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Geonwoo checks the time as soon as the hotel door shuts behind him. 10:30 p.m., though his body still feels suspended somewhere between jet lag, the venue lights, and the car ride back.
Tranquility settles in almost immediately. There are no bodyguards hovering a step too close, no camera flashes popping in his face every few seconds, and as much as he loved the attention, no one yelling his name from three directions at once. There's only calm, the muted whir of the air conditioner, and the faint glow of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling window. He hadn’t realised how much he needed this until now.
He shrugs out of his sweater, letting it fall mindlessly over the chair without looking, and nudges his shoes off near the bed. The adrenaline drains in waves, leaving him lighter than he has felt in days.
Today went well. Better than he expected.
Two weeks ago, he wasn’t even sure he would be allowed near a public schedule this soon. Yet he stood under the lights again, and nobody looked at him with thinly veiled judgment. Fans cheered his name the same way they always had. The members kept finding excuses to stay close beside him, hands brushing his shoulder and his back to give small reassurances. It feels good to breathe without waiting for the next terrible headline and netizens piling to tear him apart.
Geonwoo slips under the covers, still in his socks, staring up at the ceiling. A shower is definitely in order, but he figures he could just ride the calm for a little longer.
All eight of them were supposed to be here; instead, they're split across countries because the company, incompetent as usual, couldn’t get three visas handled in time. Everyone pretended it wasn’t a big deal this morning, but the irritation followed them through fittings and the day's event anyway.
Xinlong should have been here.
They could have ended up sharing a room again, like in Hong Kong, staying awake long past whatever time the managers told them to sleep, talking until their voices thinned into half sentences and laughter. Geonwoo can almost picture it — Xinlong sitting cross-legged on the bed, hair still damp from the shower, reminiscing about their time together on boy's planet and arguing about nothing in particular just to keep the conversation going.
He reaches for his phone before he thinks better of it and opens Xinlong’s KakaoTalk chat.
Thumb hovering over the keyboard, he wonders if he should text. They haven't spoken since he landed in Paris, and Geonwoo is pretty sure it's morning back in Korea now, barely past six. Xinlong is probably asleep.
After a moment, he backs out of the text box and decides to send a few personal photos he took during the event instead.
The photos deliver. Geonwoo lowers his phone, already preparing to toss it aside, when the small typing bubble flashes at the bottom of the screen.
It disappears almost immediately, comes back, then vanishes again.
His fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the phone. So Xinlong is awake. He opened the chat immediately and is probably looking at the pictures right now.
The duvet shifts as Geonwoo curls slightly onto his side, pulling it up to his chin without thinking. The room is quiet enough that he can hear the faint rush of his own breath in his ears. The typing bubble flickers off and on again, and he imagines Xinlong staring at the screen, starting a sentence, deleting it halfway through and starting another. That's the only logical explanation for why the bubble keeps behaving nervously.
Still, no message arrives from Xinlong, making the absence feel heavier than it should.
Things haven’t been stiff or wrong between them, just slightly off balance, awkward, if you'll call it. It's been this way ever since Geonwoo decided he was done pretending he didn’t want more.
He has never sat Xinlong down or cornered him with an outright confession; he's not reckless like that. But he stopped holding back in smaller ways. He finds reasons to touch first, throwing his arms around Xinlong’s shoulders and staking his claim whenever he can. He shows up with coffee at solo shoots no one asked him to attend, waits in practice rooms long after everyone else drifts out, and watches Xinlong from across crowded spaces without looking away when their eyes meet.
Xinlong never pulls back. If anything, he leans in, mirroring the closeness and seeking Geonwoo out just as often.
That’s what makes this all so frustrating.
The feeling exists between them. It’s solid and tangible, yet neither of them has named it. Because naming it means weighing and confronting what it could cost.
Dating a group member isn’t just two people liking each other. It’s contracts, public image, scrutiny, company politics, the fragile ecosystem of eight lives tied together, and the possibility of everything cracking open if it goes wrong or ever gets found out.
Paris would have made it easier. It would have provided an excuse to step out alone without raising suspicion. A late-night walk by the river where no one knows their faces, and pockets of space to ask the question they’ve both been circling.
Xinlong should have been here.
Geonwoo exhales slowly and lets his head sink deeper into the pillow.
He thinks about the things they could have done under the excuse of “group bonding.” Standing beneath the Eiffel Tower with the others but drifting slightly apart from them. Getting lost in the Louvre and pretending not to care who finds whom first. Sharing a croissant early in the morning before schedules.
