Archive of Our Own

Seokmin had learned that there were various forms of love throughout his life.

The first kind he had been exposed to was storge—affection between parents, children, and siblings. And if Seokmin had to describe his early childhood; he’d say he had grown up with love—lots and lots of it.

He’s seen the familiar feeling in the way his father would kiss his mother's cheek after he came back home from work. He’d see the way his mother leaned into his touch despite scolding him for “scaring her.” Seokmin would notice how his father would chuckle at her reprimand, throwing his head back while rubbing circles on his mother's back.

Seokmin has begrudgingly felt the same feeling in the petty arguments and fights he’d have with his sister. They never blew up to something that went over their heads—just two siblings fighting over who had to do the dishes or who had to sweep the house.

Despite the small arguments, Seokmin could tell his sister meant well and he did too. The two siblings would usually end up compromising, “I’ll do it this time, but you owe me!” were familiar words he’d grown used to over the years.

On the rare occasion when they wouldn’t compromise, the two siblings would go their separate ways to cool off before going to see each other, crying and whining over “how they didn’t mean anything they said!” and “how they were so sorry for everything!”

Everything would soon be water under the bridge and the two siblings would end up doing the house chore they were fighting over together. Seokmin could tell they both cared deeply for each other, even when they fought—they didn’t let that deter their bond.

Caring for his family came naturally to him. It was almost like a reflex to show his affection for his family, he’s never once doubted his love for his family. There was no reason to. They loved each other unconditionally.

Seokmin would show his love to his family whenever his body and mind deemed appropriate and it was damn near all the time. He’d grown to show how much he cared in every situation; arguments, sorrow, mischief, glee—the list goes on.

So to say Seokmin grew up with an abundant amount of love would be an understatement—his family crossed oceans for each other, and Seokmin was glad to call himself a family-oriented man.

The second type of love he came to experience was philia or friendly love.

Seokmin has always been a bright child. He naturally exuded a positive vibe from his small, little body—never one to dim despite life’s circumstances.

He laughed a little too hard at a joke made on his favorite cartoon. He got overly excited at the mention of ice cream after dinner. He smiled so hard that the corners of his mouth would end up aching, yet that never made his smile falter—if anything, it only widened.

Seokmin has always been bright—shining a bit of light everywhere he went. One might believe that making friends came easily to him, but it was the complete opposite.

No matter how overly extroverted he came off to be, he would close up into his own shell whenever people tried to talk to him. It was ironic; the embodiment of the sun settling down at the mere mention of parading with the afternoon’s sky.

Seokmin never had close friends, mostly classmates that he talked to for the day before heading home. He had grown used to it—keeping people at an arm’s length was much more comfortable. And if the sun’s rays dimmed ever so slightly, he didn't let that bother him as much as it should’ve.

One day, one seemingly boring and normal day, Seokmin would learn to change his habits.

A new student had arrived at his primary school—he was a small boy, just like him; his eyes were brown and expressive, his cheeks were full and round, and his hair was long enough that it almost looked like he was wearing a bowl for a hat.

The little boy was told to take a seat next to Seokmin, to which he hesitantly raised his hand so the boy could locate his seat. Once the little boy took a seat next to him, Seokmin smiled gently, acknowledging the boy’s presence before he turned back to coloring his drawing.

Seokmin was coloring a picture of his family—his mother and father were on the outside while he and his sister were on the inside; they were all standing outside, holding hands with their house in the background, and big hearts drawn on top of them.

Seokmin was peacefully minding his business until the boy next to him spoke up. “What are you drawing?” He asks with furrowed brows.

Seokmin stops coloring and blinks up towards the boy. Is he talking to me? He questions in his mind, but gets his answer when the boy stares expectingly at him, waiting patiently for his answer.

“I-its my family. I haven’t drawn them in a while,” Seokmin mumbles out quietly, scared he’ll make a fool out of himself to the new student, but he had already stuttered so how's that for a first impression?

The boy peers at his drawing, in absolute awe at his stick figures and bright colors painting it. “I like it!,” he praises with a smile, “What’s your name?”

“Thank you… I’m Seokmin,” he answers more confidently after the small praise at his messy coloring.

“Hi Seokmin! Wanna be friends?” The boy asks earnestly and it leaves Seokmin staring at the boy absolutely dumbfounded.

Seokmin hadn't expected anything to happen today, especially on such a seemingly boring, mild day, but here he was; talking to the new student who apparently now wanted to be his friend after not even a minute of conversation.

It was weird. Seokmin wasn’t used to this. He’s never learned to be more outgoing despite being one of the brightest child’s, he just couldn’t step out of his comfort zone. He’s grown used to only speaking if being spoken to, and while that may sound sad, that's what worked for him.

Yet, the gnawing feeling of companionship surges through his body for the first time in months, and it consumes Seokmin whole—leaving in its wake an unimaginable amount of longing for having that—friendship.

He’s not sure why he deprives himself of it, he knows he’s bright, and bright people have a lot of friends, but he only had acquaintances. His brain could accept being a bright person, but not an outgoing person, and he’s not sure why this is bothering him right now, but this day was already weird, so to that he says,

”Sure!”

That’s the first time little Seokmin experiences philia and it's like he is beginning again like the changing of seasons. He allowed himself to have a friend who, maybe, could finally meet the toy figurines in his room that had been collecting dust after zero play dates.

Seokmin immediately feels the loyalty radiating through the boy’s smile once he registers he made a friend on his first day at a new school and before Seokmin knows it—he’s smiling just as bright, if not, even more brighter than the little boy.

Seokmin just made his first friend and it’s the most enlightening feeling he has ever had the pleasure of experiencing in his little boy body.

The third type of love Seokmin had encountered was philautia or self-love.

Seokmin has always held himself in high regard, it’s what holds him together—stable and familiar. It’s helped him on multiple different accounts, it’s what drives him to be better and achieve his perfect self.

It’s been rooted in him since his school years, but was only brought out when he was in choir. Choir was intense, there was no room for mistakes—everything had to be perfect; no improper breathing, no singing outside one’s range, no poor posture, and definitely no soloist syndrome, but Seokmin loved the idea of performing with a group and being able to shine with many voices joining into one.

His perfectionist side was born during his time in choir. He had to find his intonation so he could be accurate every time, he had to listen to his own voice and the harmony so he wouldn’t be the odd one out, and he had to make sure his technique and expression were on point so it was appealing to the viewer.

To say his rehearsal discipline was ten times more intense than their regular rehearsals would be the understatement of the century. If his choir group thought their director was harsh; they should be grateful they hadn't stepped into Seokmin’s mind—it was a constant war zone in there; constant mantras of “not being good enough” playing on a loop until he finally got the picture-perfect run he had been grilling himself for.

So Seokmin has always held himself in high regard because that’s what someone who dreams big should do, or at least that’s what made sense in Seokmin’s teenage mind. He’s heard all the big names say that they follow the principle of “practice makes perfect,” so if they follow it—why shouldn’t Seokmin follow in their footsteps?

Despite the consequential anxiety and chronic dissatisfaction that it comes with, Seokmin would say that it has helped him become a better version of himself. So much so that he’s been blessed with the opportunity to train in the upcoming boy group, “SEVENTEEN,” under Pledis Entertainment.

Seokmin has been training since he was 15 after hearing about the opportunity from his principal—upon hearing it, he immediately took up the chance and went through a traditional audition process. Seokmin wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a singer, so when he heard he had passed the audition, he was ecstatic.

Seokmin would start his training with other boys around the same age as him, and for two years and seven months, Seokmin woke up every day hoping—praying—that their training period would come to an end, so they could finally live out their dream of being singers—his dream of helping others and giving them hope.

So when his prayer had finally been heard, their group had simmered down to 13 boys; 13 boys that had strived to make it out of the trainee period and debut, to show that the company's efforts had not gone in vain, and now, that wishful thinking had finally become a reality after so, so long.

Seokmin is 18 when he is selected as one of the trainees for SEVENTEEN’s appearance in the reality show “Seventeen Project: Big Debut Plan,” on MBC which would detail the group's final preparations for their official debut on May 26.

Seokmin was a nervous wreck. Up until this point, their trainee life had been live-streamed for a series called “17TV,” The episodes were very chaotic, but they showcased everyone’s personalities well and from what he had heard, it got a pretty good following.

Except now they were being recorded for live television! This was more than being posted online for the people in their fandom space to see, no, this was for everyone who watched television, especially survival shows, or anyone who tuned in for the drama.

