Archive of Our Own

The hours between three in the morning to just about a few minutes past five o’clock, when the sun begins to rise and tint the sky a little orange, a little pink, a little purple and blue, is when Jongseob feels like he can finally exist as himself. What that really means is still somewhat unclear to him. All he knows is that it feels freeing, to be able to work on his music, think in peace, and breathe unwatched, while the rest of the world is quiet and sound asleep.

There is a type of comfort that he only gets when he’s completely on his own, when he’s existing with no one else watching, commenting, judging.

It’s a tranquil moment suspended in time and space. It amplifies the loneliness—inevitably—but it also brings Jongseob solace knowing that there are a few hours during the day when he can simply be.

At four thirty-six in the morning, everyone, or at least most people, should be asleep. So it startles Jongseob, when his phone vibrates and lights up with a new text message. He's usually very adamant about making sure all his devices are on silent. Especially when he’s working on music, and even more so during these special hours that are reserved for him only.

He must have forgotten somehow. But that thought is quickly left behind when he sees the name displayed on the screen.

choi taeyang [4:36 a.m.]
> i brought food
> i know you’re still up

It’s Taeyang, messaging him when he should’ve been asleep hours ago.

Jongseob, too lazy to get up from his comfy gaming chair, grabs a hold of his desk and pushes as hard as he can, wheeling himself as close to the door as possible. Just as he’s about to reach for the door handle, he sees through the blurred glass, the approaching silhouette that he could recognize anywhere.

He opens the door then, and surely, on the other side stands Jongseob’s favorite person in the world. Call him out on being biased, he’ll just shrug and say nothing.

His heart speeds up just that tiny bit. Ridiculous, embarrassing, probably kind of pathetic, too. It’s fine, Jongseob thinks to himself. This is fine. This is perfect. The man standing in front of him, holding a flimsy takeout bag in hand, tracksuit jacket zipped all the way up, hair tussled by the wind but still perfectly in place, is just that capable of making him feel this way and so much more.

“Good morning,” Taeyang greets him with a small smile, even though he looks and sounds beyond tired. “Or good night, whichever.”

Jongseob chuckles and takes the takeout bag from Taeyang’s hand. The smell of warm food fills the air, and Jongseob feels his stomach grumble. Taeyang hears it and huffs out a laugh, lifts his hand up to ruffle Jongseob’s blonde hair.

He steps into the studio, closes the door behind him.

Taeyang puts his hands on the headrest of Jongseob’s chair, and pushes him back towards his desk. Jongseob just lets him do whatever he pleases. Any day, any time. Taeyang can do anything, and Jongseob thinks he’ll just go along with it, easy, no questions asked.

Though right now, he does have one question. That is, why Taeyang is even awake right now, much less going out of the way to leave the house during the wee hours of the night to bring him food.

“Thanks for the food.” Jongseob unties the bag and tries to sound as casual as he can, unsure if he should be concerned about Taeyang being here at nearly five in the morning. “Can’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” Taeyang just shrugs and plops himself onto the leather sofa in the corner of Jongseob’s studio. When Jongseob still hasn’t touched the food, expression clearly worried but trying not to seem too obvious about it, Taeyang motions at the food again. “Eat up. Knew you’d be hungry.”

Jongseob decides not to overthink it any further. He knows that if Taeyang wants to talk about it, he will. If he doesn’t, then he simply won’t bring it up whatsoever. Either way, this is okay, this is how they’ve always been. Jongseob likes the honesty and straightforwardness. It makes things uncomplicated. For the most part, at least.

Because there are things the two of them have yet to talk about, and probably need to talk about. Just as there are things that tend to go unsaid between them. Things that don’t need a name, things that just make sense, when it’s them.

That can wait. There’s really no rush. They have time.

“I need to finish up this last part of the demo before heading back,” Jongseob finally takes a bite of the food, and offers some to Taeyang, who kindly declines. “Do you want to hear what I have so far?”

“Of course,” agrees Taeyang immediately. He would be so honored, is always so honored and proud that he gets to witness The Kim Jongseob doing what he does best. “It would be my honor.”

“Don’t expect too much, it’s just the first draft.” Jongseob’s not sure why he feels nervous all of a sudden. “And it’s not even finished yet.”

He presses play before he can regret it, and as the intricate beats and melodies start flowing through the expensive speakers in his studio, Jongseob suddenly feels exposed.

Maybe it’s the insecurities he has towards his craft even though he doesn’t let it show. Maybe it’s the specific time of night that makes him extra vulnerable. Maybe it’s the sun that’s beginning to rise and light up the sky outside, reminding him that his cherished moments of peace are almost over.

