Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leo didn’t sleep that night. Not properly. Not with Xinlong plastered to his side like a living sedative and stimulant at the same time. Every time Xinlong shifted even a little, the soft drag of his thigh against Leo’s leg sent a hot, traitorous jolt through his body. At one point, in his sleep, Xinlong threw a leg over Leo’s hips. Leo stopped breathing for a full seven seconds and saw every mistake he’d ever made flash before his eyes.

Morning didn’t help.

He woke up to Xinlong still wrapped around him, face tucked into the side of his neck, one hand lazily resting on Leo’s waist like it had always belonged there. His thigh was draped over Leo’s hips. His pajamas had ridden up just enough that Leo could see smooth, pale skin. Leo wanted to scream into a pillow. Instead he stared at the ceiling and considered passing away peacefully.

Eventually, Xinlong woke up with a little hum, blinked sleepily, then smiled like Leo was sunrise and not a man in medical distress.

“You didn’t kick me,” he said softly.

“I considered it,” Leo lied. He had not. He had considered death and exile.

Xinlong didn’t move. In fact, he somehow managed to burrow even closer, warm breath brushing Leo’s throat. "Mm. You're comfortable."

Comfortable? I'm a warzone.

Leo gathered enough will to speak. “You have your own bed.”

Xinlong blinked up at him. “Yeah, but you were warm.”

That was it. That was the entire explanation. And somehow Leo was expected to function after hearing that.

When Xinlong finally rolled off him to sit up, Leo made the mistake of looking directly at his lap. Loose shorts. Bare thighs. Sleep-warm skin. Leo tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling like it could baptize him.

“Breakfast?” Xinlong asked, as if he hadn’t just committed premeditated emotional homicide.

“Yeah,” Leo said, voice hoarse. “Go ahead. I’ll—catch up.”

“Okay!” Xinlong hopped off the bed and padded out of the room, humming.

The moment the door closed, Leo put a pillow over his face and screamed silently into it.

It only got worse.

Dance rehearsal, two days later, nearly killed him.

They were practicing formations, and the choreographer was adjusting transitions. Leo was focused—truly, he was—until Xinlong took his position next to him and casually rested his knee against Leo’s thigh during a pause.

Just a little touch.

Just skin through fabric.

Leo forgot his own name.

The choreographer clapped. “From the top!”

Leo did not move.

He was still staring straight ahead, trying to remember how to breathe, when Junseo muttered behind him, “He’s lagging because Xinlong’s thigh is touching him.”

Sanghyeon snorted quietly. “Honestly? Understandable.”

Xinlong didn’t even notice—he was adjusting his shirt, oblivious to the chaos he was causing. When the music started again and they moved into their formation, his thigh brushed Leo’s during the turn. Leo missed his next step so hard the choreographer stopped the music and sighed into his soul.

“Leo,” he said tiredly, “why are you dancing like your brain is buffering?”

Leo opened his mouth. No words came out. Xinlong, sweetheart that he was, patted his arm like there, there and said, “He didn’t sleep well.”

BECAUSE YOU. YOU MENACE.

They reset. They tried again. Xinlong, with zero self-preservation, lifted his leg for the chorus move and the line of muscle under his shorts flashed just as Leo turned his head.

He nearly tripped over a floor monitor.

Jiahao caught him by the shoulder, looked at him with the expression of someone watching a crime in real time, and whispered, “Get a grip.”

“I’m trying,” Leo hissed back. “You don’t understand—”

“No,” Jiahao said flatly, “I understand too well and I want out of this conversation.”

Later, in the van, Xinlong sat beside him and dozed off with his head on Leo’s shoulder and his hand on Leo’s thigh.

Not near. Not next to.

On.

Leo stared straight ahead like a hostage.

He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe wrong. Every shift of the van made Xinlong’s palm press just a little more firmly against his leg. Leo could feel his pulse in his thigh. He briefly considered grabbing the wheel and swerving into traffic just to reset the timeline.

