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When Seungkwan meets Hansol in the summer of 2012, they clumsily shake hands, knocking sweaty palms together, and giggle.
“My name is Boo Seungkwan!” he chirps.
“I’m Chwe Hansol,” he replies.
When Hansol smiles, Seungkwan realises he must do everything else to the fullest too. It’s a cheek-spreading, sweet-tasting grin, so wide that Seungkwan could count every tooth if he cared to.
“They said you’re my age,” Hansol continues, breaking their hands and looking down to wipe his palm on his jeans. He glances back up, “Sorry. Clammy.”
“That’s okay,” Seungkwan presses his lips together, his own hands crossed across his front, “and yeah, ’98, right?”
“That’s right! Awesome.”
Oh, Hansol’s different than the others. For starters, his hair is a murky brown and Seungkwan notes the lack of roots peaking through. A pang of jealousy shoots through his body in the form of thrumming as Seungkwan catches a glimpse of his own monotonous black hair in the practice room mirror. Seungkwan can tell Hansol must be excited – why else would he use that colloquialism, awesome – but he must be containing it well; his forehead is smoothed out, and his eyes are squinting back.
Seungkwan realises that he hasn’t said anything in response.
“Oh, here,” he reaches behind him, picking up a small bundle of oranges wrapped in a handkerchief, “I brought these from Jeju. That's where I live.” He nervously shoves the gift forwards with outstretched arms.
Hansol blinks. “Cool,” he takes the oranges from Seungkwan. “I guess now you live in Seoul, though.”
Seungkwan blinks back. He realises he’d let his mouth drop, so he relifts the corners, ensuring a pretty show.
“Whoopsie!” Seungkwan hums. He expels shaky air from his lungs and disguises it as a chuckle. Hansol’s still staring at him, blinking. Seungkwan misses the grin from before. What can he do to get that back?
“Guess I’m the idiot of the group, huh?” Seungkwan shrugs, timid yet light.
“You’re not an idiot.” Hansol says, shaking his head solemnly.
“I, uh,” the corner’s of Seungkwan’s mouth have fallen again, “I know. It was, um, a stupid joke. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, right,” Hansol’s reaching over and clapping a hand firmly on Seungkwan’s shoulder. “And don’t say sorry over insignificant things. Bad habit to have.”
Seungkwan’s mouth sours and he swallows the sudden saliva pooled under his tongue. Hansol’s eyes have widened and Seungkwan’s embarrassed to admit that he’s shocked at how it opens his face. A balancing act with his big, boyish grin. He’s quite handsome. Good for him.
“Right, sorry,” Seungkwan whispers, before rolling his eyes and slamming his hands against his face. “I did it again.” He murmurs through his fingers.
“You did,” Hansol laughs. It’s a nice sound. Seungkwan peaks through his palms to see what he’d missed. It’s just Hansol, smiling back at him, gummy and jolly. He clasps a hand around Seungkwan’s wrist and gently pulls to make him drop his hands.
“How embarrassing,” a weird, high-pitched, humiliating moan leaves Seungkwan’s throat, but they’re both unphased (he’s a teenage boy). “I’ll work on all of that, Chwe Hansol.”
Hansol’s smile doesn’t run away. “Good.” He crosses his arms. “Now, I wanna hear you sing.”
“What?” Seungkwan’s teeth catch his bottom lip. He sucks timidly on the skin.
“They said you were so good, you could debut tomorrow.”
So, Seungkwan sings for Hansol, a line from his audition song. It’s under his breath, embarrassing, and even worse when Hansol has to lean in to hear him. Seungkwan’s eyes are darting to and from Hansol to the other members sat against all sides of the practice rooms walls. Hansol’s breath catches one of Seungkwan’s strands of hair and he notices it swirl around, dancing in the air.
When Seungkwan’s finished, Hansol leans away.
“Ah, I get it now.”
“Get what?” Seungkwan whispers, leaning his head down and blinking at Hansol through his lashes. His realises his fingernails have started to hurt from where they’ve been dug into his palm – when did he start to do that?
“Why you’re here,” Hansol continues, “you were born to sing.”
Seungkwan shakes his head, dropping his eyes to his fingers and ensuring each one of them is stretched out, away from his palm. “I’ve got a long way to go, a lot of work to do. Can’t say that when I’ve not even spent one day here.”
Hansol’s smile is gone and he’s staring again. His lips make a small ‘o’ shape and he sharply huffs, blowing a piece of hair away from his own face.
Then, Hansol says, “you seem like the sort of person that can turn any compliment into an insult.”
Oh, Hansol really is different.
Seungkwan has a million thoughts to begin thinking and a few words that he’d like to snap back with, but Hansol is patting the oranges bundled in his arms and turning his back.
