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It’s a cold evening at the ALPHADRIVEONE’s dorm, winter pressed firmly into every corner of the city. Snow has been falling on and off all day, thin and quiet, dusting the sidewalks and clinging to the railings outside like it’s afraid to let go. The rooftop is cold enough that the concrete bites through fabric, but Geonwoo has been lying out there for hours anyway, sprawled across one of the lounge chairs with his hood pulled up and a half-finished can of beer sweating against his palm.
Tomorrow’s another music show, another 3 a.m wake-up call. Another van ride in the dark. Another stage where the air is so dry it pulls at his skin the second he steps under the lights.
His body still aches from rehearsal earlier. Winter makes everything worse. His shoulders feel stiff, his knees sore in a way that never quite fades anymore. The cold air helps numb it, a little. So does the alcohol, even if Sangwon would lose his shit if he knew.
He’s just starting to drift when footsteps crunch softly behind him.
“Geonwoo.”
He groans and rolls onto his side, tugging his hood farther over his face.
A foot nudges his thigh. Not gently.
“Get up.”
Geonwoo hums, eyes closed, pretending he can’t hear.
There’s a pause. Then fingers hook into the front of his hoodie and haul him upright. He barely has time to react before he’s blinking up at Sangwon, who looks annoyingly composed for someone who’s also been running on barely four hours of sleep all week. His hair is tied back, face bare, a sheet mask dangling from his fingers.
“You skipped yesterday,” Sangwon says. “And you were outside in the snow again.”
“I needed air,” Geonwoo mutters.
“And frostbite?”
“I was fine.”
Sangwon exhales, sharp and tired, and starts dragging him inside before Geonwoo can argue. Down the stairs, through the quiet hallway, straight into the bathroom like it’s routine now. Like it’s always been this way.
“Sit.”
Geonwoo drops onto the stool in front of the mirror, shoulders slumping. He crosses his arms, already bracing himself. The heater hums softly in the walls, warm compared to the bite of the rooftop.
Sangwon washes his hands first. He always does. The sound of water fills the room, steady and grounding. When he turns back, his movements are slower than usual, fatigue weighing them down.
“You’re dry,” Sangwon murmurs, pressing cleanser into his palms. “Winter’s killing your skin.”
Geonwoo snorts. “Winter’s killing me.”
Sangwon steps closer and presses his hands to Geonwoo’s face. They’re warm, a sharp contrast to the cold that still clings to him. His thumbs move carefully along Geonwoo’s jaw, fingers steady at his temples.
Geonwoo closes his eyes, partly to avoid product getting in it, mostly because Sangwon is too close. He smells clean, like soap and something faintly floral. The heater clicks on louder, filling the silence.
“Stop leaning back,” Sangwon says quietly.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Geonwoo stills. He watches through the mirror as Sangwon concentrates, brow slightly furrowed like this actually matters. Like his skin or Geonwoo actually matters.
Toner. Essence. Serum.
Too many steps. Too much time.
By the time Sangwon moves on to the serum, Geonwoo’s face feels very warm. When he risks glancing at the mirror, his cheeks are flushed and his mouth looks stupidly soft.
Sangwon notices immediately. “You’re red again. You sure nothing’s irritating you?”
“Not allergic,” Geonwoo says quickly. Too quickly. The thought of this stopping makes something uneasy twist in his chest.
“I’m fine.”
Sangwon studies him for a second longer than necessary, then hums and continues. His thumbs linger on Geonwoo’s cheeks, slow and grounding.
“…Your lips are cracked,” Sangwon murmurs.
“They’re fine.”
“They’re not.”
He grips Geonwoo’s chin and tilts his face up. “Open.”
Geonwoo does, heart thudding. Sangwon’s thumb presses along his bottom lip, slick with balm, slow and deliberate. The coolness fades into warmth almost immediately.
“Dry air,” Sangwon says under his breath. “Music shows are brutal this time of year.”
Geonwoo’s breathing goes uneven before he can stop it.
“Don’t breathe like that,” Sangwon mutters.
“I’m not trying to.”
They fall quiet again. Snow taps faintly against the window. Sangwon smooths his thumb between Geonwoo’s brows, easing a crease he didn’t realize was there, and a soft sound slips out of Geonwoo before he can stop it.
He coughs immediately, embarrassed.
Sangwon pauses. “You okay?”
Geonwoo nods, staring at the counter. Sangwon’s hand stays warm against his cheek.
Before he can think better of it, Geonwoo blurts, “Can I do yours? After?”
Sangwon blinks. “Mine?”
“Your skincare. I mean.”
There’s a beat. Sangwon’s ears go faintly pink. “Yeah. Okay.”
When Sangwon sits, Geonwoo hesitates, then reaches up to push his hair back, fingers brushing freckled skin. Sangwon goes very still, eyes tracking the movement.
Geonwoo fumbles through bottles, unsure, clumsy, but when he touches Sangwon’s face he’s careful, gentler than he ever is with anything else. Sangwon’s cheeks slowly color, gaze drifting away.
“You don’t have to be that soft,” Sangwon mutters.
“I don’t wanna mess it up.”
Something tight flickers across Sangwon’s face.
Eventually Geonwoo reaches for the lip balm again. His throat goes dry. “This too?”
Sangwon nods. “Yeah.”
“What’s it even doing?”
“For kissing,” Sangwon says, too casual.
Geonwoo swallows. “Can I?”
Sangwon finally looks at him, eyes steady. “…Yeah.”
Geonwoo leans in, nerves getting the better of him, and smears way too much balm across Sangwon’s mouth in one awkward swipe.
“There,” he says too loudly, yanking his hand back.
Sangwon stares. “Wow.”
“I can fix it,” Geonwoo blurts, and does, rubbing it in properly this time. Slower. Closer. His fingers linger without him meaning to.
The silence stretches, heavy.
“I don’t think you need all this,” Geonwoo murmurs. “You’re already fine.”
Sangwon’s expression softens. “You really think so?”
Geonwoo pulls back too fast. “I mean—none of the fans you flirt with ever kiss you, so what’s the point?”
Immediate regret.
“Are you watching me?” Sangwon snaps.
“Yeah,” Geonwoo fires back. “And all I see is an idiot with dry lips.”
They stare at each other.
“Prove it,” Sangwon says suddenly.
Geonwoo didn’t think. He grabs Sangwon’s shirt and kisses him.
It’s clumsy and too quick and soft in the way winter nights are soft. They pull apart at the same time, stunned, breath visible in the cool air near the window.
“Fuck” Geonwoo mutters weakly.
Sangwon touches his lips, eyes wide. “…I’m going to bed.”
The door slams.
Geonwoo stays in the bathroom, staring at his reflection, fingers brushing his own swollen mouth.
“Holy shit.”