Even walking along the Seine and passing the bridge that used to be heavy with lovers’ locks. Geonwoo knows the city removed them years ago and cleared the railings clean. Still, he imagines stopping at a small souvenir stall anyway, buying a cheap brass padlock with a faint heart stamped into it. He would wait until no one was looking, press their names into the metal with the tip of a pen, and fasten it somewhere along the river where it wouldn’t draw attention. There’s a story that if two lovers lock their names together and cast the key into the river, they won’t come undone. He imagines the key disappearing beneath the Seine before Xinlong even thinks to ask why.
The typing bubble appears again.
Disappears.
Appears.
Geonwoo’s chest tightens, pride and impatience pulling in opposite directions. He could wait. Let Xinlong decide what to say.
Instead, he presses the call button before logic can catch up to his heart.
The ringtone barely finishes half its cycle.
“Hello, hyung.”
Xinlong’s voice comes through, low and warm, but still soft around the edges in a way that makes Geonwoo’s pulse trip over itself. He closes his eyes briefly at the sound of it and draws in a deep breath.
“You’re awake,” he says, though it comes out more like a mild accusation than a question. He doesn't even realise he's pouting.
A faint rustle answers him, sheets shifting on the other end.
“Yeah, I'm awake,” Xinlong replies quietly. “I saw what you sent.”
Geonwoo shifts onto his back again, staring at the ceiling.
“Why are you awake this early?”
He switches the call to speaker and drops the phone onto the pillow beside him, fingers absently threading together over his stomach. The faint static of the line settles into the quiet of the room, a thin connection stretched across continents.
“I haven’t slept,” Xinlong says.
Geonwoo turns his head slightly toward the phone. “You haven’t…?”
“I was watching,” Xinlong continues, voice still low. “The clips and all of the livestream cuts. People were posting everything, and I just kept refreshing.”
“So you were keeping up with Paris.” Geonwoo lets out a soft breath that almost turns into a laugh. “With me,” he adds lightly. “Were you keeping up with me?”
Silence seeps in, and for several long seconds, Geonwoo wonders if he misjudged the response and pushed too far with his teasing. Then Xinlong answers after an objectively long pause, though softer than before.
“Well… I was keeping up with you, especially.”
The words sit there between them, floating softly. A rush of butterflies erupts low in Geonwoo’s stomach. He presses his lips together, staring up at the ceiling as if it can provide anchors. Xinlong stayed awake. Scrolled through endless posts. Waited for updates. All for him.
Of course he did. That’s how Xinlong cares. He's never loud or dramatic, he just exists in the background, doing more than anyone ever notices.
It makes the distance between Paris and Seoul feel more unbearable than it did a moment ago.
The line goes quiet again, neither of them rushing to fill it.
Geonwoo hesitates, the question hovering at the edge of his tongue before he lets it slip.
“Can I see your face?”
“Okay,” comes the response, without any hesitation.
Picking up his phone, Geonwoo switches to video. The screen flickers, then resolves into Xinlong’s room. He’s in bed, grey duvet pulled up to his collarbone, glasses perched low on his nose. His hair is flattened on one side, like he’s been turning over for hours without actually sleeping.
For a moment, they just look at each other.
“Hey,” Geonwoo says, unable to stop the smile pulling at his mouth.
Xinlong smiles back immediately, albeit shyly, then looks away, the curve of it still visible even as he adjusts his grip on the phone.
“Look at me, Long-ah,” Geonwoo murmurs.
Xinlong does as requested, lifting the phone properly this time, eyes meeting Geonwoo’s through the grainy front camera.
“It’s late for you, hyung,” he says softly. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
Geonwoo hums. “It’s not late if I’m talking to you.” He lets the quiet stretch before adding, more quietly, “I’d stay up all night if it meant I get to.”
Xinlong reacts immediately. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but it does absolutely nothing to hide the smile spreading widely across his face.
“Don’t say things like that, hyung,” he mumbles, eyes darting away again.
Geonwoo watches him carefully, warmth spreading slowly through his chest, settling somewhere beneath his ribs.
“I miss you,” he says, the words slipping out before he can measure them.
Xinlong’s eyes lift slightly.
“I miss you,” Geonwoo repeats, softer now. “I wish you were here. I mean—” he lets out a small breath, almost laughing at himself, “I wish everyone were here. But… I wish you were here, especially.”
He shifts onto his side again, propping the phone against the pillow.
“I wanted to experience this with you. The city. The beautiful tourist things. Breakfast before schedules. Walking around at night after everything’s done. Talking until we fall asleep like we always do…”
He keeps going without realising it, the thoughts spilling out faster than he can sort or slow them down. Xinlong listens without interrupting, gaze steady, expression gentler now in the thin wash of morning light behind him.
“Hyung,” Xinlong says.
Geonwoo keeps rambling.
“Hyung.”