It honestly all felt like a dream… Seokmin had gone from fearing he’d never debut in a group to only having to wait two weeks until he could officially call himself an idol. What was crazier, he had 13 other boys who were also living the same surreal experience as him; 13 other boys that he had grown close with—13 other boys he could practically call family after all the hardships they had gone through during their training period.

Now that they were on what seemed like the final stretch for their journey, they couldn’t grasp at straws too early and potentially sabotage themselves. It was fine to be excited, but expect disappointment and you’ll never truly be disappointed.

The first episode had been.. alright… to say the least. The boys had gotten up, eaten their breakfast, and met each other outside their dorm; it was a normal day in his life, except with the added extra cameras.

The boys had met up and proceeded with their activities—occasionally murmuring how this new setting was weird, up until now, all their content had been online—not actual reality TV.

Their day officially began at Pledis, where they met with two PDs. The boys introduced themselves with their usual high spirits—big smiles, loud laughs, and hyping each other up at every turn.

The boys were asked about their rings, what they meant, and what made Seventeen special. The boys proudly explained that they self‑produce, perform with love and adoration; clearly showing that they love and enjoy their job with great enthusiasm, and already have fans cheering them on.

But then came an unexpected twist, looking back at it now, Seokmin should’ve known this was going to happen. It was reality TV—not everything came easily in this line of work, but for a teenager, God, it was as if the ground had swallowed them whole.

The boys had to go through a “verification check,” whatever the hell that meant. Seokmin remembers the looks the members gave each other: nervous, shocked—scared. Then, Seungkwan mentioned how the salon staff had warned them about sweating today, to which he paid no mind to.

Before the boys knew it, they were driven to an unfamiliar building and led into a studio they’d never seen before. Seokmin looked at his surroundings, noticed the tape on the floor along with the other members, and they instinctively lined up.

And then the music started playing and Michael Jackson’s “Dangerous” resounded through the room, and it's at that moment where Seokmin’s world went null and void.

Immediately, the room is enveloped in chaos. They hadn't expected to be told they had to go through a verification check, let alone be caught off guard with an unprompted dance cover. Not to mention, Seokmin vaguely remembers this was a cover they had done 2 years prior.

They scrambled for positions, but it was a performance from 2 years ago—they weren’t focused on the past, but rather the present. Seokmin vaguely remembers Chan trying to carry the whole thing on his back, but the choreography was a blur for most of them. They did better with more recent songs: Sorry Sorry, Taste, and bed-breaker were slightly better, but Dangerous was undeniably a failure.

In the end, they had to give up their rings.

And for Seokmin, it felt like the weight of the world had just crushed him, leaving him feeling suffocated. What started as a strange, obviously rigged “test,” one they were meant to fail turned serious when the CEO walked in. The playful mood disappeared as he replayed their ring ceremony and scolded them harshly, questioning their dedication and calling out members one by one.

When he demanded their rings back, Seokmin’s heart dropped. Their rings weren’t just accessories; they were the promise that their dream was real, that they were finally on the path to becoming singers—together, as one. Taking them off felt like that dream was being stripped away right in front of them.

Even though the group tried to stay strong, that moment felt like the end of the world for Seokmin—despite now coming out of his shell, especially after knowing these boys for so long, it was hard to stay positive. He’s known as the “sensitive” one even though he's always so giddy and cheery.

After something big happens in his life, he is very prone to crying. After not meeting his own expectations—ones that were heavily induced by himself, he was very prone to crying. So for the two major reasons for his breakdowns to be happening simultaneously—it feels like a slap to the face, but he swallows the encroaching heat gnawing at the back of his throat.

Everything was fine.

On the third episode of the show, Seokmin is 18 when he realizes his expectations only end up hurting him more than they help.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a slow unraveling, and while he may look composed on the outside—there was an ugly truth hiding deep in his chest, waiting to crawl out from its pit of misery.

Seokmin has lived most of his life inside the tight, unforgiving walls of his own standards. He built them when he was young, in choir rooms where perfection wasn’t a goal but a requirement. Where breathing wrong was a mistake, where standing wrong was a mistake, where feeling wrong was a mistake. Where he learned to listen to himself with surgical precision, to blend, to shine only when allowed.

Where he learned that the harshest director he would ever face lived in his own head.

That voice has followed him into every rehearsal room since. Into every evaluation. Into every audition. Into every moment where he feels like he needs to prove himself of being worthy of something.

The moment the PD announces the new challenge, something flickers through the room. Not dread—no, Seokmin knows dread. He’s lived it multiple times before that he knows the inkling like the back of his hand.

This is something else, something restless—hungry. Seokmin could tell that all the boys were eager to prove themselves—that they were worthy of their rings, that they deserved to debut as a whole group, and Seokmin was too.

The challenge consisted of three teams, a mission, and a mystery prize. At hearing this, the boys come alive in their respective teams. They straighten their pristine posture; they smirk with hunger in their eyes; they tease each other with love, and they get ready to confront the competition.

They weaponize their affection into competition, and their competition into affection. It’s a strange, beautiful cycle; one that only works because underneath the bravado, there’s no jealousy, no bitterness.

They all loved each other so much that if one of them won, they all did. That’s how it worked in their tight-knit family after training with each other for years.

The Performance Unit erupts into chaos almost immediately—Soonyoung’s coming up with ideas out of thin air while Jun keeps up with him, agreeing in his quietness. They’re planning a comedic dance piece, something loud, ridiculous, and incredibly risky. The performance could either make or break them, but knowing them, they were ready for both outcomes.

The Hip Hop Unit goes through the practical route. They dig through their old tracks, searching for something the public already loves. When their most‑commented song turns out to feature Raina, and she can’t join, they sit in silence. Then all eyes land on Hansol, waiting for him to catch the underlying message. He resists, of course he does, but eventually he sighs and agrees to take the vocal part himself, to which everyone cheers.

The Vocal Unit decides to do what they do best; focus their vocals in soul-crushing, painful yearning. They choose to rearrange “Because of You” by After School, turning it into something soft and aching. Yet even as they rehearse, doubt lingers in the atmosphere. Seungkwan is the one who voices these concerns; mentioning how he’s scared they won’t have a big enough impact unlike the other two units, and Seokmin can’t help but share the sentiment—Will it be enough? Will they be enough?

Seokmin feels the question settle somewhere deep inside him. A familiar ache was spreading across his chest, all rooted in a familiar fear that was instilled by his own mind. Seokmin’s expectations have always been a double‑edged sword. He never truly felt satisfied with his “hard work,” despite always hearing it from the people around him.

But they practice. Again. And again. And again.

Then, the leaders make a wager. First place rests; second place cleans the practice room; third place cleans the dorms—until album promotions.

The room erupts into groans, laughter, and playful threats. And then Seungcheol raises the stakes, “If the Hip Hop Unit gets third, I’ll clean the dorms myself,” and everyone follows up with their gasps and giggles. That’s how confident he is. That’s how confident they all are.

Except Seokmin, because confidence was a luxury he’s never been able to afford. “Practice makes perfect,” may be a principle people follow loosely, but Seokmin follows it like it's a religion—like it's all he has in life. Perfection was an impossible dream for many, but Seokmin needed to be perfect, or his insecurities would only continue to gnaw at his insides, and never truly calm down.

After the unit’s individual performances, they were immediately bombarded with feedback. Except, it almost didn’t even feel like constructive criticism—it was all over the place, and not cohesive like professional, valuable help.

And when the “feedback” comes to the Vocal Unit, it feels like Seokmin is being drowned in his own pit of insecurities and misery tenfold.

“I think you feel hurt when you hear ‘You don’t stand out,’” replays in his head, filling every space possible in his brain that it leaves his head pounding. Seokmin feels the criticism bloom beneath his skin like a bruise, slow, painful, and big enough that it’s impossible to ignore.

They’re simple words, Seokmin looks back at it and realizes that he didn’t need to “try harder to keep up,” rather he just had to loosen up—he’s always been a ball of nerves before anything major happens, and while he doesn’t let it show as often anymore, the familiar inkling is always ready to spring out of his body whenever a single crack opens up.

But to his 18-year-old self, the words echo with a familiarity that makes his stomach twist. They sound like the choir director’s voice all over again; the one who taught him that perfection wasn’t a goal but a requirement, that anything less was failure, that being the weak link was the worst thing he could be.

They sound like Seokmin’s own words; if he doesn’t prove himself he’ll be left behind, how he couldn’t be left behind because then he’d never be able to achieve his dreams of singing like his idols, and who was he if he wasn’t on the big stage—singing his heart out while being a source of happiness, hope, and comfort to others.

