Archive of Our Own

“You know, I still don’t get what that does.”

Jihoon fiddles awkwardly with his hands, running his fingers over his knuckles. Despite the years that have passed since their debut, a lot of the time he still doesn’t really know quite what to do with himself when he gets his makeup done—it makes him feel like he’s always unconsciously holding his breath, uncomfortably aware of where his limbs sit. Even now—especially now—the world around him feels like it’s slowly being compressed into this mosaic of sensations: the gentle brushstrokes on the fragile skin of his eyelids, the cotton-soft scent of pressed powder, the warmth of Hanjin’s breathing. 

“What do you mean?” asks Hanjin.

“That thing, the tapping thing.” Jihoon says. He lets his eyes flutter open to catch Hanjin’s again. “Why do you have to tap your brush on the lid of your eyeshadow like that?”

Hanjin smiles as he dips his brush back into another color. “Ah, that,” he laughs. Jihoon feels a smile crawl onto his face, too, just hearing the familiar cadence of it. Hanjin had that effect on him, always has. “Honestly, I just copied what they did in the tutorials without understanding why, at first. Can you look down again?” 

Jihoon lets his gaze fall back down to the hands clasped in his lap. Again, he counts the sensations one by one: in the sliver that’s left of his vision he watches where his and Hanjin’s knees touch, a fuzzy pressure as they sit across one another. He feels the weight of his hand rest on his cheek as he smooths shadow along the inner contour of his eye. He smells perfume, something serene and cool and fluffy, wafting delicately off of Hanjin’s wrist. He finds himself holding his breath again. 

“Apparently, though, it’s to adjust the amount of eyeshadow on your brush, ” Hanjin continues. He adds, under another melodic laugh, “I actually had to ask our makeup ssaem, too.” Jihoon chuckles in acknowledgement at that, the smile lingering on his face. He thinks that maybe he’s been smiling this whole time. 

Feeling the weight float away from his cheek again, Jihoon lets his eyes blink back to Hanjin’s face and, for a change, just looks at him. Unabashedly, like he has all the time to. He breathes in the sight of him, and it occurs to him in that moment how long it’s been since he last did. He studies the way the tips of Hanjin’s eyelashes graze his cheeks as he looks down into the makeup pouch he’s rummaging so diligently through. And then it’s like Jihoon can feel every wisp of air that fills and leaves his ribcage, heavier and scratchier than usual. There’s definitely words stuck in his throat, Jihoon realizes, no matter how much he had tried to psych himself into thinking this time they’re spending together now could be in any way normal.

Truthfully, Jihoon was surprised (and relieved, though unsure if he had the right to be) that Hanjin had agreed to this—to being alone and close with him like this. He wasn’t all that sure where the two of them were at anymore after that night. He couldn’t pin down whether Hanjin was upset with him, wanted to avoid him, or even whether he was scared of facing him. 

Perhaps it’s because they’re so alike at their core that Jihoon had always felt that much more sensitive to each of Hanjin’s mannerisms; to each of the shadows that flashed momentarily behind his big, clear eyes, and the way he unconsciously punctuated his sentences. But, to Jihoon’s surprise, it was now of all times that he couldn’t seem to decipher what was on Hanjin’s mind. Either that, or he couldn’t stomach the thought that Hanjin had been putting up a wall with him lately.

Jihoon feels the knot in his chest tighten. He knows full well how selfish he’s being. And yet, cruelly so, he just wishes Hanjin would go back to looking at him the way he did before that night.

…

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Jihoon and Hanjin to be taking the last ride back to the dorm from the company. It was an ungodly 3 in the morning, one of many that the two of them spent side by side in the back seat of a taxi as the sleeping city passed them by outside its windows. More often than not, worn out by the unrelenting pace of the day, they would spend this ride home in that comfortable, omniscient kind of silence. 

Hanjin had just come from an exceptionally harrowing one-on-one lesson to work out the parts of their new choreography that their performance director had put a pin on for him during their group session prior. In the neighboring studio, Jihoon was experimenting with a new playlist of songs to freestyle to and a floorwork move he’d been wanting to perfect. Neither had come out of their late night endeavors with much weight taken off their shoulders—with a schedule that felt like it was eternally running them into a corner, hoping for that kind of relief was a tall order. 