“Come on, let’s go share these with the others.”
As he follows, stunned, Seungkwan thinks what a weird boy, with his funny hair and his nice smile.
❀
The lights of the practice room are white.
It’s not a warm white, not the kind that his mother took a particular liking to one day and made it her mission to change every light bulb in their home by herself. She’d sworn under her breath as Seungkwan had clung to the ladder, steadying her as much as a seven-year-old could. As she had climbed down, she’d smiled at him bashfully, “we’ll just do without overhead lighting, sweet boy. Too bright anyway.”
The lights of the practice room are shockingly white and they are screaming at him to hurry up and get this choreography down. Seungkwan knows it’s followed by or else they’ll kick you out but he knocks the butt of his hand into his temple so hard that he loses that train of thought as soon as he’d claimed it.
Seungkwan tries the moves over and over until the saltiness against his lips is overbearing and his tongue is thumping in his mouth. There’s sweat dripping into his eyes that he doesn’t have time to wipe, making his vision blurry as he blinks through it, mixing it into his eyelashes; the condensation against the studio mirrors would stop him from seeing anyway, and idols don’t always get mirrors. Idols don’t get moves wrong. Idols don’t get chance after chance to finally get it right.
The sweat in his eyes is falling down his cheeks, and his skin is burning, now. Seungkwan thinks that maybe it’s not sweat, that he’s finally cracked, that he’s crying in the studio after two measly weeks of training. How sad.
It isn’t until a horrifyingly pathetic noise chokes from his throat that his legs stop moving. Then, he’s covering his face with his palms and finally wailing into the skin. He wets his hands with tears, spit, and snot, decisively not getting in a good breath until he’s brave enough to let them drop. His mind wanders for a moment, being terribly cruel and reminding him of what Hansol had said all those weeks ago. You seem like the sort of person that can turn any compliment into an insult. It had stung worse than the bee that flew up his trouser leg in eighth grade; it had stung even worse than the humiliation a teacher had given him by sending him out of class for chatting. Hansol hadn’t known Seungkwan for more than ten minutes and he’d already poked and prodded at, and introduced himself to, an insecurity Seungkwan hadn’t let break the surface of reality yet. He lets out another sob and settles in for the next few minutes of weakness.
“Do you want this?”
Seungkwan’s jolted to reality, snapping his arms to his side and whipping his head around. Hansol stands gingerly by the studio door, a hand outstretched and half an egg sandwich laying on top.
Seungkwan sniffs so hard that his shoulders rise and fall. He blinks once, twice, then wipes his hands down on his joggers.
“Don’t… don’t you?” He whispers back, a small whimper following his words.
Hansol shrugs and strides forwards, reaching out to gently lift Seungkwan’s hand and place the sandwich on it. Seungkwan looks down and Hansol’s hand cupping his and puffs his cheeks as a tear falls onto the bread.
“You don’t have to stop crying on accord of me,” Hansol mutters, removing his hand and cautiously shoving both in his jogger’s pockets.
Seungkwan lifts the sandwich to his lips. He takes a bite. It’s tasteless. He cries some more.
Hansol doesn’t say anything for the eighty seconds it takes Seungkwan to finish the food. They just stand there, dead centre of the studio, breathing in each other’s presence. Seungkwan swallows the last bit and clicks his tongue against his teeth. His cheeks are drier now, but they’re still burning with what seems to be embarrassment, now. He makes eye contact with Hansol. He’s grinning, again. A snicker leaves Hansol’s lips and Seungkwan gasps slightly. This breaks into a chuckle. How absurd, to be grinning and laughing at someone who has just wailed into a sandwich.
“You’re here, alone, because you wanted to get the routine perfect for tomorrow, right?” Hansol finally speaks, his eyes darting around the room. Seungkwan notes that they land on the fogged-up mirrors, causing his eyebrows to subtly raise.
“Yeah…” Seungkwan whispers back.
“Think we all did that at the beginning,” Hansol nods, “you’ll soon realise it’s not sustainable.”
Sustainable. What a word for the youth to use. Seungkwan has always gelled with elders more than those his own age, but Hansol's growing on him like a barnacle, of which kind he can't quite identify.
Seungkwan shrugs.
“Trust me,” Hansol continues, “it’s better to go to bed to do that instead of out here. It’s never really satisfying, ‘cause you can’t get everything out. Go home and… cry into a pillow.”
Then, Hansol’s curling a hand around the back of Seungkwan’s neck and squeezing once. He then grimaces, flapping his hand at the moisture of his sweat, before grinning once more and leaving Seungkwan alone.
❀
Once Seungkwan discovers that they sell egg sandwiches in the cafeteria, it’s all he eats for a whole month. Seungcheol comments on it one day, “you tryin’ out a new diet, newbie?” but Seungkwan can’t explain himself. He just likes them, now.