Suddenly, Seokmin is too aware of everything; the way his posture slightly shrank in, the way his breaths became labored, the way his voice was quivering at the edges, the way his expression must have looked under the lights—in utmost despair, lost, scared.

Seokmin sits in his seat, the world around him fading into distant and muffled sounds like he’s underwater—drowning in his failed expectations, and when he opens his mouth to scream—all that he feels is the rushing of waves clogging his lungs. He feels restless, yet with every move he makes, the suffocation gets worse and he can only do so much before he breaks in front of live television.

For everyone else, it didn’t feel this heavy. It was just a mission, a game. Yet, it doesn’t feel like a game to Seokmin, nothing ever really does, not when there’s a chance to prove himself of being worthy, not when there’s a chance to show that he is just as capable as his members, not when his expectations continue to run rampant in his mind, grounding and pushing him for something bigger than himself.

Not when the voice inside his mind that has been tormenting him had actual critics to fuel its rampage. Not when his insecurities have amassed by a hundred over the last 72 hours.

Not when people were right about him—he would never be enough.

Seokmin is 18 when he realizes he’s a hypocrite.

How can he expect to be a light of happiness, hope, and comfort for other people, when he can’t even be that for himself?

How can he love others so freely, so carelessly, without a second thought, when deep down in his chest—he knows he’ll never truly love himself.

Seokmin is still 18 when he realizes he has stepped into the first stage of eros or romantic love—the attraction stage.

The 13 boys have officially survived almost four months of idol life, and they couldn’t be more happier. The road they have trekked together wasn't easy; it was filled with guilt, frustration, and doubt. But they persevered—held their heads up high, leaned on each other when a particularly hard day hit, and never looked back.

Their debut had been a success. Seokmin had heard from his members that the K-Pop scene had been very static lately, many boy groups kept to very dark and edgy concepts while their debut song, “Adore U,” was the complete opposite—filled with cute, colorful, feelings.

Seokmin understood that their concept was like a breath of fresh air for a lot of K-Pop fans, and Seokmin was glad that they were able to break the norm for boy groups, especially for a boy group of their size. Not to mention, Seokmin heard fans loved the idea of them being self-produced, with his hyungs Jihoon and Seungcheol as well as Hansol writing songs, and Soonyoung-hyung and the performance unit working on their choreography, everything about them screamed hardworking and dedicated.

SEVENTEEN debuted with one hundred thousand sales, and they charted number 4 on the GAON chart, and all 13 boys were astounded. The number of sales had so many zeros behind it, and while only being a ‘baby’ group, they already made it onto a chart!

The boys couldn’t be more giddy and excited—this all proved that their hard work had not gone in vain. All the worrying, the sleepless nights, the frustrations had been worth it, and they all could tell this was only the beginning of their career; there was still so much to see and achieve, together, as 13.

Now, four months have passed and they’re now doing promotions for their new song, “Mansae,” and Seokmin really couldn’t be happier.

After going through…a small breakdown…months ago—could Seokmin even call it a breakdown? It’s not like he actually started to cry, more like he was on the verge of crying, where everything felt too distant but he was hyper aware of his state of mind. Breakdown or not, Seokmin has allowed himself to look past it, but not without still berating himself for something his mind curated from his own insecurities and perfectionism.

Seokmin has been proving himself in whatever way possible in the four months of finally being a group; in every song recording, in every practice run, at every show, at every promotion—Seokmin has been finding a way to prove to everyone that he was capable of being part of the group, that he really was useful and was worthy of being a beacon of love, as far as that may go.

It's at one of these practice runs for “Mansae,” that he realizes his feelings may have overstepped the philia line.

The boys had been practicing since the early afternoon, the sun had long set below the horizon—the soft hues of orange and red going down with every passing move the boys made in their practice.

The evening sky was encroaching on them, and Seokmin knew it was almost time for them to call it a day. They’ve been at it for what felt like days, and while they have been practicing this choreography for days, it’s only been about four hours since they stepped foot into the practice room.

Everyone is sweaty, they’re tired after going over the same dance, but Seokmin knows they have to be perfect since they have multiple performances coming up and they can’t be short of that; so they’re focused on trying to keep up with one another, and just trying to hit their motions on the right count.

It’s now Seokmin’s turn to take center and he can’t help but feel a bit giddy when he does. Even though the practice room is considerably small in size, and the lights aren’t as bright as other rooms, Seokmin can’t help the grin that spreads across his mouth when he catches his frame on the mirrors left from him.

Seokmin is singing his line with his body moving on autopilot, and then Joshua slides in beside him, right on time. It’s a smooth motion, almost like gliding, except he takes a few strides towards him and Seokmin wraps his arm around his small frame.

It’s not the first time they practiced this move, they have been since before album promotions and since before they had even released said album. Seokmin remembers when Soonyoung first mentioned Joshua and he would partake in a side hug in the middle of the choreography.

Soonyoung was known for having extremely creative choreographies, so upon hearing said move, Seokmin hadn’t batted an eye. Seokmin can recall the first time that Joshua and he practiced said move plain as day—Joshua had gone too early when stepping into his space, and Seokmin had accidentally hit his face.

The room was overtaken by a rage of laughter, everyone was losing their minds at Joshua’s mistake. Seokmin could faintly hear Seungkwan’s cries of laughter booming over everyone else’s, but Seokmin couldn't see the amusement in the situation.

Seokmin doubled over and immediately began to apologize, asking Joshua if he was okay, even going as far as touching his face to inspect if he had done any damage. Joshua waved him off dismissively, with a sputter of giggles leaving his mouth at the absurdity of the situation.

“Seokmin-ah… There’s no need to apologize. I was walking straight into that face hit by counting too early.” Joshua manages to get out in between his fit of giggles, his hands grasp Seokmin’s hands that were still on his hyung’s face, and Joshua simply stares into Seokmin’s eyes before smiling and tugging his hands away from his face.

Ever since then, they’ve practiced so much over the last few months that Seokmin’s arm just goes up and over Joshua’s head and snugs itself around Joshua like a missing puzzle piece. Joshua no longer counts early and walks towards him on the correct count, there’s no repeat of the “Joshua Mansae incident” as everyone likes to call it.

Except this time, the entire move hits differently.

For this comeback, Joshua had dyed his hair, and it’s that soft ginger color. It’s not too harsh that it looks neon and makes him stand out in the worst way possible, but Seokmin believes that Joshua could pull that off—he’d look good in anything, but he digresses.

Yet, the color isn’t so pale that it can pass off as any other color other than orange. It’s a soft orange and it somehow makes his hair look soft despite the permanent damage to it.

Not to mention, the color somehow makes Joshua look warmer, it does a good job at bringing out the undertones of his skin, and it matches his skin complexion perfectly. Joshua also looks softer, even more softer than he already does at 19, and with his small face, bunny cheeks and smile, and soft yet defined jawline.

And when Joshua finally steps in next to him, shoulder brushing against Seokmin’s chest, it’s as if the world’s attention is on him—solely on Joshua. Seokmin knows he has to continue with his line before he steps back, but the words evaporate from his mouth from simply staring at Joshua.

Seokmin can’t help but admire his hyung, right here, right now, in the approximate three seconds he has before he has to step back from Joshua’s space. Seokmin can’t tear his gaze away from Joshua; he seemingly glows with this new hair color even under the harsh practice room lights.

Seokmin keeps his arm around Joshua’s shoulder like an anchor. His legs felt like jelly, a slight tremor beginning in his shinbone that was progressively getting worse the longer he stared at Joshua, yet he still couldn't stop his eyes from roaming his entire face.

Seokmin takes notice of his hyung’s prominent aegyo sal that makes him look even younger than he already is. Seokmin follows the bridge of Joshua’s straight, refined nose, and lets his gaze linger on Joshua’s full lips and slightly rounded Cupid’s bow.

And Seokmin can’t help but take all of Joshua’s facial features in the small time frame that he has before stepping back. The way his defined but soft jawline seemed to run like a soothing stream; how his cheeks filled in when he smiled, allowing for tapered smile lines to appear; Hell—the ear piercings seemed to be a stark contrast to the “soft” look he had, yet it only accentuated it in the most beautiful, paradoxical way ever imagined.

Seokmin stays there, with his arm around Joshua, for a beat longer than he should. It may not be enough for the others to notice, maybe just Joshua and Soonyoung, but it’s long enough for Seokmin to feel so much in a fraction of a moment. Seokmin can feel Joshua’s body heat radiating off from him through his shirt; can smell the faint scent of vanilla shampoo lingering on his hair; and can physically see himself melting into a puddle when Joshua turns to face him.