Jihoon wraps up his practice a beat earlier than Hanjin does and just as he’s killing the lights and locking the door behind him, his ears catch on their director’s and Hanjin’s voices from the other room debriefing in hushed, solemn tones. It tugs on Jihoon’s heart hearing Hanjin’s voice like that. He sounds exhausted and still running himself thin putting up a strong, resilient front. It was the kind of voice he usually tried to keep from the members when he could. Still, wanting to be there for him and figuring it would only make sense for them to hail just one taxi back to the dorm, Jihoon saunters over to wait by the door and listens in careful silence to their back-and-forth with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Their performance director was the first to step out as the practice studio door swung open. His eyes widen in surprise as they meet Jihoon’s—”Oh, Jihoon-ah, you’re here. Hanjin’s just grabbing his stuff.” 

Jihoon dips his head in a swift bow. “Yes, sir, I was just practicing next door. Please take care on your way home! Thank you for today!”

The director claps his hand over Jihoon’s shoulder and waves goodbye, and Jihoon sees him off to the elevator before turning back to peek through the studio door. He isn’t the least bit surprised to see that Hanjin is, in fact, not packing up yet. With his phone in one hand to monitor, he’s still looking at his reflection squarely in the mirror. He scrubs back to one particular part in the video and recreates it, cocking his head in dissatisfaction before going again. Jihoon leans against the doorframe and watches over Hanjin for a bit. He has a feeling Hanjin knows he’s looking, even if neither says anything. Usually, he would have made sure to acknowledge him right away with that same unyielding grin. It doesn't take much for Jihoon to sense it, to take it to heart: Hanjin's had a long, unforgiving day.

Jihoon joins him in studying his reflection, both their gazes locked on him now. He looks achingly tired yet still impossibly, almost desperately focused. He goes over the move one, two times before letting out a final huff, picking his jacket from off the floor and using it to wipe the sweat collecting on his neck and dripping from the ends of his hair. 

Only then does he look up, meet Jihoon’s eyes, and smile. 

Jihoon finds himself powerless to do anything except smile back. 

“Hey, Jihoon. I had a feeling it was you next door. Great work today,” Hanjin offers, stuffing some of his belongings strewn by the monitor into his backpack.

Against all odds, Jihoon feels light seep into his chest. He can’t deny that simply being at the receiving end of Hanjin’s constant, overflowing kindness and warmth has saved him on countless nights just like this one, but he can’t help himself from feeling sorry every time that he can’t do more in return. “Thanks. You, too,” he replies. “You really got the hang of that move, just now. You’ll be even better once you sleep on it.” 

He holds the door open for Hanjin and they head over to the elevators side by side. As they make their way down to the employee entrance where they would wait for their taxi, they exchange some light questions about the week ahead and what to get for breakfast the next day. An easy silence naturally replaces the chatter as they board their ride home. 

It’s Hanjin who speaks up first. 

“Jihoon,” he begins, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’ve been thinking, you know. And I think I finally get it, after tonight.” 

Jihoon is intrigued to hear something unfamiliar in his voice—uncertainty but also decisiveness, like Hanjin knew he was betting on a fleeting chance. Jihoon shifts his gaze from the window back to him. “What’s that?” 

Hanjin won’t meet his eyes. They still look far ahead, his expression opaque. Jihoon looks down briefly to find him fidgeting with his hands. 

“T-the thing is…” Hanjin tries to continue, but catching the trembling in his own voice, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath. Jihoon stares at him intently through it, and in an instant his heart feels like it’s being dangled ten stories above the ground. What could be the matter? Did Jihoon do something wrong? Could it be about the team?

“I realized,” he starts again, carefully. “This whole time, I was mistaken. I’m just…really, really grateful to you, Jihoon. That was it.” 

Only then does Hanjin, with what seems like great effort, lift his head to look Jihoon in the eyes. Sensing Jihoon’s confusion, he continues, hurriedly, “I…For a while, now, I thought I…” Hanjin’s lip trembles like he’s struggling to hold all the air that floods his lungs. 

“I thought I l-liked you.”

Jihoon feels the air around him fall into silence. 

What?

“B-but I realized I was just mistaken! So you don’t have to worry.” A breathy laugh does slip out of Hanjin then, his gaze ripping away from Jihoon’s and flitting back to the night scenery. 

Jihoon’s eyes grow wide as his heartbeat picks up. He blinks once, twice, not sure if he really heard what he just heard. 

Hanjin? Liked…or, well, thought he liked…him? 

