Work Text:
visual: fallen angels (1995), just so you can get the vibe.
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The LNGSHOT dorm room at two in the morning held nothing but the ash-blue glow of a dying iPad and the faint streetlights filtering through the thin curtains. The old air conditioner hummed continuously, its steady drone erecting a wall of sound that cordoned the room off from the unsettling stillness of the city outside.
Louis lay flat on his back on the single bed pushed against the window, his eyes wide and hollow, staring blankly at the stained, mottled patches on the ceiling. The first comeback riding on a relentless tide of ten-hour practice days, stinging critiques from the dance instructor that cut straight to the bone, and those anonymous online comments he stealthily scrolled through at midnight despite knowing better. It all coalesced into an invisible mass of pressure crushing his chest, turning sleep into a luxury he simply could not afford. Whenever his eyelids closed, Louis saw himself back in the mirrored practice room, missing a beat, surrounded by utter emptiness. He would bolt awake, only to spend the next three hours wrestling with the agonizing dichotomy of being chosen by DPN and the haunting belief that he didn't deserve to be here. A vicious, inescapable loop.
Click.
A tall, slender shadow stepped inside, wrapped in a faded, oversized grey hoodie, carrying the bitter scent of coffee and the stale air of the recording studio clinging to his skin. It was Ohyul. He had just wrapped up a late-night meeting with the company’s music production team.
He didn't turn on the light. He knew the layout of this room by heart—every corner of the wardrobe, the edge of the bed, the exact placement of their skincare bottles. But more than any of that, he knew his youngest member was enduring yet another sleepless night. He knew it from the awkward, strained smile Louis wore all day, the way the boy kept his headphones clamped on during breaks to avoid talking to anyone, and how his head hung lower than usual whenever the dance instructor raised his voice.
Ohyul knew it all, and he chose silence. No interrogation, no preachy advice like 'you need to sleep to have energy for tomorrow.' He simply slid his rustling backpack onto the floor and quietly lay down beside him.
Louis shifted slightly, making room. Between them lay a gap no wider than a hand's breadth, yet Louis could clearly feel the warmth radiating from Ohyul’s body, slowly seeping through the layers of cotton, into his skin, and into the aching heart inside his chest.
Baby, when you're near
It's warm inside.
The biting chill of the air conditioner and the deep isolation that had hounded Louis all night suddenly receded. Just by Ohyul being there, the cramped bedroom transformed. It became a sanctuary whose entrance only the two of them knew.
"Still can't sleep?" Ohyul’s voice was low and raspy with exhaustion after the grueling day, a soft murmur into the dark.
"Yeah," Louis replied. The sound was so faint it was more of a sigh than a word.
Ohyul turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, looking directly at Louis’s face in the dim light cutting through the curtains. Louis turned his head too. Their eyes met in the darkness, and Louis felt his heart skip a beat—a familiar flutter he had spent so long trying to bury in the deepest, darkest corner of his soul.
Ohyul’s gaze was always like this. Deep and tender, it saw right through Louis's forced bravado, peeling back his defenses so gently that the boy never had time to put them up. Falling for his fellow group member who was four years older, also the leader, was the heaviest secret Louis had to inter under the guise of an obedient maknae. He knew it was recklessness. He knew it was dangerous. He knew that if anyone found out, everything he had traded his youth to build could crumble in the blink of an eye. But knowing was one thing, stopping his heart from misbehaving whenever Ohyul looked at him this intently was another matter entirely.
Louis blinked, slightly evading his gaze by looking down at the duvet.
Sometimes when you stare
Our hearts entwine.
But Ohyul never let him hide for long. He never did.
He reached out his hand, his fingertips slightly calloused from hours of pressing down on guitar strings, and gently touched Louis’s tightly furrowed brow. His thumb softly smoothed out the crease between the boy's eyebrows, slow and deliberate, as if trying to erase every toxic thought besieging a boy he knew no other way to protect except like this.
"Don't think anymore. I'm here."
