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It all begins with a Pepero. Not the plain kind, not the almond-crusted, not even the green tea one Hanbin swears is “the only kind worth eating.” Just a basic, chocolate-dipped Pepero, the kind you’d find in any Korean convenience store, lined up in boxes like little soldiers, waiting for some group of over-caffeinated, over-competitive idols to use them for maximum chaos.
The boys are on Yujin’s show; bright lights, squeaky floors, a set that’s seen more spilled soda than actual drama. They’re here to avenge their long lost score. According to Matthew, they need to defend their honor.
“Please,” Hanbin says, soft palms pressed together in prayer. “Please don’t say that on camera.”
The camera, naturally, focuses in.
The order has already been decided: Matthew-Taerae, Gyuvin-Jiwoong, Ricky-Hanbin, Gunwook-Hao.
Matthew and Taerae are first. And they’re insane . Two centimeters apart. Their only fault is that Matthew can’t stop laughing at Taerae’s perfectly puckered duck lips no matter how hard he tries. No amount of competitiveness or locking the fuck in will cease the bursts of giggling. Taerae’s lips have their own gravitational pull. And Matthew’s laughter is the moon, forever orbiting (read: it’s a lost cause here). The staff is in stitches by the time the stick snaps.
Gyuvin and Jiwoong are next, and it’s—predictably—a mess. Gyuvin won’t tilt his head, Jiwoong won’t move his head—
("Hyung!”
"Eeek! ”)
Six centimeters. A humble result. Jiwoong blames the lighting, Gyuvin blames the universe for pairing him with Jiwoong, and Taerae just grins, teeth gleaming.
Gunwook is guffuawing, slapping his knees, and nearly falling off his chair. (And here, dear reader, is the catalyst for the shenanigans that befall him. The laughter is an omen, the giggle that launches a thousand ships: or, like, one ship, dubbed Gyubgeon , soon to set sail on a sea of Pepero crumbs and questionable decisions.)
Ricky and Hanbin, somehow both taking the task immensely seriously and immensely not, finish in three chomps. It puts them right behind Matthew and Taerae, the former of which whoops . Taerae gives a smug nod, undefeated.
Then: Gunwook and Hao, up to bat. Gunwook’s eyebrows are stitched, the kind of furrow that could plow a field. In complete juxtaposition, Hao is humming along, stick in mouth—
"Boo! ”
A mix of a laugh and a shout, and it comes out of Gyuvin’s long neck with a sense of vengeance. Hao breaks the stick in surprise, then forlornly watches their victory roll away on the tiled floor. Gunwook swings his head so fast that Hanbin winces for him.
“You cheated!”
“I did not~”
“You did! ”
“You just—”
“No, you are just mad we were about to beat you and hyung !”
Gyuvin rears his head back (as if it weren’t true) and their teammates collectively sigh.
“Well you lost!”
“We’re doing it again!”
Hao nods sharply and Yujin jumps to grab another stick.
“Fine.” Gyuvin crosses his arms, smirks. “Bet you’ll drop it again.”
A freeze skates across the room. This is not hyperbole.
This is war .
Gunwook narrows his eyes. “Bet I won’t.”
And he means it.
Hao’s already got the stick in his mouth and Gunwook presses his own against the other end. Gunwook moves forward—Hao, eyes wide and nose scrunching, pulls back—
It’s with a mix of terror and restraint that Hao turns his head away from Gunwook to sneeze.
“ Achoo!” His powerful lungs release like a tuba.
The group watches three-fourths of the stick tap to the ground.
It rolls and rolls.
Gyuvin’s smirk widens and widens.
Gyuvin says he’ll come up with a punishment later. Says being the operative word here.
He’s got things to do: prepping for their comeback, exercising, video calling Eumppappa, messing with Ricky.
There’s barely time to eat and sleep , let alone enact mischief. (Though, he still somehow finds time. A frowning Hanbin and a whining Jiwoong can certainly attest to that. Still—)
Cashing in on his bet is the last thing on his mind.
It’s Ricky, oddly, that brings it up. During their tradition of, in the wee hours of the morning when they somehow can’t sleep but also can’t move, swiping through old videos from their Boys Planet days.
Gunwook’s pops up.
“You could make him do this again,” Ricky teases, but barely means it.
Gyuvin snickers, clicking through the video. Then another version of it. Then an edit. Then an edit of the edit.
Ricky rolls his eyes. “Obsessed.”
“What?”