As much as he wanted to connect the dots, to meet Hanjin where he was at, to start with thank you or I’m sorry or anything, he doesn’t know how. Hanjin isn’t looking at him anymore and that doesn’t help at all the feeling of not knowing where to start. His heart banging against his chest, Jihoon can only stare dumbfoundedly at Hanjin’s sideturned face. 

“Hanjin-ah,” is all he’s able to muster then. “What…are you talking about?”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Hanjin sputters frantically. Taken aback, Jihoon’s eyebrows knit together. At that moment, not knowing how to hold Hanjin without breaking him, he can only keep his hands to himself. Hanjin turns to face Jihoon but can’t seem to meet his eyes. “I know…I know it’s a lot–I know I’m being confusing. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this now. It’s just–I’m–”

“Hanjin-ah,” Jihoon tries again, firmly. “It’s…It’s really okay. Just—calm down, first.”

Jihoon, in his bewilderment, finds that he can distinguish one thing: Hanjin is, as he does with many of his overwhelming emotions, making this out to be a lot smaller than it really is. All too suddenly, Jihoon feels like the world has been put in his hands with no courage to show for it. The only thing he can think to do is let Hanjin know he’s listening.

“No, it’s just…I just don’t think anyone has ever…” Sensing he was given the space, Hanjin takes the words out slowly, quietly like he was afraid every next one would catch fire. “No one has ever really gotten me like you, Jihoon. It’s always been like that.” Jihoon’s heart skips a few beats. “I always feel a bit more…safe, with you. Like, that entire hour I was practicing with our performance director, I just felt so all over the place and alone but all you had to do was be with me and look at me and I felt like–like–” 

Their gazes finally meet, and Jihoon’s breath catches in his throat. Hanjin’s eyes are wide, glassy, and more afraid than Jihoon can bare to take. 

“I felt like…you were hearing everything I couldn’t say. And.” 

Hanjin takes a shaky breath and then offers Jihoon a tight-lipped smile that Jihoon finds hard to accept. 

“I…I feel like you’ve always just caught me when I needed it, Jihoon. No one has ever really taken care of me like that, and that made me feel special. Like I could do anything. That part, I wanted you to know anyway. It’s just that, for a while now, I…I liked...that made me think I liked you.” Jihoon can hear the shiver slowly starting to leave Hanjin’s voice, can see his shoulders relaxing little by little the more he steadily gets to verbalize what’s on his mind. 

“I mean, I’ve always liked you. As a friend, of course. You’ve always been so cool and handsome and kind to everyone, so of course I liked you. But…at one point, I just…I don’t know, that feeling just…” 

As Hanjin’s voice trails off, they look at each other, each second stretching into an eternity. Jihoon thinks that Hanjin may have gotten conscious of the way he was searching his face—he forces out an airy laugh. 

“Say something, Jihoon,” he breathes.

Jihoon tries to open his mouth, but no words come to him. He had just never considered it. Hanjin is someone incredibly special to him, sure; he’s…earnest, sweet, adorable, and delightfully relentless, and courageous, and sacred. Jihoon has come to love him like a treasure, and hell, he simply likes Hanjin too. He enjoys spending time with him and is certain that if they met each other for the first time again tomorrow that he’d come home thinking he’d be ecstatic to get to know him better, all over again. And Jihoon feels the same way, that often it’s like Hanjin is the one person that really sees him—frighteningly so.

But this? This was just so…different from any way that Jihoon had ever perceived their relationship until then. Jihoon finds himself at a loss for how to see Hanjin eye to eye, like they’re speaking on opposite sides of a fog. 

“Hanjin-ah…Hanjin-ah, I’m sorry, I just don’t…Can't we just–” is all Jihoon that gets to stutter through before everything changes.

Jihoon thinks he might remember Hanjin’s face in that moment forever. Like it was built into his system, Hanjin silently and dutifully resigns right before Jihoon’s eyes. As if he had spent an eternity setting himself up for rejection, planning for even the slightest hint of it, and only needed a moment’s notice to step down and wrap it all up. Jihoon watches helplessly as walls shoot up in an instant behind Hanjin’s eyes, hiding his truths from Jihoon’s view until only his own reflection stares stubbornly back at him. It makes his heart sink. No, not yet, he wants to say. We can talk about this. I just got here, don’t leave me. Stay. But not a single word leaves his mouth.

