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He's trying. God knows how much he's trying.
He has went out of his way, doing things he has never imagined he'll have done before. Because he wanted him to take up space in his life. And he wanted to have a share of his light, of the warmth he so willingly gives out. Because he wanted him.
He tries so hard. So hard.
To make him feel close. To shatter boundaries. To not make it feel like they're just victims of consequences, two people forced to put up with each other because they have to.
He tries so hard. All so that he no longer flinches whenever he touches him. So he no longer has to think so hard before initiating contact with him. So he can finally move closer freely, like how he does to others.
But perhaps trying hard could only hoist him up so much. Because now, he's tired. He's tired of garnering up so much courage to strike all these sparks, only for him to be left with the option of nothing else but trying and trying and trying. It's all he ever does, and all he's ever done. He feels like he's striking up fire onto damp wood.
"Jeongwoo-hyung, how do you do it?" He asks one time after a round of dance practice. Just him and Jeongwoo this time, the others busy with other stuff like vocal lessons or language lessons.
"Do what?"
"Have JL so open with you. He moves so freely with you, like air stroked with sunlight." He's heaving, fighting off the feeling of light-headedness as he breathes in more oxygen to his brain.
"Hani, what are you saying?"
"Oh, nothing hyung. Just don't mind me, ha-ha." He tries to hide it with a cheery laugh, but instead, what comes out is something dull, and dry, his insecurities tinting it gray.
"You're weird. I'm going back to the dorms." Jeongwoo stands up from where he's seated on the dance practice floor and raises one eyebrow at him, shooting him a look as if he's grown two heads. "You're not coming?"
"I'll stay a bit more to polish up some details." He stands up too and stares back at his reflection in the mirror. At the corner, he sees Jeongwoo pause by the door.
"Don't push yourself too hard."
I already am.
That night, he doesn't stop dancing. He doesn't stop, not until his feet no longer can support his weight. He doesn't stop, not until his arms finally feel like they're each a tendon away from separating from his body. That night, he makes the rest of his body ache, just so he can drown out the throbbing of his heart.
♪
He's always trying. On the night of their fancon in the Philippines, he tried. He tried to cross boundaries once again. He wanted to convince himself, that looking directly at the sun was worth hurting his eyes, if it meant being able to experience the intensity of it. He wanted to convince himself. That he isn't a lost cause. That he wasn't a fool, for being so utterly, forlornly molten.
Towards the end of the concert, though, he realizes: I'm a dying sunflower. He says inside his head as he catches sight of JL, head resting on Steven's shoulder, face blotched and stained with tears after watching the video prepared by the fans.
No, I'm the moon. He takes everything back. You pull me towards you, and I have no choice but to accept it. Because you keep me still, you keep me fixed.
I just wish I could wipe your tears. He wishes. I wish you came to me instead and let me wipe your tears. Another wish.
I wish I wasn't so far away. And another.
There aren't too many shooting stars to wish upon, he thinks.
I wish you come to me like you come to him. And yet he wishes for some more.
♪
"They said we fit well together." He says with a smile, proud. JL agrees.
"I felt really really really good afterwards." The funny little thing inside his chest called 'heart' skipped a beat.
Skyz, the fans call them.
He doesn't want to reach it. He's scared. He's scared that he'll reach up too high and there's no one to catch him from the fall. He's scared that he'll reach beyond it only to learn there's only empty space. He's scared of a lot of things.
♪
"Don't you also love me?" What is he even doing? Chugging up his second bottle of soju while pointing at his beloved's birthday greeting for another guy, that is. That 'another guy' isn't even another guy, for fuck's sake. It's literally Chihen. The poor child is literally resting far away in his home, and he has the guts to be jealous over him.
Stupid, stupid, Park Han. You are a wretched, evil, human being.
"But don't you love me though? You—" a chug. "You've literally said I-I love you to e-everyone else. Except for m-me. How dare y—" another chug.
"I'm miserable." There's a hiccup, and he thanks their manager in between for having their schedules cleared for the mean time before another round of promotions for their comeback.