He’d not cried since being in the studio with Hansol. His first evaluation had come and gone and not one tear had been shed. To congratulate himself, a few days later, he crawls under his covers at dusk, when everyone else is showering or eating, and lets his pillow listen to his lamenting. As he takes a particularly sharp inhale of breath, his mother’s perfume fills his nostrils. How cruel of his mind to play tricks and exploit him, to assault his vulnerability.
There’s a gentle knock on the door. Seungkwan’s grateful to cut his pity party short. It hadn’t felt as good as he’d thought. It is odd, though, for someone to knock in this house.
“Yeah?” He groans through a scratchy throat.
“It’s me,” Hansol’s whispering from the other side of the door, gently enough that Seungkwan wishes he could squint his ears, “can I come in?”
Then, Seungkwan’s calling out a “yes!” and shuffling onto his back, wiping his forearm under his nose for good measure. Hansol slips through the door quietly and his eyes land on Seungkwan.
Seungkwan smiles; Hansol rolls his eyes.
“It’s bright in here,” Hansol states, flipping the main switch and engulfing them in almost darkness. “That’s better.” He lumbers over to the bed and perches at the edge of it.
Seungkwan’s grateful that Hansol has left the door open, because the corridor light pours through, allowing him to watch as Hansol studies his face with focus and intent. Hansol’s eyebrows catch Seungkwan’s attention: they were bushier than he’d last remembered. Which, of course, leads him to the question, did Hansol use to shave them? Seungkwan forgets that he’d been crying not ten seconds ago.
“How have you been?” Hansol asks, but his mouth is upturned, and his hands are in his lap, so Seungkwan deduces that he’s not worried.
“Oh, you know,” Seungkwan chuckles, expelling some spit and it lands on his chin. He wipes it away with his fingertips as he shuffles up to lead his back against the headboard. “Why have you interrupted every single one of my crying sessions?”
“It’s only happened twice.”
“So, every time.”
Hansol blinks at Seungkwan before those thick brows are turning inward and down. “You’ve cried twice since being here?”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan shrugs as best as he can.
“But it’s been over a month. Nearly two.” Hansol retorts with a sharp turn of his head.
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Hansol’s forehead is smoothing out now and he’s turning in his seat to swing his legs onto the bed, “that’s impressive stuff, Boo.” Hansol’s cross-legged on Seungkwan’s bed and Seungkwan still has a nose full of snot, bloodshot eyes, and a soaked-through pillow. “I cried every day until my three month anniversary. Which was six weeks ago, by the way.”
“Six weeks?” Seungkwan’s the one to furrow his brows now. “You’ve been acting like my senpai, and you’ve only been here for three more months than me?”
Hansol’s smirking now, but it’s hard to gage intentions with it being so dimly lit. “You couldn’t have guessed, huh?”
“Not at all,” Seungkwan shakes his head.
“Despite the crying, I adjusted pretty fast,” Hansol pouts his lips and nods once, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “Probably because my family’s here, in Seoul, so I saw them a lot at the beginning.”
Seungkwan’s eyes had been lulling, but they are now wide open. “Yeah,” he replies sullenly.
“Must be different for you, though.” Hansol mutters. Seungkwan can’t read his tone: it’s one he’s never used before, but he notes Hansol’s hesitance.
“It’s been harder than I thought,” Seungkwan starts, “being away from home. From my, uh…” he clears his throat, “from mum.”
“I bet.”
Seungkwan’s eyes lose their focus for a moment, and the conversation falls quiet. The only noise is from Hansol shuffling on the bed and hitting a spring in the process. It’s not uncomfortable, by any means. They just exist for a few moments.
“Can I ask you something?” Seungkwan’s voice comes out so small that Hansol leans in to hear. This is becoming a routine, Seungkwan thinks.
“Go on,” Hansol whispers back.
“When we first met, you said something… you said that I could turn any compliment into an insult.” Seungkwan’s gasping lightly after the words come out, but they keep tumbling from his lips like he’d been holding them back with a tied piece of rope. “What did you mean by that? How would you- why, why did you say it?”
There’s another moment of silence before Hansol’s leaning back and wetting his lip with his tongue. “I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t even know you, then. It was just… an assumption.”
“A bad one?” Seungkwan hushes back. His fingers curl around the sheets and he darts his gaze to focus on that as the tears return.
Hansol doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to, because Seungkwan knows Hansol had meant it. He’d told Seungkwan he was a born singer and Seungkwan had practically repelled the gesture, coating it with a thick layer of disgust. Now, he watches as Seungkwan’s eyes are squeezing shut and tears are falling rapidly, staining his grey night shirt with hopelessness.