Seokmin stares at him dumbfoundedly, there's a lump at the back of his throat that doesn’t seem to dissolve no matter how much he swallows. All that’s running in Seokmin’s head is how Joshua is right here—right next to him—way too close to him—And when Seokmin finally remembers he has to step back, he’s a fraction too late.

Seokmin proceeds with his motions once Joshua finishes his line, and tries to push away the thoughts that seemed to have consumed him whole not even two minutes ago. Yet, with every effort he makes to make these thoughts go away—they fight back harder, more insistently, that it makes Seokmin go crazy.

Seokmin looks across from him once the song closes off and their dancing comes to an end, and there he is, in all his glory—Joshua. Annoyingly calm, unbothered, Joshua. Ever beautiful, and glowing, Joshua.

The ginger color really has an effect, Seokmin can admit that, it makes the man look dashing, so damn attractive that it claws at Seokmin’s skin. Seokmin has a hard time looking away from the boy, but eventually finds the willpower to finally turn his head away.

Ginger Joshua really was attractive, way too attractive for Seokmin’s sake.

Seokmin is 22 when he realizes he has left the attraction stage and has stepped into infatuation.

Funnily enough, it happens in the middle of a fansign on display for everyone to see, yet hidden enough that it could be passed off as fan service.

The air was buzzing from the chatter of fans and the clicking of cameras going off at their every move; despite the feeling of dread that encroached on him for whatever reason, the atmosphere was light and playful. Under different circumstances, when Seokmin wasn’t drowning in the immense feeling of dread, he would’ve allowed himself to feel more present in the moment.

No one would’ve guessed he was feeling paranoid, not the fans or his members, (or maybe some of them would’ve noticed, if they were to have been paying closer attention to him), from his boisterous laughs and way too full grin. Seokmin wore his heart on his sleeve and he was one of the most emotional members, but when it came to his deep insecurities and overthinking—he suddenly became a natural at concealing how he felt in the hopes of not worrying anyone.

For the most part, when Seokmin was present, he could easily tell that everything was going well. The members, mostly Joshua and Seungkwan, had been answering questions with bright smiles and cheery laughter. Every now and then, the other members would take the microphone and talk to the fans. Seokmin could tell the fansign was engaging enough that the fans felt free enough to laugh along with them at every antic and answer they had.

Seokmin is seemingly zoned out for a moment; faintly hearing the voices of his members continuing to answer questions left and right while the fans continue to laugh at whatever they're doing. Seokmin seems to snap out of his daze when he vaguely registers a fan asking a question; he quickly recovers and leans forward for the fan to repeat their question.

The Carat asks for Joshua to sing with him, and Joshua, ever obliging, nods and begins speaking into the microphone before looking at Seokmin, and once dark brown meets dark brown, Seokmin can’t help but feel captivated.

Seokmin feels himself getting lost in the pools of Joshua’s eyes, that he can barely register the words that are coming out of his mouth as a response to what Joshua just said to him. Seokmin feels a natural pull coming from Joshua, it's so subtle yet strong enough, that Seokmin doesn't know he’s leaning closer into Joshua’s space until his chest grazes against Joshua’s shoulder.

It’s then that Seokmin realizes Joshua-hyung had lifted the microphone towards him, in hopes of them singing their duet in Beautiful. Yet, Seokmin can’t even think about singing right now, not when Joshua is staring back at him, talking far enough that the mic can't pick up what he's saying, and with that gentle smile that seems to make his chest warm in weird ways he physically can’t explain.

Seokmin knows this is just a harmless interaction. It’s a cute moment to feed the cameras, especially between two members who seem to click due to being “gentlemen.” It’s a clip fans would replay and repost with many emojis and cheesy captions. It’s definitely a clip that will be used in romantic or platonic edits by the shippers and duo lovers.

Seokmin can’t help but continue staring, even when Joshua is still talking, and he’s blubbering out answers on autopilot, because— Holy. Shit. Joshua is so beautiful.

And as Seokmin continues staring into Joshua’s rich, dark brown eyes, the room around him begins to muffle. The applause and chatter from fans and members alike begin to fade into static, and all Seokmin can focus his undivided attention on is Joshua.

Joshua who is sitting right in front of him, so ever presentingly close; whose sitting under the fluorescent fansign lights while looking absolutely gorgeous that it makes Seokmin so mad because how can someone look so ravishing yet still seem so unaware of what his looks may do to someone—someone like Seokmin, who is easily rapt into beauty and grace; especially in the form of a so called “Joshua Hong.”

Because right now, with his now ashy blonde hair, parted to the side, and slightly covering his eye while still framing his face nicely; and his smooth, balanced features, carved and sharpened leaving behind the soft lines in its wake; and that God. Damn. choker. Seokmin’s breath falters at the choker hugging Joshua’s neck like a perfect slip, and it takes everything in Seokmin not to reach over and hook a finger under it, and just pull Joshua impossibly closer.

And suddenly Seokmin is eighteen again.

Seokmin is seemingly transported back to that cramped practice room with orange colored lights, with mirrors that weren’t placed correctly, and that reeked of sweat with a mix of each and every one of their desires—and a mutual consensus of making it big, so impossibly big.

Seokmin can remember Joshua’s soft ginger hair color that made him glow warm beneath harsh fluorescent lights with great vividness, so vivid that it even startles him knowing that he had remembered every contour detail of Ginger Joshua.

And suddenly, Seokmin has the urge to gasp for air because he’s not eighteen anymore, and Joshua isn’t nineteen either.

Seokmin isn’t that naive, little boy anymore. The same one that convinced himself that Joshua was simply attractive. Even though he was. Joshua was attractive in every sense: physically, emotionally, passionately, authentic—his character screamed enticing in every way possible.

But deep down, in the farthest, most darkest, loneliest places in Seokmin’s heart, he had been convinced that was as far as his feelings for Joshua went—alluring and bewitching. When Seokmin knew well that attraction could spiral out of control if not properly maintained.

And despite Joshua’s ginger hair having disappeared years ago, traded for darker colors and distinct styling choices throughout the years. The softness in Joshua’s face has sharpened over time, his jawline more defined now, his face had lost the baby fat he still had lingering opting for a slimmer look; adulthood had carved into his features so effortlessly that Seokmin hadn’t even noticed until now.

And somehow Seokmin still sees traces of that nineteen-year-old boy.

Joshua’s smile seems to have frozen in time, his cheeks still fill in, he still has that cute bunny smile, and despite the smile lines being more prominent now, he still looks youthful; his eyes still crinkle into beautiful crescent moons before he laughs, and it's still that airy sound that seems to be music to his ears; and his gaze is still warm whenever he looks at Seokmin, just like how it was years ago, when the “Joshua Mansae Incident” happened.

And in this moment, in this moment that seems to stretch on for what seems like forever, yet is definitely not longer than 5 seconds, Seokmin can’t help but feel like a complete, and utter idiot.

They say time heals all wounds, that time seems to lessen the load of the world, but right now, in this moment, it seems to be the complete opposite.

Time was supposed to dilute whatever attraction Seokmin had felt for Joshua, not let it marinate at the brink of the bottle, or find a way for this to amplify and spill over.

People always talked about feelings fading eventually, that was the point of time—to help people move on, allow for time and distance, and grow much older, and wiser, to help change the feeling of love until it was ready to be given, received, and reciprocated.

Yet nearly five years later, Joshua still affects him exactly the same. Hell—possibly much worse. Much, much worse. And it absolutely terrifies Seokmin. In this small moment that just doesn't seem to come to an end.

Because at nineteen, Seokmin was able to pretend, or better yet said, ignore the fact that Joshua attracted him in more ways than one.

He had the chance to blame the lingering stares on admiration for Joshua’s beauty. He brushed off the way his stomach flipped uncomfortably whenever Joshua smiled at him with that bunny smile of his as friendly affection. They were young then, and when you're young, you don't overthink any of your actions. Physical touch comes easily between friends, and it's not like Seokmin feels unfathomably warm and a sense of discomfort with his other members—it just so happens to be with Joshua.

And everything felt explainable back then, and much easier to ignore and push all the way to the back of his head in order to never think about how Joshua’s adorable bunny smile and youthful face seemed to do numbers to a Seokmin who’s traversed from being a naive 18-year-old to an unknowing 22-year-old.

With Seokmin now being older, accompanied by Joshua, he can stop naively thinking that ignorance is a bliss; and in some cases it is, and it should be a bliss with his current predicament, but it's been brewing behind the scenes for so long now that Seokmin can't help but feel lighter at the thought of finally thinking about Joshua as more than beautiful.