Maybe it’s Taeyang getting up from the sofa to hover closely behind him. Maybe it’s the warmth emanating from Taeyang's body now that they're merely inches apart. Maybe it's the hand that Taeyang places at the back of Jongseob’s head, gently smoothing his hair down in rhythmic motions that match the melody of Jongseob’s new song.

Maybe it's everything. Maybe it's everything about Taeyang that has Jongseob holding his breath and silently, secretly vibrating out of his skin.

The song comes to an end. The silence takes over only for a bit.

“I like it,” Taeyang confesses easily, right away.

An honest compliment like this, coming from Taeyang, means everything to Jongseob. There's no sugarcoating, no white lies, no walking on eggshells trying to prevent the other from feeling bad.

Taeyang is honest. He's straightforward, but not unkind. He's concise, but not insincere. Jongseob likes that, loves that about him. It makes him feel seen and respected, it makes him feel real and capable.

It's at that moment, when Jongseob turns his head to the right to look at Taeyang's face for extra confirmation, that Taeyang leans down even closer. Their movements seemingly in sync, navigating towards each other always. Jongseob’s eyes widen in surprise, with how close their faces are all of a sudden, but chooses not to back away.

It's lovely, truly, getting to see Taeyang this closely. It's sweet, having Taeyang all up in his personal space. It's bad for his heart, how gorgeous Taeyang is, and just how badly Jongseob wants to lean in and surrender.

It would be so easy. It would be the hardest thing in the world.

The song has already finished playing, but Jongseob swears there’s still a pretty tune in his head. One that he hears every time they’re close, every time he looks into Taeyang’s eyes and has the same intensity returned in full.

Neither of them move away, nor do they lessen the space in between.

Taeyang's hand that was stroking Jongseob’s hair stills for a split second before it slides down to the nape of Jongseob's neck.

He squeezes with just the right amount of pressure, releasing the tightness in the muscles there. Then repeats the action a few more times with practiced ease, and smiles when he gets the response he knew he would.

“Ah…” The soft noise escapes Jongseob’s mouth involuntarily, and he closes his eyes from the pain that quickly turns into something much more relaxing. “Feels nice.”

“Good,” Taeyang hums, and continues massaging Jongseob's neck, then down to his shoulders. His fingers lightly trace over the inch of skin where Jongseob’s tattoo peeks out from his shirt. “You've worked so hard. You always do.”

Jongseob keeps his eyes closed, relishing this moment, and filing it into his memory for safekeeping. Into a very specific folder in his mind reserved only for moments like these, it goes. Perhaps as inspiration for another song in the future, or just for himself to keep, like a tiny seashell he picks up at the beach to take home. A secret souvenir. A selfish little thing.

The thought revolves back again. Jongseob slowly blinks his eyes open.

Less than a single breath apart, Taeyang looks at him with a fondness so warm Jongseob thinks he might disintegrate then and there.

He wants to ask. He knows something’s not quite right. He wants to voice out his worries; they’re good at communicating, they’re usually on the same page, anyway. He wants to get even closer—in every sense of the word—than they already are. He wants to know everything Taeyang is thinking, all that he's feeling.

Jongseob can't help it. Maybe that makes him greedy. But, being curious by nature is the way he navigates the world. It's the way he learns about himself and those around him. It's the reason he can't tear his eyes away from Taeyang's, desperately trying to search for answers through them.

He’s always been greedy about Taeyang. He’s not afraid to admit that.

And maybe it goes both ways, the communication, their eyes speaking volumes, how in tune they are with one another. Because just as Jongseob is about to open his mouth, Taeyang shakes his head ever so slightly. His hands come up to cradle Jongseob's face then. Too tender, almost. “Another day, I promise.”

The words ease Jongseob's racing heart.

Taeyang’s voice, filled with conviction and reassurance, makes Jongseob believe that things are indeed okay, or they will be. He doesn’t have to worry, not like this anyway. They’re okay, they’ll be fine, with the firm promise of another day and the assurance within that promise.

Here in his studio, with the sunlight sneaking through the gap between the curtains, Jongseob thinks Taeyang is as beautiful as ever. Nothing comes close. No one compares.

“Let’s go home.”

“Yeah.”

——

It's unclear when this became a common occurrence.

Ever since that one September night when Taeyang showed up at Jongseob's studio half unannounced, with cheap takeout and cold fingertips, he has become some sort of semi-permanent resident there.

Sometimes he’s there when Jongseob isn’t. He’s there before Jongseob himself is. He’s there, waiting for Jongseob to show up, knowing very well that he will soon enough.

