Archive of Our Own

The roads were drenched with a sticky, orange glow by the time they left the building, their knees and arms burning and aching beyond measure. It had been a relatively shorter day at the practice studio, but nonetheless exhausting, as it always was.

The tired little smile on Seonghwa’s face as they bid each other goodbye was the only thing that kept Hongjoong from fully losing it and collapsing right there on the ground. It was such a warm, sweet sight, one that never failed to set off the butterfly alarm in his stomach. Despite the several weeks they'd spent together, it never got easier to get used to being on the receiving end of it — the mild little scrunch of Seonghwa’s eyes, the slight hook of his nose being a little more prominent, the beautiful smile lines on his face that Hongjoong had to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from tracing with his own fingers.

They lived on opposite ends of the street, a fact Hongjoong had come to absolutely loathe more and more with every day he stood in that spot in front of the old Chinese restaurant to wave Seonghwa goodbye, and then only seeing him again the next time they had practice together.

But it was, funnily enough, the only thing that kept Hongjoong from not completely giving up on his dreams and just leaving the ragged old company building to pursue whatever it was the boys his age were pursuing. Damn him for only caring about what a singular other boy his age was dreaming of achieving, and for having a passion for music that burned bigger and brighter than his entire being.

Hongjoong held himself back from hugging Seonghwa goodbye and just waved, and then turned around to leave only after watching the adorable black mop of Seonghwa’s head disappear into the late evening.

As he walked back home, he dreamed of all the things he could do if only the distance between them was narrower.

Their friendship, Hongjoong felt, was always reduced to training — singing and rapping and dancing and writing lyrics. He wondered what it would be like if that distance were to be closed, and if Seonghwa felt it, too.

Did he also want to know the unhealthy habits Hongjoong had when it came to sleeping and eating? Did he also pass through stores, spot something, and wonder about whether or not Hongjoong would like it? Did he also think about what it would feel like to… hold Hongjoong’s hand?

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

Hongjoong was working on demos and learning about various music applications and softwares in the building’s single working studio well into the night, his company being the only other boy there almost four years older than him teaching him how to use the professional equipments. Despite the lack of resources and being on the verge of bankruptcy, KQ had a knack for finding people with real talent. Hongjoong paid keen attention to what Kyungmoon hyung was saying, even scribbling things down on his notebook as he talked.

Sometime past midnight, when both of them had to strain their eyes to keep them open at all, Kyungmoon hyung called it a day, urging Hongjoong out of the studio so they could catch some stray hours of sleep.

It was both easier and harder to walk back home on days like this — when Hongjoong didn’t have dance practice. Easier because his legs didn’t feel like they were going to give up on him, harder because Seonghwa wasn’t there to walk beside him, even if only till their spot next to the Chinese restaurant.

Hongjoong let out a sigh, wondering if this was something people his age normally thought of and felt — this longing for someone you only met thrice a week or less, this— this ever growing want to be near them, talk to them, get to know the workings of their heart, the warmth of their hugs, the rhythm of their breathing.

Even though Hongjoong had people who he could call his friends back home, he was a lonely person by nature. Never having it in him to open up more; never reciprocating as much as he received, mostly because if he started giving, he wouldn’t stop until he was giving his entire being away; never being present enough to really form a meaningful bond with anyone. But, strangely enough, Hongjoong wanted to do all that with Seonghwa, this stranger-turned-best-friend (in his mind) that had been a constant presence by his side from the very beginning of this precarious, risky journey they were embarking on.

It wasn’t half as daunting, half as lonely when Seonghwa was around. His quiet, firm, grounding presence that Hongjoong had grown so used to, had started to crave more and more with each day they spent with each other proving to be a constant during the days they spent together.

The road to his house came into view, Hongjoong willing his thoughts away as much as he could and slowing down even further, letting the tiredness seep into his bones so he could have a good night’s sleep.

God knew he needed one.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

Monthly evaluation was fast-approaching.

Although the entertainment had the least number of employees and trainees Hongjoong had ever seen in his life, the tests were brutal. He understood why — after all, they were going to have to invest a lot for his debut (with Seonghwa), so they had to be very sure that those investments were worth it — but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking for Hongjoong, who was sitting on the dance studio’s floor waiting for Seonghwa and their dance instructor to arrive.

He did his share of warm-ups, his nerves a little frantic and jittery and restless as he counted the minutes. When he was almost done with one set, the door creaked open, and Seonghwa came in. Hongjoong greeted him with a smile he hoped wasn’t as obnoxiously fond and excited as he felt immediately upon seeing the other.

“You’re doing it without me!” Seonghwa said, a visible pout making its way to his lips.

“No, no,” Hongjoong rushed to inform, “I was just warming up. Felt too restless.”

Seonghwa put his bag aside, taking off his hoodie after. The weather was slowly but surely making its way to a chilly winter, but the studio felt humid and damp, the lack of windows only adding to the feeling.

Hongjoong looked away so no one would catch him staring at the lean, long expanse of Seonghwa’s arms, busying himself with a bottle of water.

The two of them did their warm-ups together after that, Hongjoong easily slipping into a familiar routine. He felt a little spooked, noticing how Seonghwa’s movements looked more defined and fluid than his, even if they were just stretching their muscles. The evaluation was getting to his head.

They proceeded to start off with practicing, going over their routines as usual. Hongjoong tried his hardest not to obsess over every little difference he spotted between the way he and Seonghwa danced.

A few minutes later, Hongjoong stopped, getting in a little break. Their dance instructor was several minutes late, but that wasn’t uncommon. Seonghwa stopped, too, once he saw Hongjoong sprawled on the floor.

He laid down beside him, their toes touching lightly. Hongjoong felt a little tingle up his leg. “Can we stay back today?” Seonghwa asked.

Hongjoong turned his head to the side. “Sure,” he said, tracing the curve of Seonghwa’s cheek with his eyes. “I could use some help, too.”

Seonghwa nodded, shifting his leg even further into Hongjoong’s space, pressing against him more surely. Seonghwa’s feet were smaller than Hongjoong’s despite him being taller, a fact Hongjoong felt weirdly protective about. Everything about Seonghwa always flared up a protective instinct within him.

Their instructor arrived shortly after, barging in noisily and getting straight to the day’s schedule. He looked a little exhausted, letting the two of them have breaks more frequently than usual, and leaving many things up for practicing by themselves. For the first time in several weeks, Hongjoong did not feel the need to collapse after a practice session, and it made him excited — it meant he would last longer with Seonghwa.

“I just want to ask, sir — can we use the studio tonight? We want to practice together,” Hongjoong said, just before their instructor opened the door to leave.

“Do whatever you want, but stay safe,” was all he said, and then it was Hongjoong and Seonghwa again, left to their own devices.

Hongjoong thanked the teacher, Seonghwa doing the same, and once the door shut for good, the two of them ran to the middle of the room giddily, smiling silly. The dance studio was one of the best rooms the building had to offer — the speakers were good, the mirrors were good, and the floors were good, too. So getting permission to use the very same studio to practice late into the night wasn’t something the two of them got often — they would usually be sent to one of the more worn-down ones from across the corridor.

But they had so much time to practice together today, and had the whole room to themselves.

Hongjoong grabbed his phone, quickly pulling up the demo version of the dance they were supposed to learn, connected it to the speakers, and let it boom through the room. He looked at Seonghwa, who was already dancing to it, movements too defined and clean for someone who wasn’t even a proper candidate in KQ’s debut line. Hongjoong had already heard about it from one of the workers there — about the company searching for new trainees to recruit so they could properly form a boy-group. Hongjoong’s excitement was through the roof that day, one of the first times he had ever felt like the efforts he’d been putting in were finally amounting to something.

