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The dim ambience welcomes them when they step into the hotel room, the door closing behind them with a soft, final click.
It's quiet in a way that feels unreal after the concert—after the screaming, the music still echoing in their ears, the staff talking over one another in the hallway as members walk off towards their own rooms, exchanging pats on the back and good nights. Sunghoon and Sunoo stand there for a second, bags hanging lazily on their shoulders like they're about to slip off, adrenaline finally losing its grip.
One room.
One bed.
Neither of them comments on it.
They move on instinct instead. Shoes are kicked off first, landing wherever gravity decides. Backpacks slide down the wall, dropping against the luggage rack, unopened. Someone's jacket ends up draped half over the chair, half over the vanity, sleeves trailing.
There's no energy left for organization.
Sunghoon gets to the bed first. He drops onto it face-down, arms spread, the mattress letting out a quiet sigh beneath him. At this state, he couldn't care less about the makeup smudging on his skin against the sheets. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, just lies there, breathing, as if confirming that it's real and solid and finally beneath him.
Sunoo sinks into the chair by the vanity instead, legs stretching out, spine slightly slumping in a way he'd never allow on camera. He pulls his phone out immediately, screen lighting up his tired smile.
"Wow," he beams, already scrolling. "There's so much."
Sunghoon hums into the sheets. It's not quite a response, but it's enough.
Sunoo flicks through notifications, eyes darting across the screen. Fans are fast—impossibly fast. There are already fancams, shaky but glowing, angles from the crowd that catch the lights just right. Someone clipped Heeseung's high note, zoomed in dramatically, the comments exploding underneath.
"Heeseung-hyung nailed that note," Sunoo says, glancing over his shoulder towards the bed. "Like, actually insane."
Another hum. This one longer.
"And did you see the way Ni-ki slipped? He recovered so smoothly," Sunoo continues, hand gesturing vaguely. "People are already calling it iconic."
Sunghoon rolls onto his side just enough to face him, eyes half-lidded, hair still damp with sweat. He listens. He always does. Especially when it's Sunoo talking nonstop.
Sunoo laughs softly at his screen. "The fans screamed so loud when Jay-hyung did aegyo. I thought my ears were going to burst."
And there—that one—just at the mere mention of Jay, Sunghoon huffs a little, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when the image of it crosses his mind. Jay and aegyo are rarely phrased in one sentence, but it happened tonight.
Sunoo scrolls again, slower now. "Jake-hyung was really panicking backstage, though. I didn't realize how nervous he was until right before we went up."
That one stays in the air. It's their first overseas performance. The words don't need to be said out loud because they're sitting heavy and warm in the room already.
Sunoo opens Weverse out of habit, snaps a quick selfie in the mirror with messy hair and flushed cheeks—the aftermath of something big and good. He posts it with a caption, like he always does, then watches the likes start ticking up immediately.
"Oh," he utters suddenly. "Jungwon just went live."
Sunghoon's eyes open a bit more. "Already?"
"Yeah." Sunoo smiles, fond. "He's fast."
For a while, they exist like that—Sunoo in the digital noise of fans and clips and comments, Sunghoon sinking deeper into the bed, fatigue finally winning. The room smells faintly of hotel soap and fabric softener, something clean and unfamiliar.
Eventually, Sunoo locks his phone and stands, stretching his arms over his head until his back pops.
"I'm going to shower," he says lightly. "I feel gross."
Sunghoon nods, eyes slipping shut again. "Mm. Go."
Sunoo pauses for just a second before heading to the bathroom, glancing back at the bed, at Sunghoon already halfway asleep, trusting the moment to hold.
The door clicks shut behind him, and the room falls silent again.
Just after a while, the bathroom door opens again, the sound soft against the quiet of the room.
Sunoo steps out with a small canvas bag tucked into his arms, stuffed with skincare bottles and packets of supplements he refuses to skip anywhere. He's already dressed in a tee hanging loosely on his body, sweatpants sitting low on his hips. His hair is still wet, strands clinging to his forehead and the nape of his neck, water darkening the collar of his shirt.
The room feels cooler now, scented with shampoo instead of sweat and stage lights.
Sunoo looks to his right. Sunghoon is asleep.
Not just resting, but properly dozed off. Breath slow and even, one arm tucked underneath the pillow while the other lies abandoned at his side. His face has softened completely in sleep, the tension from earlier gone, lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. There's a smudge of stubborn makeup near his eye, forgotten and untouched. The sheets under his legs are rumpled as proof that he had shuffled to a more comfortable position.
