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After the filming the night before the final wraps up, when they’re all lying scattered in the makeshift beds, Junseo’s eyes find their way back to Jiahao, who’s lying on his stomach, fingers delicately laced underneath his temple. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing softly, steadily. Junseo flushes slightly in the dark, his somewhat convoluted and embarrassing confession replaying in his head, that yes, he’d been watching Jiahao all along, wanting to get closer but not knowing how.
During practice they’d started to slowly bridge the gap between them, but Junseo wants to be closer still. Wants things he doesn’t know the name off just yet, things he knows he shouldn’t, given the circumstances. They might not even debut together. This might be the first and last night they spend in the same room. He reaches out and very carefully brushes the hair out of Jiahao’s eyes, fingers brushing his skin just barely, and he feels like a thief, a criminal–
Jiahao’s eyes blink open, and Junseo freezes mid-motion, staring at Jiahao wide eyed. His fingers are still hovering close, too close. He flushes even worse, but before he can apologize, Jiahao smiles softly at him in an indulging sort of way that Junseo has no idea what to do with.
“Can’t sleep?” Jiahao asks in a whisper, lifting his head and with the motion pressing into Junseo’s touch, so that Junseo ends up nearly cradling his face, entirely out of his depth.
He doesn’t dare pull away, magnetized by the look on Jiahao’s face that bears no scorn nor any sign of him being weirded out by Junseo’s actions. If anything he looks somehow secretly pleased.
“No,” Junseo replies, “I can’t.”
Jiahao nods, and looks around the room, the many sleeping bodies surrounding them, though Junseo is sure some of them must just be pretending. Then he lies back down on his side, so that they’re lying face to face. He looks pretty even upside down. Junseo finally pulls his hand back, letting it rest in front of him. Jiahao looks thoughtful for a moment, eyes moving from Junseo’s face to his hand, and then– he reaches up and threads his fingers through Junseo’s, pulling his hand so that they’re palm to palm.
“You’re very… kind,” Jiahao says, still whispering. Each word is carefully chosen, the care with which one always speaks when using a language that’s not quite your own yet. It makes every word feel precious, like a privilege to be on the receiving end of. “But you worry too much. About everyone else, and not… yourself.”
“I… I am worried about myself,” Junseo confesses, voice very small too. The feeling of another hand in his steadies him somewhat, grounds him. “About whether or not I’ll make it. I’m really worried.”
“You will,” Jiahao says. He sounds so uncompromisingly sure that Junseo is almost inclined to believe him. “You’ve never left the top eight, and… you’re good, hyung.”
Junseo can’t help but smile, letting out a breathless little laugh. “Thank you, Hao,” he says. “For whatever it’s worth, I think you’ll make it too. You’re too talented not to.”
Jiahao smiles back, squeezing his hand. “Together?” He says quietly.
It’s not quite a promise, but something close to it. Something secret, to be tucked between the ribs and held there till either it happens or it doesn’t.
Junseo nods. “Together,” he says.
…
Together. They were debuting together. A word whispered so carefully, a promise barely made at all, but nonetheless kept. When Jiahao was called, when Junseo was the second person he went to hug– he whispered it again, inaudible to anyone but them. Junseo clung to it for the rest of the night, desperately, with the desperation of someone trying to claw their way towards their dream for the third time. And there, up on the stairs, with open arms, stands Jiahao. They embrace tightly, no words needed now.
The rest of the show passes in a strange blur. Junseo remembers Masato coming to him, hugging him tightly, finally shedding all the tears he’d been holding on to. He remembers a similar promise made and broken between the two of them. There’s his other friends too, Dongyun, Seowon, Chingyu, and Yumeki among them, all of them happy for him. He feels both relieved and torn, thinking of his members back home, how he’d have to build a new home for himself now, outside of the familiar walls of the WEI dorm. And then he sees Jiahao in the crowd, smiling brightly, speaking animatedly in Mandarin with his friends, and he thinks– he thinks maybe he can do it, maybe they can do it– together.
