Chapter Text
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 · °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·
By the time the van left Seoul, everyone had forgotten how to be normal.
That was the problem with promotions, Sunoo thought. They didn’t end as much as they loosened their grip one finger at a time, leaving everyone blinking at the world like they had been released from a room with no windows. There was no dramatic moment of freedom. No final stage where the lights went down and they all exhaled at once. It was just schedule after schedule after schedule until, suddenly, there were none.
One week.
Seven whole days.
No music shows. No interviews. No livestreams. No behind-the-scenes cameras following them around while they pretended not to notice. No variety staff asking them to look more energetic when their bodies had started to feel like they were being held together by caffeine, concealer, and sheer loyalty to each other.
One week in a house by a lake, somewhere far enough from Seoul that their manager had used the words quiet and private three separate times, as if trying to convince himself too.
Sunoo had been looking forward to it.
In theory.
In practice, he was stuck in the second row of the van with Park Sunghoon sitting beside him, both of them separated by exactly one inch of space that somehow felt more suffocating than if Sunghoon had pressed his entire body against him.
Their shoulders were almost touching.
Almost.
Sunoo stared out the window at the city blurring into highway, pretending he was deeply fascinated by guardrails and late-morning traffic. His reflection stared back at him faintly, pale and soft around the edges in the tinted glass. He looked tired. Everyone did. Even Jake, who had been talking without pause for the past seventeen minutes, sounded like he was operating on fumes and stubbornness.
“I’m just saying,” Jake continued from the row in front of them, twisting around in his seat with a bag of chips balanced on one knee, “a vacation house means vacation rules.”
“There are no vacation rules,” Jungwon said, not looking up from his phone.
“That’s exactly what someone who wants to enforce rules would say.”
“There are house rules,” Jungwon replied. “The owner sent them.”
Jake’s face fell with such genuine betrayal that Sunoo almost laughed.
“Already?” Ni-ki groaned from the back row. “We’re not even there and he’s reading rules.”
“I’m the leader,” Jungwon said.
“You’re on vacation.”
“I don’t stop being leader because there’s a lake.”
“You should,” Heeseung mumbled from the very back, eyes closed, headphones around his neck instead of over his ears. He had been claiming to be asleep since they left the company building, despite contributing to the conversation every few minutes with the exact accuracy of someone who had not missed a single word. “It would be good for you.”
Jungwon turned around just enough to glare at him. “Hyung.”
Heeseung smiled without opening his eyes.
Jay, who was sitting in the passenger seat, had taken it upon himself to argue with the navigation app even though their manager was the one driving. He leaned forward, squinting at the screen mounted near the dashboard.
“I think it’s saying turn right in two kilometers.”
“It’s saying stay straight,” their manager said.
“No, but the route looks weird.”
“It’s a navigation app.”
“Navigation apps can be wrong.”
“You can’t fight the GPS, Jay,” Jake said.
“I’m not fighting it. I’m questioning it.”
“You’ve been questioning it for thirty minutes.”
“Because it keeps making suspicious decisions.”
Sunoo smiled despite himself, sinking lower into his seat as the noise of the van wrapped around him. It should have been comforting. It usually was. He loved them like this, messy and half-awake and too familiar with one another to bother performing anything. He loved the overlapping conversations, the way Jake’s laughter filled every available silence, the way Ni-ki’s complaints always came with a smile hidden underneath, the way Jay fussed like caring was something to be annoyed about, the way Jungwon pretended he wasn’t amused by all of them.
He loved this.
He did.
But Sunghoon shifted beside him, barely enough for the sleeve of his hoodie to brush Sunoo’s arm, and Sunoo forgot how to breathe like a regular person.
It was ridiculous.
He was ridiculous.
There had been a time, not even that long ago, when Sunghoon touching him accidentally would have meant nothing. Or not nothing, maybe, because Sunoo had always been aware of Sunghoon in the way one became aware of the weather. Constantly. Unavoidably. Sometimes pleasantly. Sometimes inconveniently. But it had been normal. Sunghoon’s elbow against his ribs during award show seating. Sunghoon’s knee knocking into his under restaurant tables. Sunghoon leaning too close to look at something on his phone, smelling faintly like clean laundry and whatever expensive cologne he insisted he did not use that much of.
Normal.
All of it had been normal until it wasn’t.
Sunoo pressed his fingers into the sleeve of his own sweatshirt and kept looking out the window.
Beside him, Sunghoon was quiet.
That was normal too, technically. Sunghoon could be quiet for hours when he wanted to be. He could sit in a room with everyone else speaking around him and still feel present, his attention moving from person to person like he was filing everything away. But this quiet had edges.
This quiet had been following them for almost two weeks.
Since the practice room.
Sunoo closed his eyes before the memory could form completely, but it arrived anyway, because memories were rude and stupid and did not care if you were trapped in a van with six other people.
It had been late. Too late. The kind of late where the mirrors in the practice room reflected back ghosts instead of people. Sunoo had stayed behind because he’d told the others he wanted to stretch a little longer, which was half true. His body had been tense all over. His mind had been worse.
Promotions did strange things to him sometimes. Most days he could handle it. He liked working. He liked being good at what he did. He liked the rush of it, the bright lights, the precision, the feeling of stepping onstage and becoming someone shining enough for everyone to look at.
But that night he had been tired in a way that turned him thin-skinned and embarrassed. Every tiny mistake from the day had stayed with him. A missed count during practice. A comment online he should not have read. A staff member asking if he was okay because his energy seemed “a little low today,” which was probably meant kindly and somehow made him want to disappear.
Sunghoon had found him sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up, still in practice clothes, a bottle of water sweating untouched beside him.
He hadn’t asked too many questions.
That was one of the things about Sunghoon people sometimes missed. He could be awkward. He could be blunt. He could say something so strange at the worst possible time that everyone had to stare at him for a second. But he knew how to be quiet when quiet mattered.