He hadn’t told Seonghwa that, for some reason — he wanted Seonghwa to experience hearing it from the company themselves when they thought it was time he knew.

Hongjoong joined Seonghwa with the routine, picking up from somewhere in the middle of the chorus, movements a lot clumsier than he would’ve liked. Seonghwa paused somewhere towards the beginning of the second verse, monitoring Hongjoong through the mirror. It made Hongjoong feel even more nervous, making the movements of his hands stiff, that of his legs sluggish.

Seonghwa stopped the music after a few moments, Hongjoong comically stuck mid-position for a few seconds before returning to normal.

“That was so bad,” he said, laughing a little, scratching the back of his neck.

Seonghwa shook his head. “You’re so tense. I think you should just try to loosen up. Maybe we could warm up again?”

Hongjoong nodded, focusing on his breathing again and sitting down to lightly shake his calves and thighs so they weren’t wrung so taut.

Seonghwa joined him even though he didn’t have to, the warmth of his body washing over Hongjoong’s already heated up one.

They got up, and Seonghwa suggested they went over the routine without music first, focusing on the overall picture that the dance created for that particular song. Seonghwa demonstrated certain moves using visual images, some using the tempo of random everyday objects like a clock, and Hongjoong got the hang of it easily after a few tries.

“Let’s do it with music, now?” Seonghwa asked, smiling brightly at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong nodded, hoping the way he danced now would only make the smile on Seonghwa’s face grow.

They were at it like that for long, well past the sounds of cars and bikes honking, of vendors pushing their carts around selling fruits and vegetables and candy — turn up the music, dance, pause the music, go over mistakes, dance again, take a break. Rinse and repeat.

When Hongjoong finally felt the familiar ache of his muscles, he reached over to tap Seonghwa on the shoulder mid-dance, proceeded to cling onto him like that, and asked him if they could stop for the day.

Seonghwa laughed tiredly. “Let’s not overwork this little squirrel,” he said, placing a hand over Hongjoong’s own, which still rested firmly on Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Who are you calling little,” Hongjoong grumbled, removing his hand. He cursed at himself the moment he felt the chill air of the room back on his hands, wishing he had held on just a second longer.

Seongwha shook his head, a crooked smile on his lips. He went over to the corner where he’d abandoned his hoodie, and pulled it over himself. “Let’s do some cool-down stretches, then we can leave.”

Hongjoong only ever did these cool-down stretches because Seonghwa insisted it was important they did so.

So they did the routine in silence, their breathing loud and strained in the empty room, now void of any music.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong both grabbed their bags after that, making sure the studio’s digital lock beeped properly before leaving.

The sounds of crickets were ever-present as they left the building and walked the length of the road, Hongjoong dreading every second that passed by, not ready to bid Seonghwa goodbye already. The air was chill, sending a wave of goosebumps through Hongjoong’s body every now and then. He should start wearing thicker layers of clothes, if the weather was already like this in late October.

“You’ve got some serious guts, walking around in that flimsy t-shirt,” Seonghwa said, pushing his hands further into the pocket of his hoodie. Hongjoong flushed a little, embarrassed that he was caught weakly shivering like a loser. He stuck his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants, feeling a tiny bit of warmth to his fingers that had grown numb.

“The weather’s pretty unpredictable,” he said, finding a feeble excuse.

Seonghwa nodded. “But you should be more careful than this,” he insisted. Their shoulders bumped once, and then twice, and then they walked just like that, arms pressed flush against each other. “I’d give you my hoodie now, because I’m not that cold, but—”

“No! No,” Hongjoong said. Seonghwa lived a lot farther away from the studio than Hongjoong — which was why his training was always extreme on the days he was able to make it, juggling university at the same time. “I’ll just run back home. You should keep yours on, or you’ll catch a cold.”

“You’ll catch a cold, too,” Seonghwa said quietly, but didn’t protest. A selfish, evil part of Hongjoong wanted to take back his words and accept the hoodie. He wanted Seonghwa to take it off and help Hongjoong into it, where he’d feel all toasty and warm, Seonghwa’s human-heater body having warmed it all up. He wanted to wear it every other day so Seonghwa’s scent could keep him company on the days Seonghwa himself couldn’t. But Hongjoong was neither inconsiderate enough to do that, nor brave enough to cross that line between them.

So he continued to walk, the wretched Chinese restaurant already coming into view. Hongjoong slowed down his pace, and instinctively or not, he didn’t know, but Seonghwa did, too, not mentioning the fact that there wasn’t much time before the sun would rise, that they both had a lot of work tomorrow to be awake for.

Inevitably, they stood at the spot under the awning to say goodbye, Hongjoong trying to think of ways to prolong their time even further.

Seonghwa reached up to warm his palms by blowing hot air into them, sneaking in a yawn in the middle. Hongjoong involuntarily smiled.

“I know you’re just freaked out about our monthly evaluation,” Seonghwa said suddenly. “Your moves aren’t usually so filled with doubt, you know?”

Hongjoong licked his lips, not sure if he was spooked or relieved or embarrassed that Seonghwa was able to see through him so easily. “I know,” he said, sighing.

“I have to practice more anyway. I’ll try to come by the studio more often this week, okay? You can ask me to teach you anything. And for the vocal and rap evaluation, you can teach me.”

Hongjoong nodded, the idea already the best Seonghwa had ever had. “Let’s do that,” he agreed, a gust of wind making him shiver. “Kyungmoon hyung taught me some stuff with the equipments, too, so I can teach you that, for some extra points. I mean, I don’t think it’ll come to use, but it doesn’t hurt to know more, right?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, smiling. “That would be nice.”

Hongjoong nodded again. And then they stood like that, silent, neither making the move to leave. Sighing, Hongjoong said, “I’ll see you next practice, Seonghwa-ya.”

“Day after tomorrow,” Seonghwa said immediately.

Hongjoong looked up at his face, which was filled with determination, and smiled again. Just what a sweet, sweet human he was. “Day after tomorrow, then,” he echoed, lifting his hand up to wave him goodbye.

If Seonghwa, too, was struggling to let Hongjoong go for the night, there was no indication of it other than the mild hesitancy to his wave back at Hongjoong, who swallowed down all the words he wanted to say, and waited till the tired bounce of Seonghwa’s head disappeared into the night.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

“You’ve been practicing really hard, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa said as they plopped down on the floor after a session that had run longer than usual. Seonghwa had come the day he promised he would, and then everyday consecutively for the next three days. It was like there was a new type of adrenaline coursing through Hongjoong’s body — he was able to pick up on so much more, was able to dance with a lot more confidence than usual.

Seonghwa always corrected him gently but sternly, something Hongjoong immensely appreciated — it meant that Seonghwa knew it wasn’t something he should praise Hongjoong for if the latter did something wrong. They learned new dance techniques, little ones that sometimes made certain tricky moves easier for Hongjoong. He hoped at least one of it would impress the evaluators if they ever picked up on it.

As the days passed, Hongjoong geared up, Seonghwa right by his side, and the evaluation day was finally there.

The two of them arrived a whole half hour early to get rid of their jitters, simply standing outside the dance studio and pointedly not looking into the little window-like square of glass on the door where the same five instructors and evaluators that Hongjoong had seen in all his months of being there readied the room and sat in chairs with desks in front of them. He didn’t know if the weather being as cold as it was helped in easing his sweaty palms and armpits or if it just added to the shivers he got every now and then.

