Chapter Text
Yuma liked Jo.
A lot.
Yet he was determined to not make the first move, at least not directly. He knew that Jo probably liked him as well, but was a bit too dense or too shy to admit it.
He could feel it in the way the younger looked at him, eyes lingering just a little too long when Yuma wiped sweat from his neck after dance practice, or how he always seemed a bit flustered when Yuma laughed at something he said, even if it wasn’t all that funny.
Jo watched him. Constantly. He tried to be subtle about it, but Yuma had caught him staring more times than he could count. Especially when his shirt rode up during practice, exposing just a sliver of his waist. Yuma made sure it happened often. Coincidentally, of course.
He’d stretch a little slower, tug his hoodie off with an unnecessary amount of flair, lean too close during water breaks. Anything to watch Jo squirm a little.
Because the truth was, Yuma thrived on that reaction, the way Jo’s ears would go pink and his mouth would open just a little like he was about to say something but always stopped himself. It was adorable. It was infuriating. It was addictive.
Sometimes, Yuma would say things just to test him, to see the way he reacted to certain things, words or actions.
Like brushing his fingers against Jo’s when they passed each other a water bottle, or letting his head fall against Jo’s shoulder during breaks, pretending to be exhausted. He’d murmur a quiet “Comfy,” and watch from the corner of his eye as Jo stopped breathing for half a second.
He’d say stuff like, “You’d look good with a lip ring”, touching softly his lips, just to watch Jo blink, confused and flustered, his hand darting to his mouth like he’d never considered it before. Yuma didn’t care about the lip ring, —Or maybe he did, a lot—. He just liked watching Jo feel something.
Every reaction was a little victory.
And sometimes, when Jo smiled at him; really smiled, all soft and warm like the world melted around them, Yuma’s heart would do this stupid thing, flipping around in his chest, and he’d have to look away first. He hated that.
But still. He wouldn’t make the first real move. He couldn’t. That wasn’t how this game worked.
He’d flirt, sure. He’d joke. He’d make Jo think about it, want it, ache for it, until one day, maybe Jo would finally give in and do something. Or maybe he’d keep bottling it up, letting it stew, until it boiled over in some dramatic, emotionally charged outburst that Yuma would absolutely be living for.
Either way, Yuma wasn’t going to stop.
Because Jo blushing? Jo stammering, fidgeting, pretending he didn’t care?
That was gold.
Yuma was waiting for him patiently, but sometimes he couldn’t help but want a bit more.
So Yuma would keep playing. Keep teasing. Keep getting just close enough to drive Jo crazy, and maybe, eventually, make him snap.
God, he hoped Jo would snap.
That would be fun.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
The living room was unusually quiet.
It was one of those rare evenings when the dorm felt still, no shouting from the hallway, no distant music from someone’s speaker, no clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of fabric as Jo shifted on the couch.
He was curled up with his phone, legs pulled to his chest, thumb mindlessly scrolling. The overhead light was off, leaving only the warm glow of a floor lamp beside them, casting long, sleepy shadows on the walls.
Yuma sat on the other end of the couch, sprawled out sideways, socked feet resting on the coffee table like he owned the place. He was looking for something to watch on his phone, but his attention had drifted to Jo.
Jo, with his messy hair and soft hoodie, completely absorbed in his screen, unaware of how cute he looked with his brows furrowed in concentration.
Yuma shifted, leaning slightly toward him, head tilted in mock thought. He didn’t plan it, exactly, he just felt like saying something.
Something stupid.
“Hey, Jo,” Yuma started, starting to get closer to him with a lazy grin on his face.
Jo looked up from his phone, already suspicious. “Yeah?”
“If you had to kiss one of the members,” Yuma said, drawing out the question like it was nothing, like he was asking what Jo wanted for dinner, “who would it be?”
Jo blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”
Yuma shrugged, all nonchalance. “Just curious.”
Jo hesitated, eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out if this was a trap. “Why?”