He sat beside Sunoo without making a joke.
He passed him the water.
He stayed.
For a while, neither of them said anything. The air conditioner hummed. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed. Sunoo had stared at his own hands until they blurred.
Then Sunghoon said, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”
The words had been soft. Almost too soft.
That was the problem.
If Sunghoon had made it a joke, Sunoo could have laughed. If he had said it loudly, confidently, like a dramatic line from a variety show, Sunoo could have rolled his eyes and told him not to be embarrassing. If anyone else had been there, maybe it would have slipped into the easy category of member affection, the kind they had spent years learning to give and receive without letting it make things complicated.
But they had been alone.
Sunghoon had looked at him like he meant it.
Sunoo froze.
And Sunghoon, noticing him freeze, immediately looked away.
The next morning, everything was different.
Not in a big way. Not in a way anyone could point at and say, There. That is where it changed.
But Sunghoon stopped sitting too close.
Sunoo stopped asking why.
Sunghoon still passed him things, still waited if Sunoo fell behind, still noticed when he hadn’t eaten enough. But now every act of care arrived wrapped in panic and retreat, like Sunghoon was throwing something fragile at him and running away before Sunoo could open it.
It made Sunoo feel stupid.
It made him feel worse that he missed the old version of them so badly his chest hurt.
“You’re doing that thing.”
Sunoo opened his eyes.
Sunghoon was looking at him.
Not fully. Just from the corner of his eye, chin angled down, hair falling neatly across his forehead in a way that would have looked accidental on anyone else and was absolutely not accidental on Sunghoon. His voice had been low enough that the others didn’t hear over Jake and Ni-ki arguing about whether a week-long vacation required a ranking system for bedrooms.
Sunoo blinked. “What thing?”
“The thing where you look like you’re planning someone’s downfall.”
“I’m not planning anyone’s downfall.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “So you admit there’s a thing.”
“I admit nothing.”
“Your face does.”
Sunoo turned toward him before he could stop himself. “My face is perfect, actually.”
Something flickered at the corner of Sunghoon’s mouth. Not quite a smile. Almost.
Sunoo hated almosts.
“That wasn’t what I said,” Sunghoon replied.
“But that’s what you meant.”
“You hear what you want to hear.”
“Maybe you speak badly.”
Sunghoon’s almost-smile became a real one for half a second.
Sunoo felt it like a hand pressing to the center of his chest.
Then Sunghoon looked away first, gaze dropping to his phone, and the space between them came rushing back.
Sunoo swallowed.
Right.
Still weird, then.
From the front, Jay suddenly said, “Okay, we need to stop for groceries before we get there.”
Jake groaned. “We just escaped schedules and you’re making new ones.”
“You want to eat?”
“Yes.”
“Then groceries.”
“I want vacation food.”
Jay turned in his seat just enough to stare at him. “What does that mean?”
“Food that appears without effort.”
“That’s called delivery.”
“Exactly.”
“We’re in the countryside,” Jungwon said. “There might not be many delivery options.”
Jake looked betrayed again. “What kind of vacation is this?”
“The kind where Jay hyung cooks everything,” Ni-ki said, leaning forward between the seats with a grin.
Jay pointed at him. “Absolutely not.”
“You already made a grocery list, didn’t you?”
“No.”
Jungwon looked up from his phone. “He did.”
Jay made a wounded sound. “Why would you expose me?”
“Because you put ‘Jungwon’s yogurt’ on it with a heart next to it.”
The van went very quiet for exactly one second.
Then chaos exploded.
Jake made a noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh. Ni-ki kicked the back of Jungwon’s seat. Heeseung opened one eye for the first time in twenty minutes.
“With a heart?” Heeseung asked, delighted.
Jay whipped around to face Jungwon properly. “I did not put a heart.”
Jungwon turned his phone screen around.
Jay looked at it.
Everyone leaned forward.
There was, unmistakably, a grocery list. And on it, halfway down, between eggs and green onions, was Jungwon yogurt ♡.
Sunoo burst out laughing.
Jay stared at the screen like it had betrayed him personally.
“That was a typo.”
“You accidentally typed a heart?” Jake asked.
“I meant to type a period.”
“Where is the period on your keyboard?” Ni-ki asked. “Inside the heart?”
“It’s okay,” Jungwon said, voice calm, though his ears had gone slightly pink. “I like yogurt.”
“That’s not the issue,” Jay muttered.
“It kind of is,” Jungwon replied, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Sunoo watched Jay look at him. Watched the way Jay’s annoyance softened almost immediately, like it had no choice in the matter. Watched Jungwon look down again, pretending to study the list, even though he was obviously smiling now.
The feeling that settled in Sunoo’s stomach was not jealousy. Not exactly.
It was more like standing outside a warm room and realizing there was glass between you and everyone inside.
Sunghoon shifted beside him again.
Sunoo looked away.
They stopped at a small market twenty minutes later.
It was the kind of place Sunoo would have found charming if he hadn’t been so tired: wide aisles, wooden crates of fruit near the entrance, handwritten signs taped to shelves, an elderly woman at the counter who seemed entirely unimpressed by seven famous idols walking in wearing masks and caps and pretending to be normal customers.
“No cameras,” Jake said the moment they stepped out of the van, stretching his arms above his head. “We can finally be ugly.”
“You say that like you weren’t already trying in the van,” Ni-ki said.
Jake gasped. “I’m telling your mother.”
“My mother likes me better.”
“Everyone’s mother likes you better. That’s not fair.”
Sunoo adjusted his cap lower over his eyes and followed the group inside. The air smelled faintly of citrus and cold storage. Jay immediately grabbed a basket. Then a second. Then, with visible resignation, a cart.
“I thought you weren’t cooking,” Heeseung said.
“I’m not.”