He knew Seonghwa felt it, too — that this test felt a lot more important than all the others. To Hongjoong, it was because of the talk about recruiting other trainees for an actual debut. And maybe Seonghwa was feeding off that energy, because he was never the type of person to be this visibly nervous before an evaluation.

“We’re gonna do really good,” Seonghwa said. It sounded more like he was reassuring himself out loud. “Like, really good. And we’re gonna have so much fun practicing for next week’s vocal test. Right?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong said without hesitation. “You’re gonna do so well. I have zero doubts. Minus infinity doubts.” He licked his lips, clenching and unclenching his fists, going back and forth on his heels. A wave of goosebumps erupted on Hongjoong’s arms. Maybe the cold was more of a burden than not. “I’m more worried about me,” he added quietly.

“Hey.” Seonghwa suddenly grabbed Hongjoong by the shoulders, which did nothing to calm him down — only set the beehive off in his stomach, his body buzzing even more than before. “I said we are gonna do good. We. You. And me.”

Hongjoong gulped, a bit too stunned to deny Seonghwa anything. He nodded, took a deep breath, and nodded again. Seonghwa took his hands off, but Hongjoong still felt it anyway — Seonghwa’s palm and fingers that left a hot, searing brand on both his upper arms despite his hands having been almost colder than Hongjoong’s own.

Still, it felt reassuring, more than Hongjoong could’ve ever hoped for. That whatever he did, Seonghwa was going to do, too. Whatever they did, they did together. It was a scary thought to cultivate — that things were always going to be this way, that Seonghwa was going to remain the same even after getting to know Hongjoong properly, after more trainees started coming in — because, simply put, why would he? Why would Seonghwa keep being beside Hongjoong, keep insisting that they did everything together, keep showing up every time it mattered, keep helping Hongjoong learn dance, keep seeking Hongjoong out to teach him music, when there was a myriad of other options he could choose from?

And yet, at the end of the day, Seonghwa was always there.

Hongjoong didn’t know if the jittery feeling in his heart was that of fear of getting used to this and it being ripped away from him later, when it was far, far too wedged into his being, or of hope —  hope that somewhere, deep within the crevices of Seonghwa’s heart, there was a tiny Hongjoong-shaped space that he visited often; hope that Seonghwa really did think that even if things progressed far enough for them to debut, it would unquestioningly be with Hongjoong and no one else. That Seonghwa, too, thought it was this, with Hongjoong, or nothing.

So Hongjoong smiled, his heart having calmed down a little. Seonghwa, too, was standing still, only cracking his knuckles one by one.

Within minutes, there came a loud, bold voice: “Park Seonghwa-ssi, please come in!”

They exchanged looks — Hongjoong had always been the one to go first. But there was no time to discuss what might’ve caused the change in plans, so he only patted Seonghwa on the back twice, thrice — and then Seonghwa was walking in.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

Hongjoong didn’t know if it was the (albeit toned down) nerves that was making the wait feel like a million centuries, or if it was actually taking Seonghwa longer than usual to finish his evaluation today. The dance evaluations were always individual — the two of them only had the opportunity to exchange what all they did during the evaluations after the whole deal was over. Was this how Seonghwa felt every time he waited for his turn while Hongjoong was inside?

After several minutes of bouncing on his legs, biting his cuticles, and speed-walking laps in the corridor, the door to the practice studio finally opened. Seonghwa walked out, a lot less breathless than normal. Hongjoong ran the rest of the way to catch up with him.

The moment Hongjoong came face-to-face with Seonghwa, the latter blinked fast, his hands hovering in the air awkwardly. Hongjoong was worried it was because he’d messed something up. But Seonghwa then looked at him, eyes wide and round, and said, hand falling down at his side, “They told me… they told me I’m in the debut lineup.”

Hongjoong’s eyes, too, blew wide open when Seonghwa said that, excitement completely replacing the nerves he was battling. It was news better than he could’ve ever hoped to hear — now he could talk about everything he’d been keeping to himself. Dreams, hopes, plans, ideas, concepts, everything.

“Yeah?” he asked, fighting to keep his hands to himself when all he wanted to do was throw his arms over Seonghwa and hold him close. Seonghwa was going to be there, yet again. “They told you? Did they talk about any other trainees? How did you do in the evaluation?” As he talked, another question popped up, and then another.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said, as if he had just come to his senses. “Hongjoong!”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yes,” Hongjoong said, encouraging Seonghwa to go on.

“I’m— I’m going to debut. It’s— it’s confirmed. I’m going to debut with you.”

“You are,” Hongjoong confirmed. The skittish feeling in his stomach turned into a concoction of happiness, excitement, thrill, adoration, and so, so much hope. He could’ve cried, but he held it together so he could take in every small flash of emotion that came and went on Seonghwa’s face.

“And— and there’s two other people who already got in through auditions, apparently,” Seonghwa continued. “I… Hongjoong-ah, we’re going to debut.”

“There are two other trainees? Really?” Hongjoong asked, trying to ignore the blend of emotions rushing up his throat.

Seonghwa facepalmed lightly, softly cursing. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

Hongjoong laughed, the fondness he felt in his chest only growing and growing. “It’s okay. I’ll pretend I don’t know when they tell me.”

Seonghwa laughed, too, and then before he could say anything more, the same voice that had called Seonghwa came through. “Kim Hongjoong-ssi, please come in!”

So he left, Seonghwa giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, promising to talk more once Hongjoong was done.

By some miracle, Hongjoong walked through the doors with the least sense of nervousness he had ever felt in his life. Everything felt possible — he could probably move a mountain right now if he wanted to.

When he walked in and closed the doors behind him, the room was filled with silent overlapping conversations between the instructors. He smiled warmly when they took notice of him, getting rid of his hoodie and walking to the X in the centre of the room.

One of them cleared his throat, rearranging some papers on his desk. “Hongjoong-ssi,” he started, “I heard you and Seonghwa-ssi practiced the hardest this time around.”

“Yes, sir,” Hongjoong confirmed.

“You haven’t missed a single deadline to submit any of your music, either,” another one cut in, the statement more questioning than praising.

“Yes, sir,” he said again, proud of himself nonetheless.

“Seonghwa-ssi did a splendid job just now,” the first instructor continued. “Are we correct to assume that you both are of the same level, then?”

Oh, so they were jumping right in.

Hongjoong weighed his options. If he agreed, then the evaluation would probably be really, really difficult. If he disagreed, he might come across as incompetent. In the end, he just decided to be honest, because he knew he couldn’t fake confidence in things he simply wasn’t confident about. “Ah, we’ve been… practicing together, that’s true. But I wouldn’t put myself in the same level as Seonghwa-ssi, at least not yet. Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t be able to perform alongside him, or that he would outshine me — I think my skills lie in writing, producing, and rapping more than dancing, as opposed to Seonghwa’s being vocal range and dancing over writing and producing.”

He was met with a sort of uncomfortable silence.

Shit. Was that too many words? Did he say too much? Did it sound cocky, like Hongjoong knew their skills better than the trained professionals in front of him? Were they going to take him out of the debut lineup now?

The instructors gave him a long look, and then a few of them nodded, scribbling something in their papers. Hongjoong hoped it wasn’t anything bad — he was starting to get back all the nerves from before, coursing through his body in a stronger current. He willed his heart to calm down, trying to think only good things, but with five pairs of eyes now all trained on him with the same look he couldn’t decipher in the least, it only led him to spiral more and more.

“Let us start, then,” Hongjoong’s dance instructor called, leaving him with no choice but to fully shut off every part of his brain that wasn’t related to dancing. Hongjoong nodded, eager to get this thing over with.