It’s been years since Joshua had ginger hair, and despite remembering such a time with great vividness; and yet this has been a long time coming, to the point Seokmin knows Joshua almost like the back of his hand, yet they’re worlds apart that Seokmin still can’t help but feel in an endless galaxy—searching for any trace of Joshua.

Seokmin has learned the exact cadence of Joshua’s laugh depending on whether it's genuine or forced for the cameras or in between families. He’s learned how Joshua goes quiet and shuts off whenever he's overwhelmed instead of blowing up at everyone. And Seokmin learns that Joshua reaches out for him first; he’s always the first one to find him in a crowd, guide him through storms, and their trust runs so deep they don't need words to communicate—they just do.

Seokmin snaps out of his gaze when he notices that Joshua still has the microphone lifted towards him; and the reality of the situation dawns on Seokmin—they were at a fansign, in front of fans, not in the privacy of their dorms. He shouldn’t let these thoughts consume him in front of a live audience, he was toeing a dangerous line that could potentially harm his career.

Seokmin blinks back up towards Joshua and once more, dark brown meets dark brown, and Seokmin feels breathless. As devastated as Seokmin would be if Joshua were to look away from him right now, he’d feel covertly delighted.

Because right now, as he continues to stare into Joshua’s eyes, he wishes for the ground to swallow him whole. His rich, chocolate eyes feel so heavy and intense on him, making Seokmin swallow the knot forming in his throat, and they also ground him—making him feel safe and enveloped in warmth.

He honestly wishes Joshua had looked away. If he had just turned to the fans and laughed at the answers he replied with, or if his gaze turned to the other members who were still expecting them to sing for the fans.

Anything, literally anything. Seokmin would take anything just for Joshua to stop staring at him like he can see past all his insecurities and imperfections that he has spent years trying to conceal. But Joshua doesn’t, he just keeps looking at him like he sees the tethered, keen heart that’s been bruised by diction and behavior alike.

Seokmin goes and he reaches for the microphone, and that should’ve been it—a smooth exchange of microphones, but Seokmin lets his impulses get the best of him, and when his fingers brush against Joshua’s—skin against skin—he lets his hand slip between Joshua’s fingers and intertwines with them around the microphone.

It’s a smooth gesture, and it immediately sets the fans over the edge—with screams and cheers, and Seokmin knows this moment will be all over the internet and forums with titles that erase the platonic perception and push for the underlying romantic connotation.

And it’s as if Seokmin can’t stop himself when he has Joshua staring at him, fully and wholeheartedly. His whole body is on autopilot when Seokmin lifts his other arm and hooks it around Joshua’s shoulders, pulling him just slightly closer into his side. It’s familiar enough to pass as fan service, and not like an existential crisis happening amidst a fansign.

The fans erupt almost immediately, their shrieks are loud enough that they bounce off the small room, and enough to create a small pounding in the back of Seokmin’s head.

And yet, Seokmin barely registers any of it. Simply because Joshua was still staring at him. Even after his impulsive act.

Joshua’s gaze never falters even as their fingers remain laced together around the microphone. He just continues staring at him, dark brown meeting dark brown, imperceptibly scanning his face for whatever reason. Joshua’s expression stays soft, but there’s something newly unreadable beneath it now that Seokmin is having a hard time deciphering.

The fluorescent lighting reflects against the ashy blonde strands that frame Joshua’s face nicely, and despite a bang slightly covering his eye, the light still manages to illuminate the faint flush that was slowly spreading across his cheeks, with a small smile starting to tug at the corners of his lips.

And once again, Seokmin suddenly feels eighteen again.

Seokmin is now back in that practice room during their Mansae rehearsals, staring at ginger-haired Joshua like he’d been struck dumb all over again. Yet, the ginger hair is long gone now, and they aren’t eighteen and nineteen anymore either.

Joshua’s features have sharpened with age, matured past the young, youthful bunny-like boy, but Seokmin still sees traces of that soft-faced nineteen-year-old every time Joshua smiles at him like this.

Maybe that’s the problem.

No matter how much time passes, Seokmin keeps finding the same boy in every version of Joshua. The same bunny smile and cheeks, with the tint of ginger that brought out his undertones and matched his face and skin so devastatingly perfectly. And no matter how old Seokmin gets, his body still reacts the exact same way as it did when he was eighteen. Absolutely dumbfounded and starstruck.

The microphone is still being held by both of their hands still wrapped around it. Seokmin can feel Joshua’s fingers against his own folds, and the shape of his long, elegant fingers fits too perfectly between his own.

That's when Joshua finally pulls his hand away, a quick hurried motion, oh so quick as if Joshua had been burnt by the contact, and while Seokmin grasps for the warmth he just had moments prior; he feels immeasurably distressed at the abrupt gesture.

It feels faintly familiar. A wave of déjà vu washes over Seokmin, and he’s suddenly seeing a past appear before his eyes dramatically.

Seokmin sees Joshua laughing breathlessly while holding onto Seokmin’s wrists; and he feels Joshua tugging his hands away from his face gently; and most importantly, Joshua is looking at him with flushed cheeks and warm eyes while Seokmin stands there in his guilt and shame.

And it's with great sorrow that Seokmin realizes he cannot think about Joshua as simply “attractive,” because it was now more than that. This entire moment he's sharing with Joshua while also going through by himself, is exact proof of this realization.

He had brushed it off as attraction years prior, believing he would eventually see it as objective rather than subjective. And to Seokmin, attraction had been noticing how pretty Joshua looked under dingy, old practice room lights; while simultaneously getting starstruck whenever Joshua got too close; and admiring Joshua from across the room.

That was attraction, and it wasn't a problem to find your member attractive. They were all good-looking, fine specimens, and fans and staff alike would agree with Seokmin.

Except now, sitting under these fluorescent lights in this cramped room with his members alongside him and the fans staring up at him like a hawk, he realizes that his feelings have passed the “attractive” line. Time never did its job in diluting his attraction for Joshua, instead, it only amplified them.

Seokmin feels this new inkling gnawing at the back of his throat, alive and desperate to come out and see the light of the world. He feels his hand start to heat up, and the moist feeling of sweat is starting to cover the handle of the lone microphone he is now holding. Seokmin sees how Joshua turns his body to receive another mic before he goes back to staring profoundly at him.

Seokmin is 22 when he realizes attraction is dangerous. If not correctly handled, it could spiral out of control and build something that shouldn’t tower over itself. While this should’ve been short-lived, Seokmin’s admiration for his hyung has now spilled over the edge, and the physical attraction had long been pouring a mess in Seokmin’s mind; he honestly wishes it would turn into wine.

And with great ruin and in front of fans, the world, and Joshua—Seokmin realizes how torrid infatuation can be.

Seokmin is 23 when he denies the possibility of having a crush on Joshua.

He and Joshua were currently filming together for their behind-the-scenes footage for their collaboration with Pink Sweat$’s new song, “17.” The set is very calm and lighthearted—the recording studio did a good job at alleviating Seokmin’s worries. While he’s usually scared of messing up his recordings, always trying to be perfect and have the perfect run, to not waste anyone’s time and prove himself as a worthy singer—Seokmin still loves the feeling of singing.

When Seokmin gets in the small, cramped recording booth, slides the headphones over his ears, and takes a small breath above the microphone, Seokmin feels a wave of peace wash over him—just for a moment, it’s only ever for a moment. Because he’s back to worrying about messing up, and yet, for that single moment—Seokmin remembers why he even does what he does, despite always being a ball of nerves and self-destruction, Seokmin loves his job and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

To Seokmin’s left, Joshua was currently being interviewed and Seokmin just sat beside him, patiently waiting for his turn of answering, listening absentmindedly to the questions that were flying towards Joshua at a constant pace.

Seokmin sees the natural ease Joshua exhorts when dealing with cameras and people alike. He’s naturally calm, thoughtful, and can articulate himself well enough to get his point across even under pressure—it’s so easy for Joshua to be “camera ready” that Seokmin can’t help but feel a little envious. It’s a calm that washes over everyone—the interviewer and the audience, and it’s enough for people to really pay attention to what he’s answering with—like what he says matters like a prayer.

The interviewer asks Joshua what he remembers most about being seventeen, and Joshua starts talking about waking up early every single morning for school. He mentions how he used to attend high school in the Valley and how he had to commute nearly two hours every day just to get an education.

Seokmin listens to what Joshua has to say, and when Joshua explains his story, Seokmin starts piecing together the details in a vivid scene.