Then, breaking the quiet, “Are you hungry? I’ll get you something.” Hansol moves to swing his legs from the bed, but Seungkwan catches his ankle in his hand.
“Will you just stay?”
Hansol’s gulping now and returning his legs to the bed. “Sure thing, Boo.”
“No, like,” Seungkwan lets go of Hansol’s ankle and wiggles back down under the covers, sniffing and sighing, “will you stay the night?”
“Oh.”
“It’s just that, I’m feeling lonely a lot these days,” Seungkwan mumbles, his mouth catching the cotton sheets as he talks, “and you’ve been so kind.”
“As long as the others don’t mind,” Hansol replies, shrugging.
“They won’t, we’ll be asleep by the time they come to bed,” Seungkwan shuffles to the side, leaving a small gap next to him.
Hansol stares into the newly created space. Then, he’s getting onto his knees, crawling over, and landing on his side next to Seungkwan with an exaggerated huff.
“Thank you, Hansollie,” Seungkwan whispers.
“Hansollie?”
“I don’t know, it just felt right.”
“It sounds funny.”
“Well, I like it.”
“Goodnight, Boo.”
“Night, Hansollie.”
❀
It begins with Hansol spending a few nights in Seungkwan’s bed over the course of a few weeks. They whisper about their families with hushed voices and wavering breaths. There is always a gap between them.
Then, Hansol stays more, spending every other night curled in next to Seungkwan. Their toes are brushing and Seungkwan complains that Hansol’s cold against his calves. Hansol says that Seungkwan has to deal with it, if he wants him to stay.
There’s a moment when you first awaken that is undisturbed before the thoughts flood in. It’s 4 a.m on a Saturday when Seungkwan wearily flutters his eyes open. His vision is met with moonlight casted through their beige, useless curtains; his ears encounter the usual abhorrently invasive snoring of Seungcheol from the other side of the room; his tummy is engulfed in warmth. He lets his eyes wander down. Hansol’s arm is thrown across his mid-section, cupping his waist with his hand. He’s suddenly aware of the soft, gentle breaths on the side of his neck, forcing the hair of his nape to stand up. He can’t sleep after this, and just waits for two more hours, laying as motionless as he can, before members are barking orders about getting ready for a morning study session. Hansol jolts awake at this, huffing against Seungkwan’s neck and gingerly removing his arm. Seungkwan swears his cheeks look pinker than usual.
That night, Hansol crawls into Seungkwan’s bed with bashful lashes and a small smile. Seungkwan returns the smile, a yawn breaking through. He turns to his side and shuts his eyes.
“Seungkwan-ah,” a quiet voice sounds from behind him.
“Mm?” Seungkwan hums in reply.
“Last night,” Hansol whispers, “I, uh, did I…”
“Don’t worry about it, Hansollie,” Seungkwan mumbles, smacking his lips and wiggling his head into the pillow for comfort.
“No, no, not that,” Hansol’s mumbling now, almost to himself. Seungkwan feels Hansol shuffling behind him, and then there’s arm around Seungkwan’s waist and a palm laying firmly flat against his stomach. Hansol’s body is radiating heat against Seungkwan’s back, but there’s a gap. There’s always a gap.
“I just wanted to say,” Hansol continues, “I liked it.” His breath catches in Seungkwan’s hair again, causing his ears to twitch.
“Well,” Seungkwan says with a sigh, “if you’re gonna do it, do it right.”
With clenched teeth and an embarrassing heart rate, Seungkwan shuffles back, pressing his back into Hansol’s front. As he slots himself into the curve of Hansol’s body, Hansol’s hand curls around the material of Seungkwan’s shirt, gripping and squeezing in tandem with his movements. Then, as they settle, he’s letting go and crawling up to Seungkwan’s chest, resting it there.
“Better, huh?” Seungkwan whispers, letting his jaw finally become lack in his mouth. His cheek is squished up against the pillow, so his words come out a little funny, but Hansol’s lips are brushing the back of his neck, and he thinks that if he moves, they might retreat.
“Better, Seungkwan-ah,” Hansol hushes in return.
They lie like that, exchanging words about their days and giggling when Hansol’s lips really catch against Seungkwan’s skin. Hansol folds his legs at one point, pushing Seungkwan’s up with him. Seungkwan doesn’t mind his cold feet that night.
❀
Over the next few weeks, Hansol and Seungkwan are undeniably inseparable.
During practice, their hands are hooked to each other’s bodies, and their mouths are glued to each other’s ears, whispering the softest and silliest of jargon meant only for them. The other members are starting to complain that they don’t give anyone else as much attention, whining and mumbling that they're “too touchy for their own good”.
