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“You look really nice right now.”
“Please go to sleep.”
Keeho pouts. He’s currently laid on his side, snug in his bed with the sheets pulled up to his chin. After a long night of drinking and vomiting, he finally seems to have tired himself out; his pupils are blown wide under the weight of his eyelids, and he struggles to keep them open as he speaks.
“You’re so jaded.” Keeho grumbles, voice thick with fatigue, “I really meant it, you know.”
From his bedside, Jiung sighs. “I’m sure you did.”
He isn’t, really— if Keeho looks bad, then Jiung looks dead on his feet. It was already dark outside when Keeho called him, and the commute to the bar and back hadn’t exactly been short. Plus, Jiung already got stressed enough about driving as is, and having a loud, touchy drunk in the passenger’s seat certainly didn’t help.
Furthermore, Keeho threw up. Like… several times.
Jiung couldn’t help feeling a little helpless every time, awkwardly rubbing circles against Keeho’s back as the leader spilt sick from his lips. Thankfully, the nausea waned once they got back to the apartment. Jiung made sure to get Keeho a glass of water, encouraging him to take small sips and praying that he would be able to keep it down. Then he brought Keeho a change of clothes, lugged him to his room, and made sure he stayed laying sideways in case he threw up again.
After that, Jiung went to wash his hands. By the time he went back to check on Keeho, he was certain that the other would’ve already fallen asleep, but…
Well.
“It’s true, though.” Keeho insists, his words slurring together. Through the haze and the darkness of the room, his brown eyes shine with sincerity as he looks up at Jiung. “You’re so pretty.”
The air around them seems to still.
Jiung doesn’t dare try to disturb it with his breath.
“So, so pretty.” Keeho mumbles, rambling slightly as his eyelids begin slipping closed again. “You looked so pretty when you walked in, like an angel.”
At that, Jiung can’t help but huff out a small laugh. “An angel?” he asks, incredulous, but Keeho’s far beyond him now. Seconds pass, and Jiung can already hear the soft rumble of his snoring.
For a moment, Jiung can only stand there, dumbstruck.
Angel. The word rings loud against the silent, sluggish hour of the night. It rattles off his skull in his head, off his ribs in his chest. It hits him like a stone between his eyes and has him seeing flashes of color before the world fades to white.
Angel.
Jiung shakes his head to himself, like he’s trying to physically dislodge the word from his brain. People say all sorts of things when they’re drunk, he reminds himself. Keeho just needs a good night’s sleep— hell, they both do.
He thinks he’ll tell Keeho about it in the morning, when he’s sober and fine and normal. Him and the others will probably have a good laugh about it, and Jiung will laugh with them. Then, he’ll forget. He’ll forget the way his heart stuttered when Keeho told him he looked pretty, and the bright, earnest look in his eyes as he looked up at Jiung like… like...—
The morning comes. Keeho shows up to practice, hungover and squinting against the too-bright studio lights. He groans, slumping down in the chair next to Jiung and pressing the heels his palms to his eyes.
“Man, I am never drinking again.” He grumbles, and Jiung snorts.
“Good, because I’m not driving across town to get you again.” He says, and Keeho turns to look at him.
“Oh, yeah, I called you last night, right?” he asks, and Jiung nods. “Sorry, everything’s kind of a blur. I wasn’t too much trouble, was I?”
Jiung pauses for a moment. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, no, it was fine. You just threw up once.” He pauses again. “In my car. And then another time on the sidewalk. And then in the living room. And you also kept trying to grab the steering wheel while I was driving. And also me— you tried to grab me a lot.”
“Oh shit.” Keeho remarks, voice faint. “I’m sorry.”
Jiung waves the apology off quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously, it’s a good thing you called. I’m just glad you were able to get home safe.”
At that, Keeho grins, wide and a little goofy despite the sharp pang in his skull Jiung knows he’s feeling right now. “Aw.”
Jiung rolls his eyes. “I’m seriously gonna leave you next time.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Keeho laughs. “Thank you, though. You’re seriously an angel for doing all of that.”
Jiung pauses.
He snaps his head up to look at the other boy, but Keeho’s attention is already elsewhere. In a second, he’s already across the practice room, bounding over to meet the others in front of the studio mirror.
Fully awake. Fully sober.
Jiung watches him go, dazed and completely, utterly lost.
…
“I really wish they wouldn’t film today.” Jiung grumbles once they’re out of earshot, his back turned to the camera crew a few feet away. They were currently preoccupied filming an interaction between Jongseob and Taeyang, but Jiung was still hyperaware of himself in the background, feeling the heat of the camera’s gaze as though they were human eyes.