Sangwon, sitting across from them, made eye contact and mouthed, You’re going to explode.

Leo mouthed back, Help me.

Sangwon shook his head slowly. No.

Things reached a new level of suffering that night.

They were in the living room, everyone half-sprawled on the floor with snacks. Xinlong walked in wearing fitted sweatshorts and sat directly on Leo’s lap.

Not beside him.

Not near him.

On. His. Lap.

No warning. No question. Just drop, thighs firm and warm across Leo’s legs, weight settling comfortably like he’d done this all his life.

Leo forgot how to exist.

Conversation around them did not pause—no, worse, it got quieter, like everyone was pretending not to stare.

Xinlong leaned back against Leo’s chest casually and asked, “What are we watching?”

Leo opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Anxin coughed into his hand to hide a grin.

Junseo didn’t bother hiding anything. “At this point, just marry him for everyone’s peace.”

Leo looked down at the boy on his lap—at the smooth skin of his thighs, at the way they pressed against him, at the innocent tilt of his head—and thought with utter clarity:

I’m not surviving this. And he has no idea.

Leo lasted exactly two days after The Lap Incident before something in him started to crack.

It happened at the studio during a break between vocal recordings. Junseo and Jiahao were going over harmonies on the couch, Sangwon was passed out with his hood over his face, and Leo was scrolling on his phone, pretending he wasn’t tracking Xinlong’s every movement like a criminal.

Xinlong was across the room, sitting on the floor with Geonwoo and Sanghyeon, sharing a bag of chips. Fine. Normal. Safe. Leo could handle that.

Until Geonwoo said something that made Xinlong laugh—really laugh, bright and unguarded—and in the middle of it, Xinlong leaned in and casually rested his hand high on Geonwoo’s thigh while steadying himself.

It was one (1) second.

Leo saw red.

Junseo didn’t even look up as he said, “Don’t do it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Leo snapped, already sitting up.

“You’re about to,” Junseo replied.

“I’m—watching.”

“You’re about to launch him into space.”

Leo glared, but it didn’t matter. Because then—then—Geonwoo said something else that made Xinlong grin and squeeze his thigh absentmindedly before pulling his hand back.

Leo stood.

Everyone looked up like someone had hit an alarm.

Geonwoo blinked. “What?”

“Move.” Leo didn’t even disguise it.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Xinlong looked confused, head tilting slightly, eyes wide. “Hyung?”

Leo blinked. His brain processed what he had just done. He sat back down so slowly it looked like buffering.

Junseo stared at him like he was watching a time bomb reverse-detonate.

Sanghyeon mumbled, “We’re never getting a normal day again.”

Later in the van, Leo tried to will his soul back into his body. He’d put in earbuds with nothing playing, just to pretend he had an excuse not to hear the others judging him.

Xinlong, oblivious, climbed into the seat next to him and leaned his head on Leo’s shoulder like it was legally required.

Leo’s pulse spiked. His thigh brushed Xinlong’s again. He wanted to scream and lie down in traffic.

Then Xinlong spoke—soft, curious.

“Were you mad earlier?”

Leo froze. “What?”

“You looked upset,” Xinlong said, voice quiet enough that no one else could hear. “Did something happen?”

Yeah, Leo thought. Your hand on someone else’s thigh happened.

Out loud, he croaked, “No.”

Xinlong studied his face for a moment, then softly said, “Okay,” and—because the universe hated him—reached down and rested his hand on Leo’s thigh without thinking.

Not high, not low—just steady, familiar contact.

Leo’s breath caught in his throat. He turned to stare out the window like the passing buildings could save him. His voice came out weaker than intended. “Don’t do that.”

Xinlong blinked and pulled his hand back immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

Yes. Emotionally. Permanently. Physically I’ll never recover.

“No,” Leo muttered. “Just—don’t touch me like that if you’re gonna touch everyone like that.”

The words fell out before he processed what he’d said.

Xinlong stared at him.

Leo wanted to throw himself out of the moving vehicle.

“…Like what?” Xinlong asked quietly.

