps forward instead. Bare feet on carpet. Moves slow, like he’s not sure if he’ll be welcomed— even though he knows he will be. Even though they’ve kissed a thousand times behind doors like this.
He reaches out.
One hand on Taki’s waist, gentle but firm. His other slides up his back, and then Jo leans in. Not to kiss. Not yet.
Just to be there. His chin near Taki’s shoulder, nose against the back of his neck. His fingers bunch in the fabric of Taki’s hoodie.
Taki freezes. Like always, now, when Jo initiates.
But Jo doesn’t let go.
“Hey,” Jo murmurs, low, soft, and quiet.
Taki doesn’t respond right away, but Jo feels the twitch of his hand, the instinctive reach before it falters again.
“Taki,” he says, quieter now, near his ear, smiling a bit. “You haven't even looked at me all day.”
Jo knew it was selfish, and he was partially joking anyways. He knew they were at a concert all day, singing their hearts out on stage. Even so, It felt off when Taki managed to have on stage moments with every member besides his own boyfriend.
“I didn’t know if I should…” Taki says, barely audible.
Jo’s eyes widen for just a second, the joking tone in the atmosphere quickly vanishing. His nose brushes Taki’s neck. He breathes in. The softest, tiniest inhale, the scent of shampoo, of skin, of something warm and familiar.
“I wanted you to,” Jo says.
He feels Taki shiver.
And then, finally, Taki’s hand lifts. Slow, hesitant, but real. It finds Jo’s wrist. Not to push him away. Just to hold him there.
“You never do this,” Taki whispers. His voice is shaky, almost bashful. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Jo huffs a soft laugh, lips grazing the back of his neck now.
“I never need to. You're usually the one pushing the physical contact.”
He feels Taki swallow. Feels the shift in his breath.
And now Jo’s the one who’s bold, the one pressing in, curling his fingers into Taki’s front pocket, tilting his head just enough to lay the lightest kiss just beneath his ear.
He hears Taki exhale, sharp and low.
Finally, Jo smiles again.
Taki doesn’t move at first. Just breathes, shaky and uneven, as Jo’s lips linger behind his ear.
But Jo feels it– the tiniest sway of his body, like he’s leaning back into him without meaning to. Like his muscles don’t know how to pretend anymore.
Jo’s thumb draws a slow circle against the fabric of Taki’s hoodie, just over his stomach. The other hand slides under the hem– not too far, just enough to touch warm skin. Taki’s breath catches.
“You’re warm,” Jo murmurs, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
Taki’s hand is still on Jo’s wrist. He grips it tighter now, like he’s trying to steady himself.
“Jo,” he says, barely more than a breath.
Jo doesn't stop.
He kisses him again, not on the mouth, not yet. Just at the base of his neck, slow, careful. Once, twice, three times. Featherlight but precise. He feels Taki’s skin goosebump beneath his lips.
“You always do this to me,” Jo says, almost amused, almost in awe.
Taki half-turns, like he wants to look at him, but Jo’s still behind him, holding him close, pressing kisses to the slope of his shoulder after moving his hoodie slightly down his arm.
“I’m not used to this,” Taki says. It’s almost a whine.
Jo smiles. “You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Jo hums, and then pulls him, slow but steady, away from the desk.
Taki follows like he can’t help it.
They end up near the bed. Jo turns him around, finally, and sees Taki’s face properly, flushed, eyes wide, mouth parted just a little.
Beautiful.
Jo touches his cheek, gentle.
“I missed you today,” he says simply.
Taki looks down. “We were together all day.”
Jo shakes his head, and repeats his thoughts. “You didn’t touch me.”
He knows his face is bright red, but he says it like it matters. Like it’s been sitting on his chest all night, waiting.
Taki bites his lip. “You’re always the one who pulls away when I do.”
Jo steps closer. They both know that has nothing to do with it. The obvious and real answer is the constant cameras and prying eyes.
“Only because I want to pull you in first sometimes.” He half lies.
And he does— he leans in, slowly, gives Taki time to meet him halfway.
Their lips press together— soft, quiet, but real. The kind of kiss that feels like a conversation they haven’t had yet.
Taki’s hands hover at Jo’s waist before finally grabbing the hem of his shirt and holding on like it’s the only thing grounding him.
Jo deepens it— just a little. Not rushed. Just firm enough to remind him he means iit. That he wanted this all day. That he’d spent hours thinking about the curve of Taki’s neck, the space behind his ear, the dip of his collarbone.
When they pull back, Jo rests his forehead against Taki’s.
“I’m not stopping,” he says quietly, “unless you want me to.”
Taki’s breath hitches. He shakes his head.
“I don’t,” he says. “Please don’t.”