Sure, Taeyang has his own studio where he sings, practices guitar, and comes up with all the intricate details that go into planning an unforgettable concert experience. But that’s where he concentrates on all things work related, where he breaks his brain over and over again about how to stay relevant in the industry.

Here in Jongseob’s studio, he melts into the leather sofa and becomes one with the furniture. Here, Taeyang rests in a way that he finds he can’t elsewhere. Not even in his own room at the dorm, or at his parent’s home where he spent his entire childhood.

“Huh?” Jongseob had said when he picked up the call, confused to say the least. “You’re…where?”

“At your studio. Well, outside,” Taeyang answered matter-of-factly, like that was the most normal place for him to be. “Just thought you’d be here.”

“I had to run some errands,” Jongseob explained his absence, because he did mention in passing that he would be at the studio that afternoon. He just didn't think anyone would be looking for him. “Sorry, I’ll be there in–maybe thirty minutes? Hang on, let me text you the code. Wait inside, I'll be there soon.”

It really only took that one time for Jongseob to give Taeyang the passcode to his studio. Jongseob felt bad to have Taeyang waiting outside, even though Taeyang insisted that it's fine and he can just come back later. For what exactly, Taeyang never says. Jongseob doesn't ask either.

Roughly twenty-five minutes later, the door beeps as it unlocks. Taeyang stirs lightly, but doesn’t fully wake up; he doesn't even remember falling asleep. His body, curled up on the leather sofa that's slightly too small for him, but probably just right for Jongseob, feels weighted and heavy.

He registers the beeping sound of the lock, and the door shutting close with a soft click, but doesn't hear anything after that. No light switch flicking on, no footsteps approaching, no bag being dropped on the floor, or the rustling of a jacket being shrugged off and draped onto the chair.

After a few seconds, that's when Taeyang hears it—or him.

“Oh, shit,” a voice—undeniably Jongseob—curses under his breath. Now, certainly, there's the sound of a bag being dropped on the floor, and the thump of its owner following suit.

Taeyang finally sits up and reaches his arms out in the dark, flails them around blindly as if swimming underwater in slow motion. “Gotcha. You good?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Shouldn't have moved the table around the other day,” Jongseob laughs softly as he finds Taeyang's hands and holds them in his own. He loves Taeyang's hands so much, loves the way they deftly switch between guitar chords and strum beautiful melodies, loves the smoothness of his palm and the roughness of his fingertips, loves the way they slot together with his very own; Jongseob wants to write a thousand songs just about Taeyang’s hands. “Tried to organize, but I think the old layout is still so much better. It balances things out, you know? Anyway, I'm rambling. Did you fall asleep? How are you feeling?”

Jongseob figured that Taeyang hasn't been sleeping well, or properly, these days. If it wasn't already unusual enough for Taeyang to have been awake at four in the morning that one night, it's not any better that he's fully dozing off at four in the afternoon, either.

Their schedules are hectic and they're more overworked than not, but that was never much of an issue for Taeyang before. That is, until recently. Sleep doesn't come no matter how tired he is. His mind won't calm no matter how hard he tries. The more he lies there awake trying to quiet his thoughts, the louder and more rapid they bite at him.

He thinks about how poorly he's slept these past couple of weeks—if he's even gotten any real, decent rest at all. Just now, however, while waiting for Jongseob for not even a full thirty minutes, he's had the best nap of his entire life.

“Hmm, better,” Taeyang yawns as he slips one hand out of Jongseob's and finds his wrist instead. He tugs him gently, motioning, gesturing. “Come closer.”

Jongseob shuffles and lets himself be tugged and dragged and pulled in any direction by Taeyang. Physically, metaphorically. Willingly, poetically.

Inside the carefully constructed space that is Jongseob's studio, once the blackout curtains are drawn all the way, no light from the outside can find its way in. And of course, Jongseob has the exact layout of this room memorized to a tee: tall shelf on the right, desk at the far end, smaller drawer underneath, gaming chair tucked in only halfway, speakers facing inwards by thirty degrees, floor lamp in the left corner, leather sofa right beside it. All the little details, all the gadgets and equipment are exactly where they should be, exactly where they've always been. 

Except for the coffee table that is supposed to be directly in front of the sofa, now just slightly off to the left.

Except for the addition of a whole entire human being, who seems to have already found his preferred spot in this place, and is now making sure Jongseob knows exactly where that is.

Taeyang pulls Jongseob in, and Jongseob falls straight into his arms, crashing onto his body without much resistance. Pliant and easy and natural.

They both let out a huff of air when their bodies clash into each other and fall back against the sofa as one.