“Nothing~” He sings, and Gyuvin ignores him, too caught up in a fleck by an eye.
Cute.
Gunwook is so so cute.
All of his teammates are, and once again Gyuvin finds himself feeling sentimental. So happy to be here. Zerobaseone is his family.
And yet...
Another video. Another. All the same day, the same attire, the same moment, the flip of hair.
None of the other members have videos that make his stomach twist quite like this one.
“Maybe a kiss?”
“What?” Gyuvin squawks, pulled out of his replay loop.
“Maybe you could ask him for a kiss~” Ricky sings. “For the bet.”
Gyuvin scoffs, elbowing Ricky until he undignifiedly scrambles off the bed. “I only kiss pretty girls.”
Ricky rolls his eyes—pauses, smirks. Nodding at the looping video states, “He is a pretty girl.”
Gyuvin flicks his eyes to the phone again. He swipes his thumb, scrubbing the video. Plays, replays, the section. Back in the loop. Though this time with Ricky’s intonation of he is a pretty girl dancing in his head.
Gyuvin’s heart thuds.
His face warms.
His breath grows heavy—oh God, Gyuvin knows this feeling—
“This is gonna rock.”
—it’s mischief .
Ricky, stretching and yawning, and lazily making his way out of the room (while his dumbass of a best friend maniacally laughs and breathes heavily at the screen) can’t help but agree.
A smirk.
This was gonna rock.
“No,” Gunwook says, and Gyuvin's face falls.
“But—”
“No.”
Then:
“ Hyung !” they say together, and Matthew and Hanbin both, respectably, flinch.
“...a bet is a bet…” Hanbin concedes, and Gyuvin’s face breaks into sunlight. “But only for a day. And we stay indoors,” Matthew reassures, and Gunwook grumbles.
Their first day on set for the music video goes great. It’s only up from here, thinks Gyuvin, even as the next few days shred along. They are work, work, working : Choom pre-recording here, choreo rehearsal there.
By the time the team gets a real, true break, Gyuvin is beat . He sleeps half the day. Only arising from his nest of blankets to stumble to the bathroom. Working the crusties out of his eyes, he lumbers down the hall—bumps into someone, mumbles an apology—then swivels. back. around.
A girl.
Gyuvin shrieks, ducks into the bathroom, peeks back out.
There is a beautiful girl in the dorms.
How? Why? He racks his tired brain for missed schedules, for recognizable family members— Hanbin-hyung has a sister, right? Is this Hao’s mom? He blinks bleary, startled eyes at her— Hyung’s mom was young-looking, right? Definitely beautiful.
The stranger raises her pretty brow, annoyed, and Gyuvin apologizes out of habit. It seems to make her break into a big, bright— undeniable —smile. Gyuvin gapes.
“ Gunwook?! ”
Gunwook falls forward into a full body laugh, shoulder shaking and shimmering in their silken sleeves. Ringlets of false hair swirling back.
“Yah!” Gyuvin shouts, flustered and offended, and shoving at his friend. Gunwook goes rolling, pulling Gyuvin along, still laughing.
“It’s not funny!” he declares, and there they go: Gyuvin shouting and Gunwook wheezing but both somehow full-on wrestling against the ground.
It’s typically a 60/40 chance for this kind of fight. Gyuvin’s got wiggly limbs and isn’t afraid of fighting dirty (read: tickling a sensitive Gunwook who insists he isn’t ticklish), but Gunwook is stronger—more mass—and typically? In it to win.
This time, though, is anything but typical. This time, Gunwook is out of breath with laughter and wiggling in a chiffon skirt.
It leaves much more real estate for Gyuvin’s slim fingers.
One poke and Gunwook’s down. Gyuvin squats over him—knees brushing against fabric, one hand encompassing both wrists and pinning Gunwook’s (painted??? weewoo weewoo) hands above his head. Gunwook looks up at him. Breathy. A fan of lashes coyly splayed against pink cheeks.
Something stirs.
It pricks at Gyuvin and the boy freezes in panicked horror.
“Gyu?”
He scrambles off Gunwook, heart thudding in his chest as he yanks his shirt down over his lap and speed walks away.
Gyuvin gets to wallow in embarrassment for twenty minutes before his bedroom door clicks open.
“Gyubin.”
“Leave.”
“We’re going out for beef,” hums Ricky. “Everyone’s in the tiny living room.”
“Even her?! ”
Ricky raises an eyebrow as if to say you’re stupid.