Sunoo pauses where he stands. He hadn't meant to wake him anyway, but there's something about seeing Sunghoon like this—undone, unguarded—that makes him linger more than necessary at the sight of it.
He shifts the bag in his arms, the containers inside clinking quietly, then moves closer on instinct with steps that are careful and light. Then he sets the bag down on the vanity and starts his routine without turning on the lights, relying on the glow from the lamp near the bed.
Bottle by bottle, muscle memory takes over. Toner. Moisturizer. Eye cream. Some other cream. And another. Something for his joints, for energy. He lines them up neatly, a stark contrast to the chaos they left by the door.
Every so often, his gaze drifts back to the bed behind him in the mirror.
Sunghoon hasn't moved. At all.
Sunoo caps the last bottle and exhales through his nose. He hesitates, then turns fully towards the bed and crosses the short distance between them. The mattress dips when he sits on the edge, careful not to jostle it too much.
Up close, Sunghoon looks even more exhausted. The rise and fall of his chest is balanced. Sunoo reaches out without thinking and pats his shoulder once. Then again, a little firmer.
"Hyung," he whispers. "Aren't you gonna shower?"
No response.
Sunoo frowns and tries again, this time giving his arm a gentle shake. "Hyung. You're gonna fall asleep like this."
Sunghoon makes a sound, but it's somehow low and indistinct that it's more of a breath than a word. His brows wrinkle for a second, like he's trying to surface, trying to stir himself awake, but he doesn't open his eyes.
"Hyung," Sunoo says again, softer now. "You can't skip it."
Another mumble. Sunoo can't make out a single syllable.
He sighs, amused despite himself, and leans in a bit closer. That's when Sunghoon moves.
It happens slowly, lazily—an arm sliding across the sheets, fingers curling into fabric. Before Sunoo can register what's happening, there's a sudden tug at his waist.
"Hy—" Sunoo jolts, breath hitching as Sunghoon pulls him closer without waking, forehead pressing vaguely against his side. The grip isn't tight, just... certain. Familiar. Like muscle memory. Because it is.
Sunghoon has done this plenty of times, off and on camera. But it feels weirdly different now.
Sunoo freezes.
"Hyung, what are you doing?" he whispers, half-laughing, half-panicked, hands hovering uselessly in the air.
Sunghoon doesn't answer. Instead, he moves again, closer this time, cheek brushing against Sunoo's hip as if he's found something comfortable and decided not to let go. His arm tightens just enough to make it clear he's not letting go anytime soon.
Sunoo swallows.
They're idols.
They're bandmates.
They're... very much sharing a bed right now.
That's his hyung.
His ears feel hot. So does his face. He can feel the warmth of Sunghoon through the thin fabric of his shirt, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding and unsettling him all at once.
"Hyung," Sunoo tries again.
Another sound—a hum this time—and Sunghoon's hold shifts, turning into something unmistakably like a half-asleep hug. His fingers curl at Sunoo's back, absentminded.
Sunoo's heart does something strange in his chest.
It's not uncomfortable. That's the problem. It's just awkward in the way that makes him painfully aware of himself, of the closeness, of how warm the hotel room suddenly feels. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, or his legs, or the fact that Sunghoon has clearly decided this is where he belongs.
Sunoo laughs under his breath. "You're unbelievable," he murmurs, though there's no real complaint in it.
Neither of them pulls away. Not yet.
Sunoo stays still for a second. This is ridiculous, he thinks. Absolutely ridiculous. Sunghoon is half-asleep, clinging like this means nothing, and Sunoo is the only one spiralling about it. He exhales slowly, tries to calm himself, and then lets his shoulders relax.
Fine.
He clears his throat softly.
"Okay," Sunoo starts, testing the word out loud first. "If you want to cuddle—"
The arm around his waist tightens just a fraction, like Sunghoon hears him in his sleep.
Sunoo continues, "—you have to wash up first."
He doesn't expect anything to happen. It's not a real deal, not to him. Just a way to get Sunghoon moving, to break whatever sleepy spell this is. But then—
Sunghoon lets go.
Just like that.
The weight disappears from Sunoo's side, the warmth retreating as Sunghoon pushes himself upright in one smooth, decisive motion. His eyes are still heavy, unfocused, hair mussed—but he's awake enough now.
"I'll shower," he says flatly.
That's it.
No hesitation. No argument. No confusion.
Before Sunoo can even begin to process what just happened, Sunghoon swings his legs off the bed and stands, swaying lightly before straightening his posture. He walks away without another word, heading for the bathroom.
The door shuts with a click.
Sunoo sits there, frozen at the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door.
"...Huh?"