When Jongseob tries to push himself up so his entire weight isn't on top of Taeyang's body, Taeyang just snakes his arms around Jongseob’s waist and holds him tighter, stopping him from moving around. Jongseob gives up without a fight, not that he really tried to begin with.

“Hi there. You smell nice,” Taeyang comments on the faint fragrance that's uniquely Jongseob.

It's not the first time Taeyang has mentioned Jongseob smelling nice, that he always picks the right perfume to match the weather and the mood, that it suits him well, that he's pretty and sweet and clever.

The compliment makes Jongseob's face heat up. And even though he knows Taeyang can't see the flush of his cheeks, he for sure can feel it when Jongseob buries his face into the crook of Taeyang's neck.

For a moment, Jongseob considers hiding there forever, but realizes there's really no point in that when he's already laid himself bare a long time ago.

They stay like that for some time, without any words exchanged. Taeyang just continues to lightly pat the narrow space between Jongseob's shoulder blades, as if he were petting the soft little section between a cat's two ears.

The consistent, unchanging beat of Taeyang's touch against Jongseob's back is the only indication that Taeyang hasn't fallen asleep again.

Right now, Jongseob's senses feel amplified in the silence, magnified by the darkness. He tilts his head slightly, angles upwards, and plants the ghost of a touch to Taeyang's neck with his lips. It wouldn't count a kiss, it's not even close to a peck. Just a chaste touch that mirrors a cat nuzzling you because he trusts and loves you.

It's enough to make Taeyang's hand stop mid-air for a solid, muted second. But soon enough, it falls back, and this time it stays there.

Now is the time, Jongseob thinks. He has to ask, he wants to stop worrying, or at least worry less, if that’s possible. He’s not sure, but he has to try.

“Taeyang, tell me,” Jongseob whispers beside Taeyang's ear, without much confidence but with a whole lot of resolve. He hesitates for a beat, then nearly pleads, “Can you tell me what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

Of course Taeyang knows that Jongseob will catch on soon enough, will notice something isn't quite right even though he can't exactly pinpoint what that is. Taeyang knows for a fact that Jongseob, being ever so observant in general, but especially when it comes to Taeyang, quickly sensed that something was off during their four-in-the-morning encounter.

Taeyang knows he can't run away forever. He didn't, actually. Not away, but instead, towards. Subconsciously for the most part, because they've always been drawn to each other even in a room full of people; they orbit one another until they eventually meet in the middle. It's just that Taeyang didn't realize he was seeking a sense of closeness and calm within the storm until he was physically in Jongseob's space. There’s a sort of familiarity and ease here, with Jongseob around.

“You don't have to tell me everything,” Jongseob continues, determined but worried nonetheless. “Just–If there's anything I can do that might help, please tell me?”

There's an ache in Taeyang's heart, a tender thing that doesn't know what to do sometimes. He seems to always know what to say and when to say them, but away from the public, away from all the noise and the lights, Taeyang feels like any ordinary guy in his mid-twenties, trying to figure life out like everybody else.

Though there's definitely a pressure for him to know the right thing to say, and the right time to say them. Because he's older—the oldest in the group, even—and supposedly wiser, with more responsibility attached to him whether he likes it or not.

But when Taeyang thinks about Jongseob, who's had a childhood unlike most regular kids—unlike the children running around the park after school, the teenagers cramming for exams, the college students enjoying club activities, and the young adults getting their first jobs post-graduation. Taeyang's heart aches in a way he can't put into words.

Sweet, kind, and so incredibly caring, Jongseob is. The soft spot Taeyang undeniably has for Jongseob only grows bigger and fonder with time.

“Okay,” Taeyang finally says after getting stuck in his thoughts once again. He pushes himself up, and pulls Jongseob up with him. They're crammed on the sofa together, with Jongseob practically sitting in Taeyang's lap. It's way too dark to see each other clearly, and Taeyang wants to see Jongseob properly, needs to look at him. “Should we turn on the lights?”

“Ah, yeah. We probably should. Let me just–” Jongseob half crawls off of Taeyang and reaches over to turn on the lamp beside his desk. The soft, yellow glow illuminates the room at last.

Taeyang gently tugs Jongseob back onto his lap.

It's funny how they see each other all the time, have seen each other almost every single day for more than half a decade now, and whether it's in practice rooms, event venues, or at their dorm, they always find a way to be closer.

In these specific moments, though, when it's just the two of them alone in their own little world, Taeyang is finally able to relax and let go. He finally allows himself to be taken care of.

Jongseob is waiting, patiently waiting for Taeyang's next words. He looks away for a second, looks around the room without searching for anything in particular. Then, he turns back to face Taeyang, gives him a small, reassuring smile reserved only for him.