He cuts himself off mid-sentence and blinks. “Huh?”
“Would you let me talk?”
“Sorry.” His mouth snaps shut immediately.
The word comes out small, and he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. The distance is getting to him more than he thought it would. Xinlong has been a constant in his life since the very first day they crossed paths; he's always been within reach and within sight. This is the first time in months that they’ve been this far apart.
“I miss you too.”
Geonwoo’s traitorous heart lurches so hard it almost hurts. He feels it climb into his throat, reckless and unsteady, free-falling—
“But,” Xinlong continues, and the word steadies everything at once, reining him back with insistence. “We can come back.”
Geonwoo stills.
“Next year,” Xinlong says, a small smile forming. “When we get a long break, we can come alone.”
Alone.
“Really?” Geonwoo pushes himself up on his elbow, the duvet slipping slightly down his shoulders. “You mean it?”
Xinlong nods, a giggle slipping out at Geonwoo’s sudden enthusiastic brightness, like a child who's just been handed a candy. “Yeah.”
“I’d love that,” Geonwoo says instantly, the answer too quick to filter.
“Then let’s do that.”
Geonwoo grins, already leaning into the idea. “Okay. Then I’m going to make sure I have fun now. I’ll send you everything. Videos. Pictures. I’ll buy you something.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He tilts his head slightly. “What do you want?”
Xinlong shrugs beneath the duvet. “Whatever hyung chooses, I'm sure I'll like it.”
That answer only makes Geonwoo’s brain run faster, sorting through a list of things he could get.
He wants him and Xinlong to have matching items, like accessories, scarves, hoodies, small but identical pieces only they would understand. Maybe even those Eiffel Tower keychains he saw earlier, red and blue, clipped to a fan’s board with both their names written side by side. Thinking back now, that was really cute. Heck, he's going to buy everything he can in pairs, bring them back quietly, and make it theirs without anyone else knowing.
The sound of Xinlong's soft yawn pulls him out of the utopia he slipped into
“You should go to bed, hyung,” Xinlong blinks slowly, eyes glossy with sleep. “You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow,” he murmurs. “I’ll sleep too.”
Geonwoo eases back down onto the pillow, phone still angled toward his face. He studies Xinlong for a second longer than necessary, cataloguing the way the early light catches on his glasses and basking in the gentleness gracing his screen. Xinlong looks so soft right now, at the edge of sleep.
“You first,” he says quietly.
Xinlong makes a faint protesting sound. “Hyung…”
“You’ve been awake all night,” Geonwoo insists. “Close your eyes.”
“And you?” Xinlong asks, though his eyelids are already heavier now.
“I will.”
“Goodnight,” Xinlong murmurs.
“It’s morning for you.”
“Still. Goodnight.”
Geonwoo smiles. “Goodnight, Long-ah.”
A few seconds pass.
“…Hyung?”
“Yeah?”
“Goodnight.”
A breath escapes Geonwoo, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Goodnight.”
They say it again. And again. Each time softer, neither willing to be the one who ends the call.
Xinlong shifts slightly beneath the duvet, the fabric brushing against the microphone. His glasses slip lower on his nose, and he doesn’t fix or push them back up this time.
“Hyung,” he says after a short while, voice drifting at the edges.
“Mm?”
“I’m glad you had a good day. And… I’m proud of you.”
The words are almost incoherent and nearly swallowed by sleep, but they make Geonwoo's heart flutter.
Xinlong’s eyes close slowly after that, and his breathing evens out, deepening. The phone remains in his hand for a few minutes longer, angled too close to his face. Geonwoo watches the faint rise and fall of his shoulders, listening to the soft, uneven rhythm of his breathing turning into the lightest snore.
A pang moves through him at the sight. He wishes he were there. Wishes he could reach across the space between them and ease the glasses off Xinlong’s face softly so they don’t leave marks on the bridge of his nose. He wants so badly to set them carefully on the bedside table, pull the duvet higher, and maybe press a gentle goodnight kiss into his hair.
Instead, he is here all the way in a hotel room in Paris, watching the person his heart keeps choosing drift further into sleep through a glowing screen.
The phone finally tilts upward when Xinlong’s grip loosens completely, and the ceiling of his room fills the frame at an awkward angle.
Geonwoo stays a moment longer. “Goodnight,” he whispers, even though Xinlong can’t hear him anymore. Then he ends the call.
Curling onto his side, he pulls the duvet close, the empty side of the bed colder than it should be. His heart feels impossibly full and unbearably restless at the same time, even as he closes his eyes with a smile still clinging to his lips.
Someday, he thinks, he’ll say it properly.
Someday, he’ll tell Xinlong exactly how he feels.