Leo’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. He stared ahead, jaw tight, heart pounding like a drumline.

Xinlong didn’t push. He just nodded slowly and looked down at his hands.

Leo regretted breathing.

That night, back at the dorm, Leo showered for thirty minutes trying to rinse shame off his soul. When he came out of the bathroom with steam still clinging to his hair, Xinlong was sitting on his bed.

Again.

Legs crossed. Hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands. Staring at Leo like he’d been waiting.

Leo stopped in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

Xinlong hesitated. “You seemed… weird in the van.”

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t look fine.”

Leo grabbed a towel and ran it through his hair aggressively. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Xinlong asked softly.

Leo looked at him then, really looked—and that was his second mistake of the day. Xinlong’s posture was small, unsure, like Leo had actually hurt him.

Leo’s stomach twisted.

Xinlong lowered his gaze. “I thought you liked when I—when we’re close.”

“I do,” Leo said instantly.

Xinlong’s eyes lifted, soft and confused. “Then why—”

“Because I’m going insane!” Leo blurted.

Silence.

Xinlong blinked slowly. “…because… I sit next to you?”

Leo stared at him. At the curve of his thighs folded neatly on his mattress. At the soft skin just visible where his shorts had ridden up.

He made his third mistake.

He sat beside him.

Xinlong waited, quiet and patient.

And Leo—who had held back for weeks, who had bitten his tongue raw and burned every feeling before it reached his lips—finally let one slip.

“You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “Every time you touch me, it—” He cut himself off, running a hand over his face. “You make it hard to think.”

Xinlong’s eyes widened just slightly.

Leo didn’t stop.

“You sit on me, you wrap yourself around me, you put your hands on my thigh like it’s yours—”

Xinlong’s breath hitched.

Leo froze.

They stared at each other, tension like a held breath between them.

Then—

A knock on the door.

“Hey,” Sangwon’s voice called through the wood, casual as murder, “if you’re finally confessing, speak louder so we can at least hear it from here.”

Leo’s soul disintegrated.

Xinlong just blinked.

And smiled.

Not confused.

Not oblivious.

Something else.

Something new.

“Leo,” he said quietly, “look at me.”

Leo did.

Xinlong leaned in—just a little, close enough for Leo to feel his breath. Close enough to smell that warm, infuriating scent.

“If I sit here again,” Xinlong whispered, voice low, “will you run away—or tell me the rest?”

Leo couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t lie.

“I won’t run.”

Xinlong’s thigh brushed his again.

On purpose.

“And you’ll talk?”

Leo swallowed hard.

“…Yeah.”

Xinlong smiled—slow, real, knowing now.

“Okay.”

And before Leo could combust, Xinlong gently—deliberately—swung one leg over and settled in his lap again.

But this time, he was watching his face.

And Leo knew:

There was no going back now.

Chapter Text

The air in Leo’s dorm room was thick, charged with a tension that clung to every surface like static. Xinlong sat on the edge of Leo’s bed, one leg draped over Leo’s lap, his thigh a furnace against Leo’s already fraying restraint. The faint scent of Xinlong’s shampoo—something clean and warm, like cedar and sunlight—curled into Leo’s senses, making it impossible to focus on anything but the boy in front of him.

Xinlong’s eyes, bright and knowing, held Leo’s gaze with an intensity that felt like a challenge. His hand rested lightly on Leo’s thigh, fingers brushing just enough to send sparks skittering through Leo’s veins.

Leo’s chest heaved. He was trying—God, he was trying—to keep his thoughts in order, to not let the heat radiating from Xinlong’s body derail him into a complete meltdown. He had to say something. He had to get this out before he lost his nerve entirely.

“Xinlong,” Leo started, voice rough, like he’d swallowed gravel. “I—I need to tell you something.”

Xinlong tilted his head, that infuriatingly soft smile playing at his lips. “Okay, hyung. I’m listening.”