The taxi driver clears his throat. “Excuse me, you’ve arrived.” Jihoon hadn’t even noticed that the car had come to a halt.

Hanjin breathes out almost like a sigh of relief. “Oh, wow, we’re here already,” he snaps into a new identity, makes a show of switching over to a cheery, polite tone as he settles the payment for the ride. 

Hanjin looks to Jihoon. He’s smiling gently, but Jihoon can swear he’s never seen those eyes before.

“Let’s go, Jihoon.” 

Jihoon almost feels like crying. What is even happening? What has he done? His mind feels full with things he wants to say, to ask, but they won’t materialize. Dazed, he follows Hanjin out of the taxi, and trails silently behind him into their apartment lobby and up the elevator. Each second that passes in silence sinks like a stone in his chest. 

He stares at the back of Hanjin’s head as they head up to their dorm. He knows Hanjin—or, at least he thinks he does—and he knows that he’ll usually resolve things all on his own before anyone can even sense there was a problem. And if anyone does catch on, he’ll only take it as a sign to hide it better, smarter next time. He isn’t all that surprised at how Hanjin had been keeping all of these feelings to himself to the point of rationalizing them and writing them their own neat, digestible trajectory: I’m just grateful to you, Jihoon. That was it. 

That much, Jihoon can dissect on his own. He’s thankful Hanjin sees him that way and that he trusts Jihoon enough to be honest about his feelings. He’s a bit concerned with how Hanjin tends to shoulder too much emotional burden on his own, but he’s willing to provide encouragement and reassurance in his own way as long as Hanjin opens his heart to it. 

What Jihoon can’t seem to pin down is the feeling of wanting everything back. The feeling of wait, no. The cruel missing of whatever they were and could be before Jihoon knew any better. 

Neither of them have uttered a word since getting out of the taxi and in the elevator. When it dings on their floor, Hanjin walks ahead by a few steps before stopping in his tracks. Jihoon freezes behind him and something in his gut tightens. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Jihoon-ah. I don’t know why I had to say all that and put you in a weird spot. It’s really nothing, I just thought it was kinda funny,” Hanjin says, steadily as he can muster. He keeps his back to Jihoon. Jihoon looks down and he is clenching his fists. Hanjin continues walking down the short hall to their doorstep—“and anyways, what matters is that I had the wrong idea the whole time, right? So we’re…we’re okay.”

Jihoon is almost dreading it when Hanjin turns to face him again. He isn’t ready. 

“We’re okay, right? Jihoon-ah?” 

Jihoon is desperately looking for something in Hanjin’s expression now that he can’t quite place. A promise that things can go back to normal for them after that day? Proof that Hanjin doesn’t resent him? Permission and space for Jihoon to say he’s sorry?

He doesn’t want to betray the amount of time Hanjin seems to have spent mulling this over. He doesn’t want to be careless with the beating heart that’s been put in his hands. In any case, it seems that Hanjin was at peace with how he has made sense of his feelings for Jihoon now. And Jihoon finds himself utterly unworthy to try and squeeze himself into that. He can’t help but feel like it would be unfair if he kicked down that castle of sand knowing he’s a ways behind where Hanjin is. On the other hand, he’s also starting to feel like he doesn’t really know anything.

Still, unwilling to leave Hanjin with another “no”, he swallows down whatever inexplicable regret and longing is bumping around in his chest, and obliges. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, of course we’re okay. Of course.” Knowing it’s the least he can do, Jihoon gives Hanjin a gentle smile.

Hanjin loosens up after that and finally lets out a rehearsed-sounding chuckle. “This was funny,” he muses, a flimsy, unconvincing conclusion. Jihoon almost wants him to take it back.

Hanjin keys in the password on their front door and swings it open with a beep, shuffling his shoes off at the landing. Jihoon’s gaze follows him into his bedroom, helpless as Hanjin shuts the door behind him without another word. 

…

Three weeks pass the whole team by in a blur, agonizingly long and yet for some reason still not enough. Production deadlines, shoot dates, recording and lesson schedules accumulate on top of one another until eventually what happened that night blends into the backdrop. But every night before he drifts off to sleep, and in the pockets of downtime that he spends drowning everything out by dancing into the dead hours of dawn, Jihoon’s mind drifts to Hanjin. 

Since then, Jihoon and Hanjin have been…well, exactly how they hastily established: okay. Mostly through Hanjin’s efforts and Jihoon’s desire to help make things comfortable or even just normal for him, they talk when they need to. They put up composed fronts with the team. They laugh in unison at the same jokes. 