“Why not?” Yuma countered, tilting his head. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, locked onto Jo like he was waiting for something, anything.
Jo’s ears were already starting to turn pink. “I—I don’t know.”
“C’mon,” Yuma pressed, a smile curling at the edge of his lips. “You have to pick. Hypothetically. Like, life or death situation. Who would you kiss?”
Jo looked down at his phone again, suddenly very focused on the lock screen that hadn’t changed in months. “I’m not answering that.”
“Oh, Jojo,” Yuma sing-songed, moving closer, just enough to loom a little. His voice dropped slightly, teasing but warm. He pouted a little,leaning in like he was genuinely wounded. “What if I said I’d pick you?”
Jo’s head snapped up, wide-eyed. “What?”
Yuma held his gaze, lips parted like he might say something more, like he was weighing the risk of letting the joke hang just a moment longer. The room felt quieter all of a sudden, like even the air was waiting for Jo’s response.
Jo looked stunned, like someone had pulled the ground out from under him. He wasn’t blushing yet, but he looked dangerously close.
And he soaked it in. The stunned silence, the tiny flicker of something in Jo’s eyes that wasn’t confusion or panic—it was hope. Barely there, but Yuma saw it. Felt it.
His heart gave an annoying little thud.
Then he grinned and leaned back, all casual swagger again, waving a hand. “Kidding! Kidding. Don’t get all serious on me, dummy.”
Jo let out a breath, half-laughing, half-choking. “You’re crazy.”
Yuma just shrugged. “You’re the one who still didn’t answer the question.”
Jo groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Why are you like this?”
Yuma didn’t reply. He just smiled to himself, eyes flicking over to Jo’s flushed ears
Because he liked him. Too damn much. That’s why.
He couldn’t stop teasing him and seeing his beautiful reactions, how Jo’s face would flush just under the cheekbones, how his eyes would dart away but always come back, like he couldn’t help it.
Yuma loved watching the way Jo’s composure cracked, just slightly, whenever he said something bold. Like Jo didn’t know whether to run or lean in closer.
And maybe Yuma was cruel for it, for playing this game so often. But it wasn’t just for fun anymore. Not really.
It was because Jo made his heart feel stupid things.
Because every time Jo looked at him like that, like he didn’t know what to do with the way he felt, it made Yuma want to get closer. Close enough to pull the truth out of him, word by word, touch by touch.
But not yet.
Yuma wasn’t going to break the tension just like that. He wanted Jo to meet him halfway. Wanted him to admit it first, even if it came out in a frustrated, flustered mess. He could picture it perfectly, Jo finally snapping, voice loud, face too red, blurting out something like “Fine! I like you, okay? Happy now?”
God, he’d die on the spot.
But until then, he’d keep doing what he did best, getting under Jo’s skin. Slowly. Sweetly. Completely.
And judging by the way Jo was still hiding his face, trying to get his breathing under control, Yuma was doing a pretty good job so far.
So Yuma inched even closer, elbow brushing Jo’s arm now. He grabbed his bicep and squeezed it a little, something he did often, under the excuse of playfulness, but always just a little too lingering.
“Come on,” Yuma coaxed, voice soft now, low and persuasive. “It’s not that deep. Hypothetically. Just say a name. Could be anyone. Maki, Harua, Taki… Me.”
Jo’s breath caught, his entire body going still like someone had hit pause. The word me echoed louder than it should’ve in his mind, stretching out between them like a challenge.
Yuma’s hand was still on his arm, warm and grounding. Too real. Too dangerous.
Jo turned to look at him, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if Yuma had actually said it or if his brain had made it up just to torment him.
Yuma looked back, eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk playing at his lips, but there was something in his expression, something just beneath the surface, unreadable and serious and there.
Yuma grinned, slow and lazy. “What? Would that be so terrible?”
Jo blinked at him, mouth slightly open, like he was trying to form a response but had forgotten how words worked. His heart was pounding in his chest, loud, frantic, betraying every effort to stay composed.
