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That night, the cold felt intentional.
Not the kind of cold that startled the body awake all at once, but the sort that crept in slowly, patiently, until it settled deep beneath the skin and refused to leave. Forte dei Marmi lay too close to the sea; Junhui decided that much was true. The wind carried salt and dampness with it, slipping through open spaces, seeping into clothes, brushing against exposed skin as though it had purpose.
The last guesthouse was the most refined one they had stayed in so far.
Automatic gates guarded the entrance. Tall hedges stood trimmed and orderly, enclosing a lawn so wide it felt almost theatrical. Earlier that evening, Junhui had joked that it rivaled the Colosseum they had visited on their first day in Italy. Vast. Grand. Imposing.
Now, standing in the room he had chosen for himself, Junhui felt strangely small.
And once again—inevitably—Minghao was there with him.
Sharing the same room with him.
At this point, if even the staff had noticed the pattern, Junhui wouldn’t have been surprised. Junhui also no longer questioned it. If it was a coincidence, he accepted it with quiet resignation. If it was intentional, he chose not to think about it too deeply. Two out of three guesthouses, the same arrangement. Fate, coincidence, or something neither of them dared to name.
That night, Na PD declared that they are going to play mafia—a game that had long been second nature to Seventeen. The game unfolded as it always did—voices overlapping, laughter spilling freely, accusations thrown half-seriously, half-for-fun, with extra drama included. They had played this game countless times. They knew the rhythm, the rise and fall of tension, the way suspicion passed like a current through the room.
During the trial round, Mingyu confidently picked out the mafias: Seungkwan, Junhui, and Minghao.
Junhui had nearly choked on his laughter.
If any of the members noticed how Junhui fumbled slightly under the attention, how his reactions came a beat too late, how he suddenly blabbered in English, no one commented on it. What Junhui didn’t notice—what he failed to catch entirely—was the way Minghao stole brief glances in his direction throughout the game. Quiet, fleeting looks that lingered just a second too long.
The game ended with the citizens winning, and they made sure to help the staff clean the room and rearrange the chairs back around the grand table before returning to their respective rooms. Everyone agreed they were too tired to play more games or to just linger in the living room; all they wanted was to collapse onto their beds, wrapped in warm blankets.
Back in their room, Junhui tried to keep himself busy. He really, really, tried.
He unpacked his belongings directly on his bed, folding clothes that didn’t truly need folding, arranging items that could just as easily wait until morning, and pretending to hum a made-up melody.
When they arrived at this final guesthouse, they had been immediately ushered into the mafia game, leaving them no time to settle in properly. Junhui was grateful for the excuse to keep his mind busy.
He was also grateful that he managed to secure a single bed.
Not because he sleeps messily or being afraid of disturbing the person that is going to sleep next to him, but because he likes having his own space when he rests. Space to breathe. Space to think. Space to exist without being aware of another presence so close by.
The bed was pushed against the wall, which meant that as he unpacked, Junhui didn’t have to face Minghao directly.
Lately, Junhui had become painfully aware of how difficult it was for him to be near Minghao.
He was certain that these feelings he couldn’t quite name for Minghao had started to become impossible to restrain ever since they filmed The Game Caterers: Seventeen with Na PD. Back then, they had been holding hands, both nervous and hopeful, because those character quizzes had a habit of tripping up the foreign members. Minghao’s hand had been warm, yet trembling. Junhui remembered the exact pressure of it, the way his thumb had brushed against Minghao’s knuckle in an attempt to soothe him.
But then, Minghao was the first to let go, standing up as he answered cheerfully and without hesitation.
“NewJeans!” he had said happily back then, his teeth fully on display from how wide his smile was.
Junhui hadn’t thought much about how cold his hands instantly felt afterward. His focus had been entirely on Minghao’s face. His beautiful face. Expression bright, relieved, victorious. Truly beautiful.
Yes. Junhui is sure that was when it started to become unbearable.
That odd feeling, the one that made Junhui feel like his skin would peel away whenever Minghao stood too close—it had begun right there.
Oh, hell, no.
He didn’t even want to start to think about when his feelings had crossed that fragile line, when care that once felt like familial affection tied to their shared origins became something deeper, a tenderness so profound that it made him want to worship Minghao every time he watched him being immersed in his passions.