One day, they’re all eating in the studio at dusk. It’s 10.17pm, but Seungkwan couldn’t be more awake.
At the opposite end of the studio is Hansol, back pressed against a wall and knees folded in front of him. He’s cackling at something someone just said, gummy smile on full display and all.
Seungkwan’s sighing before he can stop himself. Then, he can feel a smile creep to his face. Before he lets it fully consume his face, he opts to take a bite of his egg sandwich.
Tonight, he’s colder than usual. Tonight, he’s thinking about how nice it feels to have Hansol’s warm body pressed up against him.
“Seungkwan-ah,” Jeonghan appears in front of him, sitting on the floor and haphazardly crossing his legs. “Whatcha similing to yourself about?”
“Hey, hyung,” Seungkwan replies, his teeth coated in bread making his voice all muffled. “Nothin’.”
“Mhm,” Jeonghan nods once. “Can I?” He suddenly leans over, chomping on the corner of Seungkwan’s sandwich and demolishing half of the meal in his wake. Seungkwan groans, frowns, then tuts at the older boy. He receives a ruffle on his hair in response.
Jeonghan’s the most nervous person Seungkwan has ever met, but also the warmest. Seungkwan thinks that Jeonghan is the type of person to be honest, but to sandwich it with a hug.
Hansol laughs again. Someone cheers. Seungkwan’s cheeks are heating up and he’s staring at the floor.
“Can I ask you something, Jeonghan?” His voice is smaller than he intended. He goes with it.
Jeonghan swallows the last of his mouthful before answering. “Sure, shoot.”
“Have you ever had a, uh,” Seungkwan mumbles, then spits out, “a girlfriend?”
“Oh,” there’s a sharp intake of breath before Jeonghan replies, hesitant, “Yeah, I suppose I did. In high school.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, sure it is, but why do you wanna know?”
Seungkwan glances up, eyes meeting Jeonghan’s face plastered with a stupidly fiendish smirk.
“Tell hyung everything,” Jeonghan drops his voice to a whisper and leans forwards, palms flat on the floor.
For whatever reason, this has Seungkwan dropping his sandwich into its wrapper and leaning forwards into Jeonghan’s space. He starts whispering, talking before he really has any chance to figure out what to say, how to say it, what it means.
“I wondered if you’d ever, like, touched someone and how it felt? Not in that way, I mean… like cuddling? Touching? Hands, hips? That sort of thing? And how does it feel different from when you hold my hand, or Shua’s hand? And does it feel good, like really good, like can’t-stop-thinking-about-it good?”
When Seungkwan is finished, he stares intently into Jeonghan’s eyes, waiting for his light bulb to switch and his face to light up in complete understanding and recognition. It never does.
Jeonghan gently leans back, eyes squinting. He opens his mouth, takes a shallow breath, and then speaks.
“Is this about Hansol?”
Seungkwan’s frozen. All he can do is blink, and even that’s difficult and manual.
“It is, isn’t it?” Jeonghan’s voice is still low, but he’s leaning further back and turning his head to clock Hansol’s presence at the other end of the room. Seungkwan snaps out of it, tapping Jeonghan’s knee to regain his attention.
“Don’t tell,” Seungkwan whispers as firmly as he can with that volume.
“I won’t,” Jeonghan replies, earnestly shaking his head and placing a hand on top of Seungkwan’s, “but, Seungkwan-ah, it’s kind of obvious, what’s been going on.”
“Huh? What is it that’s been going on?”
Jeonghan rolls his eyes, “You and Hansol.”
“What?” Seungkwan takes his hand back, palms wetting with sweat, pulsing at the blood rushing to them.
“No, no,” Jeonghan shakes his head again so harshly that Seungkwan almost gets a second-hand headrush, “nobody can tell. Well, except for me, I can tell.” Then, his hand is on Seungkwan’s again, holding it in the latter’s lap. “It’s okay. It’s not bad. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I thought that’s what I was doing, I’m sorry.” Seungkwan whispers, eyes falling to the floor. The heat in his face is almost unbearable now, but Jeonghan’s hushing him and his hand is firm on his, so he can’t feel anything else except grounded.
“Don’t be sorry. But yeah, okay, let’s talk.” Jeonghan whispers. “Have you ever felt like this about… anyone before?”
Seungkwan shakes his head. No.
“Right,” Jeonghan continues, “that’s okay, too. Do you, uh, know if Hansol feels the same?”
Seungkwan shakes his head harder. I don’t know. How could I possibly know that?
“Do you think about telling him?”
“No!” Seungkwan practically hisses, fingers grasping and latching onto Jeonghan’s hand. He squeezes once, brows turning inward and up, looking at Jeonghan through panic.
“It’s okay!” Jeonghan whispers back. “I won’t tell him. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Seungkwan drops his shoulders. He lets Jeonghan’s hand go. “I’m sorry.”