Before they get to go back to the dorm, there’s a few last things Mnet wants them to do. A quick live to say hello, a video greeting, group pictures. Junseo hovers around the three youngest, Anxin and Sanghyeon especially, who’d cried more than anyone else. Jiahao is there with him, whispering things to Anxin that only he can say, a well practiced ease to their closeness. They wrap up the last of their duties and are finally allowed to go back home, divided and herded into cars, all of them at this point both mentally and physically exhausted.
Junseo somehow ends up in the backseat next to Jiahao, who in the silence, takes Junseo’s hand again. This time, it seems more for his own sake than for Junseo’s, given the shake in his breath and the sweaty palm that finds Junseo’s. But Junseo doesn’t mind, he welcomes it– he squeezes Jiahao’s hand tightly. They don’t say anything; what is there to say? It’s enough, this moment, not to speak, to just hold and be held.
They enter the dorm stumbling like the weight of it all has finally come crashing down on them. The dorm itself is nice, if a little bare. There’s four bedrooms with two beds in each, an open kitchen and living space, and a bathroom. But Junseo feels almost sure most of them would rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere already home, not somewhere yet to be one.
“Let’s not worry about roommate assignments right now,” Junseo starts, one hand on Sanghyeon’s shoulder, eyes drifting between the members. “As for showering, let’s just do it by age. Youngest first.”
“Hyung–” Sanghyeon says, like he’s about to protest, but Junseo shakes his head and squeezes his shoulder firmly.
“I agree with Junseo hyung,” Jiahao says softly, eyes moving from Sanghyeon to Anxin, who’s still a little red in the face from crying.
Sanghyeon whines just a bit more before finally going to take a shower, the rest of them settling either on the couch or on one of the chairs by the kitchen island. Their numbers slowly dwindle as people finish showering until only Junseo and Jiahao are left, both of them on the couch. Jiahao is sitting cross legged, chin resting on his hands, eyes closed. He looks almost serene, far more composed than Junseo suspects he himself looks right now.
“Hao,” he says, reaching over and touching his knee. “It’s your turn to shower.”
“You can go first,” Jiahao replies, opening his eyes and turning to look at him. There’s a gentle smile on his face, and he looks somewhat hazy, soft around the edges. His hair had lost the shape the stylists had so carefully given it, hanging into his eyes, still in the white t-shirt they’d been given to wear for the live. “I don’t mind.”
“I said we’d do it by age,” Junseo says, shaking his head. “And besides, I think there’s someone who needs you more than they need me.”
“Anxin is fine,” Jiahao says, still smiling gently. “He’s already asleep.”
“Oh,” Junseo says, and he feels his heart settle, some of the weight on his shoulders slipping off. He sighs, “that’s good. I guess he tired himself out crying.”
Jiahao nods, his hands falling into his lap. Junseo realizes he’s still touching his knee, and he pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers. Then he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but changes his mind, closing it again. The silence stretches out between them, wraps around them, not uncomfortable, only quiet.
“Please just shower,” Junseo says at length, attempting a smile.
Jiahao surveys him steadily, eyes studying Junseo’s face for a little longer, and it makes him feel see through.
“Okay, hyung,” Jiahao says, and he touches Junseo’s shoulder as he walks past, on purpose.
Junseo watches him as he goes, watches his back, the angle of his shoulders. Studies the tallness of him, how well he hides his weariness, no doubt from many years of experience doing it. The door closes with a click, and Junseo sinks back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He’s not sure what’s tumbling around in the pit of his stomach, neither hard nor soft, but something malleable– something to be kneaded and created.
He thinks about Jiahao, his hand on his shoulder. The night before, and the car ride– how he selfishly wants more, how he wants to be closer still. And when Jiahao looks at him like he did before, it’s like he’s seeing right into him, under his skin and through his ribs, and he’s worried Jiahao can see it. That it’s written all over his face.