“Gunwook is hungry, and apparently got over his embarrassment once he realized how good he looks.”
Go figure , Gyuvin wants to say but instead what comes out is: “He thinks he looks good?”
A beat.
Ricky stares at him, quizzically
…before a slow, teasing grin stretches its way out.
Gyuvin frowns at him, defensively.
“What?”
“Oh Gyubin~” he intones. “ You think he looks good?”
It’s not uncommon for Gyuvin to get into two wrestling matches in one day.
This one ends in a draw when Ricky squawks and ducks, covering his silken mane from his friend’s grabby hands—and Hao throws the doors off its hinges. They’re practically dragged out of the room by their respective ears.
It’s their usual booth. The usual lighting, half the team orders their go-to starters. Everything is so totally normal—the pretty girl laughs at something Matthew says.
This, Gyuvin thinks, is so totally normal. And then he reaches out, chopsticks spread, to hold down the kkaennip jangajji by Gunwook’s own.
Gyuvin doesn’t seem to notice the way the table goes hush. He’s too busy dragging his eyes across Gunwook because is that lip gloss? Why is he wearing lip gloss? What’s with the opening in his shirt? Have his nails always been that long? They’re so…pretty? And long. Did he mention they were long? And why does it suddenly desperately matter that they are long? That they can scratch—
“Oh, Gyu~”
Gyuvin looks up, and through coy lashes ( are those his? Have they always been that beautiful? ) Gunwook’s eyes warm, irises teasing. “Are you holding down the perilla leaves?”
It’s a stupid joke.
So why is Gyuvin suddenly short of breath? Why is the booth getting smaller and smaller? Why—
Gunwook’s teasing smirk shrivels into a firm, glossy, line, winged eyes going worried, and he’s so fucking pretty.
“Um.” Gyuvin says.
Ricky coughs into his hand and Hanbin shoots him a warning look.
Gunwook carefully reaches out and grasps Gyuvin’s shaking wrist, lowering his chopsticks for him.
“Breathe,” he demands, and it comes like second nature for Gyuvin’s lungs to follow.
They collapse again when Gunwook smiles encouragingly, and swipes a thumb across the hand he’s holding. “Better?”
He wants to kiss Gunwook. Has he…has he always wanted to kiss Gunwook? Or is it just because there’s blush on his cheekbones? And his tiny skirt makes everything in Gyuvin feel warm? Or has— is this—
Two flat hands slam down against the table, jostling plates and utensils.
“I have—I gotta—” Gyuvin scrapes out, pointedly not looking at his teammates. “B–bathroom!”
Part of the reason Jebweon loves this restaurant is because of how cozy it is. Private. No need to pull a hat down low or stifle laughter.
This, of course, means the establishment’s bathroom is tiny. Small and singular. Gyuvin sits against the gritty tile, long legs folded up, sweaty forehead pressed against his knees.
This is how he’s found.
The door swings up and maybe Hao but probably Ricky squats down beside him.
“Hey.”
It’s neither.
Gyuvin peeks one wet eye out from behind his hiding place of limbs. “They sent you?”
“They sent me,” Matthew affirms, giving a kind smile, then an exaggerated groan as he drops down next to the younger boy. “Kinda a given.”
There’s a sigh in response to Gyuvin’s quirked brow. “I’ve gone through something similar.”
“Your best friend dressed like a cute girl and made you lose your mind?”
Matthew laughs, bumping the lanky boy’s shoulder with his own. “Close.”
A beat of silence passes.
The faucet is dripping.
“Girls are really cute,” Matthew declares, suddenly, pulling a startled nod from the other. “I mean, some are cuter than others. To me. Sometimes it’s the type of girl. And even then sometimes she’s just cute at specific times. Doing specific things, wearing specific clothes.”
He doesn’t usually yap like this unless he’s telling a story or brainstorming. Gyuvin spares 20% of his brainpower to consider where his hyung is going with this.
“Guys are cute, too.” He decides, and Gyuvin’s heartrate spikes. “Same thing—I have preferences. Maybe he’s cuter doing the hamster face than when he—”
“Hanbin-hyung ?!”
“And other times,” Matthew skates along, the apples of his cheeks pinkening slightly. “I don’t know I have a preference until I see it. Or until it happens.”
“Until what happens?”