Keeho’s eyes dart to the camera briefly. When he looks back to Jiung, his expression is carefully blank, and he’s frugal with the movement of his lips as he speaks. “I know. Some day off, right?”
Jiung shakes his head, annoyed. “We shouldn’t have told them the six of us had plans together for today.”
“I know, I know.” Keeho says, glancing at the cameras again. “You want me to say something about it?”
Jiung hesitates, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s more trouble than it’s worth. I just wish they could’ve caught me on a better day, at least.”
Keeho’s eyes dart up to him, suddenly alert. “What, do you not feel well or something?”
Jiung shakes his head “I’m fine, it’s just—" he waves a hand vaguely in front of his face. “You know.”
The blank look Keeho gives Jiung tells him that he does not, in fact, know. “What does that mean?”
Jiung sighs, exasperated that he has to spell it out. “I’m just bloated today, is all. No big deal.”
There’s a moment in which Keeho just blinks at him, face blank as he continues to stare. It drags on a bit too long for Jiung’s liking, and he squirms a little under Keeho’s gaze.
“Oh my god, don’t stare at it.” Jiung groans, reaching up to pull his hood down over his face.
Keeho splutters, frantic. “No, no, I wasn’t— it’s just—” he grapples for words for a moment before seemingly giving up. “Oh, stop, Jiung. Really, you look fine.”
Suddenly, the hood over Jiung’s face is being lifted away. Light floods into his eyes, and he has to squint through the glare he attempts to give Keeho.
Grinning, Keeho shifts to cradle Jiung’s face between his hands, cooing dramatically. “See, look at you— gwiyeopda.” He squeezes Jiung’s face just hard enough that his cheeks begin to ache, “Angel.” Keeho beams, eyes bright as he looks at Jiung.
Something in Jiung’s chest jumps at the word— something young, excited, and so, so close to fear that he almost thinks it might be just that. Honestly, he’d even prefer fear. It’s a feeling Jiung’s familiar with, being scared, and he’d much, much rather be scared shitless of Yoon Keeho than have to face the fact that he—
He cuts off his own thoughts before they can go much further. He feels his face go a little pink and prays that Keeho can’t feel it beneath the pads of his fingers.
Plastering on a scowl, Jiung bats Keeho’s hands away. “Alright, alright,” he mumbles, “Save it for the cameras, huh?”
Keeho only smiles, tilting his chin up to gesture behind Jiung. Jiung turns around, only to see that the cameras are completely turned away from them now, occupied filming a spat between Taeyang and Intak a few feet away. Suddenly, it occurs to him that the show of affection might not have been meant for anyone outside the two of them.
Face reddening and heart stuttering, Jiung can’t help but think that that makes it even worse.
…
“If it makes you feel any better.” Taeyang starts. “This is definitely the worst you’ve ever looked.”
Jiung squints his eyes open, fighting the pounding in his head. Against the light of the hallway, Taeyang is nothing more than a silhouette in his doorframe, his face cast into the darkness of Jiung’s room. Jiung grumbles, shoving his face into his pillow to escape the brightness.
“Why,” he asks, voice muffled, “would that make me feel any better?”
Behind his eyelids, he can see the light slip away as the door shuts with a gentle click. When Taeyang speaks again, he sounds as though he’s gotten a lot closer. “It’s the worst you’ve ever looked, and there are no cameras around.” He says pointedly.
Suddenly, Jiung feels a cold, slender hand against his forehead. “You’re gonna catch whatever I have.” He warns Taeyang, squirming away.
Taeyang ignores him, and Jiung can practically hear the frown in his voice. “You’re still really warm.” He mutters. “Maybe you should take an ibuprofen or something.”
“I already took two just an hour ago.”
“Take a third.”
Jiung would snort at that, but he’s so congested he’s sure he’d hear ringing if he tried to. “If I do that, then the fever is the least of our problems.”
The air behind him shifts slightly as Taeyang huffs. “Well can we do anything, then?”
“I just need to sleep it off.” Jiung mumbles, albeit a little pointedly into his pillow. He doesn’t have to look at Taeyang to know he doesn’t like that answer, impatient as he is. Still, he seems to get the hint well enough.
The older steps back, a little resigned when he speaks. “Fine, just… yell if you need anything, alright?”
Jiung hums in response. He listens to the careful rustle of Taeyang’s socked feet against the carpet as he walks away. The light flickers and dies behind his eyelids once more as he hears the door shut closed again, and then he’s alone.