Seokmin sees a seventeen-year-old Joshua waking up before sunrise. He notices Joshua—drowsy with sleep and exhaustion, struggling to get up from the comfort of his own bed. Seokmin can faintly hear a blaring alarm in the distance before a loud groan roars and covers shuffle around.

He pictures Joshua getting ready in a slow haze: brushing his teeth, doing his religious skincare, and styling his hair—parted to the side and swooped to the right, just like how it was many years ago.

Seokmin can imagine Joshua at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to come around the corner. He can almost hear the way Joshua sighs in exasperation when the bus is a minute late, and the way his ankles pop when he rolls on the balls of his feet.

The thought is endearing, extremely endearing. So very endearing—it’s cute to think about a seventeen-year-old Joshua, having to face the reality of living far from the nearest school, so much so, he had to learn the commuting system long before he really should’ve.

“If Pink Sweat$ were a Seventeen member, who do you think he’d be closest to?” Are the words that snap Seokmin out of his daydreaming, and he keeps an ear out for Joshua’s answer—he was curious, sue him.

Joshua takes a moment to let the question sink in before he answers, “DK.”

Seokmin blinks at the response. It seems like an easy and obvious answer, but it catches Seokmin off guard in a multitude of ways, and all Seokmin can think of is—

“Really?”

Seokmin looks at Joshua, and stares, unpromptly and in utter disbelief because—Wow. Joshua really does hold him to such a high regard, an expectation Seokmin couldn’t ever dream of exceeding, and it makes him feel giddy at the prospect of being seen as welcoming and loving to someone like Joshua—who feels untouchable and a world away at times. It’s then that Seokmin feels himself starting to get lost in Joshua’s beauty just like the many times before.

Seokmin’s eyes trail down the slope of Joshua’s nose—he notices the way Joshua’s nose catches the light, as it bounces off and illuminates the rest of his face, yet the tip of his nose seems to absorb the light, making it appear as if he has a natural highlight there. Seokmin barely catches how the light isn’t as dingy as it was before in old practice rooms, but it's muted enough that it blends in with the cozy atmosphere surrounding them, but Joshua seems to light the entire room up with just his face.

Seokmin catches the way Joshua’s mouth is slightly parted—a habit he has when he’s waiting to answer or when thinking before speaking; the roundness of his cupid's bow looks less prominent from his side view yet still accentuates the soft rounded face he has—not to mention his pretty pink lips stick out like a sore thumb—that pouty look is upsettingly ravishing—Seokmin would do anything to—

(It wouldn’t be until after the video aired that Seokmin would see the way the camera shifted focus from Joshua to Seokmin’s obvious admiration for his hyung before it went back to Joshua, and Seokmin turned away before it got too much to handle.)

“I don’t know,” Joshua says thoughtfully, “I think most people would appreciate DK’s sense of humor because he’s funny.”

Seokmin sees the warmth creeping up his face before he even feels it. He catches his reflection against camera lenses at various angles and it feels impersonal—the invasion of privacy is unwilling, but Seokmin still feels on display for everyone to look at, and judge for such a small, kind gesture.

A little voice behind Seokmin’s head whispers to him—easing his irrelevant worries, instead opting to embrace such absurdity—mantras of Joshua’s words start to repeat themselves in Seokmin’s head and the warmth he sees begins to be felt at an alarming rate.

Seokmin feels the heat start forming in his chest, and an impending doom starts when it exudes outside his body and creeps up behind his neck, slowly contorting its way up to his ears before finally making a final stop at his cheeks.

The little voice is back and it begins to murmur again, this time repeating itself with Joshua’s compliment and how rare they were to receive.

Seokmin feels embarrassed by allowing a voice that’s obviously fabricated by his own mind to tell him that Joshua’s compliments were rare, so he should soak it up while he can.

It was utterly humiliating. Seokmin knows Joshua says good things about all of the members when allowed to show them off. Joshua loves them all so much, for various reasons, and he’s never been afraid to show it. He’s naturally observant; picking up habits and emotions from others makes everyone feel seen and cared for. That’s Joshua—Joshua-hyung, ever thoughtful and caring.

And yet, Seokmin is letting this small little compliment get the best of him. While he knows it’s a rare occurrence for this to happen, he undoubtedly feels like an idiot for letting such mundane, but powerful words settle somewhere deep in his chest—sputtering open his already fragile heart for Joshua to see.

“And I don’t know,” Joshua continues softly, “that’s just the vibe I get from him.”

Joshua’s voice continues speaking, elongating his answer for the interview, but Seokmin isn’t paying attention to the soft murmurs that leave Joshua’s mouth—Seokmin feels himself dissociating before his vision goes blurry.

It’s silly. Seokmin is acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on her senior, simply because said senior thought of him when answering a question. But could you really blame Seokmin?

Joshua-hyung—ever loving and thoughtful, Joshua-hyung; the same man who sometimes feels like an enigma and just an arm's length away from everyone thought about Seokmin and answered with his name. Not someone else’s—his name.

It makes Seokmin feel giddy, sue him, sue him all you want and can, but he feels giddy and high on exuberance. Joshua-hyung thinks he’d get along with a stranger based on his personality and character, and Seokmin loves it.

And while Seokmin hides his insecurities and fears to the best of his capabilities, he knows it’s not enough to be completely hidden from his hyung’s vision. And despite Joshua knowing how Seokmin fights an ever pressing battle with himself, how one loss may keep him down for a moment just for him to get back up and fight slightly harder; Joshua still holds him in high regard.

Seokmin can’t believe Joshua-hyung sees past his walls—the same ones that have been built since choir rooms and critics being blown out of proportion—Joshua sees Seokmin as more than the happy virus of the group, who cheers everyone up when even he can’t believe his own words; his insecurities that sometimes get the best of him; the same fears that infiltrate his mind at times making him feel lesser than the group; the fragile heart that holds himself up despite the cruel words that are launched at him.

Joshua sees Seokmin—the man who gets up and tries again and again because practice makes perfect; who loves his job, especially singing because it gives him peace and the thought of comforting others with his vocals gives him a semblance of pride; who seems too good for the world, way too soft around the edges in a splintered crowd.

Joshua sees past all that and sees Seokmin—the real him, the one that’s hidden behind makeup, cameras, and appearances—and it’s so intimate, knowing that a person can rip you up at the seams and still find your flesh and bone just as beautiful as you.

Seokmin can vaguely hear Joshua’s voice as he still answers a few more questions. Seokmin barely registers the fact that the room had gone muffled around him for the better part of a few minutes that felt way too long in his small bubble.

And as Seokmin faintly hears the soft cadence of Joshua’s voice ringing throughout the room, Seokmin feels the small twitch of his mouth turning upwards, and soon enough, it becomes a small, private smile.

Seokmin feels the warmth and fondness settle on his face unknowingly, and it feels so natural and light that it leaves Seokmin terrified.

And it’s with great horror that Seokmin realizes the inevitable, on camera, in front of fans that will watch this video in masses when it premieres.

While attraction was recognizing Joshua’s beauty at eighteen; its core definition being seen as the soft, rounded look of his face and the warm undertones coming to light under dingy fluorescent lights; Joshua’s ginger hair falling over his forehead every time he slightly jumped in choreography. It was all harmless attraction.

Then, infatuation was defining his obsessive admiration and physical attraction for Joshua. It was Seokmin getting starstruck whenever Joshua stared deeply into his eyes like he was seeing a part of Seokmin’s soul he never knew existed. It was Joshua smiling at him, harmless and caring, but skin-crawling and captivating it left Seokmin craving more. It was the fleeting touches, and the pushing for more before Joshua pulled away before he got too close to burn.

This, this new emotion that’s surging through his body as a reaction to Joshua’s sincere words that may mean nothing to him, but they’re seemingly everything to Seokmin right now, in this moment that Joshua won’t look back at without a second thought—it’s devastatingly beautiful.

Because Seokmin realizes this has nothing to do with his physical attraction for his hyung, and it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with spilled admiration either. It’s Joshua’s words and thoughts that have him clinging to this—what’s keeping him grounded and together like a ceramic doll.

The softness in Joshua’s tone whenever he talks about Seokmin like the proud hyung he is whenever he has the chance to talk and show off his members like a mother hen. The soft familiarity in the way Joshua says his name after years of working and growing together after being part of a group of scared trainees. The quiet observation he’s made to feel confident enough to answer with his name as the member to be closest to someone he's never met before.

Seokmin panics.

