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Jay should have been surprised.
He had stepped into his room, skin still warm from the shower, the long day clinging faintly to his bones—only to find a lean, blonde giant already tucked into his bed like he belonged there.
His blanket was pooled in Ni-ki’s lap, and in his hand was a controller, the other sat on what was now Jay’s designated side of his own bed.
The glow of the game screen painted the younger’s face in soft light and the sight made him Jay pause.
Yes he should have been surprised.
But this—this had become something like a habit.
Something new and unspoken.
Something that had taken root so naturally he hadn’t noticed when it stopped being unusual.
A ritual of sorts.
One of many things that had changed.
Heeseung had left the group.
The fact still felt strange, still felt impossible to wrap his mind around, like a branch that had been there for so long suddenly gone—leaving behind open space where shade used to fall.
None of them had really spoken about it, not properly anyways.
There hadn’t been time.
Life kept moving, schedules stacking, expectations growing.
The world didn’t stop just because something important had ended.
But the change was there.
It lingered in quiet moments, in empty spaces, in the way everything felt just slightly… off now.
And with that change came others.
Dorm switches. New rooms. New arrangements.
And in the midst of this newness and shifting ground, Jay and Riki had found themselves closer than ever.
It had started the very first night they’d moved into Sunoo’s dorm.
Riki—though he would never admit it—wasn’t always good with change.
He adapted, of course he did, but there was always that brief, fragile period where things didn’t quite fit yet.
Where even familiar belongings felt misplaced in an unfamiliar space.
Jay understood that, was intimately acquainted with the uncomfortable sensation of being uprooted.
He felt it too: the emptiness, the uncertainty.
So when Riki had quietly appeared at his door that first night, restless and unable to sleep, Jay hadn’t questioned it.
As the only member who spoke Japanese, he’d often been someone Ni-ki reached out to for comfort and a sense of home.
So he had simply let him in, welcomed him like it was second nature.
At first, it was just sleep.
Simple. Necessary.
Riki would slip into his bed, all long limbs and quiet warmth, wrapping himself around Jay without hesitation—arms draped over his waist, legs tangled with his, holding him close like something steady on an otherwise shaky ground.
Like a vine curling instinctively toward something solid.
And Jay let him.
Night after night, Riki came back.
And every morning, he was gone before the sun had fully risen—leaving behind only the faint warmth of where he had been.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they slowly began to notice that those nights they slept in each other’s arms were the nights they slept best.
As the days stretched on and things grew heavier: practices went on longer, songs were rearranged and exhaustion crept up on them like a drought, Riki began to seek Jay out in the day too.
It was during one of those quiet afternoons that Jay had introduced him to his F1 game.
At first, Riki hesitated.
Gaming had been something he used to share with Heeseung—something tied to memories that still felt too fresh, too tender to revisit.
Like a garden he wasn’t ready to walk through again.
But Jay made him forget.
He filled the space with easy chatter, bright enthusiasm, explaining circuits and cars with a kind of enthusiasm that was impossible not to mirror.
He laughed easily, nudged Riki when he made mistakes, celebrated small victories like they mattered and just made him happy.
And slowly, gently, something shifted.
It didn’t help that Riki got to see his hyung at his softest like this.
Pretty, guard-down and open as he shared his space with the younger in a way that made his heart open up too.
What had once been tangled with old memories began to bloom into something fresh and new.
Something that belonged just to them.
Soon, it wasn’t just about the game.
It was about the way their shoulders brushed and never quite pulled apart when they laid side by side playing the game.
The way their hands met over controllers and lingered a second too long.
The way Riki would lean in, head tucked into Jay’s neck without thinking, and Jay would let him stay there.
Jay and Ni-ki had always been affectionate: the elder often doting and the younger often clingy.
But that affection, once simple, brotherly, easy had, began to grow into something deeper, stronger.
Something with roots.
A feeling that spread slowly, like petals unfurling one careful layer at a time.
Jay realised as he looked at the younger, that he had grown to look forward to spending this time together.
Had began to feel something warm and uncertain blossom in his chest whenever Riki was close.
A flower he didn’t quite know how to name.
And maybe didn’t want to—yet.
Until the day everything felt final.
When Heeseung—Evan, now—appeared again, not beside them, but somewhere else entirely.
A new name. A new beginning. A new Instagram profile and artist profile.
A clean break.
It felt like the last petal falling.
Like something closing.
That day was heavier than the rest.
So, as had become their custom now, Jay and Riki found each other.