“You’re holding a cart.”
“To put things in.”
“For cooking.”
“For survival.”
Jungwon walked beside him, looking down at Jay’s list. “You forgot rice.”
Jay froze.
Jungwon smiled up at him. “It’s okay. I remembered.”
The softness on Jay’s face was so blatant that Sunoo had to look at something else for his own sanity.
Unfortunately, something else was Sunghoon standing by a shelf of snacks, staring at two different bags of chips with the intensity of someone being asked to solve a national emergency.
Sunoo slowed.
Sunghoon hadn’t noticed him yet. He was wearing a black hoodie and a cap pulled low, mask hooked under his chin because the store was empty enough that they had relaxed a little. He looked tired too. Maybe more than Sunoo had allowed himself to notice before. There was a faint shadow under his eyes. His shoulders, usually straight from habit or vanity or both, sloped slightly under the weight of exhaustion.
Sunoo had the sudden, annoying urge to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.
Instead, he grabbed a packet of peach gummies from the shelf beside him and tossed it into the cart as Jay passed.
Jay looked down. “Are these necessary?”
“For survival,” Sunoo said.
Jay stared at him.
Sunoo stared back.
Jungwon took the packet from the cart, looked at it, then placed it back in. “Let him have them.”
Jay sighed. “You’re all spoiled.”
“You love us,” Jake said, appearing from nowhere with three instant ramyeon packs in his arms.
“I tolerate you.”
“You put a heart next to Jungwon’s yogurt.”
“I’m going to walk into the lake.”
Sunoo laughed, then glanced back without meaning to.
Sunghoon was looking at him now.
The moment stretched.
It was ridiculous how quickly Sunoo became aware of himself. The tilt of his head. The packet of gummies in his hand. The fact that he was smiling. He hated that Sunghoon still had the ability to make him feel caught doing something private even when he was standing in the middle of a grocery store.
Sunghoon’s eyes flickered down to the peach gummies.
Then back up.
“Those are too sweet,” he said.
Sunoo blinked. “Nobody asked you.”
“They hurt my teeth.”
“Good thing they’re not for your teeth.”
Sunghoon reached toward the shelf and picked up a different packet. Yogurt gummies. Sunoo’s favorite. He held them out without looking directly at him.
“These are better.”
Sunoo stared at the packet.
His throat did something stupid.
“They’re basically the same,” he said.
“They’re not.”
“You’re weird about snacks.”
“You’re weird about everything.”
“Wow. Vacation really brought out your charming side.”
Sunghoon’s mouth twitched. “I’m always charming.”
“Your confidence is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I chose to hear one.”
Sunoo rolled his eyes, but he took the packet.
Their fingers brushed.
Barely.
Nothing. It was nothing. A brush of skin against skin over a bag of gummies in a countryside market with Jake somewhere behind them loudly asking if marshmallows counted as breakfast food.
Nothing.
Sunghoon pulled his hand back first.
Sunoo hated how much he noticed.
By the time they finished shopping, Jay had somehow filled the cart with enough food to feed twenty people and was insisting all of it was essential. Jungwon was carrying a small bag of tangerines. Jake had convinced someone to buy marshmallows. Ni-ki had added three ridiculous snacks no one could identify. Heeseung had contributed exactly one bottle of iced tea and a bag of chips, then claimed he had done his part.
Sunoo carried the gummies.
Sunghoon carried two heavy grocery bags without complaint.
Of course he did.
The house appeared at the end of a long road lined with trees, tucked between the slope of a hill and the silver-blue shine of the lake beyond it. For a few seconds after the van pulled up, nobody spoke.
Even Jake was quiet.
The house was bigger than Sunoo expected, built mostly of dark wood and wide windows that caught the afternoon light. There was a wraparound deck, a stone chimney, and a path leading through damp grass toward a small wooden dock. The lake stretched beyond it, calm and bright under a pale sky.
It looked too pretty to be real.
It looked like the kind of place people went in dramas to heal and accidentally fall in love.
Sunoo immediately decided not to think about that.
“Oh,” Jungwon said softly.
Jay smiled. “Yeah?”
“It’s nice.”
Jay looked pleased for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with owning the house.
Jake shoved the van door open. “I call the couch!”
“You haven’t even seen the rooms,” Ni-ki said, scrambling out after him.
“I know what matters to me.”
The second the front door opened, the house swallowed them in warmth and the smell of polished wood. Sunoo stepped inside and felt something in his chest loosen without permission.
The entryway led into a large living room with high ceilings, soft cream couches, a fireplace, and windows so tall they made the lake look like a painting someone had hung across the entire wall. Blankets were folded in a basket near the couch. There were shelves with board games, a long dining table near the kitchen, and a sliding door leading out to the deck.
“No cameras,” Jake said again, dropping dramatically onto the biggest couch. “We can finally be ugly in luxury.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sunoo said, removing his shoes neatly by the entrance.
Jake pointed at him without lifting his head. “You are exactly the reason I have self-esteem issues.”
“Good.”
Jay walked straight into the kitchen, as predicted. “This is actually nice.”
“You sound surprised,” Heeseung said.
“I didn’t trust the photos.”
“You didn’t rent it.”
“I still had concerns.”
Jungwon took a laminated sheet from the kitchen counter. “House rules.”
Ni-ki groaned so loudly he almost threw himself onto the floor. “We just got here.”
“Shoes off inside, no swimming after midnight, separate recycling, fireplace instructions, quiet hours after eleven if there are neighbors nearby-”
“There are no neighbors,” Jake said. “We’re in the woods.”
“Then quiet hours for me,” Jungwon replied.
“Leader never rests,” Heeseung murmured, wandering toward the hallway. “I’m finding a room.”
That started the war.
