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The two star dorms are dead quiet after the first elimination. Many tears were shed, and the once bustling with energy rooms have become silent, the tiredness of the emotional roller coaster and the crash out from the adrenaline of the remaining survivors depleting all of their liveliness.
And yet, in one of the rooms, Suren finds himself starring at the bottom of the mattress of the bunk bed on top of him, unable to shut his eyes and welcome the sleep he knows he’s going to need for the start of the next mission.
It’s no use, he can’t stop replaying it, Ong Seungwoo calling his name for the 46th rank, barely scrapping but still making it to the next stage. His heart is still beating fast, doubts pouring in, can he gather more votes next mission? Is his screen time enough? Will people care if he makes it through at all? It’s all too overwhelming and, for the most part, out of his jurisdiction to act on right now.
But still, he can’t sleep and, well, there’s something (someone) else that’s on his mind. One of his roommates snores’ breaks him out of the internal downward spiral and he finally pushes his covers aside, quietly slipping out of the room.
With the stealth of an assassin, Suren walks down the hallway, counting the doors as his hand glides over the wall to situate himself. One, two, three aaaaand, four it is. He pushes the door and slides his sock covered feet on the wooden floor, reaching his hand out until he feels the base of the bottom bunk to his right, followed immediately by a pile of hair.
For a such recent bleach, it doesn’t feel as coarse as he was expecting. Suren pats the hair, this time a little more intently, until he moves, turning around to face him.
“Shhh,” Suren puts his index on Zihao’s lips.
Zihao hums quietly into his finger as he wakes up. Suren can vaguely see him blinking in the dark, the faint light from outside peeking through the window giving him brief outlines of the sleepy guy in front of him. He grabs Zihao’s hand and pulls him towards the door, who, without even resisting, follows him slowly.
They walk for a while, down stairs, out the main door. Suren’s eyes are locked on the floor, hand tightly holding Zihao’s. He’s so in his head Zihao has to physically stop him from walking any farther.
“I think we’re far enough from any cameras,” Zihao says amusedly, hands on Suren’s shoulders.
“Oh.”
Zihao observes him for a moment, blinking away any remains of sleepiness, eyes turning sharp as he analyzes Suren’s current predicament. One of his hands comes up to hold Suren’s chin.
“Still thinking about rankings?”
Suren’s feels his face flush, embarrassed by how easy he is to read. He feels like an open book in front of Zihao, which is for the most part works well, their energy tends to be in sync and it improves the overall mood of the show. But not right now. He starts feeling like all of this is silly and he interrupted Zihao’s precious sleep because his insecurity is getting the best of him and-
He’s pulled into a bone crushing hug.
“Stop thinking for a second,” Zihao whispers in his ear, wrapping his arms around Suren’s waist and pulling them even closer. Suren dips his head into the crook of Zihao’s neck and breathes, taking in the grounding scents: the faint creamy smell of a moisturizer, under it an even fainter scent of the dorm’s shower gel, but above all, Zihao’s natural musk. It’s all comforting, the closeness, the warmth, the intimacy of being able to hold each other out of everybody’s sight.
When he’s ready to part, Suren pulls away just the slightest bit, stopping to look Zihao in the eyes, their noses touching.
“Thank you, I needed that,” he says before he dips his head, letting their lips touch in gentle kiss. Zihao responds in kind, holding their kiss a little longer.
Suren let’s himself enjoy it, the easy glide, the tingling sensation rising at the bottom of his stomach that spreads towards his limbs, temporarily erasing all his current worries. His hands move to hold Zihao’s face, slipping his tongue into his mouth. The hands on his waist tighten, Zihao’s fingers find the hem of Suren’s pajamas and slip under it, just barely touching the skin.
Suren pulls away from the kiss, face burning hot and unable to form a sentence. Zihao is equally flushed, but instead of flabbergasted, he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“You don’t usually let me get this far,” he says in jest, “but since you kissed me on TV today…”
Suren turns to his head to the side with a huff, attempting to hide his smile.
“I went on auto-pilot when my name was called, honestly I don’t even remember walking up to you,” he confesses.
Zihao laughs quietly.
“I’m glad your auto-pilot includes showering me with kisses,” he winks at Suren, biting his lip between cheeky remarks, “when we debut together we can make out on live TV.”
“If…,” Suren corrects him with a half hearted eye roll.
“Semantics,” Zihao says, pulling him close again, “so, anything else I can do to make you relax? Even just a little bit?”
Suren’s eyes fall down to Zihao’s lips and then back up to his eyes. He doesn’t even have to say anything, Zihao just knows.
He’s pushed against the wall behind him, Zihao presses their bodies together, hands roaming from his waist to his ass as he covers Suren’s lips with his own again, their tongues finally meeting, a new dizzying hunger overcoming them. Suren threads his fingers on the back of Zihao’s hair, pulling on the strands as Zihao grabs and squeezes his ass, both of them groaning at each other’s ministrations. Suren breaks the kiss to bite Zihao’s lips, pulling it as slowly as he can while they lock eyes.
Zihao’s eyes are glassy, this dazed look Suren’s only seen a few times so far.
“That’s so hot,” Zihao grunts when his lip is finally freed.
Suren grins, happy with his handiwork, but just as he’s about to respond, the sound of steps hits his ears. Zihao looks confused as Suren scrambles to separate them enough to not look like they were passionately mauling each other outside the dorms.
“Can’t you guys suck face at the two star dorms?” Xinlong’s deep voice interrupts their panicked separation.
“Ah, fuck, it’s just you,” Zihao sighs, shoulder sagging. Suren watches them exchange amused looks, years of friendship summarized in a single eyebrow raise. “Don’t you have kids to put to bed?”
Xinlong squints at him but then smiles and chuckles.
“Touché,” he gives in easily, turning around back to the dorms, but not before delivering one last line, “Suren, please bring him home before 8.”
Zihao curses at him, but Xinlong sprints out, cackling away.