“Sorry for worrying you,” Taeyang apologizes before anything, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Jongseob's ear. Jongseob's hair is getting even longer now, and Taeyang finds running his fingers through it very soothing. Jongseob seems to feel the same, his body visibility relaxing at the gesture. “I've just had a lot on my mind lately, feeling more stressed than usual, and I think it's really messing with my sleep. I don't think I've slept more than ten hours combined this past week.”

Jongseob frowns upon hearing the words leaving Taeyang's mouth like they personally attacked him. In a way, they did, because the idea of Taeyang, who loves his rest and his massage chair and his relaxation, not sleeping well hurts him, too.

“How long has it been?” Jongseob asks, concern written all over his face.

“Two…almost three weeks, I think.” Taeyang's not sure exactly when this started, but it sure feels way longer, like he’s been awake for months or years.

“Have you told the others?” The questions just keep spilling out once the dam cracks, and Jongseob can't seem to stop himself. “Last time you came over to my studio…that night–No, that morning…When was it again? I should've let you sleep–I knew you looked tired but I still made you listen to the demo…I'm horrible. I should’ve noticed sooner, what was I thinking? Wait–Does Keeho know? Did you go to the doctors? I think it's best to get a check-up, no? Isn’t there a clinic near the company? I can go with you. I mean…only if you want? Or maybe we could–”

A million things are running through Jongseob’s head. He’s twisting his body around looking for his phone to search something up. Damn it, where did I put my phone, Jongseob pats his pockets only to find both of them empty.

“Jongseob, Kim Jongseob.” Taeyang puts his hands on Jongseob’s shoulders to get his attention, and has to physically twist Jongseob back to facing him. “My talented, genius rapper, hey. Insane bars I gotta admit, but breathe, please.”

Taeyang fights the urge to kiss him then and there. It’d probably have the opposite effect of helping Jongseob catch his breath, but it’s a want nonetheless. Taeyang can want things, too.

He leans in and kisses Jongseob’s forehead instead.

That does the job. Jongseob freezes, and seconds later, finally inhales sharply before letting out all the air in his lungs.

“There we go,” Taeyang says as he gives Jongseob’s shoulders a light squeeze. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

Honestly speaking, he didn’t think Jongseob would react so frantically. He knew Jongseob would be worried, and would try to offer any kind of help he can think of, because Jongseob is Jongseob, and he is sweet and kind and helpful. But Taeyang really was not prepared for this.

This being—Jongseob refusing to look at Taeyang when he’s usually so intent on eye contact and giving his undivided attention to take Taeyang in.

This being—Jongseob reaching out his shaky hands to pick at the hem of Taeyang’s sweater, clearly fidgeting and trying to keep his hands busy.

This being—Jongseob finally looking up, brows knitted, eyes filled with tears so close to falling, and kissing Taeyang with an urgency that makes both of them feverish.

Before Taeyang can even register what’s happening, before he has the chance to kiss Jongseob back the way he so desperately wants to, Jongseob is already pulling away. The kiss breaks as fast as it started, and that seems to startle Jongseob a little, too, even though he was the one who initiated it.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed—it certainly won’t be the last either—but it’s also not exactly something that happens all that often. And considering their situation now, the position they’re in, Jongseob can’t help but feel extra vulnerable, a bit embarrassed, and a lot shy.

He drops his head on Taeyang’s shoulder and doesn’t dare move. He will not cry. He doesn’t even know why he’s tearing up now of all times. He hasn’t cried in so long, it doesn’t make sense to him why this is happening. Jongseob feels his eyes sting, and he can hardly blink the tears away. But he will not cry. 

As always, Taeyang just lets him be, allows Jongseob to go through what he needs to, when he needs to. And when Jongseob is ready, he will always return in his own ways, knowing that Taeyang will be there. And it’s true, Taeyang will always be there.

It goes without saying that Taeyang will give Jongseob anything he wants, because it simply feels like the natural thing to do. To indulge him, to praise him, to love him, unconditionally.

“It’s okay,” Taeyang says as he runs his fingers through Jongseob’s hair, caresses the back of his head so intimately it makes Jongseob shiver. Whether Taeyang is talking about Jongseob or himself, both hold true. This really is okay, and they’ll always be. “Sorry again, for worrying you. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Jongseob shakes his head, still resting against Taeyang’s shoulder, then admits, “The thought of you not being well makes me feel so…I don’t know–I’m not upset at you or anything like that. I could never. Maybe a bit frustrated? At myself mostly, not at you–never at you. Just sad and helpless for not knowing what to do to fix it?”