Junhui lay down quickly, pulling the blanket up around himself, then picked up his phone. He pretended to be deeply absorbed in it, as though he had entered a self-imposed do-not-disturb mode. Maybe, just maybe, if Minghao thought he was busy, he wouldn’t try to talk to him.
“Jun-ah.”
Minghao’s voice was soft, breaking their silence.
Junhui’s hope crumbled instantly.
Wait, since when had the lights been turned off?
He answered with a low hum, eyes still fixed on his phone screen, trying to keep his focus on the Pokémon game he had opened earlier, not really doing anything, just mindlessly pressing the Settings and X buttons back to back. Minghao didn’t need to know that Junhui’s heart felt like it was about to leap out of his ribcage.
He heard the rustle of blankets. Minghao was probably adjusting his position on the bed.
“Someday,” Minghao said, almost casually, “let’s go somewhere nice, just the two of us.”
Junhui blinked.
The phone slipped from his grasp and landed on his chest with a dull thud. It hurt, but Minghao’s words had stolen all of his attention, rendering the sting insignificant. Junhui stared toward the lump in Minghao’s bed, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, silently begging whatever brain cells he had left to pray that Minghao couldn’t see his expression in the darkness.
Minghao had always had good eyesight.
“Just… the two of us?” Junhui echoed, sounding painfully foolish even to his own ears.
He heard Minghao click his tongue lightly. “Yes, just the two of us. Originally, we were supposed to go with Yoo Yeonseok-nim and Jo Jungsuk-nim, but this ended up becoming a group trip instead. So I was thinking, would you like to go on a holiday with just me sometime in the future?”
Huh. How was Junhui supposed to answer that?
He wanted to. He wanted to so badly, and that was the problem.
Junhui was acutely aware of this strange feeling growing inside him—something he only ever felt toward Minghao. He wanted to go wherever Minghao went. He wanted to be with Minghao all the time. Humans had a name for this feeling, Junhui knew that much. But he was terrified of saying it aloud. Terrified of acknowledging it.
Surely, the members already knew.
Junhui wondered if Minghao knew, too. Minghao had always been one of the observant members.
Just thinking about it made Junhui anxious all over again.
“I can hear you thinking, Jun-ah,” Minghao said gently. “Take your time to answer. I’m not trying to rush you.”
Junhui heard the faint creak of Minghao’s bed. He had probably turned over, now lying with his back to Junhui.
Junhui blinked, still trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness, still staring in the direction of Minghao’s bed.
He placed his phone beside him and turned onto his side, facing away, attempting to sleep despite the chaos inside his head. It was a simple question, he scolded himself. A simple question with a simple answer: yes or no.
He thought about the past.
About how he used to be the one who invited Minghao everywhere. Practicing Korean together during spare moments in the green basement. Walking to the small convenience store at the end of the alley near their old dorm in winter, sharing a single bowl of ramyeon because they didn’t have enough money for two. How Junhui had pulled Minghao into his routines, wherever he went, whenever he went.
Back then, Minghao had followed him everywhere because Junhui was the only one he could truly communicate with. Dependency made sense. Junhui understood that.
Now, things were different.
Minghao is fluent in Korean. He no longer needed Junhui by his side at all times. Indeed, Junhui is very proud of him, but he thinks that it also felt natural to grieve the closeness they once had.
Junhui squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing.
Because now, he is the one who kept gravitating toward Minghao without realizing it. He remembered how he’d acted during Chao Yin Zhan Ji and Youth Periplous, his unconscious tendency to sit beside Minghao during Going Seventeen shoots, and how he had chosen to share a room with Minghao in two out of three guesthouses during NANA Tour.
He didn't know whether to be grateful or miserable that this last guesthouse had placed them alone together.
He needed to get a grip on himself.
This is not very cool of him. Not at all.
He found himself praying that tomorrow’s option tour wouldn’t put him in the same group as Minghao, even though part of him wanted the opposite.
Because as much as he wanted to be with Minghao, Junhui needed time—to reorganize his thoughts, to neutralize the overwhelming emotions that felt like they might overflow at any moment, and to not make a fool of himself every time they’re together.
“Jun-ah.”
Junhui flinched.
“Yes?” he replied way too quickly. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
Oh, his voice was also too loud for his liking. Not cool.
He heard the blankets shift again. Minghao had turned back to face him.
“I was thinking about something.”
Junhui swallowed hard, still facing away. He whispered, “Is it… something serious?”