It was not, to be fair, an actual war. ENHYPEN room assignments had reached a point over the years where everyone knew how to argue without really arguing, how to complain without meaning it, how to fight for a bed like it was a matter of national pride while also being willing to sleep on the floor if someone was actually uncomfortable.
But vacation exhaustion made everyone dramatic.
Heeseung found the smallest single room first and declared it his by oldest privilege.
“You can’t call oldest privilege on vacation,” Ni-ki protested.
“I can and I did.”
“That’s not how rules work.”
“It is now.”
Jungwon checked the room, noted that it had one narrow bed and barely enough space for a suitcase, and immediately lost interest. “He can have it.”
“Thank you,” Heeseung said, already placing his bag on the bed.
“You only want it because no one else does,” Jake accused.
“That’s called strategy.”
The second room had two beds and a slightly larger window. Jake and Ni-ki ended up there because Jake threw himself onto one bed and Ni-ki threw a pillow at his face, which apparently counted as agreement.
The third room had one queen bed and one extra futon folded in the closet.
Everyone looked at Jay.
Everyone looked at Jungwon.
Jay immediately said, “No.”
“Nobody said anything,” Jake replied from the hallway, grinning.
“Your face did.”
“My face is innocent.”
“Your face has never been innocent a day in your life.”
Jungwon looked at the room, then at the remaining options. “It makes sense for us to share. We both wake up early.”
Jay froze.
Sunoo, standing beside the doorway, watched with great interest as Jay’s brain appeared to disconnect from the rest of his body.
“Right,” Jay said after a beat. “Yeah. Practical.”
“Very practical,” Ni-ki said.
Jungwon turned his head slowly. “Do you have something to add?”
Ni-ki smiled. “No, leader-nim.”
“Good.”
Jay carried both his and Jungwon’s bags inside before anyone asked him to.
Sunoo raised both eyebrows.
Jungwon pretended not to notice, though the tips of his ears had turned pink again.
That left one room at the end of the hallway.
Sunoo knew before they opened the door.
Of course he knew.
There were seven of them. He had counted the rooms the second Heeseung took the single. He had watched Jake and Ni-ki claim one room, watched Jay and Jungwon get gently shoved by fate and their own poor acting skills into another, and had felt the slow, inevitable math of it settle over him.
Still, when Jungwon opened the last door and revealed two beds separated by a small nightstand, a window facing the lake, and warm afternoon light spilling across the wooden floor, Sunoo felt his stomach drop like someone had cut a string.
Beside him, Sunghoon went very still.
Nobody spoke.
Then Ni-ki said, “Interesting.”
Sunoo turned around. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said it in a tone.”
“My tone is being persecuted.”
Jake leaned against the wall, enjoying this far too much. “It’s a nice room.”
“It is,” Sunoo said brightly, because he refused to be weird first. “Great. Perfect. I love windows.”
Sunghoon made a sound that might have been agreement if someone had forced him to speak at gunpoint.
Sunoo looked at him.
Sunghoon was staring into the room like the two beds had personally threatened him.
Something sharp and embarrassed twisted in Sunoo’s chest.
Of course.
Of course Sunghoon was uncomfortable.
Not that Sunoo wanted him to be thrilled. That would have been worse, probably. Maybe. He didn’t know. But there was something uniquely humiliating about watching Sunghoon act like sharing a room with him was a problem to be survived.
Sunoo stepped inside before anyone could notice too much.
“I’ll take the bed by the window.”
Sunghoon blinked. “What?”
“The bed by the window,” Sunoo repeated, placing his bag on it. “I called it.”
“You didn’t call it. You just took it.”
“That’s how calling works.”
“No, calling means saying it before taking it.”
“Too slow.”
Sunghoon looked at him for half a second, then huffed. It almost sounded like a laugh.
Almost.
Sunoo’s chest hurt again.
“Fine,” Sunghoon said, putting his bag on the other bed.
“Wow. So generous.”
“I’m known for my kindness.”
“Are you?”
“I have fans.”
Sunoo smiled before he could stop himself. “They don’t know you like I do.”
The words slipped out too easily.
For one tiny, awful second, they both froze.
Because it was true.
Because it sounded like something else.
Because Sunghoon looked at him then, really looked at him, and Sunoo saw the practice room again. Saw the bottle of water. Heard, You know I’d do anything for you, right?
Then Sunghoon looked down at his suitcase.
“Lucky them,” he said.
The almost-smile was gone.
Sunoo turned toward the window, pretending to admire the lake.
“Yeah,” he said. “Lucky.”
Their room smelled like cedar and clean sheets. It was objectively beautiful. The window framed the lake perfectly, and beneath it sat a small cushioned bench that Sunoo would have loved under literally any other circumstances. There was a lamp on the nightstand, a closet with sliding doors, and a small bathroom connected to the room.
A private bathroom.
With Sunghoon.
Sunoo decided immediately that this was an issue for later.
From the hallway, Jake shouted, “We’re checking the deck!”
“Don’t break anything!” Jungwon shouted back.
“No promises!”
Sunoo unzipped his suitcase with more force than necessary.
Sunghoon did the same, quieter.
For a few minutes, they unpacked in silence. Not a peaceful silence. Not even an angry one. Just careful. The kind of silence that stood between them and waited to see who would trip over it first.
Sunoo hated it.
He took out his skincare bag and placed it on the dresser. Then his folded clothes. Then the hoodie he had packed because it was soft and oversized and made him feel comfortable. Then another hoodie. Then a sweater. Then a third hoodie.
Sunghoon glanced over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “You looked.”
“I’m allowed to look.”
“At my clothes?”
“You packed a lot of hoodies.”
“We’re by a lake. It gets cold.”
“It’s summer.”
“Lakes don’t care.”
Sunghoon opened his mouth, probably to argue, then closed it again.
Sunoo waited.
Sunghoon said, “You’ll still complain.”
Sunoo blinked.