Leo swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides to keep from doing something reckless—like grabbing Xinlong and pulling him closer. “It’s… it’s about you. And me. And—fuck, this is harder than I thought.”

Xinlong’s smile widened just a fraction, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on Leo’s thigh. The movement was so small, so casual, but it sent a jolt through Leo’s entire body, like he’d been plugged into a live wire. “Take your time,” Xinlong murmured, voice low and teasing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Leo’s jaw tightened. Don’t focus on the thigh. Don’t focus on the heat. Don’t focus on how he’s looking at you like he already knows. He stared at the wall behind Xinlong, trying to anchor himself to something that wasn’t the maddening warmth of the boy in his lap. “Every time you’re near me,” he said, words tumbling out in a rush, “it’s like my brain stops working. You—you sit on me, you touch me, you breathe near me, and I can’t think straight. It’s been weeks, Xinlong. Weeks of this. And I—I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”

Xinlong’s eyes softened, but there was a glint in them, something playful and dangerous. His hand stilled on Leo’s thigh, but the pressure remained, steady and deliberate. “Pretending what’s nothing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Leo’s throat tightened. He forced himself to meet Xinlong’s gaze, even though it felt like staring into the sun. “I like you,” he said, the words raw and heavy. “I like you so much it’s driving me insane. Every time you touch me, every time you’re close, I—I want you closer. I want more. And it’s killing me because I don’t know if you even—” He cut himself off, breath hitching, unable to finish the thought.

Xinlong’s expression shifted, the teasing edge giving way to something softer, more open. He leaned in just a fraction, close enough that Leo could feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “Leo,” he said softly, “I like you too.”

Leo’s heart stopped. His brain blanked. The world tilted on its axis. “You—what?”

Xinlong’s smile was slow, deliberate, and devastating. “I like you,” he repeated, his voice steady but laced with that same teasing lilt. “I like when you watch me. I like when you touch me. I like how you get all flustered and try to pretend you’re not falling apart.” His fingers brushed higher on Leo’s thigh, just enough to make Leo’s breath catch again. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”

Leo’s mouth opened, then closed. He was short-circuiting, every nerve ending alight with the weight of Xinlong’s words and the heat of his touch. “You—you knew? This whole time?”

Xinlong’s grin turned mischievous. “Maybe not the whole time. But… I had a feeling. And you’re not exactly subtle, hyung.” He shifted in Leo’s lap, his thigh pressing more firmly against Leo’s, the movement deliberate and torturous. “You stare a lot.”

Leo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“No,” Xinlong said, his voice softer now, almost tender. He reached out, gently pulling Leo’s hands away from his face. “You’re just… you. And I like that.”

Leo’s resolve was hanging by a thread. He wanted to say more, to keep talking, to pour out every tangled feeling he’d been carrying for weeks. But Xinlong wasn’t making it easy. The boy leaned closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to Leo’s ear, his breath warm and teasing. “You know,” Xinlong murmured, “I like touching you because it makes you like this. All… tense and cute.”

Leo’s patience, already paper-thin, frayed further. “Xinlong,” he warned, voice low, “you’re not helping.”

Xinlong’s laugh was soft, almost a giggle, and it sent a shiver down Leo’s spine. “I’m not trying to help,” he said, his hand sliding just a little higher on Leo’s thigh, fingers brushing the seam of his sweatpants. “I like seeing how much you can take.”

Leo’s breath hitched, his hands twitching at his sides. Don’t do it. Don’t give in. You’re supposed to be talking, not— But Xinlong wasn’t stopping. He shifted again, his body pressing closer, his thigh sliding against Leo’s with a slow, deliberate drag. “You’re so patient,” Xinlong whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Leo’s ear. “But I don’t want you to be.”

That was it. The thread snapped.

Leo’s hands moved before his brain could catch up, one grabbing Xinlong’s waist, the other sliding up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He pulled Xinlong closer, their faces inches apart, and the heat between them was unbearable now, a wildfire that had been smoldering for too long. “You’re a menace,” Leo growled, his voice rough with want. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Xinlong’s eyes sparkled, unafraid and entirely too pleased with himself. “Then show me,” he whispered.