“Please take five minutes to warm your muscles up,” another instructor called, and Hongjoong got to work, the routine ingrained into this being. It helped him focus as much as it helped in losing him up, his heart still stuttering in its cage every now and then.

The moment he was done, he informed them that he was ready, and then waited for music to cue. The first evaluator spoke. “We’re only going to give you two songs to dance to.”

Hongjoong blinked. Only two songs?

He nodded, hoping his face didn’t give away the confusion and nervousness building inside him.

“We’re going to test your free-styling ability. And then you may showcase another routine you've practiced, any song you wish.”

The blood in Hongjoong’s veins almost turned solid with the harsh chill that ran through his body. Free-styling. Free-styling? But no one had ever said anything about that and it wasn’t something anyone ever mentioned to be important enough to be one of the criteria for evaluating his dancing ability.

He felt paralyzed in his position for several seconds, hands clammy, heart racing, mind a jumble of so many things all at once. But he took a shaky breath and asked, “Would I be allowed to do my choice of song first, sir?”

“Of course,” the evaluator said. Hongjoong’s dance instructor looked at him questioningly, as if this hadn’t been part of the plan — as if Hongjoong was not supposed to have the choice to do what he knew first. He concentrated on breathing more than anything else, for now, because in a few seconds, he was going to need to keep it under control so he didn’t fuck up the thing that was worth half his evaluation points. He figured he’d worry about the free-styling later, when he inevitably had to face it.

He picked the song out himself, confirming once by playing the first few notes of it. The sound brought forth a little sense of calm, his mind now filled with memories of all the sessions he’d had with Seonghwa, all the times the two of them had practiced the song together, perfecting every move into the late hours of the night.

He nodded to the evaluator after going back to stand in position, and the music started right away. Hongjoong was glad he had no time to think of anything, skillfully moving his arms and legs to the song, using all of Seonghwa’s techniques to properly nail every move. He snuck in a colourful array of facial expressions every time he thought a particular move called for it, getting more spontaneous with sometimes changing up the moves, too, to make it look effortless. By the end of the song, he had a good feeling, hoping his last minute variations only added to his appeal.

The moment the room was void of music, the instructors nodded once, and then turned to the evaluators, all of them simply ticking a few boxes on their papers and scribbling more things down.

“Let’s go to the next one, shall we?” the first evaluator asked right away.

“Yes, sir.” Hongjoong nodded, not brave enough to ask if he’d be allowed to listen to the song before doing a whole free-style dance to it, not even brave enough to ask for a few seconds to catch his breath. His brain recalled the monologue he’d given when they asked about his dancing skills, feeling like he had already used the maximum amount of words he was allowed.

The beats that played sounded like something Kyungmoon hyung had cooked up. The flavours of it were distinct, and it had an edge to it that Hongjoong was familiar with. He tried shutting his brain off, moving slowly at first, trying to grasp and feel the rough, raw, hiphop-like instrumental. But as he continued the same three steps over and over again, missed a few beats, almost tripped on his feet once, his confidence started wearing down, and every stray move he’d thought of flew out of his brain. It was blank, now, and he was panicking, not knowing what he was doing with his body, how he looked from the evaluators’ point of view. There was a ringing sound in his ears as time went by and the panic fully settled in, Hongjoong having an almost out of body experience where it didn't even feel like it was really him controlling how he moved.

And just when an idea popped up, the worst thing happened — his dance instructor called for the music to stop.

Hongjoong was about to, but was cut short before he could insist that he could get a few decent moves in if they just played the song for a little longer, the five scary looking adults only whispering amongst themselves.

Hongjoong’s heart was beating its way out of his body, his mind screaming at him.

You fucked up, you fucked up, Seonghwa was so happy and you fucked it all up. Seonghwa is not going to be able to debut because of you, you're going to break his heart. You're going to be put on a waiting list, and you're also not going to be able to debut. The new comers are going to replace you— worse, they're going to take Seonghwa away—

“I think we're done, Hongjoong-ssi.” If not for the man's bold, loud voice, what he said would've fallen on deaf ears. Hongjoong didn't know how he reacted, couldn't even process anything he did. Maybe he had thanked them, laughed about being caught off-guard. And then he was standing outside the door, the floor and walls spinning in wild circles. Hongjoong blinked, and the circles spinned the other way.

“—joong! Hongjoong-ah!”

Hongjoong looked up to see Seonghwa’s face, brows knit into a deep furrow and eyes filled with worry. They stood close, with Seonghwa’s hand gently patting Hongjoong's cheek to shake him out of his reverie.

And the second he did, he burst into hot, bitter tears.

He heard Seonghwa gasp, and then a few moments later, felt his hand guiding him to the nearest empty room.

They stood there for a while, Seonghwa gently, tentatively, loosely holding his hand, and Hongjoong overwhelmed beyond words and crying with his head bowed down.

He felt pathetic and downright dumb — how had he not prepared for something as common as free-styling? He'd learned random little ballet moves, popping, even a small bit of break dancing — how had he forgotten free-styling?

Hongjoong didn't know how long it took for his sobbing to scale down to just hiccups. Seonghwa stood there the whole time, Hongjoong having grabbed his hand tightly.

“I— I fucked it all up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Hongjoong said, his voice watery and shaky.

“You didn't fuck anything up, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa said, his voice only a little above a murmur.

“No— no,” he insisted, attacked with a wave of hiccups. “You don’t understand.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“They— they said I had to dance to only two songs,” Hongjoong started, willing his voice to stop shaking so much. “And then said— one was free-styling, one was my own choice.  But— but I'm— I don't know how to free-style. I— I looked so stupid there, I didn't even know what I was doing with my arms and legs—”

“They were probably well aware of that,” Seonghwa cut in, reaching forth to grab Hongjoong’s other hand. “They probably just wanted to know how you were gonna handle something like that. I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think, Hongjoong-ah.”

“I ruined all of our chances of debuting,” Hongjoong blurted, as if he hadn't heard a word of what Seonghwa had just said.

“What? No you didn't,” Seonghwa said, now squeezing his hands a little. “You're the first one to even know about the whole debut lineup thing. They're not gonna cut you off just because of one single dance evaluation, come on.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath, wiping his nose on his shoulder. He continued to hold Seonghwa’s hands and simply breathed, stopping himself from blurting out every one of the hundred conclusions he had jumped into in the span of five minutes.

They stood like that for a long time, and Hongjoong learned to breathe again. If Seonghwa was right in front of him and looking at him and holding his hands, it meant the end of the world wasn't there yet.

“Sorry,” he said after lots of sniffing and wiping snot.

“It's okay,” Seonghwa said, giving his hands another squeeze before letting go. Hongjoong held back from chasing the warmth of it again, using his free hands to wipe the remainder of his tears away instead.

When he looked up again, he saw Seonghwa’s lips pursed. After a bit of hesitation, Seonghwa said, “Whatever I do, I will not do if you're not there.” His expression was more determined than Hongjoong had ever seen it be. “None of this is worth it, then. If we're not together. I don't know about you, Hongjoong-ah, but I… I genuinely wouldn't have gone forth with wanting to become an idol if not for you, and I wouldn't be in the middle of writing a message to my dad about quitting college so I can focus more on training if not for you. For me, half the reason I'm chasing my dreams so vigorously is because of you. I'm sorry if that's putting a burden on you, but the world I get to experience, and the world that you've made for yourself, is so, so precious. I never want to extricate myself from that, even if it means I have to debut a few months, even years, late. Because I want to do everything with you.”

“I— I do, too,” Hongjoong said without hesitation, half bewildered and half flustered at such a blatant show of honesty and affection. “Everything you said.”

