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The world had been nothing but dark for Hongjoong.
Lately, every day blurred into the next. The studio lights were always too bright, the silence always too loud. He stayed up until four, sometimes five, telling himself just one more tweak, one more line, one more beat. And then he’d wake up three hours later with sleep still clinging to his bones, dragging himself through schedules with caffeine and sheer willpower. He smiled when he needed to, laughed when it was expected, led when it was required.
And then, when they finally got home, he crashed.
It was a bone deep exhaustion, the kind that didn’t go away with sleep. The kind that came from always being on, always being the one people leaned on. He loved his members, loved them more than he could put into words, but some days it felt like he was carrying the weight of everything alone. Expectations. Responsibility. Fear of letting anyone down.
Sometimes, in the quiet moments, he wished he could stop being strong. Just for a little while. Wished someone else would take care of him.
That was when it hit him.
For years, without him ever really realizing it, Seonghwa had been there. Always. Not loudly, not demanding attention, but steady and warm like a constant presence. Seonghwa knew when Hongjoong was forcing himself to smile. Knew when to offer space and when to sit close without saying a word. He understood Hongjoong in a way that felt instinctive, as if he could read between the lines of every breath he took.
Seonghwa was his safe place.
And tonight, after an entire day of thinking about him, about how tired he was, about how badly he needed someone, Hongjoong found himself standing in front of Seonghwa’s door.
He hesitated, hand hovering in the air, heart thudding far too loudly for such a simple action. Then, finally, he knocked. Softly. Almost timid.
The door opened, and there Seonghwa stood.
He was dressed in soft blue pajamas, hair messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His face was bare, eyes wide with mild surprise that quickly melted into warmth when he saw who it was.
Hongjoong swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Did I wake you?”
The question felt stupid the moment it left his mouth. It was barely nine.
Seonghwa smiled, a small, gentle smile that always seemed reserved just for him. “No, you didn’t. I was just lying down on my phone.”
Hongjoong hummed, nodding as his gaze dropped to the floor. His thoughts tangled together, words slipping away before he could catch them. For a moment, he just stood there, silent.
“Do you need anything?” Seonghwa asked softly. “Did I take your charger again? This time it was an accident.”
Hongjoong shook his head quickly and looked up. The way his eyes widened, tired but earnest, made Seonghwa’s chest ache.
“No,” he said. Then hesitated. “I was just wondering if I could join you. I want to be around someone right now. Around you.”
The blush that crept across his cheeks made him look younger somehow, more vulnerable. Seonghwa didn’t hesitate for a second.
“You don’t have to ask, Joongie,” he said gently, stepping aside. “My door’s always open. For you.”
Relief washed over Hongjoong so quickly it almost made him dizzy. He slipped inside, instantly enveloped by the familiar scent of strawberries and vanilla. Seonghwa’s room was always like this. Warm, cozy, safe. It made his shoulders relax without him even realizing they’d been tense.
“Sorry if it’s a little messy,” Seonghwa said as he closed the door behind them. “I haven’t really had the motivation to clean lately.”
Hongjoong shook his head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s not messy at all. You should see my studio.” He let out a quiet laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
“I have,” Seonghwa murmured as he sat beside him. “One night I went in to look for my hairbrush, and you were passed out at your desk.”
Hongjoong stiffened slightly, then sighed.
“You’ve been working yourself way too hard,” Seonghwa continued, voice barely above a whisper.
Hongjoong looked over at him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to be seen until that moment. Of course Seonghwa noticed. He always did.
“Oh,” Hongjoong said quietly. “I suppose I have, haven’t I?”
Seonghwa nodded, concern written plainly on his face. He reached out, gently taking Hongjoong’s hand, thumb brushing slow, soothing circles over his skin.
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “You don’t have to do everything alone. You can ask for help, Hongjoong. You can lean on me. I’m always here. No matter what. You know that, right?”
Hongjoong’s throat tightened. His eyes burned as he nodded, then shook his head, unsure which answer was truer.
“You’re sure?” he whispered.
Seonghwa leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’m always sure.”
Hongjoong let his eyes flutter shut.
“Then,” he started, voice trembling. “Could you hold me tonight? I just… I miss being.”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Seonghwa smiled, warm and knowing, scooting back against the headboard and patting the space beside him. “Come here.”
Hongjoong moved quickly, curling into Seonghwa’s side like it was second nature. His arms wrapped around Seonghwa’s waist, his head resting over his heartbeat. The steady rhythm grounded him instantly.
Seonghwa’s fingers threaded through Hongjoong’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp, slow and repetitive. Protective. Careful.
“You’ve done enough today,” Seonghwa murmured as he reached over to turn off the lamp. “You don’t have to carry anything right now.”
Hongjoong breathed out shakily, his grip tightening just a little.
“Sleep, my Joongie.”
For the first time in months, the noise in Hongjoong’s mind faded. The pressure loosened. Wrapped in warmth, held without expectation, he felt safe enough to let go.
As sleep finally claimed him, one quiet truth settled gently in his chest.
He wasn’t alone.
And he never had been.
He loves Park Seonghwa, as more than a best friend.