But Jihoon hasn’t shared a meal with Hanjin in those three weeks. Neither have they so much as sat beside one another. One night, Jihoon discovers that Hanjin had hailed his own taxi back to the dorms just five minutes before Jihoon had locked up the studio doors. 

That's when he finally decides to get his sister’s advice. Jihoon’s noona knew about most things in his life practically as soon as they happened; that was just how they worked, and Jihoon knew just as well every minute detail of what was going on with her, too. She had been witness to many of Jihoon’s epiphanies and emotions and ideas even before he could pinpoint what they were, and received the reports right away when Jihoon felt himself grow out of them. When he gave her the full rundown of what was happening between him and Hanjin over the phone as he took a late-night walk along the perimeter of their apartment building, she was fully surprised she had only been finding out then. 

“It's just that I don’t really…think I get what’s happening, I guess,” he grumbles, his steps kicking up dust. “Ugh, I don’t know. I still don’t know.”

“Actually, I think you did know one thing.” 

Jihoon holds his breath. “...What?”

“I think you knew that he liked you,” she declared, stern. “Even a little bit. Or, at the very least, it’s sounding like you’ve always noticed Hanjin’s attention on you a lot more—a lot deeper—than you do with anyone else.”

Jihoon's mouth goes dry; he can’t find anything to say to that. If he thinks it over, it is true, and he knows that that’s where the remorse is coming from. It’s where the fear is coming from, too. He just wants to be a good friend to Hanjin, before anything, and he feels like he hasn’t been able to do even that. 

“You know what I think, Jihoon-ah?” She cuts through the silence, and her voice, fuzzy over the receiver, is sounding more and more like their mother’s with every passing day. Jihoon decides not to comment on it.

“I think that if you miss him so much, you should just tell him and go from there.” 

Jihoon stops in his tracks. His voice comes out quieter than he thinks it will when he replies: “Is that how I’m making it seem like? That I miss him?”

He can almost see his noona’s look of exasperation. “Oh my god, you are such a lost cause. Jihoon-ah. You do know that normal friends and colleagues would forget if the other is left-handed until the next time they see them writing again, right? And you’re freaking out because, what, Hanjin ordered the midnight snack you two usually love to share but ate it alone this time? Because he cracked a joke during practice but didn’t look to you for your reaction like he always does?” Jihoon feels his ears go red. He already forgot–or didn’t realize–he’d said all that, too.

“Think about it. What other reason could there be behind Hanjin’s empty spot in your life right now bothering you this much, other than that you just always, always want him there?” 

Jihoon is just about to speak when his sister interjects again—the two of them and their running mouths—“And don’t give me that ‘I just don’t want to make things difficult for him anymore’ crap. He may have tried to cover it up with excuses, but Hanjin knew what he was doing that night. What kind of risk he was taking. And even that, he did for you. So if you miss him, Jihoon-ah, tell him. You can make amends and check in on him then.”

Jihoon spots a bench and takes his seat with a grunt as he stares off into the haze of the sleepy neighborhood. He looks down at his feet. “What if…what if I hurt him? Aren’t I being selfish, asking this of him? He’s already given me—everyone, everything—so much of him.” Jihoon’s throat closes up, his voice wavering on the last word before he can swallow it. 

His sister gets wind of it immediately. Jihoon is thankful that, for how much she drags him through the mud, he knows that at the end of the day he’s still her baby brother; that he softens her heart just as instantly. 

He can hear her hug her knees, cozy into the receiver like she’s shrinking the space down to fit just them. Jihoon allows himself to be held in it. “You aren’t being selfish,” she soothes. “And as long as you lead with honesty, you won’t hurt him, either. All this happened because he trusts you, Jihoon-ah. If you’re really that caught up on whether or not you can return Hanjin’s feelings the exact same way, don’t focus on that for now—focus on returning that trust, instead.”

Jihoon thinks about how he’ll go up to Hanjin on his way back up to the dorms. He decides to take his sister’s word and start with telling Hanjin he misses him—that much, he’s confident he can convey from the bottom of his heart. He just has to push down the frustration of having to fit it into their schedule. He feels weird about the formality of it, the feeling that he’s setting up some kind of grand intervention when long conversations with Hanjin were something so easy and candid just a month ago. A part of him wishes the world would stop for the two of them and that they could exist away from everything, that for a moment they didn’t have to be anything for anyone. 