"And I didn't get a kiss-y birthday post." There are tears in his eyes now, and he so badly wants to scream. But he knows he couldn't. And so he settles with silently crying instead.
He throws his gaze towards the sleeping figure curled up in the bed at the other side of the room. How he will face Steven in the morning is still an ongoing dilemma to him. It's a surprise, really, how he didn't ask for further details when he told him he wanted to get drunk for the night, how he just went straight to sleeping ahead and how he's still seemingly sleeping sound now.
He doesn't know why, but he figures he should be thankful.
♪
Hani swears that he probably has cried every single night since that night he decided to go drunk. It's become his way to cope, albeit sans the soju. You see, he isn't really a drinker, much more a drunkard.
Tonight, he's currently alone in his room. Steven told him he'll be playing LOL with JL, and that he'll probably be back late. Hani's decided to retire early for the night. I mean, what more to stay up for, right? He thinks.
I could play LOL too, you know. Did you know that I'm crazy good at it?
He really didn't want to, but a tear slipped past his eyes anyway.
Gosh, I'm so—
"Hani-hyung?" There's a knock on the door. Hani grabs his blanket and hunched it up towards his chin. He turns his back towards the door.
"Steven-hyung went out for awhile. He asked me to return some of his things." JL opens the door to their room, and he pretends to be asleep.
"Hyung?" There seems to be a pause as JL examines the room. Hani hears the door close and a few tentative steps coming towards him—unsure, hesitant, almost scared.
"You asleep?" Hani tries his best to keep his breathing steady. It's what he does, anyway. Trying.
"I guess so." Hani's heart is hammering against his ribcage and he feels every thump reverberating against his chest, to his ears.
He feels it thump even harder when he feels a dip in the empty space behind him, followed by a body laying down.
"Hyung-ie..."
He feels the ghost of a touch, hovering over his arm—hesitant, awkward.
He hates it. Hates how now, even when JL thinks he's unconscious, he still can't touch him without having second thoughts.
He doesn't feel the touch, doesn't feel it reach his arm.
"Hyung, I'm seeing less and less of your smiles..." If his heart was beating too fast earlier, now it's frozen, like a bunch of ice was poured over it.
"Is something wrong?" There's a huff under his breath. Why am I even talking? It's not like he knows I'm here. JL mutters to himself.
"I miss your smiles, hyung." There's a sniff. Is he crying?
"I miss you."
There's a ruffle from behind, like fabric being used to wipe skin. Then, a weight coming off.
Han thought he'll slid right off, get out of the room, and that's fine. It's okay. He'll pretend nothing ever happened, and it will probably take a long time, but he'll learn to pick up the pieces and mend them right back up. He'll be okay, someday.
But, no. JL didn't slide right off. He leaned right in, slowly, yet with full conviction and determination, placed a soft, chaste kiss on Han's forehead. It was brief, merely a second long, but it was enough to light Han's insides on fire.
The footsteps that went out his room after that were hurried, as if he just did a grave crime no one was supposed to know.
The door clicks shut, and for a long moment, Han just listens. Everything feels louder now, sharper, like silence pressing against his ribs.
He doesn't move. He's scared that if he does, the warmth on his forehead will fade, and he'll wake up to find that it was all a trick of the dark. So he stays still, eyes tracing the ceiling as if it could give him answers.
Maybe this is all they'll ever be—heat, then silence.
Maybe the universe was never meant to let them burn at the same time.
He reaches up, fingers brushing the spot where JL's lips had been. It's cold now, but it still feels like something sacred, like moonlight that only visits after the sun's gone.
He doesn't chase after him. He never does. The moon doesn't chase the sun. It just waits, tracing the light it cannot hold.
So he lies there, eyes open in the dark, the ghost of warmth still blooming faintly on his skin.
Han is good at trying. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wants to stop being good at it. Sometimes, he wants to not only try, but succeed. To finally see something bloom from all the quiet, endless reaching.