In what feels like no time at all, Junseo hears the shower turn off and he gets up, but halfway to the bathroom he freezes. The door has swung open to reveal Jiahao, who’s standing in front of him now, shirtless, wet hair swept back though a few strands stick to his forehead. He’s clutching a towel and the white t-shirt and jeans they’d been given in one hand, boxer shorts hanging low on his waist. Junseo immediately turns his head away, quite sure that he’s flushing terribly.
“Sorry, I didn’t think–”
“It’s okay,” Jiahao says, “I don’t mind.”
The soft tone in Jiahao’s voice makes him turn back to face him, and he tries not to let his eyes wander, but it’s hard not to when Jiahao is standing in front of him like this, open, earnest.
“Hao,” Junseo says, for no other reason than to say it, because it’s his name.
Jiahao smiles slightly, and he takes a step closer while Junseo stays rooted to the spot, and he touches Junseo’s arm, slender fingers pressing into his skin. “It runs really hot,” he says. “Be careful, hyung.”
“I will, Hao-yah.”
Ah. The nickname slips off his tongue a little too easily, too readily for it not to be apparent that Junseo had thought about it before, turned it over in his head, tucked it under his tongue. But Jiahao only smiles back, and though Junseo can’t be sure, and it could just be from the hot shower, he could swear he sees a slight flush on his cheeks. Then he dips his head and disappears into one of the rooms, leaving Junseo to shower.
After a quick, slightly too hot shower, Junseo comes back into the living room and realizes that all the rooms had been filled except one, where the door has been left ajar. He pushes it open quietly, but the person on the other side is still awake, and it’s Jiahao. He’s wearing a shirt now, sitting on the edge of the bed, and he looks up at Junseo as he enters. Junseo is the one shirtless now, and he feels Jiahao’s eyes on him, moving slowly up to his face.
“Junseo hyung,” he says.
“Hao,” Junseo replies.
“The shower– it was good…?” Jiahao asks.
“Yeah,” Junseo replies, a little breathless.
Neither of them have turned on a lamp, so the only light in the room is that of the moon and the street lamps outside, and it somehow makes everything feel too intimate. Too tender. Too close to something it isn’t. He’s not sure how to do this. He knew what to do when they were in the practice room, when they were waiting to go on stage, in front of cameras. He does not know what to do with Jiahao in a dark room where it’s only the two of them.
He turns to his bag, if nothing else, just to have something to do with his hands, and busies himself with sorting through his clothes, looking for something to wear to bed. He doesn’t turn back around till he’s dressed again, and when he turns back around, he finds that Jiahao is still looking at him.
“Are you okay?” Junseo says, sitting down on the edge of his own bed.
“My body is tired,” Jiahao says, “but my brain isn’t.”
“And I’m the one who worries too much,” Junseo says with a soft smile that Jiahao returns. “But if you need to talk, Hao… I’m here. Not just tonight, but any night. Any time.”
Jiahao nods, then, “you can call me Hao-yah,” he says.
“… Hao-yah,” Junseo repeats. For whatever reason, he feels his cheeks heat up again, and he turns his head away.
“You’re… uncomfortable?” Jiahao asks, and Junseo’s head snaps right back to look at him. There’s a look on Jiahao’s face that he can’t quite read, like the word ‘uncomfortable’ isn’t right, but he doesn’t know the word he wants to say. He adds, “you look troubled.”
“Yeah,” he says, sucking in a shaky breath through his teeth. “I’m just… last night I said you were the person I wanted to get close too, and now we’re sharing the same room. We said we’d do this together, and now… we are. It’s just– I can’t really believe it, I guess. It seems too good to be true. Like at any moment I might wake up and find out it’s all been a dream, and the finale hasn’t happened yet.”
A beat. Jiahao looks thoughtful, eyes still studying Junseo’s face. It’s the truth, if only part of it– the other part, the part where Junseo can’t get the image of a shirtless Jiahao in front of him out of his head, where he accidentally calls him Hao– he tucks that between his teeth.