His heart is still racing, ears still hot, the phantom weight of Sunghoon's arm lingering at his waist like it never really left. The room feels too silent, air charged with something he can't name. And the sound of the shower starting a moment later only makes it worse.
"That worked?" he mutters to himself. Blinks once. Then twice.
Nothing in Germany has felt real since they landed—the crowd, the lights, the stage—but this? This is somehow the strangest part yet.
Time passes in an odd, stretched way.
Sunoo ends up back in the chair by the vanity, phone in hand again, thumb scrolling. He opens a few apps, closes them. Refreshes Weverse. Scrolls X. Puts the phone down. Picks it back up.
The sound of running water from the bathroom is distant yet too noticeable. He tells himself to relax. Nothing weird is happening. This is normal. They've shared rooms before. They've lived together. This is just… Germany.
The water cuts off.
Sunoo stiffens before he realizes it.
A few seconds later, the bathroom door opens.
Sunghoon steps out.
Half-naked. Tall. Bare skin still damp, water trailing down his chest and disappearing beneath the towel wrapped low on his hips. Another smaller towel hangs around his neck, catching droplets from his hair.
Sunoo looks up and forgets how to look away.
"I forgot my clothes," Sunghoon says simply, like he's commenting on the weather.
He crouches down by the bags on the floor, towel shifting as he starts rummaging through his luggage.
Sunoo doesn't move.
He's seen this before. Countless times. Dorm life does that—members wandering around shirtless, fresh out of the shower, completely unbothered. He knows what Sunghoon looks like. Knows the lines of his torso, the way his abs show even when he's relaxed.
He knows all of that.
So why does his neck feel hot?
Sunoo takes a big gulp, the motion visible on his throat. His eyes are fixed on his phone screen even though he's not scrolling anymore. His thumb rests uselessly against the glass.
"Okay," he says, a little too quickly. "Please get changed in the bathroom."
There's a pause.
Sunghoon looks over his shoulder at him, brows lifting just slightly, mouth tilting in that familiar, infuriating way—not quite a smile, but close.
"What?" he asks. "Where else would I get changed?"
"Here?"
Sunoo's ears burn.
"No," he replies, forcing a laugh that comes out thinner than he wants. "Obviously not here."
Sunghoon hums, amused. He doesn't move back towards the bathroom right away. If anything, he takes his time, fingers digging through folded clothes, towel slipping just enough to make Sunoo very aware of where not to look.
Then finally, he straightens fully, clothes in hand, eyes lingering on Sunoo a beat longer than necessary. There's something unreadable there—not sleepy this time, not entirely teasing either. From the drowsy boy Sunoo saw earlier, it's as if something in the atmosphere switched.
Before Sunghoon turns back to the bathroom, he lets out a quiet laugh, then disappears inside and closes the door behind him. Only then does Sunoo release a breath he's been holding.
He presses a hand to the back of his neck, groaning softly. "This is bad," he mutters to no one. He's now acutely aware of how close Sunghoon still is, even when he's not in the room.
It really does feel like less than a minute later when the bathroom door opens again, Sunghoon coming out fully clothed this time—sweatpants, hoodie, hair damp and messy as he ruffles it dry with the towel still hanging around his neck. He doesn't look at Sunoo for long. Just one glance.
Then he flops back onto the bed like gravity remembers him. The mattress dips, springs creaking faintly as he sprawls out on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other dropping to his side. The towel slides off his neck and lands somewhere near his shoulder, already forgotten.
Sunoo watches it all through the mirror on the vanity. Sunghoon looks too comfortable as the bed is occupied by him wholly, leaving little to no space for his roommate.
"Hey," Sunghoon calls, voice a little hoarse. "Did you pack the— one of those creams you have?"
Sunoo blinks. "Which one?"
Sunghoon closes his eyes as if just thinking about it is exhausting. "The eye one."
Sunoo turns back to the lineup of bottles, fingers moving automatically. "Yeah," he answers, picking it up. "Here, catch—"
He turns halfway, arm already pulling back to toss it.
"Come over here," Sunghoon says instead, cutting him off easily. "And put it on me."
Sunoo freezes.
"...What?"
Sunghoon cracks one eye open, looking at him from the bed. There's no smirk or teasing, just that calm, steady look that somehow makes it worse.
"You always do it better," he adds. "My hands are tired."
Sunoo stares at him, then back at the small jar in his hand like it might explain what's happening. "That's—" he starts, then stops. Sighs. "Hyung, it's literally just cream."
"Yeah," Sunghoon agrees. "So?"
So, this is ridiculous.