It was so stupid. Such a normal thing to say. Such a normal Sunghoon thing to say, dry and mildly annoying and fond in a way he would deny if accused.
Sunoo’s hands paused around the sleeve of his sweater.
Then he forced a scoff. “And you’ll still act like you’re not cold even when your ears turn red.”
“My ears don’t turn red.”
“They do.”
“They don’t.”
“You’re so vain.”
“You’re making things up.”
“You check your hair in every reflective surface.”
Sunghoon looked genuinely offended. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“My hair is important.”
Sunoo laughed, and this time it came out too real. Too relieved.
Sunghoon looked at him again.
The laugh died slowly, not because anything bad happened, but because Sunghoon’s gaze lingered a second too long. The room seemed to shrink around them. Outside, someone shouted from the deck. A bird called from somewhere near the trees. The lake flashed silver in the window behind Sunoo.
Sunghoon looked away first.
Again.
Sunoo placed his sweater in the drawer and closed it.
“Bathroom schedule,” he said, because he needed words that meant nothing.
Sunghoon cleared his throat. “What?”
“We have to share. So bathroom schedule.”
“You’re making a schedule?”
“You spend too long on your hair.”
“I do not.”
“You just said your hair is important.”
“That doesn’t mean I take long.”
“Liar.”
Sunghoon crossed his arms. “You have a skincare bag the size of Ni-ki’s suitcase.”
“My skin is important.”
“That’s different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Sunoo smiled sweetly. “Because it’s me.”
Sunghoon stared at him.
For a second, it was almost easy.
Then Ni-ki appeared in the doorway without knocking, because of course he did.
“Are you two fighting or flirting?”
Sunoo grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him.
Ni-ki dodged with frightening ease. “Fighting. Got it.”
“Get out,” Sunoo said.
“We’re going to the deck.”
“Go to the deck, then.”
Ni-ki leaned against the doorframe, looking between them with the expression of someone watching the opening scene of a drama he already planned to binge. “Nice room.”
Sunghoon pointed at the hallway. “Out.”
“Wow. So hostile. Sharing a room really brings out your true selves.”
Sunoo picked up the second pillow.
Ni-ki left laughing.
Sunoo turned back around and found Sunghoon looking at the door with a murderous expression.
“You know he’s going to be like this all week,” Sunoo said.
“He’ll get bored.”
“No, he won’t.”
Sunghoon sighed. “No, he won’t.”
Another almost-laugh.
Another tiny piece of normal.
Sunoo held onto it despite himself.
The first afternoon at the house unfolded in the strange, lazy way free time always did when none of them remembered how to use it.
For the first hour, everyone wandered around like they expected someone to hand them a schedule. Jay put groceries away. Jungwon read instructions for the fireplace and the recycling system. Jake tested every seat in the living room to determine “the best emotional support couch.” Ni-ki claimed the Wi-Fi was weak enough to count as a human rights issue. Heeseung disappeared into his room for a nap and emerged twenty minutes later with pillow marks on his face, insisting he had only been “resting his eyes.”
Sunoo stood on the deck for a while.
The air was cooler than he expected, carrying the damp green smell of trees and water. The lake was calm, broken only by small ripples moving toward the dock. The city felt impossibly far away. No car horns. No staff voices. No camera shutters. No music playing from practice rooms down the hall.
Just wind.
Just water.
Just Jake yelling inside because Ni-ki had changed his phone wallpaper to a zoomed-in photo of Jay looking angry.
Sunoo smiled to himself.
Maybe this would be good.
Maybe a week here would fix whatever had gone strange between him and Sunghoon. Maybe all they needed was rest. Sleep. Food. The kind of quiet that made people remember they liked each other.
Maybe by the end of it, Sunghoon would stop looking at him like he was afraid to come closer.
The sliding door opened behind him.
Sunoo knew it was Sunghoon before he turned around.
That was another annoying thing. He knew Sunghoon’s presence by sound. By the way he walked. By the silence he brought with him. By the tiny pause before he spoke, like words were objects he had to inspect before setting down.
“Jay says dinner in an hour,” Sunghoon said.
Sunoo looked over his shoulder. “Jay said that?”
“Jungwon said Jay said that.”
“Ah. So Jay is cooking.”
“He says he isn’t.”
“But he is.”
“Yes.”
Sunoo leaned back against the deck railing. “Vacation tradition established on day one.”
Sunghoon stepped onto the deck but kept distance between them. Not a lot. Just enough.
Always enough.
The sky had started to soften toward evening, the bright blue fading into something paler. Sunghoon’s face looked gentler in this light, the sharpness of his features blurred at the edges. He wasn’t wearing his mask now. His cap was gone too, hair neat but slightly flattened from the drive.
Sunoo wanted to tease him about it.
He wanted to reach up and fix the piece falling near his temple.
He wanted to be the kind of person who could still do that without it meaning too much.
Instead, he said, “Your hair survived the drive.”
Sunghoon’s hand immediately lifted toward it. “Did it not?”
Sunoo laughed. “I said it survived.”
“You said it weird.”
“You’re weird.”
Sunghoon’s hand dropped. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth lifted. “You’re repetitive.”
“I’m consistent.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Sunoo rolled his eyes and looked back toward the lake.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
This silence was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Then Sunghoon said, very quietly, “Are you okay?”
Sunoo’s fingers tightened around the railing.
There it was again. That carefulness. That soft voice Sunghoon used when he was worried and trying not to show it too much. That question, simple on the surface, impossible underneath.
Are you okay?
It could mean: You seemed tired in the van.
It could mean: You’ve been quiet today.
It could mean: Are we okay?
Sunoo hated that he didn’t know.
He hated more that he wanted it to be the last one.
“I’m on vacation,” he said lightly. “I’m amazing.”
Sunghoon didn’t laugh.
Sunoo kept staring at the lake.
“Right,” Sunghoon said.