Leo didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, capturing Xinlong’s lips in a kiss that was all heat and desperation, weeks of pent-up longing pouring out in a single moment. Xinlong melted into him, his hands clutching at Leo’s shoulders, his body pressing closer until there was no space left between them. The kiss was messy, urgent, a clash of teeth and tongues, and Leo devoured him like a man starved, every brush of Xinlong’s lips, every soft sound he made, fueling the fire in Leo’s chest.

Xinlong’s thighs tightened around Leo’s hips, and Leo’s hands roamed, sliding down to grip the curve of Xinlong’s waist, then lower, pulling him impossibly closer. Xinlong’s fingers dug into Leo’s shoulders, a soft moan escaping him, and Leo nearly lost it right there. He kissed down Xinlong’s jaw, his neck, every inch of skin he could reach, like he was trying to memorize the taste of him.

“Leo,” Xinlong gasped, his voice breathless and needy, and it was the sweetest sound Leo had ever heard.

Leo pulled back just enough to look at him, to take in the flush on Xinlong’s cheeks, the way his lips were swollen and parted, the way his eyes were half-lidded and dark with want. “You’re going to kill me,” Leo muttered, his voice hoarse.

Xinlong’s grin was pure mischief. “Good.”

The next morning, Leo woke to silence again, but this time it wasn’t a miracle—it was a reckoning. Xinlong was still there, curled against his side, one leg thrown over Leo’s hips, his face tucked into the crook of Leo’s neck. The memory of last night hit like a freight train: the kiss, the way Xinlong had felt under his hands, the sounds he’d made. Leo’s face burned, and he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d actually survived or if this was some kind of fever dream.

Xinlong stirred, blinking sleepily up at him. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice soft and warm, like nothing had changed. Except everything had.

“Morning,” Leo croaked, his heart doing somersaults.

Xinlong stretched, his thigh brushing against Leo’s again, and Leo bit back a groan. “You’re still warm,” Xinlong said, his lips curling into that same teasing smile. “Did you sleep okay?”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Xinlong’s laugh was bright and unapologetic. “Maybe.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Leo with a mix of affection and mischief. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, hyung. I can’t help it.”

Leo groaned, covering his face with one hand. “I’m never going to survive you.”

Xinlong leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against Leo’s jaw. “You’ll manage,” he whispered. “I’ll make it worth it.”

And as Xinlong settled back against him, warm and close and entirely too perfect, Leo realized he didn’t care if he survived. He’d happily burn for this.

That morning the dorm was quieter than usual. Too quiet. Leo felt it the second he stepped into the living room, Xinlong trailing behind him with that same infuriatingly smug grin he’d been wearing since last night. The air was thick with the kind of silence that only happens when everyone knows something and is waiting for someone else to crack first.

Leo’s stomach churned. He could feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the room, even if no one was looking directly at him. Xinlong, of course, was unbothered, casually grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just turned Leo’s life upside down twelve hours ago.

Junseo was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his smirk was visible from across the room. Jiahao was in the corner, sipping coffee and staring into the middle distance like he’d seen the end of the world. Sanghyeon was the only one who looked remotely normal, but even he kept glancing at Leo with a mix of pity and amusement. Anxin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was eating chips and grinning like he’d won a bet.

Leo cleared his throat, aiming for normalcy. “Morning.”

A beat of silence. Then Geonwoo, without looking up from his phone, said, “Morning, Romeo.”

Sangwon snorted so hard he choked on his cereal. Jiahao’s coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. Sanghyeon coughed into his hand, and Junseo straight-up cackled, a chip flying out of his mouth.

Leo’s face burned. “What.”

Xinlong, the absolute menace, leaned against Leo’s side, his shoulder brushing Leo’s arm in a way that was definitely on purpose. “They’re just jealous,” he said, voice light and teasing, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Jealous?” Sangwon finally looked up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Of what? Leo’s two-hour shower to rinse off his existential crisis? Or the fact that we all heard you two last night because someone doesn’t know what a closed door is?”

