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Donghyun probably should've known, a long time ago, that things would never go his way.
He kissed Sungho a few weeks after the older turned 19, when he was sure he'd be alright. Life was only making it to their debut, taking care of his fish, and showering with Sungho. That night, the two of them stepping out of the shower, Sungho tying a bath towel around Donghyun's waist and telling him to wait by the bed, life gained one more crucial point: not-dating Park Sungho.
It wasn't anything special, by all means. Sungho had been sitting in front of him, toweling his hair dry, and then he'd leaned in close just to squint at Donghyun. After a moment of Donghyun holding his breath, Sungho opened his mouth and said, "You're unfairly pretty." The gap between them was closed seconds later—was it Sungho who had leaned in first, or Donghyun? Didn't matter much, because it was chaste and, again, nothing special. Donghyun had reached up and wrapped his arms around Sungho's neck pretending that it was, but, well. There was only so much he could feel elated about when Sungho pulled his arm down and chided, "Don't block my way, I still have to dry your hair."
Donghyun really, really should've known then: Sungho does a good job at being unintentionally cruel. He probably had an inkling as that foolish 17 year old; though, being foolish, it was likely he'd ignored it in favor of seeing how beautiful it was to debut with someone he loved. It's always been like that. Donghyun bridging the gaps with his imagination, creating endless possibilities and timelines where Sungho loves him more than he does. In the de-stress time he spends alone, the thought that his imagination is nowhere close to the truth arises somewhat often. There's not much he can do to refute it.
Sungho values emotional efficiency. It's what makes him Sungho. So even if Donghyun hates it, he can't really hate it. He loves Sungho more than he should, and loving Sungho means loving every part of him. Loving every part of him means loving arguably the largest, most evident part, and Donghyun does love Sungho's emotional efficiency, sometimes. He likes that he doesn't have to worry about how Sungho feels. He doesn't like that he ends up worrying regardless, because Sungho's emotional efficiency translates to Donghyun's inability to know if Sungho ever wants him.
Sungho wants the nice parts of him, maybe. The beautiful ones, like long lashes and a round nose and plump lips. The obedient ones, like when he sits still by the bed as Sungho applies his moisturizer. The quiet ones, like how Donghyun doesn't ever move to reveal anything to the fans, the managers, even the other members. He doesn't want all of Donghyun, that's for sure, but he wants some.
Usually, it's enough. Not-dating Park Sungho, you learn to be satisfied. You learn to stop wanting to mean something. You're the nicer parts of yourself, and when you're not, you're not loved.
It's enough. Donghyun tries hard to believe that.
It's hard to ask for more when you're not-dating Park Sungho. The two of them have never put a label on it, simply because neither of them ever made the move to. If it were anyone else, Donghyun would be scrambling for some sort of definition. Since it's Sungho, he has to accept that labels would complicate this, at least emotionally, and it's easier on Sungho's end to just see the two of them as nothing. A nothing that involves kissing when it's convenient, cuddling when it feels right, and hands on hips but that's all, Donghyun, and you have to stop doing it in front of all the fans.
For something that's 'nothing', their relationship has too many unspoken rules. When Donghyun breaks them, Sungho does a good job at reminding him: I'm not kissing you, we have a schedule tomorrow, and, Stop that, I need a good night of sleep, and, You don't even eat much, what's the point of eating together? Nothing is romantic, which is fine. Nothing is special, which is fine. They're nothing to begin with; why does it matter if Donghyun can't even close his eyes and pretend it means more?
Donghyun's fine with all this. Loving Sungho means loving the repercussions that come along. He's just confused, is all. It's difficult to understand why Sungho even bothers re-explaining all of these complex, hyper-specific unspoken-spoken rules, why he even bothers cleaning up the messes Donghyun leaves on his bed, why he even bothers gently rubbing Donghyun's waist in the morning, why he even bothers kissing Donghyun if he's just going to take it back as soon as there's any possibility of someone discovering them.