He hadn’t meant to go that far. Or maybe he had. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Jo looked at him like he didn’t know if he was joking or confessing something. Like he didn’t know which answer would be worse.
For a beat, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, not exactly, it was charged. Like the air between them had shifted, gone too still. Like the room was holding its breath right alongside them.
Yuma held still, just for a moment longer.
Watching Jo.
Watching the way his chest rose too quickly. The way his eyes searched Yuma’s face like he might find an answer there, something real, something he wasn’t ready for.
But then Jo’s gaze dropped. His mouth closed. His whole body curled inward, like he was trying to shrink the feeling down before it swallowed him whole.
Yuma’s stomach twisted.
He blinked, broke the tension, and let his mouth curve up into that easy, crooked smile he’d mastered years ago, the one that meant just kidding, don’t look too closely.
“You’re cute when you panic,” he said, and this time, his smile was easier to hold. Safe ground.
Jo let out a breath, clearly rattled, and muttered, “I’m not panicking.”
But he was. Yuma could tell. He could feel the tension rolling off of him, sharp and electric. And God help him, it was addictive.
He forced himself to let go of Jo’s arm, even though he didn’t want to. Even though he could still feel the shape of it under his fingers, solid and warm. He gave it one last squeeze, subtle, grounding, selfish.
Then he leaned back, stretching like none of this had mattered. “You still didn’t say no,” he tossed out casually, the words playful on the outside but heavy underneath.
Jo didn’t answer.
Just turned away, shoulders a little hunched like he was trying to disappear into the couch.
Yuma stared at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. His heart thudded, loud and annoying and hopeful. This was dangerous. He knew that.
But he also knew he wasn’t stopping.
Not when Jo looked at him like he almost believed it.
God, he wanted to reach out.
He wanted to say, you don’t have to be so scared with me.
He wanted to see what Jo would do if he meant it, if he dropped the act, even just for a second.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned forward to grab the remote off the coffee table, nudging Jo’s leg with his own in the process. “You hungry?” he asked, light as ever. “We should order something. Before I start chewing on your arm.”
Jo made a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and shoved at him weakly.
Yuma grinned. Like always. Like it was just another night.
But his chest ached with everything he didn’t say.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Later that night, Yuma lay on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes, the other still holding his phone, untouched for the last twenty minutes.
He’d been replaying it.
Jo’s silence.
The look in his eyes, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Yuma exhaled slowly.
He hadn’t even meant to take it that far. Or maybe he had, but not tonight. Not when Jo looked that soft and tired and kissable in his sleeveless top.
He rolled over and groaned into his pillow. He was losing his mind.
But how was he supposed to not try, when Jo looked at him like he almost believed it?
When his ears flushed and his hands trembled just a little?
Yuma smiled into the dark, quiet and private. He was getting closer.
God, he wanted Jo to kiss him first.
But if he didn’t, Yuma wasn’t sure how long he could hold out.
He turned over, face buried in his pillow now, groaning softly. His room was quiet—too quiet, since Euijoo was nowhere to be seen—but the silence made it easier to admit things he couldn’t say out loud.
Like how bad he wanted Jo to kiss him.
Not just because of the flirting. Not because it would be funny or satisfying or hot.
Because it would mean something.
It would mean everything.
He clenched the edge of his blanket in one hand, biting back a smile. Jo had looked so wrecked earlier, like Yuma’s words had shaken something loose in him that he’d been holding in for too long. Maybe tomorrow Jo would act normal again. Or maybe he’d avoid him completely. Yuma didn’t know which would be worse.
But either way, he’d keep pushing. Not in a mean way. Just enough to remind Jo: I’m still here. I’m not scared of how I feel. You don’t have to be either.
He rolled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling.
“God,” he whispered into the stillness. “Just fucking kiss me already, Jo.”
And if he dreamed about it that night, if in his sleep Jo actually leaned in and did it, soft and certain and real. Well.