“Seungkwan-ah,” Jeonghan hums, “has anyone ever told you to stop apologising?”
Hansol snorts from across the room; he stomps his feet with joy; the vibrations make their way over to Seungkwan.
“Yeah, someone has.”
Jeonghan sighs, so strongly that he dramatically lifts his and Seungkwan’s hands up before dropping them back down in the process. He lets out a loose chuckle.
“You’re going to be okay, Seungkwannie,” he mutters, “everybody loves you. And everybody will continue to love you, no matter what.”
“I don't think I can act on it, anyway,” Seungkwan chews the inside of his cheek, “not yet.”
“Alright. Just tell me if any other revelations come your way.”
“I will, hyung.”
❀
Hansol’s been especially touchy tonight. Seungkwan hopes Hansol hasn’t noticed his blushing face in response.
After crashing onto Seungkwan’s bed long after the other members had drifted off, the conversation had unexpectedly run dry. Aptly so, Seungkwan thinks, staring off through the open blinds and into the ebony sheen of sky. It truly is pitch black tonight, and he should be dozing off soon.
Hansol shifts next to him, lips clicking together as he attempts to get comfortable. Seungkwan turns his head to look. If Seungkwan hadn’t have stolen a glance Hansol’s way, he would have just fallen asleep; he wouldn’t be smiling into Hansol’s weary face that is smirking back; he wouldn’t be shuffling about to lie on his side to look closer at the other; Hansol’s hand wouldn’t have flopped onto his waist, seemingly out of instinct. At least, with him so close, Seungkwan can smell Hansol’s shampoo and can practically taste his toothpaste.
“Hansollie,” Seungkwan hums, quiet enough that not even the walls can hear.
“Mm,” Hansol mumbles in response. His eyes are squinting so much now that if he wasn’t replying, Seungkwan would have assumed he’d have been asleep.
“Talk to me some more,” Seungkwan mumbles, clutching his hands together and holding them under his own chin.
“But… ‘m so, so… tired.”
“Please,” Seungkwan lifts a hand and gently pokes his finger into Hansol’s cheek: a little for me?
Hansol depuffs his chest and lets out a massive exhale from his mouth. Peppermint. Then he replies, “’mkay. What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, I spoke to Jeonghan today.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan blinks at Hansol. He blinks back. Seungkwan pokes his cheek again. “Did you know hyung had a girlfriend?”
“What? In school?” This seems to have perked Hansol up; his eyes are wider, now.
“Uh huh,” Seungkwan nods sharply once. He can feel his breathe bounce back off of Hansol’s face. “He told me all about it.”
“I bet it was nice,” Hansol mutters. Seungkwan feels Hansol’s hand on his waist tighten for a moment, but it is so brief that it could be mistaken for a twitch. It’s just a twitch.
“Do you think you’d ever want that?” Seungkwan whispers.
“Maybe,” Hansol shrugs a bit. His eyes are drooping again.
“I guess, if you had a girlfriend,” Seungkwan starts, ever so cautious, “you’d have someone to touch whenever you wanted. To cuddle. Kiss. Stuff.”
“Mhm,” Hansol breathes out.
“It’s kind of lame, though.”
“For sure.”
Seungkwan huffs a bit, slightly miffed at the lack of response. But then, Hansol’s eyelids are on full display, and his lips are slightly parted, gentle breaths tumbling from them. One of his cheeks is dropped, the other squished against the pillow. His hand is firm on Seungkwan’s waist.
Seungkwan’s eyes are closing, too. The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is Hansol’s mouth.
The next morning, Seungkwan is awoken to Hansol extracting his hand from Seungkwan’s waist. He hastily gets up. He doesn’t say ‘good morning’ when Seungkwan does.
That night, Hansol doesn’t come to Seungkwan’s bed. He doesn’t come for the next few nights, either.
Seungkwan trips over both his feet and words during practice, spluttering a thousand apologies and wincing when Hansol avoids his eyeline. After days of a seemingly neverending self-conscious streak, Seungkwan knocks on Hansol’s door and finds him curled up in his own bed, his back turned.
“I need to sleep alone tonight,” Hansol mumbles without moving. Seungkwan swallows, his shadow lit by the hallway light and cast through the doorway pitifully small. He can’t stand still, shifting his weight from one foot to the other out of nerves. He's picking at his fingernails so much that it stings, but at least Hansol still responds to his question. Seungkwan replies “okay” in a timid voice, one he’ll be embarrassed about later, and returns to his own bed.
Seungkwan is glad he didn’t push Hansol, but he misses his mum a lot that night.