But he's put skincare on members before. Backstage, in dorms, half-asleep on couches. Sunoo is being dramatic.
He sets the jar down, screws the lid open, and walks over to the bed. Each step feels louder than it should.
Sunghoon shifts a little to make room when Sunoo sits on the edge again, shoulder brushing against the latter's thigh. He tilts his head back slightly, eyes closing in anticipation.
"Just under the eyes," Sunghoon mumbles. "Don't poke me."
"I know," Sunoo mutters back.
He dips a finger into the cream, barely taking any, then hesitates for half a second before leaning in. His knuckle brushes Sunghoon's cheek by accident—warm, soft—and Sunoo has to consciously steady his hand.
He applies it carefully, gentle taps underneath one eye, then the other. Focused. Professional. Totally normal.
Sunghoon exhales, slow and content, like he's settling into the sheets even more. "See? Way better."
Sunoo doesn't answer. He notices everything he never did: the way Sunghoon's lashes flutter against his cheeks, the smell of lotion clinging to him, how close their skin is touching. How his finger hovers a little too long when he finishes, like his brain needs a second to catch up and pull away.
"Done."
He moves to stand—
"Leave it."
Sunoo blinks.
"Huh?"
Sunghoon's hand comes up, not grabbing, just stopping him with delicate fingers pressed against his wrist. His eyes are still closed, voice calm.
"Just leave the cream on the side table," he says.
Sunoo glances down at the open jar still in his hand, so exposed and so uncovered that it hurts him to see it like this. He looks at Sunghoon. "This is my skincare," he protests. "It'll dry up without the lid—"
"You said we'd cuddle," Sunghoon cuts in.
Sunoo goes very, very still.
He stares at Sunghoon, searching his face for teasing, for sleepiness, for anything that suggests this is a joke. But the latter doesn't open his eyes. Doesn't smirk. Doesn't add anything else.
He just waits.
Sunoo's mouth opens, then closes. His brain scrambles for something—anything—that makes sense of this. He did say that. Kind of. Technically. As a joke. A fake deal. A means to an end.
"...You showered," Sunoo says weakly.
"Mhm."
"So—"
"So we cuddle."
Sunoo exhales sharply like the air's been knocked out of him. His fingers tighten around the jar once before he finally sets it down on the small table by the bed, lid still off, abandoned exactly where Sunghoon said.
"There. Happy?"
Sunghoon hums, satisfied. Then he rolls onto his side, arms lifting in a clear, unmissable invitation. Not demanding. Not rushed. Just... open.
Sunoo hesitates for one last second.
Then he lies down.
Sunghoon's arm comes around him immediately, settling warm and secure across Sunoo's waist like it always belonged there. The latter stiffens for half a breath—then slowly, unwillingly, relaxes.
Sunghoon tucks his chin against Sunoo's shoulder, breathing evenly out almost instantly.
"...Hyung," Sunoo whispers.
No answer. Just a soft exhale against his neck that sends shivers down his spine. Sunoo has no chance but to stare ahead, heart racing, cheeks hot, fully acknowledging that he has absolutely no one to blame for this but himself.
His body nearly flinches when Sunghoon shuffles slightly behind him, just enough for his nose to brush the side of Sunoo's neck.
"You smell good," he tells him, voice low and thick. "I like it."
Sunoo freezes again—again—like his body hasn't learned the lesson yet.
It's not loud. Not flirtatious. It's said the same way Sunghoon would comment on ice cream flavors or a song he replayed too many times. Casual. Honest. Which is worse.
"Y-yeah?" Sunoo manages. His throat feels dry. "It's just... shampoo."
"Mmm." The grip of Sunghoon's arms around him narrows, more reflex than intention. "Still."
Sunoo stares at the opposite wall as warmth is pressed along his back against a firm, strong, bigger figure. He can feel every rise and fall of Sunghoon's chest and every steaming breath tickling the skin on his neck.
The cream on the table is probably drying out right now. And he should care. But instead, his body betrays him by relaxing further, sinking into the mattress, into Sunghoon's hold. His fingers curl lightly into the sheets, knuckles brushing Sunghoon's hand where it rests.
"Hyung," he says again. Not really a protest nor a question.
Sunghoon hums in response, already half-gone. His nose nudges once.
The room remains quiet. No cameras. No staff. No fans. Just hotel air and the silent weight of something new in his chest—unlabeled, unresolved, and undeniably impossible to ignore.
He closes his eyes.
If this is a mistake, he thinks hazily, it's one he'll want to remember. And one he might need to deal with later.
But for now, Sunoo stays exactly where he is.