He doesn’t doubt that Taeyang was being honest when he said that this was the worst Jiung’s ever looked. After all, this is the worst he’s ever felt.
It was hardly surprising, considering how much they’d been working these days. Though a balanced combination of stress, hunger, and sleep deprivation was characteristic to their lives as idols, Jiung couldn’t deny that they had his immune system completely shot.
When he’d first started running a fever, Taeyang told him to look at it as time off— a holiday of sorts. He’d called Jiung lucky. Still, laying here in bed— congested, shivering, and aching— Jiung doesn’t exactly feel very lucky. If anything, he feels more stressed than ever. Every hour he laid here was an hour of work lost— hours he would have to pay back in bulk as soon as his temperature dropped.
He really does try to sleep it off, but he’s so wrecked with nerves and chills that it’s a little hard to. He tries to meditate a little, but every time he gets himself in the space, another shiver racks through his body. It feels like hours that he just lays there, miserable and so unbearably present until he hears a knock at his door.
He frowns a little at the sound. Huh, that’s funny. Taeyang and Jongseob don’t usually knock. Not really. For a moment, he thinks he might’ve imagined it in a fit of feverous delusion, but then light is flooding into the room again, eliciting a sharp pang behind Jiung’s eyes.
He groans loudly, wrapping his pillow around his head. “Taeyang, please—"
“Relax, it’s just me.” A familiar voice says from the darkness, and Jiung pauses, squinting up again.
The figure in the doorway for sure isn’t Taeyang’s. Their shoulders are a lot broader, their hair a lot shorter— the hue of it a little pink against the light of the hallway.
Of course, Jiung thinks. Taeyang has the sense to leave Jiung alone when he says he wants to be.
Keeho, on the other hand, does not.
Jiung attempts his best glare, though his face is still half-buried in his pillow. “That’s even worse.”
“Wow.” Keeho remarks, deadpan. “Okay then. Me and my soup will leave you and your sick ass alone, then.”
At that, Jiung pauses. He lets his gaze stray a little farther downward, and then he notices it— a small, pink thermos in Keeho’s hands.
He feels his eyebrows knit. “Why… would you bring me soup?” Jiung asks slowly, voice a little faint with confusion.
Keeho just scoffs, coming a little further into the room until he reaches the edge of Jiung’s bed. “Don’t ask me stupid questions.”
He takes a seat on the bed near Jiung’s feet, causing the mattress to spring a little before Keeho settles. Jiung grumbles at the sudden movement, sluggishly curling his knees up in an attempt to put some sort of space between him and Keeho.
“You’re seriously gonna get sick.” He tells him, but Keeho only waves a hand in response.
“I took a vitamin before I came.” He says flippantly, and somehow Jiung doubts even that, but then he hears the pop of the thermos opening. Despite himself, the sound piques his attention— he really hasn’t eaten too much today besides some yogurt, since most takeout was too heavy for his stomach right now and… well, the food Jongseob and Taeyang had made for him wasn’t exactly appealing either, to say the least. Jiung appreciates them for trying, nonetheless, but he wasn’t really looking to add ‘nausea’ to his list of symptoms.
Keeho reaches over to pat Jiung’s flank through the layers of quilt. “Alright, up!” he chirps. For a moment, Jiung doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he starts to sit up, groaning at the pop in his joints. He sniffs, running a hand through his hair before blinking up at Keeho, eyes shifting between his face, the canister of soup in one of his hands, and the plastic spork in the other.
Reluctantly, Jiung plucks the spork out of Keeho’s fingers before carefully taking the thermos in his hands. The metal is still warm to the touch as he sneaks a peak at its contents. He has to admit, he wasn’t… extremely confident in Keeho’s cooking ability. To be honest, he was mostly just taking it to be polite. Now though, he’s surprised to say it doesn’t look too bad, actually. He can hardly smell it, but the steam still hits his face pleasantly, and he licks his lips. He takes a spoonful, blows on it, and carefully brings it to his lips.
Honestly, it can stand to be a little saltier, but Jiung will take it compared to Taeyang’s sea-water adjacent broth. He hums at the taste, nodding his head at Keeho before taking another gulp.
“It’s good.” He mumbles.
Keeho smiles a little, undoubtedly proud of himself. “Duh.”
The next few minutes pass easily. Keeho talks while Jiung eats, informing him about everything he’d missed while he was sick, whether it be something funny someone did during rehearsal or some plans he’d been discussing with the company. Jiung supposes it should stress him out more, but it actually eases his nerves a little to hear Keeho speak. After all, nothing could really sound all that bad coming from Keeho’s voice— regardless of if he was singing or speaking.