When Jihoon returns to the dorm, he's expecting all the members to be asleep. But as turns the corner of their receiving area, he recognizes Hanjin’s back in the kitchen right away, worrying at a small pile of dishes. Hanjin turns around and his eyes widen for a fraction of a second as they meet Jihoon’s. “Oh–! Jihoon. You’re back,” he stammers, patting his hands dry. “I was just…I got hungry while watching my drama so I cut up some fruit.”

Jihoon’s hands ball up in his pockets. “Oh. I see,” he hears his reply slip out before he can make sure he doesn’t sound standoffish or upset. He hasn’t even done much but already feels like he’s messing it all up.

Hanjin gives a casual nod, his expression indecipherable, before offering a quick “Well…goodnight, then,” and turning back to his work. 

Jihoon takes two steps towards his bedroom before turning around and just letting the words get ahead of him. “Hanjin-ah?” he calls out. He realizes how much he missed even calling out his name.

“Hm?” There’s a moment of hope bleeding a little bit into Hanjin’s voice then that makes Jihoon’s chest ache.

“Are…are you free tomorrow? During our downtime after recording?”

“Oh! Um,” Hanjin looks away, considering, and then back at Jihoon, who still can’t get a hold of what’s going on inside the other’s head. “Well, yeah, I should be. Why?”

Jihoon tries his best to keep eye contact as he slowly continues. “I was wondering if…if you could do my makeup. I was planning to do a sit-down live tomorrow since it’s been awhile, and I know you’re really good at it, and…” he trails off until hears his sister’s voice in his head. He adds, “...and I miss you. I’ve…I’ve been. Missing you, Hanjin-ah.” He feels the force of his shaky breath push the words out.

Jihoon thinks he sees Hanjin’s lips part in a silent gasp. He blinks, startled. “O-oh. I…” His hands fidget with a dish towel. “Well, y-yeah, I can do that for you. Of course. Just…t-tell me where you’ll be and I’ll b-bring my stuff, I guess.” God, Hanjin sounds so nervous. Jihoon wills his eyebrows not to knit, a frown not to form on his face. He wills himself not to cross the dining table and envelop Hanjin in a hug. Instead, he nods, puts on a smile he hopes is easy to digest, and gives him a soft “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

Jihoon lets himself look at Hanjin for a second longer while he has the chance. He looks tired—Jihoon wishes he could ask him how his day was. Wishes he could’ve been by his side through it. He turns his back, making his way to his bedroom until—

“I miss you, too.”

Jihoon looks up. Hanjin’s eyes hadn’t left him. 

He then exhales into a small smile that already feels just a little bit more familiar to Jihoon; he hopes he isn’t imagining that. Jihoon feels the smile on his own face bloom that much more genuinely, too, like it’s finally allowed to. He turns away and closes the door behind him, letting anticipation and relief float warmly in his chest.

…

Jihoon feels the tremble when Hanjin brushes his fingers up under his chin and maneuvers his head to the side with a gentle pressure so he can brush powder contour on the edges of his temple. He’s sure Hanjin can feel his face burning up under his fingertips; he hopes that it can do at least a little bit of the talking on his behalf. 

“Almost done,” Hanjin says under his breath. “There wasn’t much to do, really. You’re handsome even without makeup.”

Jihoon deflects that with a shy “ack”, a knee-jerk reaction. He’s glad to see that it gets a warm giggle out of Hanjin. “No, seriously,” he laughs. “You could’ve gone live barefaced and I’m sure Sais would have loved it all the same.”

“Not true,” Jihoon insists. “I bet you they would’ve wondered who the hell hacked into the TWS Weverse account.”

Hanjin shoots Jihoon a playful squint, tsking. He puts down the brush and rolls his chair away to get a better look at Jihoon’s face. Jihoon jumps slightly when he pushes against his knee as leverage to do so. Warmth emanates over everywhere Hanjin has touched him today. 

“Hm,” Hanjin hums. “Maybe…would you be okay with a little blush?” Jihoon has half a mind to laugh at how Hanjin is already rolling his chair back forward and going through his makeup bag again without even waiting for his response to that question–it’s really cute. Jihoon can tell he’s at least in his element and having fun and that makes him smile.

“I mean, sure,” he concedes. “You’re the expert.”