And it's unfair. Donghyun sees the way the other members act around each other—how there is such an open relationship between two older members in specific—and he's so envious it sickens him. Is it selfish to want more?
The conclusion he's come up with recently is that, wanting more attention, being dissatisfied, disliking the feeling of being discarded to the side whenever there's more to be achieved—it's all very selfish. It's unfortunate that Sungho makes it so easy to want to be selfish.
"Awake?" whispers Sungho. He's so terrible at whispering that it endears Donghyun; the latter nods, rubbing at his eyes blearily. It's not uncommon for him to be on Sungho's floor—much easier to use missing Sanghyuk as an excuse, anyway—and the members rarely notice when he's in Sungho's room. It's impossible to keep track of each other all the time. Dongmin is sometimes by Woonhak, Sanghyuk is sometimes by Jaehyun, the floors always mixed. Everything is normal if they try hard enough.
It's an ungodly hour, but Sungho is by the stove. He's currently chewing on one end of the metal chopstick and staring at Dongmin's ramen collection as if seriously considering his options.
"Can I," Donghyun starts slowly, "have a bite, if you make something?"
Sungho agrees mindlessly. He says, "One of your bites is like two noodles. You may as well be asking for a nibble."
Donghyun cracks a small smile at that one. He likes it when Sungho teases him, because it means Sungho knows him well enough to come up with something funny. "Okay," he drawls, sliding closer. Sleepiness still lingers, but he loves the enchanting, concentrating Sungho so much that he'd lean drowsily on the kitchen cabinet just to watch him work.
Sungho gets quiet when he's focused. It's a stark contrast to his usual persona, a chatterbox who seems to never run out of things to talk about. Oftentimes, when they do have time together, Sungho will run his mouth speaking of distant universes and Donghyun will listen, stretching his imagination alongside him. It's a balance that nobody but the two of them could achieve. Donghyun likes things that only apply to them.
Sungho is beautiful. This is undeniable. There's a natural pout that comes out whenever he has a task at hand. His lips are thin yet plump, though he bites them so much that they've grown flaky and slightly uncomfortable to kiss. Bareface, his mono-lids stand out more than usual, highlighting the cat-like features he so naturally possesses. He has a habit of blinking several times when he makes eye contact with Donghyun, and his small pupils solidify the clueless look. Despite having lost most of its natural texture, his hair is soft to the touch, especially on his nape, where Donghyun loves rubbing his face. His stomach—no, his whole front plane—is flat, smooth, and lovely to the touch. He's perfect, favored by some higher being.
Sungho being beautiful is not the only reason Donghyun loves him. It's just hard to list any other reason in an understandable way. You just- you fall in love with Park Sungho, and then you never fall out. Sometimes, just occasionally, it consumes you so much that you can't help but venture:
"Hyung," Donghyun whispers. He's better at whispering than Sungho is, worse at keeping secrets. Even starting the sentence, he knows what the answer will be. "Can you kiss me?"
"Right now?" Sungho turns the stove on, checks the heat, and then turns back around to frown at Donghyun. "Are you crazy? The other members are home right now. They could catch us, and that would be a whole mess." It's fine up until that point—Donghyun even manages half a smile because it's funny to see Sungho irked by him—then Sungho continues, "I don't think I have the brain capacity to handle all of that right now. Go sit down and wait for me to finish cooking."
Donghyun's smile fades before he can stop it. Sungho has turned back around. The sight of his broad shoulders and cold back has formed a new thought inside of Donghyun's mind, one that has existed for so long and yet has never blown up like this. You don't even care about me, it whispers, and then it whispers it again, and again, and again.