Infatuation wasn’t supposed to last this long, it’s been a year now, and it was still roaming at the back of Seokmin’s mind, and threatening to spill out of his ever-beating heart. Infatuation was supposed to burn out eventually, an intense desire isn’t meant to last long because it was simply that—an intense, obsessive urge for something or someone that seems to be unattainable for the mind.

That’s the entire point. Infatuation is supposed to be obsessive and fleeting. Everyone knows that. Nothing can be built on infatuation—it was the beginning of the end. That's why it’s supposed to fade with time and maturity and distance, it allows the mind to grow and develop in a more realistic environment rather than being built on idealistic expectations.

Yet, Seokmin is sitting beside Joshua, admiring his side profile while feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, because with just a few words spilling out from Joshua’s mouth with calculated calibrance, he’s left Seokmin spilled out on a silver platter for the whole world to see on a YouTube video—the incarnation of an absolute pathetic mess.

And suddenly, horrifyingly, Seokmin realizes what's been hiding behind the curtain of infatuation this entire time—hell, it’s probably been looming for far longer than that—perhaps ever since that fateful day that Seokmin let a ginger Joshua constrict his chest in the most painful way imaginable.

The words “crush” are murmured inside his head by a voice—the same one from before, and instead of quieting down after, they spill over and start festering an entire mess in his mind. The words keep repeating themselves and Seokmin feels like a child, on the playground, getting teased for believing a girl looks pretty.

Seokmin’s world goes back into view, and he sees all the cameras pointed towards the two of them. He feels an impending headache starting to form at the back of his head, and he feels his heart beating inside his eardrums which only quickens the process of intermittent pain.

Seokmin barely has the strength to deal with this newfound problem he hadn’t needed whatsoever. It's so damn silly, Seokmin feels like a fool for even letting plain attraction develop into something it never should’ve existed, and as soon as he thinks that, his chest constricts in pain and sorrow.

Seokmin is twenty-three when he decides that he absolutely, definitely does not have a crush on Joshua Hong.

Seokmin is 25 when he realizes he’s accepted eros—love in its entirety, encompassed by both ups and downs, and everything in between.

And like a common reoccurrence, almost paradoxical in its nature, Seokmin realizes this fact in front of an audience, on display for the world to see and observe how he begins again while singing one of their songs live.

They were currently doing their Be The Sun tour, an experience he’ll never get bored of. Seokmin could admit touring was taxing and at times awful, but when he was on stage, seeing the seas of lightsticks and Carats alike, Seokmin couldn’t be happier about doing his job—despite all the repercussions that it may come with.

They were in New York, and it was the first concert Joshua was able to attend after missing the Washington and Atlanta stops due to testing positive for COVID.

And when Joshua steps onto the stage for the first time in what seems like an eternity, the crowd erupts in roars loud enough that it vibrates throughout the venue and feels powerful enough to make Seokmin fall back. It’s a nice feeling—to see Joshua back doing what they’re all meant to do—singing with passion and love for all the fans that have stuck around in support for them.

Hours later, the stage is illuminated by hues of pink and purple as the backtrack for Imperfect Love begins. The lights shimmer like water, reflecting and mixing off the sea of light sticks that are painted in the same hues like stars in the night sky.

Seokmin turns to his right and he sees Joshua beside him again. And Seokmin’s mind can’t stop repeating the fact that—Joshua is back. Joshua. Is. Back. And for whatever reason, that makes his heart flutter ever so slightly. Leaving him a confused and utter mess over the tingly feeling inside his ribs.

It wasn’t weird to miss a member. They were all family. That had been established long ago, when they were still trainees—scared and tired of having to fight for their spot to be able to debut, and despite all that—they stuck together instead of fighting for blood.

But with Joshua, it was different. (He knows why it's different, he just won’t admit it to himself.) God. Seokmin had missed Joshua. So. Damn. Much. It was almost pitiful and unbearable.

Seokmin would turn during rehearsals and find an empty space—a place where Joshua would fit in. Seokmin would finish his schedule and wait for someone who wasn’t there, but should be—right next to him, in the crook of his chest just like all those years ago. It was weird to crack a joke and not hear the filtering cadence of Joshua’s laugh booming throughout the room—Seokmin was his laugh button, and Seokmin was nothing without his sole audience.

But now, Seokmin turns to see Joshua glowing underneath the soft hues of the lights, painting Joshua in lukewarm tones that somehow make his face still appear like a beacon—and don’t get Seokmin started on the way his lips just seem to pop under these lights—God. That was a dirty, criminal move, yet so be it, call Seokmin a thief.

Seokmin snaps out of his daze when he hears their joint part coming up, and he takes a moment to pull himself together. He was performing live for goodness gracious.

Maybe I’ll cry for a love that isn’t perfect yet.

At the mention of crying for a love that isn’t perfect yet—a life that Seokmin knows all too well; a life that he never should’ve started, despite it knocking him down at full force—Seokmin sings it with a lot more weight than usual, not that anyone would notice—he has that yearner voice, it runs deep in his blood.

And Seokmin feels like a fool even when he tries his damnedest to convince himself that he isn’t. And it’s childish. He knows it is. He feels like a kid throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t like the consequences of his own actions. Seokmin is drowning in his own self-induced misery. A pit that has accumulated and submerged him for so long. A life he’s been living for the past seven years without ever taking a breath of fresh air. And not to mention how he’s never learned how to accept an imperfection when it comes to himself.

I wanna make an endless story hidden like an old book.

Seokmin turns to Joshua and to his surprise, he’s already staring back at him. Seokmin feels his mind start to slow down, he feels like fumbling around because dark brown met dark brown, and even when they aren’t close enough for Seokmin to count every individual lash on Joshua’s face; Seokmin still sees the beauty in them even with all this distance in between them. Fuck.

The eye contact lasts maybe three seconds at most, that’s all they can afford when you’re standing in front of an audience—singing a love song for the fans, and not one of your members. And yet, somehow the entire world still manages to slow around them—allowing them to keep this little moment for themselves only. Almost like a K-drama, the thought is fleeting and silly, and Seokmin mentally laughs at it because imagine that—a drama based on the both of them, or rather Seokmin’s pitiful longing.

Joshua’s expression is soft when meeting Seokmin’s gaze, and while it may be a regular occurrence, it makes Seokmin feel that familiar warmth spread throughout his chest before it dives deep inside his ribs while simultaneously finding a way out and around his neck, constricting his airway.

And this would be the part where Seokmin couldn’t breathe. He would get choked up at the prospect of feeling any semblance of heat for Joshua. It’s always been like this—this stupid warmth blocking his airway and leaving Seokmin gasping for oxygen, slowly letting his lungs fail beneath his ribs.

But the feeling never comes.

Seokmin feels his eyes go wide imperceptibly. Just moments prior, his neck had been held tightly by the warmth spreading all over his body, because that’s what it did—make Seokmin feel like he didn’t have a choice. A choice between reality and ignorance. But now, Seokmin could take a breath of fresh air—allowing his lungs to expel carbon dioxide and inhale oxygen. It’s shocking, so much so that Seokmin has to take multiple breaths to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

And vaguely, extremely vaguely, Seokmin can understand what this means because he’s not that aloof—or, well, there’s a part of him that’s functioning enough and it’s through a voice that whispers to him. And with great horror, Seokmin lets himself think of such depravity before the voice can whisper what it needs to say.

Seokmin is no longer afraid of it.

He’s no longer afraid of the warmth.

The same warmth that comes with looking at Joshua-hyung; his dark brown eyes, the slope of his straight nose, the pretty full lips that adorn his face, his hair that’s always nicely styled. The heat that envelops him whenever he holds Joshua—hug, hand, shoulder—any body part; the fleeting touches that leave Seokmin in a daze and wandering like a touch starved fool. The toasty atmosphere that surrounds him whenever Joshua compliments him or even does an act of kindness because he doesn’t have to do it—he just wants to.

It feels weird. For years Seokmin had treated his feelings like something dangerous. Like something that needed to be managed with care before it spiraled out of control and ruined him entirely. Attraction had frightened him because it was physical, but it was easy to brush it off as objective rather than subjective. Infatuation had frightened him because it consumed him—thoughts, feelings, emotions—every part of Seokmin seemed to have belonged to Joshua without him even knowing.

And a crush frightened him because it meant everything would change. It meant having to accept that ever since Joshua had that ridiculously cute ginger hair—Seokmin had found Joshua more than attractive. It meant accepting that Seokmin was developing the beginnings of a crush on Joshua instead of an obsession disguised by infatuation. It meant accepting that Seokmin has had an almost decade-long crush on Joshua, a thought he wasn’t ready to let settle.