Hanjin sifts through the pouch and brings out something resembling a small glue stick. “This will look great on you, I think,” he offers. He pops the lid off and gets a featherlight hold on Jihoon’s chin again in his thumb and index finger before tapping the blush stick lightly over the apples of Jihoon’s cheeks. Jihoon feels each landing, ever-so-slightly cool under his eyes and almost like a bunch of sweet, little—

His eyes dare to dart to Hanjin’s parted lips. He’s warming up again.

He shoos the thought away, tearing his gaze off of Hanjin and looking straight ahead instead as he attempts to steady his breathing. 

Just then, Hanjin cradles his jaw in one hand to keep his head steady, only barely touching. A shiver runs down the nape of Jihoon's neck as he feels Hanjin’s fingertips graze around his ears. When he tightens the fists in his lap, he can feel his heartbeat thrumming into his fingers. Hanjin uses his other hand to tap, tap, tap the pads of his fingers across Jihoon’s cheeks to blend out the blush. It’s like sparks are exploding under his skin. Jihoon realizes he definitely did not think this through enough. Still, he clears his throat and wills himself to stay on track, to remember the conversation that has to happen before they both leave this room.

Hanjin retracts his hands from Jihoon’s face and cocks his head left, right to evaluate his handiwork. Then he smiles in satisfaction and hands Jihoon a small hand mirror, with a bright “All done! Tell me what you think,” as he recollects the makeup he’s scattered over the desk. 

Jihoon doesn’t withhold the low hum of amazement and fascination that leaves him as he scans his reflection, and it makes Hanjin laugh with relief. He really is good at makeup, and it’s clear to see why even their stylists have acknowledged his exceptional skill. When they get their makeup done for schedules and shoots, Jihoon is pretty used to the feeling that he’s a totally different person when he’s all done up. But strangely enough, right now he sees a version of himself that he’s familiar with in the mirror still, save for a gentle glow and vividness that he didn’t wake up with that morning. It makes him want to sit up a bit straighter, smile wider. Really, it’s a fitting visualization of what it’s like to be held in the gaze of someone like Hanjin.

“Wow,” he marvels. “No, this is perfect. You’re amazing, Hanjin-ah, thank you so much! I don’t know how you do it.”

Hanjin beams, and it’s maybe the realest smile Jihoon’s seen from him in what seemed like forever by then. He lets the light of it wash over him.  

“That’s great. I’m glad,” he says. “You can ask me to do your makeup whenever you like, you know. I can teach you, too.” 

Jihoon smiles and nods. He knows the silence that will stretch over the next few seconds is the last chance he has to collect himself, then it will all be in his hands. He tries not to feel like it’s the last time he can when he takes a moment to watch over Hanjin as he packs away the rest of his stuff that was strewn on the table beside them. He can tell Hanjin is waiting for him to say something, too.

Here goes nothing. “Hanjin-ah.”

The air sinks heavier in an instant. There’s a pause before Hanjin acknowledges him, not yet meeting his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’ve…I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that night. When we took the taxi home together.”

Again, Hanjin’s reaction comes out like something practiced. It’s a stark reminder to Jihoon: Hanjin was never not thinking about this; what they were, what was happening between them. The nervous chuckle he lets out is half a beat too early. “You’re not gonna make fun of me for that, are you?”

It drives into Jihoon like a heavy shove to his chest. “Hey,” he retorts. “You know I wouldn’t do that.” 

Hanjin’s calm front wavers. He raises his eyes to Jihoon’s like a little kid peering through a crack in the door, cautious.

“Hanjin-ah,” Jihoon continues. He feels awful, but he has to press—”Please…be honest with me. Are you…a hundred percent sure that you don’t…” He watches as Hanjin holds his breath. “That you don’t…like me that way?”

Hanjin stares back at him with wide eyes. Whatever he had planned to say this time seems to have escaped him now; he’s frozen where he sits, none of the words making their way through his teeth. Jihoon hears his sister again: You won’t hurt him. 

"When you told me that night that you thought you liked me at one point, and then took it back, I'll admit I was confused. And I couldn't tell you, Hanjin, but I wished you didn't back away so soon. Because...I still had so much to tell you. So much that I didn't even realize I had in me.

“I know it probably isn’t fair," he goes on, "But I'm sure that I really do miss you, Hanjin-ah. And I’m really…really glad we got to spend time together today. I was really worried, you know. That I said something wrong that night and that we’d never go back to normal.” Hanjin immediately shakes his head and furrows his brows, a shine glazing over his eyes. 