That touch acted like a switch, instantly soothing Louis's nervous system, which had been stretched taut to the breaking point. Ohyul’s hand slid down, brushing his cheek before resting at the nape of his neck, gently pulling Louis’s head onto his shoulder. Louis didn't resist. He didn't have the strength to, and truth be told, he had never truly wanted to. He buried his face in the warm crook of Ohyul’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent, which was a mix of comforting laundry detergent, the bitter coffee of the studio, and a certain indescribable something that always made Louis feel like he had come home.
When I think about you, boy
My sadness disappears
I could lay around forever
You wipe away my tears.
All the grievances, the exhaustion, and the tears he had held back for days were suddenly dried by the warmth of this solid shoulder. Louis closed his eyes, gripping a corner of Ohyul’s hoodie so tightly that his knuckles turned white in the dark. Beside him, he didn't need to be an all-rounder idol on stage, nor did he need to grow up ahead of his time. He didn't have to be any version of himself other than a weary young artist who was in the arms of the one he loved.
Ohyul’s steady heartbeat echoed right against Louis’s ear, slowly drawing him away from the hollow, mirrored practice room in his mind, carrying him to a place where no one judged, where no one expected him to be perfect.
Louis slept. For the first time in many nights.
Four in the morning bled into five. The darkness yielded to the first pristine rays of dawn creeping through the gaps in the curtains, casting a clear line of light across the grey bedsheets.
Louis had been sound asleep for hours. His brow was completely relaxed, his breathing even and peaceful, one hand still tightly clutching the hem of the hoodie beside him. Perhaps in his dreams now, the suffocating practice room and the sharp criticisms were gone, replaced only by something tender and warm that neither he nor the man beside him could name.
Ohyul, on the other hand, had been awake since the first light broke. But he didn't move. He lay perfectly still, willingly letting one arm go completely numb from serving as Louis’s pillow for hours, with no intention of pulling away. He tilted his head, watching the boy's sleeping face in the early morning light. Without the cameras, the makeup, the stage lights, and the crushing weight of having to be something larger than life, Louis looked so small and pure that Ohyul's chest tightened in a way he knew all too well, yet it never hurt any less.
And in the morning I'll be here
You might be sleeping without a care
And in the morning I'll be here
You might be dreaming,
Falling for the youngest member, four years his junior. In the world of a boy group, it was madness, a liability, something that could destroy not just his own career if discovered, but Louis's and the rest of the members' as well. Ohyul knew this better than anyone. He was the leader, the one responsible for everything, even things that weren't his fault, even the maintenance of strictly defined boundaries. By day, he executed this flawlessly, keeping a professional distance, treating Louis with the exact same measured care he gave any other member, nothing more, nothing less.
But in moments like this, when the world outside had not yet awoken and no eyes were watching, he allowed himself to live truthfully.
Play with your hair.
Ohyul lifted his hand, his fingers gently threading through Louis’s soft, slightly tousled hair. He ran his hand through the strands, slowly, repeatedly, careful not to wake him. The way he stroked the boy's hair was heavy with an affection he could never voice. For if he spoke it aloud, what would they do with it? And to act on it meant that one day, they would have to pay the price. He wasn't afraid of paying the price himself, but he was terrified of paying it with Louis’s future.
He knew the road ahead for both of them was fraught and long. He knew this affection might never have an official name, doomed to forever exist only in stolen mornings like this, hidden touches beneath the dinner table that no one noticed, or glances that lingered a second too long after the cameras cut. But at least in this room, in the quiet mornings before the world outside woke up, demanding they become different versions of themselves, he would still be here. Lying perfectly still, letting his arm go numb. Stroking his hair. Acting as a quiet harbor for someone who had chosen to carry the weight of the world on his fragile shoulders when he was too young.
Ohyul lowered his head, his lips lightly brushing the crown of Louis’s head—a touch so feather-like it barely qualified as a kiss, just enough for him to catch the faint scent of mild shampoo lingering in the boy's hair.
"It's morning, time to wake up, Louis," he whispered into the sunlit space.
Louis didn't hear him. He remained fast asleep, his hand still tightly holding the hem of the hoodie.
And Ohyul lay there beside him, watching the light gradually flood the room, the corners of his lips curving into a soft smile. He didn't want to go anywhere at all.