It's overwhelming, all of a sudden, the concept that he can mean so little, that everything he asks can be shot down with no misconception, that his wishes are inconvenient in the mess of everything else, that it's always about hiding, their reputations, the messes they cause, how public they are, what might happen, what won't happen, and never, never about Donghyun. It's embarrassing, all of a sudden, to love someone who doesn't love him the same way, to have spent all this time convincing himself that it was just the way the world turned, to repeatedly close his eyes and pretend like everything was the golden star relationship he had always wanted, to give up on all of the dreams he'd ever had of pure-hearted love and devotion and doting and sweet words, lasting caresses, obedient agreements, hell, just being kissed and not having to be ashamed—is there anything not embarrassing about his love for Sungho? Is there anything embarrassing about the love Sungho has for him?
He realizes, suddenly, that he's stupid to have even thought this was some twisted form of love. They're nothing—really nothing, and he's the mistaken one. Emotionally inefficient. The cancer.
Showering together means nothing. Kissing in dark rooms means nothing. Early mornings spent together means nothing. They mean nothing. Or, anyway, Donghyun means nothing in Sungho's world.
"Hyung," he starts again. There is something caving and crumpling in his chest. It's hard to look at Sungho's silhouette without feeling stupid for caring. "If I mean nothing, why even bother with me?"
Sungho turns around so fast that it startles Donghyun into taking a step back. His back hits the kitchen island, and suddenly he's too aware of what's going on—Sungho's gaze on him, the stove still going, the lump in his throat, the too-close distance between them, and also the wetness on Donghyun's cheeks.
"You're- you're crying," Sungho says.
Bitterness rises high in Donghyun's chest. He feels even stupider than he had before—Sungho's looking at him like he's some sort of alien, and it's all ridiculous, to be so impulsive with his words over this of all things, to ruin everything between them simply because he's selfish, to be reckless and brash and unfiltered in such a futile attempt to get Sungho to pay attention to him. All he ever wants is Sungho's attention. That's embarrassing. Everything is embarrassing. "Just," he stutters out, then, "nevermind." He turns to leave.
"Wait," calls Sungho. He seems to fumble to turn off the stove, meaning to catch Donghyun before he leaves, but Donghyun doesn't want to look back, even if it means getting to see Sungho's face one more time. He doesn't know what sort of ridiculous thing Sungho will say to him this time around, or catch an expression that's the furthest from sadness. He doesn't want to have Sungho brush away his tears only to tell him, Let's not cry, what if the members see?
It's stupid. He's stupid. Everything is stupid and miserable and God, Donghyun just wants to feel loved.
Donghyun ends up crying with his face buried in Sanghyuk's pillow. He feels like a little kid, but Sanghyuk is the best at making him feel loved. The world is cruel in making Donghyun love Sungho. Jaehyun is lucky.
Idols don't really have time to cry. In reality, it's more like Donghyun sniffling, half of his head on Sanghyuk's pillow and the other half on Sanghyuk's lap, tears making their way out with no sign of stopping. At least he's quiet. Sobbing is more of a Woonhak thing.
Sanghyuk strokes the top of his head like he's a baby. The pressure of his nails against Donghyun's scalp is too soothing for Donghyun to be spiteful about that. After a long while, he asks what's wrong, and Donghyun can't find it in himself to care how he might sabotage Sungho with this—he answers, whole-heartedly, that he hates not-dating Park Sungho.
Sanghyuk listens carefully. "Have you talked to him about this?" he asks when Donghyun's finished mumbling his grievances.
"We don't talk," Donghyun replies. He drapes a hand over his eyes. "We will never talk, because we are nothing. There's nothing to talk about. I love all of him, and he loves the idea of me but not me. It's okay."
"It doesn't sound okay."
"Yeah, well, it's not," admits Donghyun, and then he flips his hand around to press down on his eyes so hard they're unable to cry.
The worst part, he thinks, is that he can't be angry at Sungho. His existence in Sungho's world is a burden that's too big, one giant obstacle in the middle of Sungho's cutthroat path. How can he ask Sungho to give up his emotional efficiency? How can he ask to be the exception to Sungho's whole life?
He should be grateful that he could even occupy a small space in Sungho's bed. It's impossible to think he wants more. It's impossible to think he's dissatisfied with everything so long as he lacks Sungho's attention.