Riki didn’t knock—he never did anymore.
Jay barely had time to register his presence before he was being guided back onto the bed, controller pressed into his hands while Riki settled behind him.
Strong arms wrapped around his waist.
Warm and firm.
This was also new but by now felt natural, comfortable.
Jay leaned back into him, letting himself be held as the game flickered to life.
His fingers moved automatically, but his mind was elsewhere.
They played for a few minutes, the sound of the cars whirring filling the room otherwise silent room until the game was suddenly paused.
Jay blinked, finally getting out of his head before he turned his head slightly to look at the younger, his brow raised in a silent question.
“Do you think things will ever be the same?” Riki whispered in Japanese, voice quiet against Jay’s shoulder.
Jay sighed, the sound heavy but he should have expected this.
They’d all have to talk about this eventually.
“I don’t think so,” he admitted, truthfully.
“Not the same… but maybe that’s not a bad thing.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe it can become a different kind of better.”
Riki stilled behind him.
Then slowly, his hand slid down, tracing Jay’s wrist before gently capturing his hand, holding it like something important.
“I know it sounds stupid,” he murmured, thumb rubbing the back of Jay’s hand that still gripped his controller loosely, “but I’m glad it wasn’t you, hyung.” His grip tightened just slightly.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
Jay’s breath caught.
The words settled deep—deeper than they should have.
He turned slightly, trying to face Riki even more just enough to catch his gaze—and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Because there was nothing uncertain there.
Only honesty.
Only something blooming, fiercely and fearlessly.
The sight instantly flustered him.
“Riki, I—you can’t just say things like that,” Jay stuttered, cheeks flushing an even deeper pink that usual as he tried to weakly pull his hand back.
But Riki didn’t let go.
“Can’t I?” he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I told the fans you were my favourite hyung.” He leaned in closer, nuzzling into the crook of Jay’s neck. “I meant it. I like you so much, hyung.”
And the thing was— Jay wasn’t surprised.
Not really.
Because somewhere along the way, even before Riki had found a home in his bed, his own feelings had taken root too.
What had once been simple affection — wanting Ni-ki to rely on him as a hyung — had grown quietly, steadily—twisting into something deeper as Riki grew older, steadier, someone who didn’t just lean on him anymore but held him just as firmly in return.
Without permission, without warning, his heart had made space.
“Riki-san,” Jay said softly, turning fully this time, his voice gentler than before—careful, like he was handling something fragile.
And maybe he was.
Because between them, something new had begun to open.
Not replacing what was lost.
But growing in the space it left behind.
“You don’t really mean that do you? I know you miss Heeseung.” He said softly, cupping the gounger’s face slightly.
Ni-ki locked eyes with him, studied his face carefully and then he spoke, “Heeseung-hyung was… a big part of everything,” he said, voice low. “Like… the sun, maybe. Or something that made everything grow easily.” He paused, fingers flexing slightly against Jay’s side. “So when he left, it felt like everything would just… die.”
The honesty in his voice made Jay’s chest ache.
“But it didn’t,” Riki continued, softer now. “It just… changed.”
His other hand slid from Jay’s hand, instead settling more securely at his waist again, pulling him closer until their bodies fit together like something that had been slowly, quietly growing into place all along.
Jay let himself be pulled in.
“And now?” Jay asked, barely above a whisper.
Riki huffed a small, almost shy laugh against his neck.
“Now it’s like…” He hesitated, searching. “Like something new is growing where we didn’t expect it to. Or well, where I never expected it would ever really grow” he said sincerely, bearing his heart to the older.
Jay’s heart stuttered.
Slowly, carefully, Riki shifted them again—guiding Jay back onto the mattress before settling with him, pulling him into his arms like it was second nature now.
His arms wrapped around Jay’s waist, firm and sure, anchoring him there.
Jay didn’t resist.
Instead, he adjusted instinctively, slipping a leg between one of Riki’s as he leaned fully into his chest. His hands came up to grip lightly at Riki’s shirt, grounding himself in something real.
Something warm.
Something growing.
“It is kind of scary,” Jay admitted after a beat, voice small despite how steady he tried to sound. “Starting over like this.”
Riki’s chin rested on his head, breath soft against his skin.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”
His fingers slipped under the hem of Jay’s shirt, warm against his side as they traced slow, absent patterns—gentle, like tending to something delicate.
“But…you’re right, new things can grow better sometimes,” Riki added quietly. “Stronger.”