The next morning, Seungkwan wakes up anchored to the bed, the wooden frame poking through the mattress and bruising his tailbone. All it takes is pondering why he’s so sensitive before he remembers; he remembers how he’d whispered affirmations to Hansol, tail between his legs, practically begging him to come and sleep with him; he remembers Hansol’s gruff, peeved voice, begging to be left alone; he remembers Jeonghan’s knowing look upon his return to the room, apologetic eyes drilling.
The bed is cold, oxymoronic to Seungkwan’s concerningly sweating body. His fingers curl around the cool sheets, weakly grasping at the material and exploring the empty space. The empty space, that would usually have been warm to the touch.
Seungkwan falls asleep in class. He catches his head on the back of his hand before it hits the desk, plastic uninviting and hard. His teacher doesn’t wake him, but when Seungkwan rouses, he gets thrown a sympathetic gaze.
After school, his vocal lesson is brisker than expected, earning him a slap on the back from the instructor and a demand to “go and get some good food, you’ve deserved it”. Once leaving, he meets Mingyu, who is branding a fresh-faced, adolescent grin.
“Food?” He says. “Food. Food!”
Mingyu leads Seungkwan, hand-in-hand, down the corridor. Seungkwan’s heels catch on a piece of loose carpet at one point, but he doesn’t complain because Mingyu is undeniably a distraction. His skin is soft and his hand is big and embracing, filling some kind of emptiness that Seungkwan hadn’t realised he’d held.
They get their food to take out, retreating to the practice room where everyone else waits.
Where Hansol waits.
Mingyu holds the door open for Seungkwan, earning a scoff from someone watching the scene unfold. He bows jokily when Seungkwan thanks him, then places a hand at the small of his back, leading him across the room to sit and eat together. Seungkwan falls to the floor, back sliding against the wall on the way down. Mingyu is next to him at hip bumping distance. He’s rambling on as he eats, now, noodles muffling his diction but never his passion. Seungkwan can barely stomach looking at his food, let alone eating it. He’s shocked at himself; being too uncomfortable to eat is a first. He supposes, had it been his mother’s cooking, he’d have finished it already.
With this, Seungkwan finds himself placing his food on the floor and shifting in his seat. He ends up leaning his temple against Mingyu’s shoulder that now shakes them both simultaneously as he speaks. Seungkwan lifts his eyes, scanning the room to find the usual scenes unfolding: Joshua and Jeonghan whispering in a corner, Seungcheol and Wonwoo wrestling over a water bottle.
Then, his eyes land on Hansol. They land on Hansol, who is staring back at him.
Seungkwan can’t remember the first time he met Hansol, not now, not when the boy that had been all grins and gums is now staring at Seungkwan with what seems to be intent to start a feud. Seungkwan looks away almost instantly, eyes flickering to the floor, then back up, almost to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Hansol isn’t looking away.
Seungkwan lifts his head from Mingyu, feeling scorched by Hansol’s stare. He knows Hansol is watching when he picks up his food and takes a bite. He can feel his gaze as he chews and swallows.
When Seungkwan turns in for the night, he whispers sweet dreams to the other members. He hears the tussle of sheets as they all toss and turn for a while, trying to get comfortable. Seungkwan doesn’t even attempt this, lying still on his back, hands clasped together on his stomach. He’ll stay like this for a few hours, thinking, yearning for his mother, and trying not to cry, before he’ll eventually drift off. To start the process, he lets his eyes slowly close.
The bed dips next to him.
When Seungkwan opens his eyes, Hansol is staring back at him. Then, before Seungkwan can make himself truly aware of what is happening, Hansol is wrapping a hand around Seungkwan’s bicep and pushing him to lie on his side.
“Hansol-?” Seungkwan says quietly. He obediently turns and waits.
Hansol shuffles about beside him, moving to press his body up against the other’s, like they used to do. The manhandling is different, but Hansol’s body is warm and Seungkwan’s has felt so cold and so tired these days.
“What’s wrong?” Seungkwan whispers, craning his head back to try and look at Hansol.
“Don’t,” Hansol whispers back, pressing his face into the top of Seungkwan’s spine. His arms curl around Seungkwan’s waist, pulling their bodies eternally closer. “Don’t, I won’t be able to stop.”
“What are you talking about?” Seungkwan hushes. He needs to see Hansol’s face. He can’t read his tone through his gritted teeth. He has no reason to be angry, but this is the most aggressive way he has ever been held.
Seungkwan shifts, lightly pushing his elbows into Hansol’s side to get him to loosen up. He does, hesitantly. Seungkwan manages to turn to his other side, so that he is faced with the gentle outline of Hansol’s cheekbones if he really squints through the darkness.
“Hansollie, what can I do?”