Minghao’s soft giggle filled the space between them. Junhui wanted to put the younger inside of his pocket.
“That depends,” Minghao said. “I don’t think it’s serious. But others might.”
Junhui frowned. Something Minghao didn’t consider serious, but the members might? Is it about their upcoming comeback? Or a performance that he—
“Maybe you’d think it’s serious too,” Minghao added, cutting through Junhui’s train of thoughts.
“Oh,” Junhui said coolly, trying his best. “Is it about our comeback?”
“No,” Minghao replied. “It’s about me.”
Minghao’s bed creaked again. There was a faint rustling sound of Minghao's blanket. “Come here. I’ll tell you.”
Junhui wondered if his hearing had failed him.
Minghao was asking him to lie down together.
Minghao’s bed was a queen size, unlike Junhui’s single, so it could fit two people. But at that distance, Minghao certainly wouldn’t miss Junhui’s nervousness leaking through his pores.
Every room had a camera, recording all of their interaction.
Junhui knew Minghao was not stupid.
Minghao was certainly conscious of the risk his words carried, that there was no certainty their interactions would stay private and not appear in the NANA Tour episode.
Junhui hoped, desperately, that none of this would ever be aired. While their fans are lovely people, they also could be terrifying.
Before Minghao’s mood could sour, Junhui slipped out from under his blanket and padded softly toward Minghao’s bed. He climbed in carefully, though the frame still creaked in protest. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the fact that Minghao could now look at him closely even in the dark.
“Face me,” Minghao said softly.
Junhui took a deep breath—one he was sure Minghao could hear—and turned toward him.
In the darkness, he could see the faint glimmer of Minghao’s eyes. Junhui’s chest ached.
He’s beautiful, Junhui thought helplessly.
Minghao hummed. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself, Jun-ah.”
Junhui furrowed his eyebrows together. Oh, he had said that out loud.
In a rare moment of bravery, he didn’t try to hide his face or shove Minghao’s shoulder jokingly. He held Minghao’s gaze, despite the voice inside him screaming about his own recklessness. He found himself smiling shyly, hoping it would help to mask his embarrassment.
Minghao smiled back.
It felt like old times.
Back when they hadn’t fully grasped Korean. When sleeping together like this wasn’t awkward. When Junhui hadn’t yet realized he was in love with Minghao.
“You see,” Minghao said, propping his fists under his chin, utterly adorable. “This is about me. And I should probably be worried. But I realized there’s no point in worrying.”
Junhui frowned, trying to think hard while fighting off sleep as Minghao’s warmth presence seeped into him.
It had been a long day, the mafia game draining despite how fun it was. Now, with Minghao’s warmth slowly encircling him as they lay next to each other, Junhui knew that if he allowed himself to close his eyes for even a few seconds, he would slip effortlessly into the dream land.
“Let’s talk about it during our trip,” Minghao murmured, voice laced with amusement upon noticing Junhui's sleepiness. “Sleep for now.”
This time, Junhui did shove Minghao’s shoulder jokingly, gently. Minghao’s giggle escaped him again, the one Junhui can never seem to get tired of.
“When is that supposed to be?” Junhui asked in Chinese. “We haven’t even picked a destination. That’s a long way off.” He didn't even notice that they were conversing in Korean from the start.
Minghao’s eyes gleamed once more in the dark. “I promise I’ll tell you,” he whispered back in Chinese. “Cross my heart.”
Junhui grumbled softly, surrendering at last as his eyes fell shut, his exhaustion finally winning.
“Good night, Minghao.”
Before sleep fully claimed him, he felt a gentle pressure against his forehead. Minghao’s breath was warm against his face.
“Good night, Jun-ge.”
When Junhui woke the next morning, their fingers were intertwined, noses nearly touching.
Minghao was still asleep, and Junhui found himself greedily drinking in the sight before him. His long eyelashes, his cute button nose, and his soft, plump, pink lips that looked all too kissable. The thought made the tips of Junhui’s ears burn, yet he didn’t look away from Minghao’s peacefully sleeping face, feeling the steady rise and fall of the younger’s chest with each quiet breath.
For the first time in a long while, Junhui felt no anxiety about being close with Minghao at all.
And as they prepared breakfast together while the other members were still asleep, shoulders brushing in the small kitchen, small smiles being exchanged, Junhui felt calm in a way he hadn’t in a long time.
Because maybe, just maybe, he had never been alone in this after all.