“It’s not your job to fix anything, you know that.” Taeyang needs Jongseob to understand that. He trusts that Jongseob does, even though it’s so very much like him to want to hold onto that responsibility.

“I know, but…” Jongseob tries to protest, but knows Taeyang is right. “I just wish there was more I could do.”

Jongseob finally lets go of the sweater hem that he’s been fiddling with all this while and sneaks his hand underneath the fabric where he can feel the soft skin of Taeyang’s stomach. He runs his hand slowly along Taeyang’s waist. The physical contact grounds him. The closer they are, the more Jongseob feels the fire inside him come alive.

Can Taeyang hear how loud his heart is beating? Can Taeyang feel the heat of the flame that is emitting from his soul? Does Taeyang know how much Jongseob is willing to ignite his very own being in order to create warmth and light for him?

And maybe Taeyang does know, because he says, with no trace of doubt or question, “You do so much for me, you help me in so many ways. You’re there for me even when it gets too much for all of us, when we’re stressed and sensitive, when we’re sick. You’ve always been there, and I have never, will never take that for grant–Ow!–”

Jongseob suddenly bites down on the juncture between Taeyang’s neck and shoulder. His snaggle tooth grazes sharply at the skin for a split second before he releases the bite and kisses the same spot to soothe.

If Taeyang were being honest, sometimes he doesn’t quite understand Jongseob’s actions either (he accepts them nonetheless and finds Jongseob absolutely endearing that’s for sure). Whenever Jongseob seems to act purely on instinct, like a stray cat still unsure whether to trust you or be wary and guarded, Taeyang knows all he has to do is be patient, wait, and let Jongseob figure it out. And Jongseob always does in due time, after a little internal struggle that he has to go through first. Once he has it all sorted out in his head, he’ll come back, make his way back into Taeyang’s orbit, and stick closely by him.

“What was that for?” Taeyang asks with a knowing smile.

“No reason,” Jongseob answers as he shrugs sheepishly, then kisses Taeyang’s neck a few more times just because.

At last, Jongseob lifts his head, and his glistening eyes meet Taeyang’s. He smiles that signature smile of his—the one reserved specifically for Taeyang—where his eyes crinkle into two thin lines and his canine peeks out.

They both lean into each other, in sync as always, and close the distance.

——

October passes in the blink of an eye, with days blending into nights and nights bleeding into days. Everyone has been busy with their own roles in the team—producing, choreographing, recording, you name it. Everyday is merely a slightly different variation of practice and rehearsals, rinse and repeat, over and over.

Jongseob has practically been living in his studio for weeks now, barely having the time or energy to go back to their dorm. He does miss the comfort of his own room, but the leather sofa isn't half as bad to sleep on. It might even be better than his own bed, considering how much he invested in it to begin with.

In here, he loses track of time, forgets what it means to have a regular sleep-wake cycle, forgets how to function like a proper human being when work takes over in the form of his stream of consciousness. Jongseob finds that truly nothing feels as freeing as this. Being able to pour his heart into music and his soul into lyrics. Being able to turn the fleeting thoughts in his head into something tangible and real.

The song he’s been working on for the past two months is finally coming together in the way he’s envisioned. Jongseob turns up the volume, presses play, and leans back into his chair. He closes his eyes, tries to really focus on all the newly added sound effects and textures.

It sounds good, Jongseob has to admit. Along with the subtle effects that give extra character, the textures create a unique set of layers that perfectly ties the melody together with the beat. It’s not perfect just yet, but it’s surely getting there.

Jongseob thinks of Taeyang then. He wonders where Taeyang is right now, wonders what he’s up to, misses him suddenly.

But before Jongseob can let the thought of Taeyang distract him fully, he gets up from his chair, stretches his stiff body that kind of aches everywhere, and sits back down for one last listen before calling it a day. Just in case he missed a detail here, just in case he forgot to adjust a transition there. Just in case.

One last listen, Jongseob tells himself. Right as his finger hovers over the space bar, he hears the beep beep beep of the passcode being pressed from the other side of the door.

The only person besides Jongseob himself who knows the code to his studio is Taeyang, so Jongseob doesn’t know where this sudden surge of anxiety is coming from. Though he wouldn’t typically describe himself as an anxious person, because he’s not worried, or on edge, or scared easily. It’s not any of these things, but there’s an undeniable tightness in his chest that he can’t ignore. The obvious speeding of his heart, the clammy hands, they must mean something.

Maybe it’s the lack of proper sleep, or too much caffeine, or even stress that he didn’t know was piling up. Maybe it’s something else entirely, maybe he’s coming down with the flu.