“Good, then,” Seonghwa said, sighing a little — in relief? “You're gonna take a break for the rest of today, and we're gonna start grinding for vocal and rap from tomorrow. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agreed, grateful that one of them was able to think rationally.

They walked out of the building after that, Hongjoong more exhausted than he’d felt in weeks. It felt like the day had just awoken a hidden child within him — always so eager to prove himself, but always letting his panic span to the ends of the earth at the smallest slip up.

Seonghwa stayed quiet as they walked, Hongjoong too, as they stuffed their hands into their hoodies, the afternoon sun doing nothing to warm them up because of how cold the weather was. He felt the comforting warmth of Seonghwa right next to him every time their shoulders bumped. God, I don't want to say goodbye to him, Hongjoong thought, as the familiar spot where they parted ways came into view. But he did, anyway, because he had to, and watched Seonghwa quietly leave.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

It was three days later when Hongjoong got the message. Seonghwa hadn't come that day, busy sorting things out with his university.

Hongjoong had been sitting in the studio, headphones on, recording a demo for a song. And then his phone lit up with their manager's number, Hongjoong taking his headphones off right away to see what it was about.

Manager-nim 4:33PM

Hongjoong, there is something
we need to discuss with you and
Seonghwa. Please meet us at the
office tomorrow morning at 9AM.

Although Hongjoong had gotten over all thoughts of him being removed from the company or anything dramatic of the sort, getting a message like that made his heart skip a beat nevertheless. They had only four days left before the vocal and rap evaluation — what was important enough for them to call for a meeting without even waiting for it to be over?

He replied with a Sure, sir, and willed himself back to recording the demo. At least he was definitely going to see Seonghwa tomorrow. The thought kept him going through the evening.

The next day, to no one’s surprise, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood outside their manager’s office at eight thirty. Seonghwa rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold, and Hongjoong was working up the courage to knock. He knew the manager was already there.

A few seconds passed by. The two of them made eye contact, and something about the look on Seonghwa’s face made Hongjoong want to take the first step, do the hard thing so Seonghwa didn’t have to — so his hand simply moved of its own accord and knocked, and soon enough, there was a voice calling them in.

Their manager wasted no time in getting straight to the point, and what he said the moment they entered had not made it to the list of things that Hongjoong had in his head of what this meeting could possibly be about.

“We’ve furnished a vacant office room for both of you to occupy. Granted, it’s probably a tad too small, but it just makes sense, right? You’ve already made the debut lineup. Time to get more involved and serious, shouldn’t we?”

The way he phrased that sounded like a threat, but all Hongjoong could think about was the fact that he was being presented with an opportunity to make music while sharing a room with Seonghwa.

His first instinct had been to let his jaw drop to the floor and ask, “Really?” while beaming at the thirty-something year old man in front of him. But Hongjoong held back before embarrassing himself, simply resorting to nodding surely, letting out a few words of agreement, hoping that him having absolutely zero doubts about this was conveyed properly. He turned around to see Seonghwa, who was also doing the same. His eyes were wide and starry, a happy crinkle at either corner.

The meeting had lasted a grand total of five minutes, with their manager giving them the key to take a look at their now-dorm room. Hongjoong all but grabbed the keys from him, and then he was running, Seonghwa at his heels, both of them giggling without restraint. They almost missed the room, which was on the second floor, just a few doors from the studio Hongjoong usually worked at.

They noticed that the door had a manual lock as well as a digital one — Hongjoong was already planning on the four digit passcode to be a combination of his and Seonghwa’s birthdays.

Hongjoong opened it, and then Seonghwa came in, too, turning the lights on. The room wasn’t that big — but it had a bunk bed! And there was a desk and a chair with easy access to two charging ports, and there was a night lamp that mounted a corner of it. There was decent room to walk around, a moderately sized cupboard, and right opposite to it, the bathroom.

Seonghwa raced across the short distance and lay flat on the wooden board of the bunk bed, the brightest smile on his face — Hongjoong felt the urge to do something. “I’m claiming the bottom one!”

“Okay,” Hongjoong agreed quickly, without a beat of hesitation.

His heart raced and raced, only now having fully caught up to the fact that they were going to live and breathe and sleep and shower and exist with each other from now. He was going to become familiar with Seonghwa’s routines, his habits, his breathing, his dos and don’ts, his little quirks, his— his everything.

“I’m moving in tomorrow,” Hongjoong’s mouth decided for him. “I already sort of live here anyway.”

“Me too,” Seonghwa said. He got up, took a look around the room, too, Hongjoong more than a little overwhelmed with just how much Seonghwa’s presence was to take in. He kept his hands plastered to his side, the urge to do something with them only getting stronger by the second. “We can just practice for evaluations here! Oh— I wonder if the new trainees have a room of their own, too! Will we meet them soon? We should, right?”

It was immature how instantly his mood soured — but Hongjoong couldn’t help it. Why was Seonghwa talking about other people when Hongjoong was literally right in front of him? “Yeah, of course,” he said anyway, hoping and not hoping the drop in his mood was obvious.

Seonghwa’s eyes only seemed to glow brighter and brighter, ostensibly not having picked up on it. “Hongjoong,” he called, the tone of his voice unfairly disarming. “Hongjoong-ah. This is real.”

“It is,” Hongjoong agreed, softening. Seonghwa looked at him, then, a wistful, teary look in his eyes. He strode forward to stand in front of Hongjoong, his gaze flickering here and there — from Hongjoong’s eyes to nose to mouth to ears to mouth to eyes again.

“I—” he started. Hongjoong pressed his hands further to his side, clenching them into fists. He was not going to do something that could change everything before they even started. “I want to give you a hug. Can I give you a hug?”

Oh. Okay.

This is fine.

He blinked for a few seconds too long, and then let out a hesitant sound of agreement.

Right?

Before he could blink again, Seonghwa’s face was in his neck, arms tight around his shoulders, and he was pushing closer, closer, till they stood flush against each other. Hongjoong could not decide amidst the rush of blood in his ears and every other part of his body if it was a good idea to hug him back, but Seonghwa’s arms were already pulling away and Hongjoong could not bear to leave the warmth unreturned; so in a split second — screw his dumb brain — Hongjoong’s arms flew to hold Seonghwa where he was, and then their faces were buried into each other’s shoulders, arms holding each other dramatically too tight.

Seonghwa let out a breath of laughter, the sensation tickling Hongjoong’s neck. He laughed more when Hongjoong tried pulling away because it was ticklish and his heart was racing too loud and fast for Seonghwa to have not picked up on it by now.

“We should do this more often,” Seonghwa said into his ears. There was a wave of goosebumps. An urge to do something with his hands. A stronger urge to do something related to his lips and Seonghwa’s neck. Hongjoong pulled away fully, almost lightheaded.

We definitely shouldn’t do that more often. We should, actually, never do that again. “We should,” his mouth said, ever the traitor, catching his breath like he’d just run a mile.

Seonghwa beamed at him, his eyes holding a galaxy of their own.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

The next few days were— something. Hongjoong both loved it and despised it.

They didn’t have much difficulty moving in with their belongings — it was easier than Hongjoong had expected. Seonghwa was painfully meticulous with everything he did, something Hongjoong should’ve expected. A few hours after unpacking and arranging, their room already looked and felt lived-in.

They spent the four nights before evaluation practicing singing and rapping, Seonghwa sleepless because he was buzzing with an energy that was an amalgamation of nervousness and excitement, Hongjoong sleepless for multiple reasons other than that.

On the night before the evaluation, just before the clock struck midnight, Seonghwa said, “I think we should sleep today. We should give our voices and brains a rest.”