Leo’s soul left his body. He stared at the floor, willing it to open up and swallow him whole. “We didn’t—nothing happened—”

“Oh, please,” Junseo cut in, finally putting his phone down. “You think we’re blind? You’ve been vibrating like a malfunctioning robot for weeks, and now you’re out here looking like you’ve been through a war. And won.” He pointed at Xinlong, who was sipping his water with the innocence of an angel. “And this one’s been playing you like a fiddle. Congrats on finally catching up.”

Xinlong tilted his head, smirking. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just… affectionate.”

“Affective?” Geonwoo echoed, grinning. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because I’m pretty sure I saw Leo’s brain shut down when you sat on him yesterday. And then last night—” He made an exaggerated kissing noise, and Sanghyeon threw a cushion at him.

“Stop,” Leo groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can we not do this?”

“Do what?” Anxin finally spoke, his voice dry as desert sand. “Acknowledge that you two have been eye-fucking for weeks and finally did something about it? Because I, for one, am relieved. Maybe now you’ll stop tripping over floor monitors every time Xinlong breathes in your direction.”

Leo’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t—eye-fucking? Really?”

“It’s accurate,” Sanghyeon said, shrugging. “You’ve been staring at his thighs like they’re the answer to world peace. We’ve all been waiting for you to either confess or combust.”

Xinlong laughed, bright and unapologetic, and leaned closer to Leo, his hand brushing Leo’s arm again. “They’re not wrong,” he murmured, just loud enough for Leo to hear. “You do stare a lot hyung.”

Leo shot him a look that was half-glare, half-plea for mercy. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Xinlong said, his grin pure evil.

Jiahao leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, what’s the deal? Are you two, like, official now? Or is this just Xinlong torturing Leo for sport until he actually explodes?”

Leo opened his mouth to answer, but Xinlong beat him to it, his voice calm but firm. “We’re figuring it out,” he said, his hand slipping into Leo’s under the table, fingers intertwining with a quiet confidence that made Leo’s heart stutter. “But I like him. A lot. And he likes me. So… yeah.”

The room went silent again, but this time it was different—less mocking, more… soft. Junseo raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a genuine smile on his face. “Well, damn,” he said. “Didn’t think Leo had it in him to actually say it out loud.”

“Me neither,” Sangwon admitted, grinning. “I had my money on him passing out first.”

Geonwoo clapped his hands, startling everyone. “This calls for a celebration! Or at least, like, a group intervention to teach Leo how to survive Xinlong’s thighs without losing his mind.”

“Geonwoo,” Leo hissed, his face flaming again.

“What? It’s a valid concern!” Geonwoo said, dodging another cushion from Sanghyeon. “We’re all rooting for you, man. But you’ve got to work on your poker face. You’re an open book.”

Jiahao set his coffee down with a sigh. “I’m just glad I don’t have to watch Leo malfunction every time Xinlong touches him anymore. Or… well, I guess I still will, but at least now it’s mutual.”

Xinlong squeezed Leo’s hand under the table, his thumb brushing over Leo’s knuckles in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through him. “He’s cute when he malfunctions,” Xinlong said, loud enough for everyone to hear this time.

Leo groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Junseo said, smirking. “You love us. And you really love him.” He jerked his thumb at Xinlong, who just smiled like the cat that got the cream.

Sangwon stood, stretching. “Alright, enough tormenting Leo for one morning. Let’s eat before he actually combusts. Again.”

As the group shuffled to get breakfast together, the teasing died down, replaced by the usual chaos of their dorm life. But Leo felt Xinlong’s hand stay in his, warm and steady, grounding him even as his heart raced. The others might joke, might prod, but the way Xinlong looked at him—soft, knowing, and just a little teasing—made it all worth it.

And when Xinlong leaned over to whisper, “You survived them. Think you can survive me again tonight?” Leo knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.