“Me too,” Jiahao says finally, “I’m afraid this is… just a dream. That when I go to sleep, I’ll wake up… and we’ll be back in that place, with all the cameras, with all the pressure. With all the… uncertainty.”
Junseo nods, quiet understanding passing between them. Then, quietly, more to himself than to Jiahao, and with a shake in his voice he cannot hide, he says, “but it’s real, isn’t it? We really made it, didn’t we…?”
Another length of silence. Then Jiahao stands up and crosses the room, sitting down next to Junseo on his bed. Junseo turns to look at him, breath caught in his throat. Jiahao wraps his fingers around Junseo’s wrist and lifts his hand to press it to his chest, right above his heart. Junseo feels it beat in the palm of his hand and feels like he’s just been offered something more precious than gold, more fragile than a baby bird, and it skips and stutters like the flap of its wings. Real, in a raw sort of way that makes Junseo feel dizzy. He closes his eyes, breathing in slowly, trying to match Jiahao’s breaths. Anchoring himself to the heart under his hand and the warm body next to him.
A finger brushes his brow, his temple, as Jiahao sweeps the hair out of his eyes like Junseo had done the night before. He doesn’t open his eyes, afraid that this too will have turned out to be a dream of some sort. He can’t stop another shaky breath from coming, and his head falls forwards, unaware of how close they now were– as he does it, his cheek hits Jiahao’s shoulder. He expects the other boy to freeze up, but he doesn’t; instead Jiahao puts a hand on the back of Junseo’s head, and lets him rest his cheek there.
“In your other group,” Jiahao starts quietly, “in WEi– you’re the youngest, right…?”
Junseo nods, not trusting his voice to not betray him.
“It must be weird, then, to be the oldest now,” he continues, threading his fingers through Junseo’s hair. “When you’ve been the youngest for so long. But I think… no, I want you to know that I can bear some of it too. The burden… we can share it. You can lean on me.”
Junseo finally opens his eyes again and lifts his head to look at Jiahao, who looks back at him, brown eyes shining even in the dark. He looks sure, but Junseo isn’t. How could he ask that of him? Before he can say anything, however, Jiahao has put a hand on his cheek.
“Together,” Jiahao says. “You agreed.”
“I didn’t mean… Hao, I don’t want to burden you.”
“It wouldn’t be a burden,” Jiahao says, shaking his head. “Really, hyung, it wouldn’t. We can lean on each other. That way it won’t be as heavy.”
Junseo sighs, but he can’t find it in himself to argue when Jiahao looks at him like that, when he’s holding his face in his hands. He’s holding his face in his hands. He blinks, and for a moment, just for a second, his eyes flick down to Jiahao’s slightly parted lips, and they’re so close– all he’d have to do was lean forwards, just a little– but before he can, Jiahao’s already closed the gap between them.
His lips press to Junseo’s softly at first, just barely. Junseo is the one who leans forward the second time, this time more firmly, the hand he’d pressed to Jiahao’s chest sliding up to grab his shoulder. Jiahao’s hand moves from his cheek to his jaw, his other hand finding Junseo’s waist. They cling to each other like there’s nothing else stopping them from slipping away. When they break apart to breathe, Junseo feels again like he must be in a dream.
“You’re real, right?” Junseo asks softly. His eyes move across Jiahao’s face, taking in his features, the curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose. The way his brow sets and the way his pupils look when they’re blown just enough for it to show.
“I’m real,” Jiahao replies. “And you?”
“Real,” Junseo says. “That… you…”
“Together,” Jiahao says again.
He smiles gently and takes Junseo’s hand again, not to lead, not to comfort, but simply because it’s Junseo’s. A million questions race through Junseo’s mind, but he’s tired, and Jiahao’s skin is soft and his hands are warm. There’s a world outside, consequences, expectations, but not here.
“Okay,” Junseo says. “Together.”