The thing was, Seonghwa was right. And Hongjoong desperately needed the rest — both his eyes and throat were starting to give up on him. But after spending all that time crammed into Seonghwa’s lower bunk, their thighs and shoulders flush against each other as they practiced, exchanging tips and suggestions for improvement, and taking small naps on each other’s shoulders, the concoction of thoughts and feelings in Hongjoong’s heart stirred further and further until it was a thick slush of I want to hold Seonghwa’s hand. I want to wake up next to Seonghwa everyday. I want to kiss Seonghwa. Seonghwa Seonghwa Seonghwa.

“Are you even listening to me?” Seonghwa asked, making Hongjoong sigh dramatically.

“Fine,” he said, getting up. He stuck his lips out in a pout. “I’ll stop bothering you.”

“I never said you were bothering me,” Seonghwa said defensively. Hongjoong frowned at him, and then turned around to keep his laptop on the desk.

He glanced at his top bunk, which looked brand new. He was going to spend his night on a bed without Seonghwa a millimeter from him for the first time in four days.

They quickly arranged themselves after that, turning the lights off. Both of them had prepared for every possibility on earth for the evaluation, and since Hongjoong was a lot more confident in this, sleep did come.

They exchanged soft goodnights, and then Hongjoong was off to dreamland for good, the memory of Seonghwa’s body stuck to him from just a few minutes ago adequately warming him up.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

Hongjoong did well. He knew he did well, and when he got out of the recording booth, he felt like a mountain was lifted off his back. Next was Seonghwa, whose shoulder Hongjoong gave a reassuring squeeze before he was rushing in.

Seonghwa’s vocal evaluations always dragged on longer than Hongjoong’s, because he did extensive vocal training as well as rap — Hongjoong had no doubt he was going to be the all-rounder of their group even though he hadn’t met any of the other trainees yet.

It started off okay, Seonghwa nailing all the vocal techniques he’d spent countless days perfecting, hitting all the notes crisp and clean. He was allowed a break for a few minutes, and Hongjoong rushed to inform him that he was doing more than great, there was just one more session to get through — and then they had the whole day to themselves!

Seonghwa drank some water, and was then ushered into the booth again, this time for rap. Hongjoong paid keen attention to whether or not the evaluators were assessing him properly, knowing they had a knack for being too cuttingly honest about their remarks.

Seonghwa got through it smoothly, with only a few hitches in breath control in the middle and a word he skipped in between. The overall flow was good — they way he used his vocal range to his advantage, sliding in a few last minute free-style changes that alleviated his personality on the track.

Once the producers called for a halt, Hongjoong could tell Seonghwa was breathless and sweaty, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead very noticeable.

“That was stilted,” the producer wasted no time in saying. “Too much nasal activity. And it sounded too try-hard, what you did in the middle. Let’s try another song, shall we, Seonghwa?”

“Yes, sir,” Seonghwa said, biting his lip. Hongjoong bit his tongue harshly to stop himself from saying anything — stilted? Try-hard? Who the fuck did he think he was?

Seonghwa started another rap verse, and before even getting midway, the same producer called for a halt again. They switched to another style. The same thing happened again. Seonghwa looked drained, confused, breathless. They switched again, and halfway through, the producer raised a hand, gesturing for the beats to stop again, and Hongjoong just about had enough.

“I think you should let him finish the verse, PD-nim,” he said, before he could even process that his mouth was moving. The producer turned to him, and then the rest of them looked at him, too, a quizzical, amused look on their faces.

The producer turned back to Seonghwa, saying, “Go ahead, then,” and Seonghwa started again after taking a deep breath, finishing the verse with a new type of ferocity.

The producer bit his lip, nodding, exchanging hushed whispers with the rest of them, and then they dismissed Seonghwa.

Hongjoong got up, reaching the door of the booth before Seonghwa even did, dragging him out of the studio by the hand.

Once they were out, Hongjoong turned to him. “What the fuck is his problem?”

Seonghwa’s eyes blew open, hands flying to cover Hongjoong’s mouth in surprise. “Shh! Don’t yell!”

“No, but—” Hongjoong said, removing Seonghwa’s hand away, “—he was acting like he had a personal vendetta against you! What the fuck was his problem?”

“Hongjoong-ah—” Seonghwa grimaced a little, hands flailing in Hongjoong’s tight grip, before he used that to his advantage to drag the two of them to their dorm.

Hongjoong went willingly, heart racing all the same.

They went in, Seonghwa closing the door softly shut. “You shouldn’t be so careless, you know,” he said, going back to grab Hongjoong’s hands. “They probably heard you.”

Hongjoong shifted his hands in Seonghwa’s so he could hold them better. “Good. Great, even. I hope they did.”

Seonghwa sighed, and Hongjoong could feel the tension in his body ward off as his hands went slack. He pursed his lips a little, lifting his droopy eyes to meet Hongjoong’s. “Don’t do that again. They know better, right? And they can’t afford to have me be my soft-hearted self when it comes to taking criticisms. And he was— he was probably right,” Seonghwa said, his voice catching towards the end.

Hongjoong quickly got worried. “He wasn’t right, first of all,” he said, “and even if he was, he could’ve worded that better! Why was he acting like he was personally offended by all the bars you were spitting in there!”

Seonghwa let out a tired laugh, shifting closer to Hongjoong — and all of a sudden, their proximity was all Hongjoong could think about, Seonghwa everywhere no matter where his eyes went.

“I’m happy I have someone who’s willing to stand up for me,” Seonghwa said. His eyes were a starry pond of unshed tears. “But you shouldn’t be so reckless. And you should know by now that they’ve— they've never been nice about evaluations. Why let it affect you so much now?”

Hongjoong retracted his sweaty hands from Seonghwa’s, almost in a daze as he reached up to wipe the tears that were quietly streaming down Seonghwa’s face. “No one should ever talk to you like that,” he heard himself say. “Or talk about your voice like that.”

Seonghwa leaned into Hongjoong’s hands, and then Hongjoong was cupping the side of his face, letting his thumb trace the swell of his cheek. His heart was knocking against his ribs loudly and painfully, and his toes and fingertips felt like they were buzzing, but Hongjoong continued to hold Seonghwa like that, silently giving him permission to cry it out.

They soon stood clutching each other, with Seonghwa’s face wetting the side of Hongjoong’s neck, muted muffles escaping his lips every now and then. Hongjoong reached up to run a hand through Seonghwa’s hair, only to find his scalp hot to the touch — Seonghwa had been so stressed about the whole thing. It saddened Hongjoong’s heart, making him hold Seonghwa tighter.

A few minutes later, Seonghwa pulled away, all red eyes and hitched breathing. “I practiced so much,” he said. Hongjoong nodded, the urge to give that producer a proper kick growing in intensity.

“He was a douchebag. Mega evil douche. You did very well, Seonghwa-ya,” he said, hoping it sounded reassuring.

Seonghwa laughed, pulling away from Hongjoong to wipe his nose. “Stop that,” he chided. “It wasn’t his fault. I should just work harder.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Or he can work harder to give proper feedback.”

Seonghwa playfully shoved his arm. They both then made their way to Seonghwa’s bed, plopping down tiredly.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Seonghwa decided. “I didn’t sleep properly yesterday.”

Let’s nap together. “I’ll just do my thing here. You sleep.”

“Here? On my bed?” Seonghwa looked at him questioningly.

“Yes?” Hongjoong said, ears burning. But no, he wasn’t going to go back on his words or regret them.