Taeyang comes through the door, wearing the leather jacket he thrifted last time they were in Tokyo for a schedule. He looks so stunning Jongseob feels the need to keep looking and look away at the same time.

Greedily, Jongseob keeps staring. This is his studio after all, and this is Taeyang willingly stepping into his space.

Without getting up from his gaming chair, Jongseob watches Taeyang walk directly towards him, not breaking eye contact even once. Every approaching step makes Jongseob’s heart beat wildly in his chest. He must be getting ill. His body feels scorching hot, and his head spins when Taeyang stops and stands between his legs.

From their positions, Jongseob has to look up at Taeyang. And for the millionth time, Jongseob wonders how someone can look so beautiful at any given time of the day, even with their current mess of a schedule.

Taeyang’s expression is a little hard to read—drained but focused, soft but determined. Despite the hecticness that is inevitable during comeback preparations, Jongseob can definitely tell that Taeyang is looking and feeling better these days. His dark circles are less prominent, and cheeks less sunken in (Jongseob can confirm because he softly pinched them two days ago). His smiles reach his eyes more, and he laughs around others without having to force it out of himself.

Jongseob notices, is always noticing. He can never quite tear his eyes away from Taeyang for long anyway. Even right now, he blinks up at Taeyang, and wants.

He reaches his arms out and grabs the lapels of Taeyang’s unzipped leather jacket. Pulls Taeyang forward without exerting much strength at all, because he know Taeyang will follow. And without Jongseob having to ask, Taeyang already knows.

“I missed you,” Jongseob confesses in between breaths and kisses. “I was just thinking about you.”

“What a coincidence. I was thinking about you too.” Taeyang grins as he cradles Jongseob’s face in his hands, and strokes his cheek with the pad of his thumb, asks, “How’s the song coming along?”

“Almost done, I think. Just have some final touches left and a bit more revising after that,” Jongseob explains away as Taeyang easily maneuvers their bodies around. Taeyang now sitting on the chair, and Jongseob ending up in his lap once again. Not that he’s complaining or anything; there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here. Jongseob then offers, “Wanna listen to it together?”

Jongseob can feel Taeyang lean forward, as Taeyang’s chest comes in full contact with his entire back, pressing against him, caging him in. Taeyang wraps his arms around Jongseob’s waist before lightly kissing the back of his neck—exactly where the delicate artwork has made its permanent stay—and rests his chin on Jongseob’s left shoulder.

“Yep, let’s hear it,” Taeyang agrees, snuggling even closer. His right cheek flush against the crook of Jongseob's neck.

In the comfort and safety of Taeyang’s embrace, Jongseob hits the space bar with newfound confidence, and lets his creation fill the room once again.

As soon as the song starts playing, Taeyang finds himself already smiling fondly, at how insanely proud he is of Jongseob. His heart swells, and he holds onto Jongseob just a little tighter, hoping to convey all the affection, pride, and utmost respect for all this talent harboring inside Jongseob's body.

“So. What do you think?” Jongseob asks shyly but curious to hear Taeyang's thoughts as the song comes to an end.

Even after all these years of being in the industry, with far more experience than most at his age, and having his name credited on tens almost hundreds of songs by now, Jongseob still finds it nerve-racking, letting such intimate parts of his heart and soul be perceived.

“I love it. It's incredible. You're incredible, you know that?” Taeyang showers him with never-ending praise. “Everyone's going to love it, I don’t doubt that one bit. Our members, the fans, people hearing your work for the first time, they're all going to love it, because it's that good. You're just that amazing, and hardworking, and so brilliant.”

“Thank you.” Jongseob takes in all of Taeyang’s kind and reassuring words, holds them close to his heart. He only half jokes when he asks, “Are you sure you're not just saying that because you're biased?”

Jongseob knows better than anyone that Taeyang wouldn’t lie to him, wouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean. Jongseob knows that they share something special, even if it’s still unnamed. Even if it never gets a name. Jongseob knows that the loud thump thump thump of his heart matches that of Taeyang’s very own. In this very moment, it couldn’t be more clear to the both of them.

“Maybe so, but I can also be objective when needed.” Taeyang presses his nose into Jongseob’s neck, sniffing the lingering scent of sandalwood and warm vanilla, and professes, “Whatever it is, I’ll gladly give you everything.”

Jongseob realizes, not for the first time, that love confessions truly come in all forms. Words, actions, a mixture of both. Physical, abstract, a synthesis of the two. It often catches Jongseob off guard how seemingly casual Taeyang can say these weighted words that hold so much meaning. Not in a way that is burdensome. Rather, with so much sincerity and intent that has Jongseob feeling electrified and sentimental. It never fails to make him feel valued and cared for and understood in the most vulnerable of ways.