God. Seokmin feels like an imbecile now. For years, Seokmin had spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to outrun whatever existed between him and Joshua, or rather what he felt for Joshua. Because attraction was easy to survive, and even easier to compartmentalize into something shallow and fleeting. Then infatuation came and made everything spill over the edge of his carefully crafted walls. And then there was denial—ugly and stubborn, and it lasted far longer than it should’ve. Only for now, in front of fans and Joshua, for it to finally settle down and say, “Yes, I’ve been in love with Joshua for seven years now.”

Seokmin pauses.

Him? Loving Joshua?

All this time?

Seokmin feels himself go null and void at the confession his mind just made. His life feels like it’s been put on pause for someone to grab a bucket of popcorn before pressing play again. Hell, it feels like he’s been blipped. He feels his blood go cold—his fight or flight is active, and he suddenly feels short of breath and his head feels light—his once beating heart goes still for a moment, just a moment, before everything goes back to normal.

Except nothing is normal anymore.

Suddenly everything makes sense in the most humiliating, horrifying way possible.

Every moment he had brushed off as admiration. Every burst of affection he’d laughed off. Every ache in his chest whenever Joshua pulled away from his touch like he’d been burnt. Every single time he naturally gravitated towards Joshua, like his body had unconsciously decided wherever Joshua went, Seokmin would follow.

Love.

It had all been love.

It wasn’t a crush—painfully long and crushing, maybe at some point it was, but it grew and developed into something more mature and meaningful. It wasn’t attachment for a boy he met when trainee life started—the clinginess of feeling closer to a specific member because you just connect with them better. It definitely wasn’t some overblown fondness born from years of friendship, skinship, and proximity, because if it were—he would’ve felt it with all his members.

The realization crashes into him like a loaded truck, and Seokmin feels like falling back from the impact, and it’s enough for the aching in his bones to start swallowing him whole.

Because it’s been seven years.

Seven years of looking at Joshua like he hung the moon whenever he listened and led like a good, responsible hyung. Seven years of admiring the bunny-like qualities he possessed and the deer-like comparisons from fans. Seven years of unconsciously searching for Joshua first in every room, every backstage area, every airport, every crowd. Seven years of instinctively reaching for him first before anyone else.

And Seokmin had seen it over and over and over again and deliberately renamed it into things that felt safer, easier to deal with—less terrifying.

Seokmin snaps out of his realization and realizes that Joshua is still looking at him while singing, dark eyes warm beneath the lukewarm lighting, and Seokmin falls back into his daze learning he has loved Joshua in fragments all this time.

He’s shown it in avoiding his obvious attraction in dingy old practice rooms. In reiterating his feelings as fleeting when they spilled over the confines of his walls. In denying the prospect of having a crush on Joshua because that would make everything real. In longing for permanent warmth and comfort. In fearing the worst of love.

But this moment feels different. Because despite this seemingly soul crushing realization, for once, Seokmin isn’t trying to explain it away. He isn’t making a desperate attempt at making up something that isn’t just so he won’t face his fears. He isn’t calling it attraction, or infatuation, or admiration. He’s simply letting himself feel it.

And that catches Seokmin off guard because by now he would’ve already convinced himself he was crazy. He could count all the excuses he could’ve made with one hand, but instead, he lets this settle over him—like falling back in bed after a long day, and letting your comforter swallow you whole as you drift away.

Seokmin has never experienced acceptance, but maybe, just maybe, this is what acceptance truly is. The understanding that this feeling exists, has existed for years, and will likely continue to exist no matter how desperately Seokmin once wished otherwise.

Seokmin hears the music shift, and he remembers that it’s almost his part now. But before Seokmin can properly begin singing, the word slips out naturally.

“Josh—”

Joshua turns immediately at the calling of his name. Their eyes meet, and Seokmin feels himself grounded. The spiraling in his head he had moments before abruptly leaves, almost indefinitely. And it’s so funny that Seokmin wants to double over in laughter. One second he’s drowning in realization after realization, every thought crashing into him so violently he can barely breathe, and the next—Joshua is looking at him. Just him.

It’s terrifying how easily Joshua anchors him. Because despite all the stage lights glaring overhead, the roar of the fans singing along with them, the moisture of his hands clinging to his microphone; Joshua is standing a few feet away, eyes fixed on him with immediate attention, like nothing else could possibly matter more than the fact that Seokmin called his name.

And Joshua smiles.

And Seokmin breaks instantly beneath it.

Seokmin looks away first, grinning helplessly despite himself, and the warmth in his chest becomes almost unbearable.

Then he starts singing.

There wasn’t a single day


In which I wasn’t sincere to you.

And God. Seokmin feels like a partial hypocrite when singing this line. Because while every smile had been real—those shit eating grins being shared whenever Joshua found his jokes particularly hilarious; every moment of care had been genuine—when Seokmin felt he could go to Joshua-hyung whenever because he felt closer to him; every lingering glance and touch had spoken for Seokmin when he was too afraid to—conveying all the undeniable, underlying emotions he wasn’t ready to accept yet.

He still had managed to find a way to rewrite everything in order to feel safe; he couldn’t accept the fact he found a nineteen year old ginger Joshua strikingly attractive; he couldn’t accept the fact his feelings had become something he couldn’t manage anymore; he couldn’t accept the fact he had a crush on Joshua—couldn’t accept the love he’s been unknowingly giving for seven years.

Perhaps we’re not perfect yet.

It might be love but—

Love.

The word settles over Seokmin gently this time. Not violently or with panic—and while just moments prior Seokmin would already start curating unfathomable explanations just to cover up his feelings. The word speaks the truth. It’s simple enough that everyone can understand the gist of it, but it's devastating enough that no one can ever understand the nuances of love, not unless you’re living it.

And suddenly Seokmin understands eros in its entirety. He’s living it and he’s understanding it—and Seokmin feels himself begin again like the changing of the seasons—like the clock has ticked at the correct time rather than an hour behind.

Because while eros is built on desire—desire for love and affection, it wasn’t just desire that encompasses love in its entirety; and it wasn’t as devastating as others may believe it is when suffering through the horrors of unrequited love. In fact, love was being able to understand and accept love as a contradiction of itself.

Seokmin can immediately point out a few contradictory truths about love. The highs and lows. The joy and fear. The wanting and the grief. The sickness and health. The clean and the messy. The ugly and pretty. The patience and urgency. The closeness and distance.

Most importantly, the unbearable vulnerability of caring for someone so deeply while knowing you may never truly have them the way you ache to—a paradox Seokmin knows too well now after seven years of living in the dark despite being unintentionally obvious.

Love was far from perfect. Everyone seems to have a curated idea of love, and it always goes back to being an idealistic version that may never exist in a world that’s rough on the edges and bruised beyond recognition.

Seokmin can understand that love was imperfect, and that’s what made it perfect. Another paradoxical aspect. Love was never meant to be clean-cut and effortless. It was clumsy and frightening and vulnerable. It was misunderstandings and selfishness and moments of weakness. It was wanting too much, caring too deeply, and fearing loss to the point it left you mourning for something that hasn’t left yet.

But it was also about patience and forgiveness. About choosing someone again and again even after seeing every unpolished, complicated part of them. It was staying through misunderstandings instead of walking away from them. It was learning the rough edges of a person and handling them with care anyway. It was about making the decision to keep reaching for someone even after discovering all the ways they could hurt, disappoint, or unravel you.

And Seokmin does just that—he chooses Joshua. Not because Joshua may love him back—that would just contradict everything he just said about love. Not to mention, Seokmin doesn’t know if his feelings are requited, and maybe Joshua never will reciprocate those same feelings. Rather, he chooses Joshua because Seokmin has finally stopped treating his feelings like something shameful. He’s accepted the vulnerability that comes with showing his affections even when they may never be truly satisfied with an unrequited love, but that didn’t matter—because loving Joshua was his choice, and a privilege to not showcase.

Love was never supposed to be perfect. That was the point, and that was okay.

The chorus swells with booming voices as the other members join back in, but Joshua enters a second late. Seokmin barely catches the small smile that’s still splayed on his lips.

The performance ends with roaring applause. The members gather together afterward while catching their breath, smiling brightly beneath the lights while simultaneously thanking their fans.

And before Seokmin can think too hard about it, he speaks into his microphone, “Joshua has come back.” To which the crowd responds with another wave of applause and screams.

Joshua glances toward him afterward with that same soft smile. And this time, Seokmin doesn’t panic beneath it.

Because at 25, Seokmin realizes love was never the thing ruining him.

Running from it was.