"I'll be okay," he murmurs to Sanghyuk. It's the guilt that eats away at him now—guilt for invading Sanghyuk's space late in the night, guilt for having feelings for Sungho that Sungho could never handle.
"You won't," Sanghyuk states plainly. "You're you."
Yeah, isn't that the issue? Donghyun is Donghyun. Sungho is Sungho. From the beginning Donghyun should've known that nothing would have ever come out of it. He shouldn't have opened his mouth or been honest; he should've swallowed his grief for the nth time, smiled widely because he knows Sungho likes his smile. This is the ugliest part of him, the one who wants more. The part of him that Sungho will never come to love.
But really, how hard can it be to give him one good honest kiss? Bubbling spite and all-consuming regret, Donghyun falls asleep like that, Sanghyuk's hands combing through his hair and faint whispers of, I always knew, though, that something was weird, off, or that you two… nevermind.
Donghyun's not very good at pretending not to know things. The next afternoon, he bumps into Sungho by the schedule's vending machine. Sungho looks startled to see him; he opens his mouth, pauses for a second, then closes it. Donghyun, who had been foolishly hoping for some sort of apology, feels his heart flare with hatred again. He purposely shoves past Sungho. Seconds later, he feels stupid for being so childish.
It's not hard, 'avoiding' Sungho. The two of them had never interacted much outside of private restraints anyway. Sungho always seemed adamant about pretending not to know Donghyun personally, their synergy reduced to the simple bond between bandmates. Donghyun had once suppressed the sticky sorrow that came with that realization—it's exploding now into sparks. Every time they cross paths, he finds himself hoping that Sungho will try to stop him again, rearrange his words, be vulnerable in wanting Donghyun publicly, and every time he hopes, he's let down. Sungho will look at him, then look away. The disappointment is so familiar that it feels ironic at this point.
None of the other members, save for Sanghyuk, notice that something is off. That's probably the thing that hurts Donghyun the most. The mutual understanding of the whole crowd is that he's never been of particular importance to Sungho.
It's not a surprise when he falls ill. He's frail more than anything, and especially frail when his mental state has got nothing going for it. The small condolence is that they don't have any crazy schedules ongoing; a simple filming later in the day, so he spends the morning in bed, exhaustion weighing on his body. As always, half of his brain is reserved for hoping that Sungho cares about him—he wants, more than anything, to find the older by his bed, stroking his forehead with fondness that he's never expressed.
At some point, he drifts into light sleep. At another point, he wakes up. Like a dream, Sungho is sitting by his bedside, Donghyun's shin pressed against his back. The older has his legs crossed, picking at his fingernails and occasionally glancing up as if he's afraid he'll be caught. When he realizes that Donghyun's awake, he just sighs.
Donghyun finds himself burning up all over again. It's hard, hating Sungho pettily and wanting him still. He can't help but wonder if Sungho hadn't even come of his own volition, if it had been Sanghyuk or Jaehyun with a pointer, if the group couldn't find any suitable volunteer and had thrown Sungho the role. Then Sungho opens his mouth and says, "I'm not good at love."
Donghyun blinks. Sungho isn't looking at him, which is strange because Sungho always looks at him, regardless of whether he's looking with alienation or affection or indifference or awe. Despite lacking the gaze-readability, this Sungho feels more honest than anything Donghyun has ever gotten. If Donghyun looks closely, he can see the mussed hair, the fingernails bitten short, the unfocused eyes pinned on the floor. This is not an apology, Donghyun tells himself, just to make it easier when the disappointment eventually hits.
"It's obvious," Sungho continues after a moment. "You can look at me and see it right away. That's why…" he pauses, worries his bottom lip, "that's why I thought it would be better if you didn't look at me at all."
A long pause. This is not the Sungho Donghyun knows. This one is the one Donghyun needs to discover.