“There’s hardly enough space for me,” Seonghwa said, wasting no time in burying himself under the covers. His legs, indeed, had nowhere to go, so of course, there was nothing else that could be done but let him use Hongjoong’s lap as a leg pillow. Seonghwa didn’t seem to mind, if the satisfied little smile on his face as Hongjoong adjusted his legs on his lap was anything to go by. “Let’s go out somewhere tomorrow. To celebrate. Just us.”

Seonghwa looked at him eagerly, the stars in his eyes innocently blinking their way into Hongjoong’s heart. “Sure,” Hongjoong said. “Could be fun.”

“It’s a date!” Seonghwa screeched in a tiny voice, and then proceeded to happily wiggle under the covers. “Good night for now!” And then his eyes were closed, legs comfortably settled on Hongjoong’s lap.

“Good night,” Hongjoong whispered, half in shock.

I’m going on a date with Seonghwa.

I am—

What?

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

It always left Hongjoong baffled how Seonghwa always took things in stride, how he never let anything take away the positive light in which he saw things. No misfortune, failure, bereavement, defeat, sorrow took away from the vibrant brilliance of his everyday life. Was it common for people to be like that if they had stars in their eyes?

Because why was Seonghwa smiling from ear to ear, already talking about all the things he was planning to do to increase his efforts in training his voice and dance while sitting across from Hongjoong at the Chinese restaurant that Hongjoong used to loathe seeing, a day after being given the harshest feedback about his skills?

“Eat your food, Seonghwa-ya,” Hongjoong said, noticing how cold his own broth had gone.

Seonghwa shoved in a mouthful of noodles, slurping down a generous amount of broth, and continued speaking, cheeks stuffed like a bunny. “We can even train outside of our company, have you ever considered that?” he asked. “I know so many teachers! I was pretty popular in school, you know, so I can still reach out to them. It could give us a new experience.”

“Sure,” Hongjoong said. How on earth was Seonghwa going to make time for a whole other set of vocal sessions?

They gulped down the food quickly, leaving with happily full bellies.

Seonghwa was vibrating with a new sort of excitement, his hands easily looping around Hongjoong’s arm. They talked about the randomest things, the topic of extra vocal lessons switching to that of Seonghwa’s hometown, and then subsequently, Hongjoong’s; their favourite childhood snacks, school subjects, ice-cream flavours.

“Rainbow sherbet!” Seonghwa squealed. “Me too!”

Hongjoong giggled. “My mom never fails to buy me those for my birthday. They’re not even that great, but I guess it’s dear to me because it has such nostalgic memories attached to it.”

Seonghwa nodded, and then went quiet for a second, and then gasped. “Your birthday is tomorrow!”

“Oh,” Hongjoong said. He hadn’t even realized they’d gotten that far into the year already.

“What do you mean, oh! I don’t have anything for you!” Seonghwa looked genuinely distressed.

“I don’t care much, really,” Hongjoong said. “It’s just a special day.”

“Yes! And I don’t have a single clue how to make it special!”

“You’re special enough,” Hongjoong blurted.

“No, you don’t understand— what?” Seonghwa stopped in his tracks.

Hongjoong gulped. In all honesty, there was no way he was getting anywhere remotely safe or sane with his huge crush on Seonghwa. There was just no way he would ever be capable of hiding something of such magnitude for a long time. So he just decided to double down on it, testing the waters a little. “Yeah,” he confirmed. He shot a furtive glance at Seonghwa, who only stared at him.

“You— what?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong said again, “you’re special enough.”

“Me? But— but your birthday gift,” Seonghwa said helplessly.

Hongjoong laughed. “There’s no need for one. But if you want, today can be a gift. Us having gone out to eat.”

Seonghwa gaped at him. Hongjoong looked away, slowly resuming their walk back to the company.

That night, Seonghwa made it a point to stay up and sing a very dramatic rendition of Happy Birthday as Hongjoong sleepily waved his hands from left to right while sitting on his bed at the top bunk. This is more than enough, Hongjoong thought, his heart hopelessly fluttering.

Seonghwa ended the song just as dramatically as he'd started, and Hongjoong was thanking him in between fits of giggles as Seonghwa produced a colourful sprinkle of tiny pieces of torn up paper bits in celebration.

He urged Hongjoong to come down, immediately after which he engulfed him in a big, warm hug. Hongjoong melted into it, subconsciously nudging his nose into Seonghwa’s neck. He looped his arms around Seonghwa’s waist, and listened to all the praises and wishes and congrats being whispered into his ear.

Hongjoong sighed in content. It had been five minutes, tops. This was already the best birthday he’d ever had.

“I have a small secret planned out for you,” Seonghwa said, pulling away a little. Hongjoong frowned.

“What secret? I told you yesterday was enough.”

Seonghwa shook his head adamantly. “No. You'll see.”

Hongjoong only tiredly shook his head in mild disapproval, not fighting the smile that was slowly grazing his lips. He went back to hugging Seonghwa, wishing he could simply fall asleep in his arms just like this.

⁘⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁘

In the morning, they were each given a freshly printed paper that mapped out their schedule for a week. The managers told them that they were going to start training with the others, so they had to gear up. Everything was going to go from scattered grinding of dance and rap and writing to a fully structured training program.

Seonghwa sulked on the way back from the meeting. When Hongjoong prodded him, he shook his head. “My plans are ruined,” he said, hanging his head down.

Hongjoong couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly. “I told you, I’m more than happy with what we did yesterday. Us just being together is enough, Seonghwa-ya. Really.”

Seonghwa still hung his head, unconvinced.

Their dance sessions resumed, and they met three other trainees, all of them exchanging polite introductions and getting to work immediately.

It was strange to see their dance studio so full, but Hongjoong was already warming up to the changes, because they were proof that things were finally moving forward.

They were dismissed for lunch only after two in the afternoon, all of them hungry to the point of almost collapsing. Hongjoong didn’t really have the energy to make conversation, simply listening to everyone talk for the most part.

Over lunch, Hongjoong learned that the three new trainees were only a year younger than him and Seonghwa, whose names were Yunho, Mingi, and San. Hongjoong could see the look of uncertain determination reflected in their eyes as they spoke. He had a very good feeling about how things were progressing — the only way to go from now was up.

Hongjoong was planning on visiting his parents later in the day, since this house wasn’t that far, but sometime into the evening when he was making his way through the hallway to the studio, he suddenly came face-to-face with his whole family — his mom, dad, and older brother.

“Happy birthday!” his mom chirped, gathering Hongjoong in a hug, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

“What are you guys doing here!” Hongjoong screeched, pulling away, giggling. This was totally unexpected.

His mom quickly reached into her bag, zipping it open hurriedly. “Before it melts,” she said, pressing a cup of rainbow sherbet to his hands. Hongjoong’s heart clenched. He took the cup from her, pouting a little.

“Thank you,” he said in a small voice.

His brother reached forth into his own bag, tugging their dad closer. He took out a wrapped square box. “From me and dad,” he said, and Hongjoong couldn’t guess what it could possibly be.

“You guys didn’t have to,” he said, taking the present from his brother’s hands. He suddenly felt small, like a little kid again, the warmth of his family gently enveloping him.

Hongjoong tore open the wrapper and found himself staring at a pair of headphones — the exact one he’d been rambling to his brother about for the past several months. He almost shot up in glee, eyes blowing wide. “What!” he said, ripping apart the tape that held the box together, eager hands not waiting even a little bit to get a hold of those headphones. “It has the wire that I can connect to the studio mic!” he exclaimed.

His brother laughed, ruffling his hair. “Glad you like it, Hongjoong-ah.”

His dad nodded. “You don’t make it hard to know what to buy for you,” he said, smiling.

Hongjoong beamed at him, and then proceeded to wear the headphones to see if they fit — which they did, of course they did. “It’s so soft! And it has bluetooth connection, too!”