No one had to know.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Yuma woke up with the sun slicing through the curtains and a faint ache behind his eyes, not from lack of sleep, just from thinking too much. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, heart annoyingly steady considering how much his brain was buzzing.
He’d dreamed about Jo again.
Of course he had.
Jo, leaning in. Jo, brushing their noses together. Jo, kissing him like he meant it.
Yuma groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. “Get a fucking grip,” he muttered.
But it was already too late.
The second he stepped out of his room and padded into the kitchen, hair still messy, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, he saw Jo sitting at the counter.
Jo looked up and froze.
It was brief, less than a second, but Yuma caught it. The way Jo stiffened. The way his eyes darted back down to his cereal like they’d burned themselves on Yuma’s face.
Yuma blinked.
Okay. So we’re doing that today.
He crossed the room casually, like he hadn’t noticed anything, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. “Morning.”
Jo didn’t answer immediately. “Morning,” quiet and weirdly formal, like Yuma was a stranger he was trying not to offend.
Yuma filled the glass with water and sipped slowly. “You slept okay?”
Jo nodded. “Yeah.” Pause. “You?”
Yuma smiled around the rim of the glass. He’s trying. “Yeah. Dreamed of someone cute.”
That got a reaction. Jo’s spoon clinked too hard against the bowl. He didn’t look up.
Yuma leaned his hip against the counter, watching him. “You sure you’re not mad at me?” he asked, soft, just a little too sincere.
Jo blinked. “Why would I be mad?”
“You didn’t say much after the whole... hypothetical kiss game.” Yuma smirked, his voice low and smooth, just a little too casual. “You’ve been quiet, Jojo. Are you thinking too much?”
Jo’s ears went red instantly, blooming with color like a tell he couldn’t control. His spoon slipped from his fingers and clattered against the side of the bowl, loud in the quiet kitchen. “I’m not—! I mean, I wasn’t—”
His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, fluster bleeding into every word.
Yuma bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from widening too much. God, he loved this part. Not because he enjoyed making Jo squirm —He did, actually— but because it was the closest Jo ever came to being transparent. To letting something slip.
Jo groaned and finally looked up at him, their eyes meeting for the first time that day, and just like that, the world tilted a little.
His gaze was sharp but shaken, like he was trying to glare but couldn't quite hold it together under Yuma’s smirk. And he felt it, felt something flicker between them, fast and bright and impossible to name.
But Jo looked away too quickly, breaking the tension with a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose like the sheer existence of Yuma was giving him a headache. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered.
Yuma laughed, light and warm. But underneath it, his heart thumped hard against his ribs. “I get that a lot.”
But behind the grin, his chest felt tight. He was still teasing, still playing the part, but he was watching closely now.
He watched Jo closely, eyes tracking every tiny movement, how his fingers fidgeted with the edge of the cereal bowl, how he kept his shoulders curled in like he wanted to disappear. How his ears were still flushed a warm, guilty red, betraying the quiet war happening inside his head.
Yuma tilted his head, his posture relaxed but gaze laser-focused. His fingers tapped lightly against the counter, almost rhythmically, like he was keeping time with Jo’s unraveling. There was a gleam in his eye, mischievous on the surface, but if Jo looked just a little deeper, he’d see the softness hiding underneath. The want.
Jo was cracking.
Finally.
And Yuma didn’t want to break him. He just wanted Jo to see it, to really see him.
To see how much was waiting behind the jokes and the lazy smiles. How much care there was in the way he leaned in, in the way he let Jo get under his skin and stay there. How much softness lived in the pauses between his teasing words.
Jo kept his eyes averted, cheeks flushed, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, and God, Yuma wanted to kiss him so badly it made his throat ache.
He looked so close to saying something. To feeling something.
Yuma tilted his head slightly, just watching. Letting the silence stretch between them again, not awkward, but charged, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.
His fingers itched to reach out. To tuck a piece of hair behind Jo’s ear. To touch him somewhere that wasn’t a joke.
But he didn’t move.