Jo exhales— and pushes Taki gently, slowly, down onto the bed.
Taki sinks into the bed like he’s not sure whether to brace himself or melt. Jo follows, one knee pressing into the mattress beside his thigh, hands on either side of him. He doesn’t rush — just looks down at Taki for a moment, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of his face.
The flushed cheeks. The dark lashes fluttering against his skin. That hesitant curve to his lips, like he doesn’t know whether to smile or gasp.
Jo leans down, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then, slowly, lower— along the line of his neck, where he’d wanted to kiss him earlier but couldn’t.
Here, now, alone in this quiet hotel room, Jo doesn’t have to hold back.
He exhales softly, letting his lips graze the warm skin just under Taki’s ear, and feels Taki shiver beneath him.
“This okay?” Jo murmurs, voice lower than usual, rough with something he doesn’t bother hiding anymore.
Taki nods quickly— too quickly.
“Hm?,” Jo whispers, urging Taki to use his words. He's brushing his mouth against Taki’s throat, where he can feel the heat of his pulse.
“Yes,” Taki says. “God, Jo, yes. It’s—good. Just…”
His hand fumbles up Jo’s side, settling somewhere near his shoulder, gripping him like he might float away otherwise.
“I’m not used to you being like this,” he repeats again, voice breathy. “You’re.. bold.”
Jo huffs a quiet laugh against his skin. “No?”
“Did something happen?” Taki laughs softly.
Jo doesn’t reply, instead kissing the dip of Taki’s collarbone, slow and lingering. Then another, just above it. He doesn’t move quickly he’s savoring. Every second. Every twitch of Taki’s fingers. Every uneven breath.
“My face is definitely red,” Jo says, lips brushing against his skin between kisses. “I keep it together all day, and then you’re right there, acting like it’s nothing.”
Taki’s chest rises under him. “It’s not nothing,” he whispers.
Jo lifts his head, meets his eyes. “Show me?”
And Taki does, with shaky hands and a kiss that’s clumsy at first, but hungry. With the way he pulls Jo down like he’s been waiting to breathe him in all night.
It’s messy and warm and quiet. The air between them holds something electric, but it’s not about urgency. It’s about need. Built over weeks of tension, tiny looks, stolen touches.
Jo moves with intention, savoring every place he gets to touch now that they’re alone… the curve of Taki’s ribs under his shirt, the heat of his waist, the tremble in his thighs when Jo kisses just above the waistband of his sweats and then rests his head there, holding him.
Not doing anything yet. Just breathing. Just being close.
Taki's fingers drift into Jo’s hair without thinking, gentle and unsure.
Jo looks down at him, eyes bright, gaze steady.
“You can touch me more,” he says softly. “You always do.”
Taki swallows hard. “You’re always pulling away!”
Jo smiles, slow and small. “Stop saying that.”
Jo watches Taki like he’s a secret he finally gets to touch. Like if he blinks, this might disappear.
He doesn’t blink.
Taki is beneath him now, warm, flushed, fingers still threaded through Jo’s hair like he’s grounding himself. Jo slides his palms slowly up under Taki’s hoodie, over the slope of his ribs, and leans in again. Mouth to skin, tasting salt and warmth and the way Taki gasps his name like it’s holy.
The lights are off, only the low city glow slipping through the hotel window, and it makes everything feel suspended, like time doesn’t matter here.
Jo lets his forehead rest against Taki’s chest, breathing him in.
Taki makes a small sound, hand sliding down to Jo’s cheek. Jo huffs a laugh, soft against his skin.
A beat. Then Taki’s fingers still. “Jo. Please…”
And fuck, if Taki can still be bold, then so can Jo.
Jo lifts his head. Their eyes meet, shadows and light dancing across their faces, and it’s that look again. The one Jo only sees when they’re alone. The one that says I want you, I want you, I want you.
Jo leans down again, presses their foreheads together. “I wanted to kiss you earlier,” he admits. “When I was behind you for the small recording. You smelled like clean laundry and sweat and... you.” His voice dips. “And I was so close to your neck, I thought I’d go crazy.”
Taki swallows, and jokes: “You could’ve.”
“There were cameras, Taki.”
“I know.”
“And the members.”
“I know.”
Their breath mingles in the space between their mouths.
Jo runs his thumb along Taki’s bottom lip, watching the way it trembles slightly under his touch. “You pulled your hand away.”
Taki’s eyes dart down, licking his bottom lip the second Jo’s hand pulled away.
“I panicked,” he says, voice small. “I wanted to—God, I wanted to hold you so bad. But I thought... what if someone notices? What if K sees and knows?”
Jo nods slowly. “I know.”
A pause.