Hansol doesn’t reply. His palm is firm on Seungkwan’s waist, digging into the flesh in a way that seems fearful. Seungkwan wants to yell at him that he’s not going anywhere. Instead, he opens his mouth to whisper “it’s okay”.
He can’t, because Hansol is taking a sharp breath and pressing his mouth into Seungkwan’s.
Hansol’s lips brush against Seungkwan’s, claiming the space. His lips are soft and pleasant, his kiss sweet and nervous. His firm, stilled mouth with grasping, desperate hands are confusing. Seungkwan’s eyes don’t flutter closed, they slam and squeeze shut, eyebrows furrowing and nose inhaling. Seungkwan tries to kiss back against Hansol's frozen mouth, his own hands in strict fists against the mattress.
It is one kiss, before Hansol is pulling away.
“Seungkwan,” he whispers, close enough that they are still connected by a miniscule breath of air.
“Yeah?” Seungkwan breathes out.
“Let’s… let’s get some sleep.”
Seungkwan doesn’t open his eyes. He lets Hansol move him around again, lets him hold him, bodies tight. His lips feel electrified and his eyes are hot, tingling with drowsiness. He falls asleep faster than he had all week.
When he wakes, Seungkwan stares blankly at the wall, blinking at it to give him the answer to everything.
Everything had felt naive and adolescent until the previous night. Before this, Seungkwan could go to his friends for advice without any real consequence, because nothing had happened. Jeonghan could poke fun at him, because nothing had happened. Seungkwan could imagine touching Hansol and holding him closer without any real reference. Because he'd never experienced it. Not before last night.
It takes him an abhorrent amount of time to begin functioning. He takes a half dozen perfectly controlled breaths in order to control this newfound anxiety bubbling in his chest. What if everything changes?
Hansol’s gentle breaths against the back of his neck drag him back to earth.
Hansol had kissed him. Seungkwan had convinced himself that whatever they’d been doing had been platonic. Now, it can’t be, it’s not allowed to be. Seungkwan wonders if Jeonghan had ever platonically kissed his friends.
Seungkwan reaches down to peel Hansol’s arm away from his waist. He sits up and, without looking back, rises and slips into sliders. Judging by the way the light has barely begun to hit the gaps in the curtains, it is far too early for the world to be awake. He supposes he could ask the birds outside the window, the only present early risers, for the answers to all of his questions. Seungkwan is up, alone, leaning against a kitchen island and staring at a different wall. Could’ve done this from bed.
“Hey.”
Seungkwan doesn’t jump at Hansol’s voice, but there’s a sudden tension in his shoulders and his neck hurts as he turns around.
Hansol’s standing in the doorway, squinting. His hair is everywhere, but the colour is still pretty in the dim morning light. Always is.
“Hey,” Seungkwan says, voice croaky.
“We should talk, huh?” Hansol murmurs, weary not to wake anyone. He takes a few steps into the kitchen.
Seungkwan folds his arms across his chest. “I slept well, how about you?”
“No,” Hansol says, “about last night.”
Seungkwan shrugs at this, takes a beat, then gestures with his arms: the floor is yours.
After a deep sigh, Hansol starts, “I’m sorry about what I did. I didn’t mean to. It must be weird, for you, I mean.”
“You didn’t mean to?” Seungkwan scoffs. Hansol winces, so Seungkwan drops his shoulders. “It is weird for me, Hansol-ah. I don't know what you want me to do, now.”
“I don't want you to do anything,” Hansol’s eyebrows are raised as though he's surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.
“You know, you could've just asked.”
The clock in the kitchen is always the loudest in the mornings. Today, it taunts him by filling the silence that follows.
“I’m not confused, or anything like that,” Hansol mutters, “I just… I miss my family sometimes, too, you know.”
Seungkwan frowns. Hansol won't look at him.
“It didn't feel bad,” Hansol whispers after a while, “to do it. But I don’t… I don’t mean it in that way.”
“Yeah.” Seungkwan replies, voice just as low and forehead smoothing out. “I think it's the same for me. Doesn’t have to mean anything. Doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
If Hansol will describe it as ‘not bad’, Seungkwan will comply, as though Hansol's touch hadn't finally given him the sleep and rest he'd so craved these past few days.
Then, Hansol seems to be reborn all of a sudden, his back straightening and face widening in a great manner. His eyes widen and he smiles, bigger than Seungkwan had seen in a good few days.
“Okay,” he chimes, “I’m gonna go get some more sleep. We’ve got to be up in an hour. Come back, if you want.”
Seungkwan nods. He watches Hansol go.
If he was to explore this uncovered part of himself, it was not to be with Hansol. No matter how good it feels, it's blatant that it doesn't feel right.
Seungkwan pours himself a glass of water and watches the sky fill with light. He doesn’t go back to bed that morning.