He just stood there, leaning against the counter with that same crooked grin, hiding behind the safety of it, waiting.
Waiting for Jo to realize what was happening. That this wasn’t just teasing. That it hadn’t been for a while now.
That Yuma was already his, completely, he just hadn’t said it yet.
Not unless Jo said it first.
Yuma exhaled slowly, forcing his body to move before his heart gave him away. He turned from the counter, grabbed his glass, and walked off toward the shelf where they kept the coffee, needing the motion, the distance, anything to ground him before he did something stupid, like lean in and kiss Jo breathless. His back was to him when he heard it.
“Yuma.”
The word, just his name, barely more than a breath, stopped him mid-step. Not loud. Not demanding. But it hit him like a hand to the chest.
He turned slowly.
Jo hadn’t moved much, still perched at the counter, hands tight around his bowl, but his head was up now, and his eyes were on him. Really on him. There was nothing guarded in them this time, no sarcastic bite or practiced deflection. Just something wide and quiet and trembling, like he was on the verge of something he didn’t know how to name.
Yuma met his gaze, and the world quieted. The sunlight cut across Jo’s face, catching on his lashes, the curve of his cheek, the pink still lingering at his ears. He looked soft. Startled. Beautiful in that way he always was when he forgot to hide it.
Neither of them spoke.
Yuma didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. His mouth parted slightly like he wanted to say something but knew better. There was no mask this time, no performance, just the full weight of what he felt, naked in his expression. Want. Fear. Hope.
And Jo didn’t look away.
The silence between them stretched, humming with everything neither of them could bring themselves to say. But in that moment, the look they shared said more than either of them ever had.
Yuma stood frozen, fingers clenched loosely around his glass, the echo of his name still pulsing in his ears. He turned slowly, heart thudding, eyes meeting Jo’s across the quiet kitchen. Jo hadn’t moved from his stool, but he was looking at him now, really looking, and something about that gaze made Yuma feel like he was standing in the center of a storm. There was no anger, no teasing, no mask, just a quiet, frightened kind of intensity. A question he hadn’t asked. A door half-opened.
Yuma said nothing. Didn’t dare. The room felt too fragile.
Jo hesitated, lips parting, eyes flicking down for just a second before lifting again, locking with his. His voice was soft, barely audible, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be heard or not. “I did think about it,” he said. The words hung in the air like a thread between them, thin, delicate, trembling.
Yuma blinked, breath caught. He didn’t have to ask what Jo meant. He knew. The hypothetical kiss. The question that was never really just a question.
Jo’s gaze didn’t falter this time, but everything in his body was tense, like he was preparing for Yuma to laugh, to joke, to turn it into something light again. Something safe.
Yuma’s fingers curled tighter around the glass in his hand. His mouth opened, but no words came. His heart was too loud. His thoughts too fast. He was so sure this was it, but also terrified it wasn’t. That he’d imagined it. That Jo would pull back again, like he always did, and leave Yuma standing in the wreckage of hope.
Jo swallowed, eyes flicking down to Yuma’s lips, then back up, and said, just slightly steadier this time, “You. I’d kiss you.”
It was quiet. Uneven.
But it landed like a stone in Yuma’s chest.
Time slowed. The silence afterward felt dense, electric, like the whole room was holding its breath.
And Yuma didn’t smile.
He couldn’t.
His whole body was buzzing, frozen between wanting to laugh with relief or cry from the weight of it. From the sheer, stupid softness of hearing Jo say it.
He felt raw. Unsteady. Like the floor beneath him had shifted a few inches sideways.
Jo looked like he wanted to disappear. His shoulders were drawn up tight, his hands buried in his sleeves, head bowed slightly like maybe he regretted saying anything at all.
And that broke something in Yuma’s chest.
Because Jo didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, what it meant to him.
To be chosen by him.
Even hypothetically.
He wanted to say something—anything—to meet Jo halfway. To make this moment easier. But everything he thought of felt too big, too permanent. Like touching glass and knowing it might shatter in his hands.