Jiung practically inhales the rest of the soup, tilting the thermos back and letting the last few drops hit his tongue. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, handing the thermos back to Keeho with another nod.
“Thank you.” He says quietly, not quite meeting Keeho’s eyes. It feels a little stupid against the gesture Keeho just made for him— too small, though Jiung is sure he’d suffocate if he tried choking out anything else, so he keeps his mouth shut.
Keeho doesn’t ask for anything else, though. All he does is take the thermos back with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course.”
The light pouring in from the hall hits the side of Keeho’s face, and for a moment, all Jiung can do is take in the glow of his skin. Angel, Keeho had called Jiung before, but it had never felt more backwards than it did right now.
Jiung has never been this soft. He’s never been this comfortable, this warm to anyone else to warrant such affection in return— but here Keeho is, bringing him soup and sitting with him like it’s worth it. Jiung swallows, ducking his head down because he’s scared of what Keeho might see if he keeps looking.
“Well!” Keeho chirps suddenly, standing up. “I’ll be out of your hair, then. Is there anything else you need?” He asks, haloed by the light of the hallway as he turns to face Jiung again.
The chills are long gone now, leaving Jiung’s face a little warm as he looks up at the other. He lays back down, hiding his face in the pillow once more so Keeho doesn’t see how pink he is. “I’m fine.” He mutters, voice faint.
He can practically hear the eyebrow raise in Keeho’s voice. “You sure? Cause you sound like you have something else you want to ask for.”
He isn’t entirely wrong. The needy, selfish, and unbearably human part of Jiung’s brain wants so bad just to ask, ask, ask— to ask Keeho to stay, to sit at the edge of Jiung’s bed and keep rambling about all the things Jiung worried about. He’d ask for anything Keeho was willing to give— any watered-down broth, any bad news, any raised eyebrow. He’d take anything, just as long as it was Keeho.
In another world, where Jiung’s just a little better than he is, he might actually say all of that. Now though, all he does is shake his head against his pillow, hair scratching against the soft fabric.
He hears a small, fond huff of breath from Keeho and risks another glance up at the other boy.
Keeho’s eyes are crinkled in a smile as he reaches down, lightly ruffling Jiung’s hair.
“Angel…” he mutters affectionately, and it’s so incredibly baffling that Jiung almost wonders if he really is having a fever dream.
Whenever Keeho had called him that before, there had at least been some… sense behind it. Some sort of rationalization Jiung could do before his mind strayed somewhere dangerous. Before, Keeho had only called Jiung that in thanks, or even when he found the other to look particularly appealing, but now… well…
This is, objectively, the worst Jiung’s ever looked— Taeyang verbatim.
Astounded, it’s all Jiung can do to blink up at Keeho, voice faint as he tells him, “You’re the one who just brought me soup.”
…
“When you were here before…
Couldn’t look you in the eye…”
Keeho is glowing gold under the stage lights. Jiung stares at him from the wings, hoping that the vision might burn itself into his retinas so he can keep it.
“You’re just like an angel…
Your skin makes me cry…”
He swallows hard at that line. Next to him, Intak shifts a little closer.
“I like this song.” He remarks softly.
Jiung can only nod in response.
“You float like a feather…
In a beautiful world…”
Keeho’s tone is rich as he sings. Heavy. It weighs down on Jiung until he’s forced to his knees, and then some. He can’t think. He can hardly breathe. The sound of Keeho’s voice fills the air, and Jiung fucking chokes on it.
“Jiung?” Intak asks, sounding so very far away now, “Is something wrong?”
“I wish I was special…”
The slow, twinkling melody of the piano resounds in Jiung’s head like a taunt, overwhelming and terrifying as it begins to build.
Earlier, Jiung thought that he’d rather be scared of Keeho than be in love with him. But here he is now— so deeply, undeniably in love with Yoon Keeho, and still scared out of his mind.
Being in love with Keeho was bad enough— much worse was letting himself think, even for a moment, that Keeho might just—
“Jiung?” Intak asks, tentatively.
The piano rings. The drums kick. Keeho’s voice fills the stadium like a fog, thick and unescapable. “You’re so very special…”
Jiung stands abruptly. “I need to go.” He murmurs before turning on his heel and fleeing.
He doesn’t look back to catch Intak’s reaction. He rushes backstage, where the lights and the piano and the drums can’t follow him. Still, it hardly matters— through the walls, Keeho’s voice still finds him.