Matthew makes jazz hands towards Gyuvin’s tense face. “Bi-Panic™”
“…how did you say the little—”
“So now you’re probably wondering, hmm ,” Matthew tugs him in close. “Am I suddenly into guys? Or is it just that I’m suddenly into Gunwook? Maybe it’s Gunwook wearing clothes I usually associate with girls?”
“No.”
Matthew blinks at him, hands paused in the air.
“No?”
“I…have a crush on Gunwook.” Gyuvin admits shyly, sinking his face back into his knees. Misery wraps across his body
“Oh.” Matthew says, then carefully: “And that’s…bad?”
“It’s…I know...I like guys.” Gyuvin tries. “I even know I like guys in skirts . I liked a guy in a skirt.”
“Hao,” Matthew nods very seriously, then laughs at the affronted look on Gyuvin’s face. “Kidding. It was Ricky, right?” And at Gyuvin’s soft nod, adds, “Hao does look good in a skirt though.”
“I don’t even wanna know.”
“Good, cause I’m not telling.” Matthew nudges him, teasing smile slowly softening. “So…the Bi-panic? More of a…Gunwook shape?”
Gyuvin curls his body inward. "Ugh, now the whole table…I was so obvious .”
The unspoken ‘ what if the team knows?’ floats above.
“Well…I think maybe everyone…just thinks you’re a little flustered.” Matthew offers a reassuring smile. “Gunwook looks really good in makeup— Zerose agree, remember?”
Something in Gyuvin lightens. “So Gunwook…?”
There. A twitch of a frown.
Gyuvin’s too good at reading people for Matthew to shift his reaction. Matthew knows it too—he exhales.
“He’s smart, Gyub. You know that.” It’s laced with apology and paired with a soft pat to the crown of his head. “Which means…you should probably talk to him.”
“Maybe.”
And at Matthew’s reproachful look, Gyuvin tentatively promises:
“Tomorrow. When he’s…you know…”
“Not so breathtaking that you run away?” Matthew grins, then laughs at the mild punch he receives to the shoulder.
Tomorrow happens to swing around about twelve minutes later when Matthew opens the bathroom door—and there’s Gunwook, standing on the opposite side.
“Hi, Wookie!” he greets brightly, and the puddle by the corner of the sink stiffens. “Need the bathroom?”
Gunwook gives him an amused look. “Um. Yes, hyung .”
Amused becomes hesitant at the gentle squeeze Matthew gives his shoulder, passing through and making space in the doorway. The bathroom becomes incredibly quiet, after that. Though, the faucet is still dripping.
The silence stretches, and when it becomes too thin, it breaks. Gunwook sighs, pushes the door closed with his back, and steps forward, nudging a careful Mary Jane at his friend’s knee.
“This floor is unsanitary.”
“You’re so annoying,” Gyuvin says back. He still won’t look at him.
Gunwook takes a careful hand, sweeps it under the flat of his skirt, and sits folded to the side near his teammate. “Well,” he says, soft. “You like that about me.”
It’s a gamble. Gyuvin stiffens and Gunwook internally follows suit.
A moment later, Gyuvin looks up at him and this time Gunwook shows his cards: absolute panic, because Gyuvin’s eyes are filling with tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Gyuvin chokes out at the same time Gunwook goes “Ah, no, no–” reaching warm arms to bring his friend into a hug. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m sorry that–”
“You’re not allowed to apologize for things you can’t control.”
Gyuvin goes quiet. Sniffles rub their way into Gunwook’s neck, catching along the shimmering blouse he’s in.
“It’s really okay,” Gunwook says, pulling back, because he knows Gyuvin needs to hear it. “Seriously.” He rubs his thumbs across wet cheeks and under big eyes, and seriously Gyuvin with his little red nose and doe eyes, how could he not think–
“Anyone would be lucky to have you find them attractive. Even if it’s just for a day.”
Gyuvin’s still sniffling when he creases his brow.
Then uncreases.
Then recreases.
“Ah.” he finally says. “Bi-panic.”
Gunwook tilts his head, vaguely recognizing the English word for hysteria.
Gyuvin nods, scrubbing at his face.
“It’s not…this is…” Gyuvin rubs harder. Tries again: “Cute. …you’re cute, Gunwook.”
Gunwook’s neck slowly begins to heat. Gyuvin seems to like him in this outfit, he knows, but still. He’s never been one to take praise lightly.
“Ah…really?”