All he could manage, in a voice rough around the edges, was, “Me too.”
The words slipped out before he could second-guess them, low and quiet, not a performance, not a tease, just truth. Bare and trembling in the space between them.
Jo’s head lifted, slowly.
His eyes met Yuma’s, wide and stunned, like he hadn’t expected to be answered, like he’d been bracing for silence, or worse, laughter. Something to fold him back into himself.
But Yuma just stood there, still and open, not smiling, not flinching. Just there.
Jo’s lips parted, like he might say something else, but no sound came. His hands were still curled in his sleeves, but his shoulders eased, just slightly. The tension didn’t vanish, but it softened around the edges.
They stared at each other.
Long enough for Yuma to feel the heat rise in his face. Long enough for it to feel like the world had narrowed to just this kitchen, just this moment, just them.
And then, without a word, Jo nodded, small, uncertain. Not a yes. Not yet.
But not a no, either.
He stepped back, eyes still on Yuma, then turned and left the room in silence, leaving Yuma standing alone, heart pounding, throat tight, skin buzzing from everything that had just cracked open between them.
It wasn’t finished. Not even close.
But it had finally started.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Yuma found Jo alone in the practice room.
He wasn’t doing much, just stretching lazily on the floor, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair slightly damp like he’d showered not long ago. There was music playing from his phone, low and lo-fi, something Yuma couldn’t name but instantly associated with Jo.
It should’ve felt normal.
But it didn’t.
Not after that morning.
Jo glanced up when Yuma stepped inside, and for a second, the room held still. His eyes caught on Yuma’s, just a beat too long before he looked away, pretending to fiddle with his playlist like it needed adjusting.
Yuma’s chest tightened.
“Hey,” he said, voice light, like nothing had happened.
Jo nodded. “Hey.”
Yuma dropped his bag by the wall and sat down on the floor nearby, just close enough to feel the warmth of Jo’s presence. He didn’t say anything right away. Neither did Jo.
The silence stretched, but not like before. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet, like they were both waiting to see who would be brave first.
Yuma leaned back on his hands, eyes on the ceiling. “You left kinda fast this morning.”
Jo paused. “Yeah.”
Another beat of silence.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Jo admitted, still not looking at him. “After.”
Yuma turned his head toward him, studying the curve of his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap again.
“You didn’t have to do anything,” Yuma said gently.
Jo finally looked at him.
There was that same wide, wary openness in his eyes, like a door half-cracked, waiting to be pushed, but not forced.
“I said what I said,” Yuma continued. “And I meant it.”
Jo’s lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he gave the smallest nod, gaze falling to the floor between them.
Yuma shifted forward, just slightly, until their knees almost touched.
He didn’t reach for him. Didn’t say too much. Didn’t press.
He just waited, soft and steady, like he could do this forever if Jo needed him to.
And when Jo finally leaned in, only just a little, it felt like the beginning of something real.
Jo didn’t pull away.
He stayed there, close, still not touching, but closer than he would’ve dared a day ago. His gaze was on the floor between them, lashes low, fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie like he needed something to hold.
Yuma waited. He’d already said his part. Now he gave Jo the space to speak, if he wanted to.
And eventually, he did.
“I didn’t say anything for so long because…” Jo’s voice was quiet, like he was trying not to disturb the air. “I didn’t know how to handle it. How you made me feel.”
Yuma’s chest tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
Jo gave a dry, nervous laugh, still not looking at him. “You were always messing around, and I thought… if I took it seriously, I’d ruin it. Or worse, I’d get it wrong. Misread it. And then I’d lose you.”
Yuma swallowed. “You weren’t wrong.”
Jo finally looked at him, startled. Yuma smiled softly, not teasing, not smug, just him.
“I wanted you to take it seriously,” he said, voice steady. “Even when I made it a joke.”
Jo’s expression flickered, something between relief and guilt. “You must’ve thought I was so dense.”
Yuma laughed, quiet and fond. “A little.”