“She's runnin' out the door…
She's runnin' out
She run, run, run, run
Run…”
…
A text. Delivered to him at exactly 12:02 am KST, on October 7th.
‘happy birthday, angel <3’
For thirty minutes, Jiung can only lay in bed and stare at it, his heart kicking uselessly in his chest.
…
Later that night, he’ll tell Keeho— “I think you have the wrong idea about me.”
Keeho blinks at him. “Jiung, we’ve known each other for six years.”
It’s just the two of them, laid side by side in Jiung’s bed with a good amount of distance between them. The other four members left a while ago, not too long after they’d finished with the cake and presents, but Keeho stayed behind— “To help with the cleanup,” he’d insisted.
Yeah, okay Keeho.
They’d spent the next couple of hours lazily— watching the ceiling and talking about nothing. There are only a few minutes left of Jiung’s birthday now— twelve, to be exact. He rolls over on his side, propping himself up on one elbow to make eye contact with Keeho.
“Angel?” he asks, a little desperately.
He doesn’t have to explain much further— Keeho goes a little pink, but his expression doesn’t shift in the slightest. “What? You don’t like?”
“I don’t understand.” Jiung says emphatically. Usually, he’s not so bold, but he’s been losing sleep over this for days now. No, he needs an explanation— immediately.
“Why… that, of all things?” he asks, and Keeho’s face goes a little splotchy as his eyes dart away, trying to avoid Jiung’s gaze.
“I don’t know.” He mumbles. “It just makes sense, I guess. You’re cute, you help me out. You’re sweet.”
Jiung raises an eyebrow at that. “Sweet.” He repeats, deadpan.
Keeho looks back at him. “Why does it even matter?”
“Because I don’t believe you.” Jiung tells him, frustrated.
“You don’t have to.” Keeho replies. “I do.”
“But why?”
“Because I know I don’t have the wrong idea of you.” Keeho says emphatically. “Sure, you aren’t perfect, but you always try your best, and you care. And I just…” he pauses for a moment, seemingly catching his tongue between his teeth before it can get away from him. Still, he holds eye contact with Jiung like he’s waiting for something, and Jiung tilts his head.
“You just…?” he prods gently, leaning in a little. For a beat, Keeho only looks up at him, and suddenly Jiung is transported back to that late, long night in Keeho’s room.
The bright, earnest look in Keeho’s eyes…
“I like everything about you.” Keeho admits, quietly. “Just as long as it’s you.”
Jiung blinks. “Oh.” He says. Then something clicks, snaps in place inside Jiung’s brain with such tension behind it that he can feel it in his jaw.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Keeho responds, ears stained bright red as he looks away again, and Jiung stares.
It dawns upon him slowly, like the sun on the horizon, burning and inevitable. Belatedly, Jiung realizes it was a mistake to come to Keeho for any sort of answer— because really, there was none. No sense or logic, no meaning behind the name— just this feeling, this thread that’s been hanging loose between them for years, yanked free with a single tug.
Jiung tears at the seams from it, open and exposed before the other.
“I like everything about you too.” He says faintly. It’s quiet, but he startles the both of them with it nonetheless.
Keeho stares up at him, eyes wide. “You do?”
Jiung swallows, face hot. His first instinct is to back out— to roll off the bed, run away, and go to the FNC building to find his contract and tear it up so he can leave the country and never come back. Instead, he nods— if Keeho was going to be honest, then Jiung had to try to be too. “Yeah. I do.”
For a moment, they can only sit there, absolutely baffled with each other. Keeho’s hair is a little tousled from its time against the pillow, pink strands sticking up in different directions. Even more vibrant is the pink of his bottom lip as Keeho takes it between his teeth, seemingly in thought for a moment before breaking the silence.
“Can I kiss y— mph.”
Jiung doesn’t give him a chance to finish, already ducking down to press their mouths together. Keeho doesn’t miss a beat— hooking an arm around Jiung’s shoulders to drag him down closer, kissing him like he’s been waiting years for this moment.
Keeho tastes like birthday cake and watermelon flavored gum— too sugary, tacky on Jiung’s tongue.
He presses closer, wanting to drown in it.
Something within Jiung purrs at the contact, settled and new and perfect.
They stay like that a while, kissing wordlessly against Jiung’s sheets. Every once in a while, Keeho will lean away, if only to look at Jiung a moment longer before kissing him again. His eyes are bright when he pulls back, hopeful and a little disbelieving.
For once, Jiung thinks he might just know what’s on his mind.