The word landed between them and stayed there.
Sunoo almost turned around. Almost asked him what he meant. Almost said, Why do you do that? Why do you ask like you care and then retreat the second I answer wrong? Why did you say what you said in the practice room if you were just going to pretend it never happened?
Instead, Jake shoved the sliding door open.
“Sunoo! You have to come judge something.”
Sunoo closed his eyes briefly. “Why?”
“Because everyone else has bad taste.”
“About what?”
“Couch hierarchy.”
Sunoo turned away from the railing, grateful and disappointed in equal measure. “This is serious.”
“Exactly.”
Sunghoon stepped aside to let him pass.
Their shoulders brushed in the doorway.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Dinner happened at the long wooden table near the kitchen, with the windows darkening behind them and the warm lights overhead turning everyone softer.
Jay had made kimchi fried rice, grilled meat, a quick soup, and enough side dishes that even he seemed slightly surprised by the amount of food on the table.
“For someone who isn’t cooking,” Heeseung said, picking up his chopsticks, “you cooked a lot.”
Jay sat down heavily. “I hate all of you.”
“Thank you for cooking, hyung,” Jungwon said.
Jay immediately softened. “You’re welcome.”
Jake pointed his chopsticks between them. “That was disgusting.”
“What?” Jay asked.
“You heard him say thank you and became a different person.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Ni-ki said. “Your shoulders relaxed.”
“My shoulders are normal.”
“Your shoulders are in love.”
Jungwon choked on his water.
Jay stared at Ni-ki.
Sunoo laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth.
“Can we have one meal in peace?” Jungwon asked, still coughing a little.
“No,” Heeseung said.
“At least let us eat first,” Jay grumbled.
“You’re the one who put a heart next to yogurt,” Jake said.
Jay looked like he was considering throwing soup at him.
Sunoo took a bite of rice and felt warmth spread through him. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until food was in front of him. That happened a lot during schedules; hunger became something distant, easy to ignore until someone placed a plate in his hands and his body remembered it was allowed to want things.
Across the table, Sunghoon sat quietly between Heeseung and Ni-ki, eating with the focused seriousness he brought to most meals when he was tired. He looked less tense now, shoulders looser, expression calm. Every once in a while, his eyes flicked up, following the conversation.
Sunoo told himself not to look too much.
Then Sunghoon reached for the dish of seasoned cucumbers near him and, without pausing, pushed it across the table until it stopped in front of Sunoo.
Sunoo looked down.
His chopsticks stilled.
Nobody else noticed at first. Jake was busy arguing that marshmallows should be roasted later even though they didn’t have a fire pit. Jay was explaining that the fireplace was not for “reckless sugar experiments.” Jungwon was quietly taking more soup. Ni-ki was stealing meat from Heeseung’s plate and pretending he wasn’t.
Sunoo stared at the cucumbers.
They were his favorite.
Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way most people would remember. Just a small thing. Something he reached for often when it was on the table. Something he liked because it was refreshing and crunchy and usually disappeared before he got enough.
Sunghoon had noticed.
Of course he had.
Sunoo looked up.
Sunghoon was not looking at him. He had gone back to eating like nothing happened, like he had not just reached across the space between them and placed a small, stupid ache directly in Sunoo’s chest.
Sunoo picked up a piece of cucumber.
A normal person would say thank you.
A normal person would not want to cry over vegetables.
Sunoo ate it instead.
It was ridiculous how good it tasted.
“You okay?” Jungwon asked softly from beside him.
Sunoo turned his head. Jungwon’s eyes were on his face, not the food. Perceptive, steady, far too knowing for someone who was supposed to be enjoying soup.
Sunoo smiled. “I’m just moved by Jay hyung’s cooking.”
Jay looked up suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Never.”
“You always are.”
“Only because you make it easy.”
“Eat your food.”
“Yes, chef.”
Jay pointed at him with his chopsticks. “I’m not the chef.”
“You cooked four dishes.”
“For survival.”
“That’s what I said about the gummies,” Sunoo replied.
Jay frowned. “That was different.”
From across the table, Sunghoon said, “It wasn’t.”
Sunoo looked at him before he could stop himself.
Sunghoon was looking at his food.
But he was smiling.
Just barely.
The meal stretched long and comfortable after that. It was the first time in weeks they had eaten without a manager reminding them of the next schedule, without staff hovering near the door, without someone checking the time and calculating how many minutes they had before they needed to move again. They ate slowly. They went back for seconds. Jake told an overly dramatic story about nearly falling asleep during hair and makeup. Heeseung claimed he could fall asleep standing up if needed. Ni-ki immediately demanded proof. Jungwon shut that down before it could become a safety hazard.
Sunoo laughed more than he expected to.
It felt good.
That almost made it worse.
Because every time he forgot to be careful, he caught Sunghoon’s eyes. Or Sunghoon passed him something before he asked. Or Sunghoon laughed under his breath at one of his jokes, quiet but real, and Sunoo remembered again that there was something wrong between them.
Something unsaid.
After dinner, Jay tried to start cleaning up alone and was immediately bullied out of it by Jungwon, who took plates from his hands with the kind of gentle firmness only he could manage.
“You cooked,” Jungwon said. “Sit.”
“I can help.”
“You can sit.”
“I’m not a guest.”
“You’re annoying.”
Jay stared at him.
Jungwon stared back.
Jay sat.
Jake made a strangled noise. “That was beautiful.”
“Shut up,” Jay said.
Sunoo helped clear dishes because he needed something to do with his hands. Sunghoon helped too because apparently the universe hated Sunoo personally.
They ended up at the sink together.
Of course.
Sunoo rinsed plates. Sunghoon dried them.
It was painfully domestic.
The kitchen light was warm. The others were in the living room arguing about what movie to watch. Jay had been ordered onto the couch by Jungwon and looked both offended and secretly pleased. Somewhere behind them, Jake shouted, “No horror on night one!” and Heeseung replied, “Coward.”