Jay let out a quiet breath, eyes fluttering shut.
He thought about all the small changes—the late nights, the shared silences, the way their hands had started finding each other without thinking. The way comfort had slowly turned into something softer, something deeper.
Something that had taken root before either of them realized.
A flower that hadn’t bloomed yet—but the bud was there.
“And what about this?” Jay asked, softer now. “Us?”
Riki didn’t answer right away.
Instead, his arms tightened around Jay, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. His nose brushed lightly against Jay’s temple, lingering there.
“This?” he repeated.
Jay nodded faintly against him.
Riki smiled—small, but certain and Jay could feel it against his skin.
“I’ve always loved spending time with you hyung” Ni-ki confessed, a faint blush painting his own cheeks now “I think I’ve always had a bit of crush on you, Jay-San” He finished, looking down into the older eyes now.
And I on you, Jay doesn’t say, not yet.
“I think…” Ni-ki continued voice quiet but steady, “this is something that started growing a long time ago.”
Jay’s breath caught.
“We just didn’t notice it,” Riki added. “Or maybe we didn’t want to notice it before.”
His hand moved from Jay’s side to his hip, holding him there with quiet care, thumb brushing slowly back and forth like he was reassuring both of them.
“But now it’s… blooming,” he finished softly.
The word lingered between them.
Blooming.
Not rushed. Not forced.
Just something that had been nurtured in quiet moments—in shared warmth, in laughter, in the way they had reached for each other when everything else felt rocky.
Jay felt his chest tighten, something fragile and overwhelming unfurling inside him.
Without thinking, he leaned in closer, burying his face into the crook of Riki’s neck, arms sliding up to wrap around his shoulders.
“Riki…” he murmured.
“Mm?”
Jay hesitated only a second this time.
“You’re my favourite too — hyung likes you a lot.”
The words felt like sunlight breaking through after a long, cold season.
Riki froze—just for a heartbeat—before his arms tugged Jay impossibly closer as a quiet, breathless laugh left him.
“Yeah?” he whispered, like he needed to hear it again.
Jay nodded against him, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”
That was all it took.
Riki’s hand slid from Jay’s waist to his jaw, thumb brushing lightly along his cheek, as if memorising the shape of him.
There was a flicker of nerves —just for a moment—but it melted away the second Jay looked up at him expectantly, pretty lashes fluttering and he leaned in, closing the distance himself.
The kiss wasn’t rushed but it was passionate.
It was warm, and searching—like something that had been growing quietly for too long finally breaking through the surface.
Jay responded instantly, deepening it, one hand coming up to cradle Riki’s face while the younger’s hand went back to squeeze at his waist, pulling him even closer like he couldn’t quite get enough.
Jay let out a soft breath against him, fingers curling into the fabric of Riki’s shirt as he shifted forward, his other leg hooking into Riki’s hip, bodies pressed together so close that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
They fit together almost too easily.
Like roots that had always been tangled beneath the surface, only now finally visible.
Riki tilted his head slightly, kissing him again—slower this time, more certain, like he was learning the rhythm of something new and wanting to savour every second of it.
His thumb brushed over Jay’s cheek again, softer now, grounding.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t far.
Their foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, shared.
Jay let out a quiet laugh—half disbelief, half something softer.
“This is… a lot,” he murmured, voice turning shy as he hid his face in Riki’s neck.
Riki’s stomach filled with butterflies at just how cute his hyung was, so lovely for him always.
Riki smiled, just a little, resting against him.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”
Outside of this room, everything was still uncertain.
Things had changed. They would keep changing.
The future stretched out in ways neither of them could predict—new paths, new beginnings, losses that still lingered like the last traces of winter.
But here something was beginning to grow.
Riki’s placed one final kiss against Jay’s temple before hugging him in his arms once again.
“Guess we’ll figure it out,” Jay said quietly.
“Together,” Riki added.
Jay hummed in agreement, eyes drifting shut as he let himself relax fully into him.
Maybe the future was unclear.
Maybe things would never be the same.
But not all change meant loss.
Some of it meant growth.
After all, April showers made way for May flowers—and maybe, just maybe, everything they had gone through had only been the rain.
Heeseung’s absence was still there.
It probably always would be.
But it no longer felt like something empty.
More like something that had made space.
Space for new flowers to grow.
For something unexpected to blossom.
And in the quiet of Jay’s room, with the game long forgotten and Riki’s arms steady around his waist, they found that they were ready for the new flowers.