Jihoon doesn’t let go of that gaze for a second–”I’m sorry it took me until today to go up to you and talk about it. It’s just…I just…”

Lead with honesty. He allows the truths to spill out of him one by one trusting they’ll lead him to the right place—

“I think you’re amazing, Hanjin-ah. You’re brave and intelligent and so kind and considerate and understanding. And you make me feel really special, too. You make me feel understood and seen like no one else does, and like I don’t have to be anything for anyone except…” 

His breath is warm as it finally leaves his lungs. “Except you.”

Jihoon watches the faint light in the vocal room collecting in Hanjin’s eyes, threatening to spill. He continues: “So, to be honest, I was scared. That I’d be taking advantage of you, or that all I wanted was to take up all your attention and time. But I think what I really want is…you, Hanjin-ah. I…I want you.” 

Jihoon is less afraid than he expects, saying it, stepping into the wanting. It feels right in a way that’s beyond anything he could've ever anticipated. He wants to try so much that it makes his heart race. He wants to follow the feeling to Hanjin’s side, to stay in the breadth of Hanjin’s light. He looks at him, not to search for anything anymore but just for the sake of looking at him. He could look at him forever, really.

Hanjin blinks once and a tear drips free, crawling its way down his cheek. Jihoon isn’t thinking when he reaches out and wipes it away with his knuckle. A small laugh bubbles out of his lungs despite himself and Hanjin dissolves into laughter with him as more tears spill over. 

“Hey!” Jihoon exclaims. “Why are you crying?” He swipes a few more tears from Hanjin’s cheeks and basks in the feeling of holding his face in his hands.

Flustered, Hanjin ducks to wipe his own tears away with his sleeve and lets out a comically exaggerated sobbing sound. “I don’t know! I don’t know,” he whines, unguarded and giddy. Jihoon can’t help but throw his head back laughing. His two hands naturally find Hanjin’s. He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s okay for him to hold them, to run his thumbs over the backs. Hanjin is holding him just as warmly.

“Jihoon-ah,” Hanjin breathes. His voice is wet and strained from the crying and laughing and when Jihoon looks into his eyes, it finally feels like he’s looking at Hanjin, again. 

“I like you.”

Jihoon’s nervous jitters melt and change form at once and it’s as if all the cells in his body are in tune to to the beat of his heart. The feeling fills his chest until it bursts past his ribcage, rushing into his fingertips and in a blinding instant he’s holding Hanjin in his arms as tight as he can. Like he wants to trap the light between them, for only them. 

“I like you, too. I like you, too.”

Hanjin laughs and sniffles dizzyingly into the embrace, clutching the back of Jihoon’s shirt as Jihoon threads his fingers through his hair. It unfolds in front of him and envelops him once again, the mosaic of sensations: an ache in his cheeks, a dampness on his shoulder, a breathless relinquishing. 

- Epilogue -

“Jihoon-ah, why are you so pretty today?”

Jihoon reads the comment aloud as his eyes land on it. He can’t help the smile that crawls its way onto his face, can’t help but feel the fuzzy warmth that ghosts over his arms to his fingertips. He lets everything float out of him in a giggle. “Really? Thank you,” he grins. 

“We didn’t have any schedules today, but I didn’t wanna show up unprepared, so I asked Hanjin to do my makeup. He did such a great job, didn’t he?” 

His hands drift up to touch his own face, hover his fingers over the smoothly set surface. It takes a few seconds of video delay before the fans in the chat can acknowledge him. He stares patiently until they do, wanting to see what everyone will say. He reads as much as he can aloud: “Hanjin did that? Wow I thought for sure you got it done professionally!”, “Ask him what brand that blush is please ㅠㅠ”, “Our Gongyukz are so sweet!”

"Aww," Jihoon coos. "He'll be happy to hear all that. I'll make sure to tell him." He rests his chin on his hand as he goes back to scanning the comments section. His eyes grow wide as one other comment catches his attention:

"Hanjinie must really like you, he enhanced all your prettiest features," he reads, thinking over the words as they roll off his tongue. He chuckles softly and hums in agreement.

It truly is a strange and new feeling to Jihoon, to have and hold someone else's heart. To trust that he can, to give back in the way he is able. But in the matter of an afternoon he already feels it showing and blooming on his face like a dusting of powder.