Sunoo handed Sunghoon a plate without looking at him.
Sunghoon took it.
Their fingers did not touch this time.
Somehow that felt worse.
“You don’t have to help,” Sunoo said.
“I know.”
“You could sit.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you standing here?”
Sunghoon dried the plate carefully. “Because you’re washing.”
Sunoo’s hands stilled under the running water.
The sentence was simple.
Too simple.
Because you’re washing.
Like it was obvious. Like that was enough of a reason. Like Sunghoon saw him doing something and his first instinct was still to stand beside him.
Sunoo looked down at the sink.
Water rushed over his fingers, warm enough to pink his skin.
“Right,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.
Sunghoon placed the plate on the counter.
A beat passed.
Then he said, “I didn’t mean-”
“Sunoo!” Jake shouted from the living room. “Come defend me. They’re trying to make me watch a ghost movie.”
Sunoo turned off the tap too quickly. “Coming!”
He dried his hands on a towel and left the kitchen before Sunghoon could finish whatever he had not meant.
The living room looked like a nest by the time Sunoo got there.
Blankets had been pulled from the basket and distributed unevenly, mostly because Jake had claimed two and Ni-ki was trying to steal one with his foot. Heeseung had taken the armchair nearest the fireplace and looked ready to fall asleep again. Jungwon sat on one end of the couch with his legs tucked under him, leaving a suspiciously perfect amount of space beside him, which Jay was pretending not to notice from where he stood near the coffee table.
Sunoo dropped onto the floor cushion near Jake.
“Help,” Jake said immediately, grabbing his sleeve. “They want horror.”
“They always want horror,” Sunoo said.
“You like horror.”
“I like it when you’re scared.”
“That’s different. That’s bullying.”
“It’s bonding.”
Jay sat beside Jungwon.
Not touching, exactly.
Almost.
Sunoo noticed because he was apparently cursed to notice every almost in the room.
Jungwon glanced at Jay, then at the space between them. Then he reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and spread it over both of their laps without saying anything.
Jay froze.
Jake looked at Sunoo.
Sunoo looked at Jake.
Ni-ki looked directly into an imaginary camera and whispered, “Episode one.”
“There are no cameras,” Jungwon said calmly.
“That’s what makes it better,” Ni-ki replied.
Jay dragged a hand down his face. “Can we watch the movie?”
They did not watch horror in the end. Jungwon, in an act of mercy or leaderly exhaustion, chose an animated film everyone had seen before. It was the right choice. Familiar enough that nobody had to pay attention. Soft enough that they could talk over it. Bright enough to make the room feel warmer.
Sunoo lasted forty minutes before his eyes started getting heavy.
He blamed the food. The van. The warmth. The fact that the couch cushion behind him was softer than expected. The fact that Jake had stopped talking for once. The fact that his body, now that it had been given permission to rest, seemed determined to collect every hour of sleep he had skipped during promotions.
He did not blame the way Sunghoon had taken the other floor cushion on the opposite side of the coffee table, close enough that Sunoo could see the light from the screen flicker across his face.
He did not blame the fact that every time Sunoo blinked too slowly, he opened his eyes to find Sunghoon looking somewhere near him.
Not at him, exactly.
Near him.
Almost.
At some point, Jake leaned against Sunoo’s shoulder. Sunoo shoved him half-heartedly.
“You’re heavy,” he mumbled.
“You love me,” Jake whispered back.
“You’re delusional.”
“Let me have this. I’m on vacation.”
Sunoo closed his eyes for what he intended to be one second.
When he opened them again, the movie credits were rolling, the living room was dimmer, and someone had placed a blanket over his lap.
For one confused moment, he thought he had done it himself.
Then he looked down.
It was the cream blanket from the basket. The softest one. The one Jake had claimed earlier and then abandoned when he got up for water. It covered Sunoo from waist to ankles, tucked loosely at one side so it wouldn’t slip off.
Sunoo’s chest tightened.
He looked across the room.
Sunghoon was still on the opposite cushion, awake, phone in hand. The blue glow lit his face from below, but his eyes were not on the screen.
They were on Sunoo.
Neither of them looked away.
The room around them had quieted. Heeseung had disappeared, probably to bed. Jay and Jungwon were speaking softly in the kitchen. Jake was asleep on the couch, mouth slightly open. Ni-ki was curled in the armchair with his phone, pretending very badly not to watch them over the top of it.
Sunoo’s fingers curled in the blanket.
Sunghoon looked away.
Of course he did.
Sunoo stared at him for another second, then looked down.
The blanket was warm from his own body now, but the gesture still felt fresh. Present. Too much and not enough at once.
He wanted to say thank you.
He wanted to ask why.
He wanted to throw the blanket at Sunghoon’s face and demand that he stop being so confusing.
Instead, he stood, folding it carefully over his arm.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced to no one in particular.
Jake made a sleepy sound. Ni-ki smiled into his phone.
From the kitchen, Jungwon looked over. “Already?”
“I’m tired.”
“That’s allowed,” Jay said, appearing behind Jungwon with a mug in his hand. “For once.”
Sunoo smiled. “Don’t stay up too late, chef.”
“I’m never cooking again.”
“Yes, you are,” Jungwon said.
Jay sighed. “Yeah.”
Sunoo left before he could watch whatever soft, horrible thing happened between them next.
The hallway was quiet, the wooden floor cool beneath his socks. Their room was dark when he entered, lit only by the pale spill of moonlight from the window. The lake outside had turned black and silver.
Sunoo closed the door behind him and breathed out.
Alone, finally.
For a few minutes, at least.
He set the blanket on the foot of his bed and changed into sleep clothes, moving through his routine automatically. Wash face. Toner. Serum. Moisturizer. Lip balm. He placed everything neatly on one side of the dresser, then rearranged it twice because apparently he had become the kind of person who needed control over skincare placement to survive sharing a room with Park Sunghoon.