“Yeah, and you can also download an app so you can track it if you misplace it somewhere,” his brother said. “There’s a setting in there—” He gestured for Hongjoong to hand the headphones over to him, after which he pointed to a button on the side of it. He proceeded to explain all of its features to Hongjoong, some of which Hongjoong already knew, and some he didn’t.

Once he was done, Hongjoong’s mom pulled him into a hug again. “I’m so happy to see you happy, my grown-up baby,” she said. She continued to give him her usual speech — I’m proud of you, you’re gonna be a big superstar, if things get hard, just come running home, okay? — and Hongjoong had it memorized by now, but he still nodded through the whole thing.

They left after a while, his brother giving him a big smile and another ruffle to his hair, and his dad a small pat to his back. His mother insisted on him opening up the ice-cream in his hands, just so she could see him eat before leaving. Hongjoong bid them goodbye, the smile that was plastered to his face only growing bigger.

He turned around after watching them leave in his dad’s car, only to be jumpscared by Seonghwa standing right behind him. A whole spoonful of melted sherbet sloshed around and dripped to the floor, a few drops landing on both his and Seonghwa’s jackets.

“What’s wrong with you!” he screeched. “Ah, it’s all messy now—”

“I’ve been waiting for so long,” Seonghwa said, grabbing his hand.

“What?”

“You need to come with me right now.”

“Excuse me?” Hongjoong asked, amused now. “Where?”

“You’ll see. But it has to be right now. Let’s go, come!” Seonghwa all but dragged Hongjoong out the building after that, and then they were running down the street, into the evening to god-knows-where.

They stopped right in front of an ice-cream vendor, who looked like he was packing things up.

“Wait! Sir!” Seonghwa called, and the man looked up from his position quizzically.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Two cups of rainbow sherbet, please!” Seonghwa asked, beaming, already pressing cash into his hand. Hongjoong just looked at him, bewildered, and then looked down at the untouched, melted rainbow sherbet in his hands, the one his mom had given him. Laughter bubbled up his throat, and then he was clutching his knee with his unoccupied hand, breathless from running so much, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said. Seonghwa grabbed the sherbet from the ice-cream vendor’s hands, and then they were walking away. The sun set beautifully outside, the warmth of it easing the chillness of the weather. “So this was your grand plan?” Hongjoong asked, knocking Seonghwa’s shoulder with his.

Seonghwa nodded enthusiastically. “I wasn’t even sure he’d be there. Thankfully we got here in time! Looks like there are weird people like you who eat ice-cream in the dead of winter.”

“In the dead of winter?” Hongjoong laughed. He was only laughing and laughing and laughing the whole day. “It hasn’t even started snowing.”

“Eat your ice-cream!” Seonghwa said instead, filling Hongjoong’s other hand with the cup. That was when he seemed to realize that Hongjoong already had a cup of the same thing, and had had it for a while now. “What! Where did you get that from?”

“My parents and brother visited, and my mom bought it for me,” Hongjoong said. “And before I could even tell you that, you dragged me here! Now what am I supposed to do with two of these?”

“Oh.” Seonghwa shrugged. “Eat them both. Happy happy birthday.”

Hongjoong laughed, shaking his head..

They reached the company before it got fully dark. Seonghwa threw his empty cup into the bin, and Hongjoong still had half the other cup to finish.

On the way to their dorm, they met the other trainees, who looked at them and then at Hongjoong’s hands questioningly. Seonghwa rushed to explain that it was actually a sugar-free snack they’d found with the same name and brand as the ice-cream, and that it tastes like pure ass, I don’t recommend. Hongjoong didn’t know how he held himself together without bursting into laughter, and then they ran into their dorm, giggling and breathless and cold and happy.

“My tongue is going to fall off,” Hongjoong said, trying his hardest not to talk with a lisp.

Seonghwa grabbed Hongjoong’s hand to see how much of it was left. “There’s barely one spoonful left.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said, abandoning the small wooden spoon and chugging the whole thing down in a gulp. He felt the rush of sugar in his body, making him jittery. “The company’s gonna be so mad at us if they find out.”

“Who said we were going to tell them?” Seonghwa asked.

Hongjoong balked at him. “We received our diet plan today and we already broke the rules.”

Seonghwa shifted closer to Hongjoong. “Who cares?” he asked. His eyes did the thing — roaming Hongjoong’s face from one place to another, as if searching for something. “You looked so happy with your cute blue teeth.”

Hongjoong gulped, tempted to take a step back. Breathing suddenly felt challenging. He gripped the empty plastic cup tighter, worrying that if he let it go, his hands would be somewhere else. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m happy.”

“Good,” Seonghwa said simply, nodding. “That’s all that matters.”

Hongjoong nodded, too, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. And then they were just standing there, almost as if suspended in time. Hongjoong risked a glance at Seonghwa’s face, and then immediately looked away after meeting his big, round, eager eyes.

Why is he looking at me like that?

Hongjoong willed his heart to calm down, but—

Why is he looking at me the way I look at him?

There was a small shift, and then Seonghwa’s breath was fanning across his cheeks. Hongjoong clutched the cup in his hands tighter, heart racing and racing and racing.

He shifted the focus of his eyes from the floor to Seonghwa’s hands — which he realized were holding his arms now. Then he let his eyes wander up, up, up, and saw Seonghwa’s lips — shiny and slightly parted. And then stared as they closed in, in, in.

Hongjoong shut his eyes, hoping he wasn’t being delusional about any of this.

Was Seonghwa really as close to him as it felt like? Or was his face just that hot even at the thought of it?

There was the soft, ticklish feel of Seonghwa’s breath, again — closer now. Right? Seonghwa was shifting closer to him, right? Was Hongjoong losing his mind?

There was a beat. And then there was—

The warm press of Seonghwa’s lips against his cool ones.

The gentle nudge of Seonghwa’s nose into his cheek.

The soft caresses of Seonghwa’s thumb on his neck.

The rush of blood in his ears that drowned out everything.

The floaty feeling in his chest that made him feel like a balloon.

They stood like that, unmoving, lips gently pressed together. Warmth flooded Hongjoong's heart.

And then Seonghwa slowly pulled back.

Hongjoong inhaled like he’d been underwater for minutes on end.

He opened his eyes, looking at the now-crushed plastic cup in his hands.

He let it fall to the floor, then reached up to cup Seonghwa’s face and kiss him properly, with no hesitation.

They fell into each other like they always did — carefully, slowly, with their whole heart, and with no doubt.

Seonghwa’s lips were soft and so, so warm, his hands in Hongjoong’s hair firm yet gentle. Hongjoong pressed a thumb down on Seonghwa’s cheek to pull him closer, and then he was willingly parting his lips, letting Seonghwa’s ice-cream cool tongue lick into the seams.

They kissed, and then stopped, and then kissed again.

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa whispered, the word going straight into Hongjoong’s mouth and dripping down his throat like honey. Hongjoong could get drunk on the way Seonghwa said his name. “Hongjoong-ah. Happy birthday.”

Hongjoong kissed him again, heart and mind equally clogged.

Nothing mattered anymore. Seonghwa — his precious, starry eyed Seonghwa — was here; and Seonghwa was kissing him, nipping at his lip and sighing softly; and Seonghwa was going to be with him like this tomorrow and the day after that.

And Seonghwa was going to be there when the world fell apart, and Seonghwa was going to be with him when he cried like a baby, and Seonghwa was going to grow up with him, and they were going to experience the bizarre maze — of confusion and hope and sorrow and happiness and fear and surprise and love — that was life, together, like the grown-up children they were.