That earned him a weak smile. The kind Jo gave when he was still scared but trying. And God, it made Yuma want to grab his hand and never let go.
Instead, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I was scared too, you know.”
Jo blinked. “You didn’t seem like it.”
“Yeah, well,” Yuma said, nudging his shoulder gently against Jo’s, “I’m annoying like that.”
Jo snorted. “You are annoying.”
Yuma grinned. “But you’d kiss me anyway, huh?”
Jo’s ears went red instantly, but he didn’t back away. “Hypothetically.”
Yuma’s smile softened. “Right. Hypothetically.”
And for a long moment, they sat there in the quiet again, breathing the same air, the space between them charged, but no longer uncertain.
They sat in that charged quiet, neither rushing it, both still afraid in their own ways, but something was different now. The fear wasn’t stopping them. It was just part of it.
Jo’s hands were still knotted in the hem of his hoodie, his fingers twitching like he wanted to move but didn’t trust himself to. Yuma noticed, glanced down, then back up at Jo’s face.
His voice was low. “Can I…?”
Jo didn’t ask what. He just nodded.
And slowly—carefully—Yuma reached out and placed his hand over Jo’s.
It wasn’t dramatic. No trembling fingertips or cinematic music in the background. Just skin against skin. Warm. Tentative.
Jo’s fingers stilled under his touch.
Then curled upward.
Not holding him, not quite, but meeting him.
Yuma looked at him, and Jo was already looking back. The tension in his jaw had eased. His lips parted like he might say something, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to.
The moment was enough.
Yuma gave the faintest squeeze, barely there, but deliberate.
Jo didn’t let go.
And neither did he.
For a long moment, they sat there in stillness, the kind that didn’t demand anything, just allowed them to be. Their hands stayed gently tangled, palms warm, fingertips brushing softly like they were still testing the shape of each other’s presence.
Jo’s hand was cold at first, his fingers a little stiff, hesitant, but he didn’t pull away. Slowly, almost absently, he shifted his thumb and began to trace small circles over Yuma’s skin. It was barely anything, but Yuma felt it like a jolt under his ribs.
Neither of them said a word.
But everything felt loud.
The low hum of the music playing from Jo’s phone.
The creak of the practice room floor beneath their legs.
The soft hitch of breath when Jo finally looked down at their hands, like he was realizing, really seeing, what was happening.
Then he exhaled hard through his nose and mumbled, “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”
The words hit the air and hung there for a beat, awkward and sincere.
Yuma blinked.
And then laughed, sudden and sharp, the sound bursting out of him before he could help it. He tilted forward with it, shoulder bumping against Jo’s.
Jo groaned, loud and mortified. “I said feel, not that I will—”
“No, no,” Yuma managed between breaths, eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s just—God, Jo. That’s such a you thing to say after a moment like this.”
Jo made a noise of protest, dragging his free hand up to cover his face, hoodie sleeve bunched halfway over his fingers. But he still didn’t let go of Yuma’s hand. If anything, his grip was firmer now.
“This is why I don’t do feelings,” he muttered behind his palm.
Yuma leaned in closer, resting his weight slightly against Jo’s side, voice softer now, threaded with something fond. “Well, unfortunately for you, you just did.”
Jo peeked at him between his fingers. His face was red, but his eyes were clear. “Yeah,” he admitted, breath catching. “I guess I did.”
Yuma’s smile curved slow, almost shy despite everything, the kind of smile he only gave when something hit too deep to cover with a joke. “And?”
Jo groaned again but didn’t look away this time. “It’s terrible.”
Yuma laughed again, lower now, the sound settling between them like warmth. “I know.”
Jo’s expression cracked—just slightly—and then he was smiling, small and crooked, like he didn’t quite know how to yet. But it was real.
They didn’t move for a while. Just sat there on the worn floor, shoulders pressed together, fingers loosely intertwined, two matching pulses thudding quietly in sync.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and strange and still half-unspoken.
But it was theirs.
And for now, that was more than enough.
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