When the door opened, Sunoo was sitting cross-legged on his bed, pretending to scroll through his phone.
Sunghoon stepped inside quietly.
He paused when he saw Sunoo was still awake.
“Sorry,” he said.
“For entering your own room?”
“For the light.”
“It’s off.”
“Right.”
Sunoo looked at him.
Sunghoon looked back.
Then Sunghoon closed the door and crossed to his suitcase, suddenly very focused on finding sleep clothes.
Sunoo watched him for exactly two seconds too long before looking down at his phone again.
This was going to be impossible.
Six nights.
Six nights of this room. This silence. This window. This carefulness.
Six nights of Sunghoon existing five feet away in soft clothes, hair messy from washing his face, voice low because the house was sleeping.
Sunoo wanted to scream into a pillow.
Instead, he opened his weather app for no reason.
Sunghoon moved around the room quietly. He was always quieter at night. Less sharp. Less guarded, somehow, when he thought no one was paying attention. Sunoo listened to him in the bathroom, the water running, the small sounds of his routine. He tried not to imagine him brushing his teeth. Washing his face. Pushing his hair back.
He failed.
When Sunghoon came out, his hair was damp at the front.
Sunoo immediately looked away.
Sunghoon turned off the bathroom light and sat on his own bed.
The nightstand between them suddenly felt both too wide and not wide enough.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.
Sunoo could not stand it.
“So,” he said.
Sunghoon looked over. “So?”
“Bathroom schedule.”
Sunghoon stared at him.
Sunoo stared back.
Then Sunghoon’s mouth twitched. “You’re serious?”
“I told you earlier.”
“You’re thinking about this now?”
“It’s important.”
“It’s really not.”
“You say that because you want to spend forty minutes on your hair tomorrow morning and make me wait.”
“I don’t take forty minutes.”
“Thirty-five, then.”
“Fifteen.”
“Liar.”
Sunghoon huffed. “You take longer than me.”
“Because I have steps.”
“I have steps.”
“Your steps are water and panic.”
Sunghoon let out a laugh before he could stop it.
A real one.
Soft. Surprised. Brief.
Sunoo looked at him, and there he was for half a second: the Sunghoon from before. The one who laughed at Sunoo’s jokes even when they weren’t funny enough. The one who teased him with his whole face. The one who sat next to him without measuring the space.
Then Sunghoon seemed to realize he had laughed.
He looked down.
Sunoo wanted to shake him.
“Fine,” Sunghoon said, voice quieter. “You can use it first tomorrow.”
Sunoo blinked. “I can?”
“You wake up later.”
“Are you saying I’m lazy?”
“I’m saying you like sleeping.”
“Everyone likes sleeping.”
“You like it competitively.”
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m tired.”
“I know.”
Again, almost easy.
Again, not enough.
Sunghoon reached into the pocket of his hoodie suddenly, then paused.
Sunoo watched him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was suspicious.”
“It’s not.”
“You’re bad at lying.”
Sunghoon looked at him then, and something like resignation crossed his face. He stood, walked around the nightstand, and placed something on Sunoo’s bedside table.
A small packet of yogurt gummies.
The ones from the market.
Sunoo looked at them.
Then at Sunghoon.
Sunghoon stepped back too quickly.
“You left them in the grocery bag,” he said.
Sunoo knew, with immediate certainty, that he had not.
He had carried them inside himself. He remembered putting them on the kitchen counter while helping with dishes. He remembered thinking he would grab them later. He remembered forgetting because Sunghoon had said, Because you’re washing, and his brain had stopped functioning like a useful organ.
Sunghoon had noticed.
Sunghoon had brought them.
Sunghoon was now standing in the middle of their room looking like he regretted having hands.
Sunoo touched the edge of the packet with one finger.
“Did you buy these for me?”
Sunghoon’s face did something complicated.
“They were just there.”
Sunoo stared at him.
“In your hoodie pocket?”
Sunghoon looked away. “I picked them up.”
“From where?”
“The counter.”
“And brought them here.”
“You forgot them.”
“So you brought them here.”
“You just said that.”
“I’m repeating it because I want you to hear how weird you sound.”
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened slightly, not with anger. Embarrassment. Sunoo knew the difference. He knew too many things about him. That was half the problem.
“It’s just gummies,” Sunghoon said.
Sunoo looked down at the packet again.
Just gummies.
Just cucumbers pushed across a dinner table. Just a blanket tucked over him during a movie. Just a question on the deck. Just a bottle of water in a practice room. Just, You know I’d do anything for you, right?
Sunoo swallowed.
“Right,” he said softly. “Just gummies.”
Sunghoon did not move.
For a second, Sunoo thought he might say something else. Something real. Something that would take the carefulness between them and split it open.
But Sunghoon only nodded once and returned to his bed.
Of course.
Sunoo turned the packet over in his hands after Sunghoon switched off the lamp.
The room fell into darkness.
Outside, the lake moved quietly against the shore. Somewhere down the hall, Jake laughed at something, then shushed himself loudly enough to defeat the purpose. The house creaked in the soft way wooden houses did at night, settling around them.
Sunoo lay down under the blanket.
The gummies sat on the nightstand within reach.
Across the room, Sunghoon shifted beneath his own covers.
“Goodnight,” Sunghoon said.
His voice was low. Careful.
Sunoo stared at the ceiling.
“Goodnight,” he replied.
He waited for sleep to come.
Instead, he listened to Sunghoon breathe in the dark and thought, with a strange and terrible clarity, that this house was going to ruin him.
One week.
Seven whole days.
No cameras.
No schedules.
Nowhere to run.
And Park Sunghoon, five feet away, still pretending that care was something he kept finding by accident.