“What I mean is…cute, like, outside of the bet. You’re cute when you get that dumb smirk on your face from being competitive. And when you laugh too loud about stupid stuff. And you’re cute when you dance as a joke but it’s still really good? And when you sing random things, and when you’re not doing either but you’re just sitting down, thinking —you get this look on your face. And you, you blink. Like a lot—It’s cute. And actually now that we’re talking about blinking, are you wearing those lash packs girls put on because I–”
“You like me.” Gunwook breathes out, eyes blown wide.
“Uh.” Gyuvin stares back blankly. Scratches the side of his arm. “Yeah?”
“Before today.”
“Before…” Gyuvin blinks. “Wait, you didn’t know? Why did you come in here pretending acting like you knew?! “
“I didn’t—I was—” Gunwook sputters, reaching up to try and cool the back of his neck. “I thought you just liked the skirt!”
“I do,” Gyuvin says passionately, reaching out and tugging at the end of the fabric.
Gunwook squawks, swatting the hand away, then glowers at the responding laugh Gyuvin lets out. His friend is so deeply well-mannered that he wouldn’t dream of putting his hands anywhere unseemly. This is purely to mess with Gunwook! This is—
“You’re cute when you pout, too.”
Gunwook curses, shoving his blushing face into his hands as Gyuvin breaks into a new wave of laughter.
“So easy,” he teases, tapping at Gunwook’s cheek then raising the other boy’s face from its hiding place.
Gunwook glowers further, face still warm, somehow hating and loving the ribbing at the same time.
Gyuvin stares back, fingers running down, before lightly curling at the base of Gunwook’s chin.
His eyes flick down.
Gunwook stills—tilts forward, responding more than thinking.
Gyuvin ducks down and lightly pecks him. Pulls back—inhales—surges back to kiss him deeper.
Gloss coats his mouth and Gyuvin thinks he may have died somewhere along the way. Maybe he croaked from heartbreak or mortification and he’s rotting in the bathroom of Cheonha Bossam because there is no way this is happening. Gunwook kisses him back, languid and slow, arms curling around the taller boy’s neck. They push into one another, kissing at a pace that sets them into an almost-grind. Gyuvin has him crammed into the corner of the room, a hand that somehow found its way to a knee is slowly traveling to a thigh. A squeeze (Gunwook makes a sound in Gyuvin’s mouth that has Gyuvin’s brain knocking around its skull for five minutes straight) , and then the hand slides higher. Meets fabric. Then—
Gyuvin pulls back, Gunwook’s lips following, kissing—Gyuvin turns his face away.
“What,” he says. “The fuck?”
Gunwook’s eyes dart around his friend’s face, foggy brain trying to come up with what’s going on and how to get the kisses to come back—when he feels a squeeze at the waist.
Under his skirt.
Gunwook flushes sinfully, from his face to his chest, as he panickedly attempts to pull back, to wiggle out of the grasp Gyuvin has on him, to wiggle out of the situation —
“Panties.”
“I was—it’s just—it was your bet! ””
“And you went this far?” Gyuvin asks, both hands now exploring, and Gunwook can. not. breathe.
“I was…I was just—you know I’m—”
“Through?” Gyuvin says, quiet, and Gunwook stills.
“...yes.”
Gyuvin doesn’t break eye contact when he takes one hand from under the skirt. Trails it upward. Painstakingly runs it up Gunwook’s stomach.
Gunwook looks off to the side, face hot, smeared lips scrunched into a pout, as his blouse pools for the large hand, and Gyuvin makes his way up to clutch at a lace bra.
“Oh my god.”
“Shut up.”
Gyuvin surges forward, melding their lips together, and squeezing at Gunwook’s chest. Gunwook’s responding moan is a sound he didn’t know he could make—Gunwook may die . (Gyuvin, who tugs the panties up and feels his teammate tremor beneath him, may also die.)
“Oh my god!”
“He’s gonna—”
“A little closer…”
“Look! Look at his hands!”
Despite the ruckus, Ricky and Taerae emerge victorious, a minuscule speck of treat flashing in the younger boy’s palm. Even as Yujin measures it, the boys know they’re in the lead.
“Not for long,” Gunwook smirks, pulling up a laughing Matthew.
( “We have got to stop coming back here.” Hanbin moans, pressing his fingers to his temple. Hao rubs his back in sympathy .)
“Oh yeah?” Gyuvin crows, eyes flashing. “Wanna bet?”
Gunwook shoots him a smirk. “I think I’ll win either way.”
Hanbin collapses, already mentally bemoaning the online masses that will (accurately) dissect the implication.
The End 🍡