Sungho raises his hand to his mouth. "I've lived my whole life alone. There's just this fully functional system inside of me that runs on independence. I don't really have room for other people in my world. The only time I've ever wanted that is with you.
"But it's difficult. I know I can't change overnight. I won't be able to magically carve out a chunk of my life just so that you can fit in. I'm afraid that if I try, you'll always be dissatisfied with me, wondering why you're not getting what you were promised. My love, my devotion, my time, my care. I'm not good at giving them away, so I didn't want you to expect to receive them at all."
"I've been afraid," Sungho admits, "since the very first day I realized I cared about you too much. I knew you felt the same, but I didn't want to close that gap. I don't know how it ended up happening, and since then I've been scrambling for ways to keep you without expectation. It wasn't meant to turn out this way. We were supposed to stay on the other side of the line, the safe one, the one where I didn't have to worry that my emotional efficiency would cut you off. Somehow- somehow, we've made it all the way to the edge, and I keep telling myself it's not worth crossing because crossing means risk."
"Keeping you close gives me so much to lose." Sungho bites off a fingernail. "I thought, maybe, just maybe, keeping you further would make it easier. But you don't want further, do you?"
"I think-" Sungho stops abruptly. He turns, sporting a frown, making eye contact with Donghyun for the first time since he'd started speaking. It's scary, how earnest he is. "I think I'd do anything to keep you. If the distance means you'll drift off and leave me behind, then I'll close it as much as I can. I'll pull you close and hold you tight if I have to. It's scary to me, but the thought of losing you without even having tried is scarier."
"Hyung," Donghyun whispers. He feels like crying. "Can you kiss me?"
Sungho blinks at him. He still hesitates, which doesn't hurt at all after his honest confession. It wouldn't be Sungho without the caution, the hesitation. "Okay," he concedes after a moment, and then he tucks Donghyun's bangs behind his ear, leans down, and kisses him.
When they pull away, Donghyun reaches up and wraps his arms around Sungho's neck lazily. Sungho doesn't pull them away this time; Donghyun says, "You're not as bad at love as you think you are, Hyung. I think that was the loveliest confession I've ever heard."
Sungho furrows his eyebrows. "You've heard other confessions before?"
Donghyun doesn't answer. "I feel it in my chest. The Sungho-love. Your not-good love."
Sungho kisses him again. This time they tangle together in the bed, Sungho bringing his legs over the edge and fumbling into his position above Donghyun. Donghyun laughs, endeared by his clumsiness, but Sungho, with all seriousness, looks at Donghyun and says, "Be a little nicer to me." It's Sungho's first time loving, first time trying to let someone into his world.
Donghyun smiles back. "Be a little nicer to me, too," he says, because it's his first time loving Sungho, first time digging into someone's heart and making a home for himself there.
Donghyun hates that Sungho is emotionally efficient. It's okay because Sungho hates that Donghyun is emotionally inefficient. They're an odd pair, and things don't always go Donghyun's way, but they don't always go Sungho's way either. It's good, it's really good, and anyway, it's weird that now all their group members are murmuring, I always knew, though, that something was weird, off, or that you two… nevermind.
Sanghyuk tells him, "It was always obvious that he loved you. The forced distance was a variable, and any variable is an exception to Sungho's life. You carved out a piece of him and you didn't even know it."
"He's lying," Sungho says when Donghyun reports to him that night. He draws a cat face in the shower's foggy glass pane.
Donghyun doesn't care whether he carved out a piece of Sungho at 17 years old, even earlier, or just before he had known that Sungho was bad at love. What matters is that he knows he has this piece of Sungho now, along the cavity of his chest and tucked up right against his heart. Sungho is not truly bad at love so long as Donghyun knows he is loved, and he knows it very well now. Very, very well.
"I love you," he whispers against Sungho's back. Rising steam covers the cat face. Sungho laughs, says nothing, like a three letter word is stupidly inconvenient, and then he draws on the glass pane again, one stroke after another: I love you too.