“But I didn’t pull away,” he says. “I stayed there. I didn’t care. Fanservice is always an excuse, right?”
Taki looks up at him, and this time, Jo doesn’t wait. He kisses him slow, deeper now, like he’s trying to say everything he hasn’t been able to in rehearsals, in green rooms, backstage with staff everywhere. All the times he brushed their hands together on purpose, just for a second. All the glances he stole when no one was watching.
Taki clutches at his back now, holding him closer. No cameras here. No one to hide from. Just skin and breath and them.
Jo pulls his shirt off without a word, then helps Taki do the same with his hoodie. They fit together like a puzzle— like muscle memory. Like they’ve done this before and they want to keep doing it forever.
Jo lowers himself again, and now having full access, kisses down Taki’s chest. Tender. Purposeful. Like worship.
He hears Taki whisper something, breath caught- he’s not sure what, just a sound of disbelief or need or maybe both. Jo doesn’t stop to ask. He kisses the soft skin just above Taki’s waistband and rests his cheek there again, lips brushing against the dip of his hip.
“I missed you,” he says again. “Today was too long. I hated pretending.”
Taki’s voice is barely a whisper. “Me too.”
Their bodies were pressed together like they’re trying to make up for every second they had to stay apart.
And when Jo moves again, eyes still bright, mouth open against Taki’s skin, it’s not just desire.
Jo shifts slightly, one knee slipping in between Taki's thighs, and Taki exhales like the air's been punched out of him, right against Jo's shoulder.
Its instinctive, the way Taki's hips rise to meet him. Like his body's been aching for this, For Jo.
Jo's acting off pure adrenaline and love. He manages a quick, important, "This okay?”
Taki nods a little too fast. "Please."
Jo connects their mouths again briefly before latching onto Taki's neck instead. Finally. Taki's hands instinctively move to the back of Jo's head and gently grip his hair. Jo exhales sharply. He wants to bite, so bad.
So he does.
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Jo is the first to speak again, voice low and careful.
“You used to kiss my cheek when no one was looking,” he murmurs, fingers brushing lazy circles over Taki’s hip now. “Even in the middle of lives. Like you couldn’t help it.”
Taki hums, the sound almost embarrassed, but he doesn’t deny it. “I still can’t.”
Jo lifts his head just enough to look at him — hair mussed, mouth kiss-bitten, eyes bright even in the dark. “Then why’d you stop?”
That question floats in the space between them. Not accusatory. Just curious. Just aching.
Taki exhales, hand drifting up to Jo’s neck, thumb finding the edge of his jaw. “Because you started looking at me like you’d say yes.”
Jo blinks, startled. “What?”
“You started looking at me, Jo. Not just putting up with it. You used to flinch, you’d roll your eyes, or duck away—" Taki’s lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. “But then one day you didn’t. You tilted your head toward me. Like you wanted it. Like you were daring me.”
Jo bites his lip, heart thudding. “And that scared you?”
Taki nods once, barely perceptible. “Yeah. Because I realized I wanted you for real. Not just to tease. Not just for fun.”
He pauses. “And if I kissed you for real… it’d be real. And that would mean everything had to change.”
Jo’s throat tightens. He shifts, arms sliding around Taki’s waist as he presses closer. “It did change,” he whispers. “But I don’t regret it.”
“Not even the hiding?”
Jo shakes his head. “It’s worth it. You’re worth it.”
Taki pulls him into a kiss again — slow and full, like they’re both saying thank you in the only way they know how. Jo sighs against him, melting into the warmth, the pressure, the soft scrape of teeth and the safety of the moment.
Eventually, Jo rolls them to the side, tangled under the thin hotel blanket, legs intertwined. Their bodies still buzz, but it’s muted now — the fire has turned to embers, warm and glowing, pulsing low in their bellies.
Taki rests his head against Jo’s collarbone. “Sometimes I forget how quiet you are,” he murmurs. “Until you say something like that and it guts me.”
Jo smiles faintly, threading his fingers through Taki’s hair. “I’m not good at saying things out loud.”
“You just did.”
“Only when it’s you.”
A soft beat passes.
Jo pulls Taki closer, lips brushing his forehead.
“I’m going to keep kissing your cheek in public, just so you know,” Taki says.
Jo groans, muffling a laugh into Taki’s chest. “You’re evil.”
Taki grins, too pleased. “You started it.”
They lie like that for a long time, listening to the muffled sounds of the city below, the occasional car, the distant hum of life continuing outside the window. But inside, wrapped in each other, time feels slower. Softer.
Eventually, Taki’s voice breaks the stillness again.
“Jo?”
“Mm?”
“You can kiss my neck next time.”
Jo's heart stutters. He blinks up at the ceiling, face heating.
“...Noted.”