“I–That’s…Oh.” Jongseob’s mind goes blank. He’s suddenly so overwhelmed with emotion he completely loses the ability to form any proper response.

“You’re cute,” Taeyang declares tenderly.

Jongseob hides his blushing face behind his hands, and tries to squirm out of Taeyang’s hold. Taeyang just laughs, completely enamoured, and watches as Jongseob slides off his lap as if made of water. Jongseob stays crouched on the floor by Taeyang’s feet, like a small, timid cat quietly seeking warmth.

Sometimes Taeyang really believes that Jongseob must be a cat trapped inside a human’s body. Because when he reaches his hand out to stroke Jongseob’s hair, Jongseob immediately closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

It’s sweet. The way Jongseob responds to Taeyang’s affection so naturally. In a universe so vast, in a world filled with so many people, it truly is a wonder how two individuals are able to cross paths and find their way towards each other like this.

Fated may sound too dramatic, but what else are they meant to call what they have?

“Jongseob,” Taeyang says, still gently and carefully stroking his hair. “Shall we go? Let’s get some fresh air, and maybe some food, yeah?”

Jongseob looks up and nods a few times, lets himself be pulled up to his feet by Taeyang. He stumbles while trying to regain his balance, and Taeyang has to steady him by the shoulders.

“When did you last eat something?” Taeyang worries.

“Hmm…dunno, don’t remember…” Jongseob mumbles, looking like he's ready to fall asleep standing up.

“Alright,” Taeyang decides for them both. “Fresh air, good food, then a long nap.” 

Taeyang picks up Jongseob's hoodie from the sofa and helps him put the garment on. Like a life-sized doll completely drained of energy, Jongseob stands there, a little wobbly, and lets Taeyang do everything for him. Lets Taeyang fix his hair that got tussled. Lets Taeyang lead the way—hand in hand—through the alleyways and around food stalls. Lets Taeyang have full control because there's no one else he trusts more to do so.

They make it back to their dorm in under half an hour, thanks to Taeyang making all the decisions and stops along the way as quickly as possible. Jongseob kicks off his boots messily (Taeyang places them neatly into the shoe rack for him) and beelines to the couch in the living room.

He flops himself onto his usual spot on the left end of the couch and immediately curls into a tiny ball.

Taeyang places the food on the table and heads to the kitchen for some water. By the time he returns to the living room and puts the mugs down, Jongseob is already fast asleep.

And as much as Taeyang doesn't want to disturb his sleep, he's pretty certain Jongseob hasn't eaten all day. He needs to get something in his system before passing out for god knows how many hours straight.

Apologetically, Taeyang gives Jongseob's shoulder a few light taps, to which he only gets a groggy, barely audible whine in response.

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.” He sweeps Jongseob's overgrown bangs away from his face and genuinely feels bad for trying to wake him up. Taeyang knows how exhausted Jongseob must be, always working such long hours and forgetting to rest or take proper care of himself. Always exerting every bit of brain power to produce his best work and nothing less. “But you have to eat a little, or at least drink some water.”

Jongseob frowns, but eventually uncurls himself and sits up. Because his mouth is starting to feel like the coarsest grit of sandpaper in existence and his stomach won't stop grumbling; he can't fall asleep like this anyway.

“Thanks, you're the best,” Jongseob says languidly as he accepts the mug from Taeyang's extended hand and slowly downs the whole thing in one go.

He quietly watches as Taeyang moves about their flat, going from the living room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to his bedroom, from his bedroom to the bathroom, then passing the living room to head to the kitchen again. Taeyang is unusually restless, hasn’t stopped moving around since they got back. Shuffling from one room to another, retrieving his laundry from the drying rack, washing up some bowls and spoons left in the sink, tidying up all their shoes in the entryway.

Steps light and soundless in the way a cat walks, Jongseob gets up from the couch and makes his way to the entryway where Taeyang is crouched down, back facing him, lining up their shoes. The sight makes Jongseob’s heart skip a beat. The calm domesticity of it all, accompanied by Taeyang humming to himself.

(Taeyang doesn’t seem to realize it himself, but he’s humming to the melody of Jongseob’s new song.)

Especially in moments like these, Jongseob wishes he could capture the essence and beauty of it all, encapsulate this specific sentiment, frame by frame, into a pretty little snow globe. And perhaps that’s what music is to him—a way to capture and relive the most precious and meaningful moments in his life, ones he never wishes to forget.

Taeyang is so immersed in the task at hand he doesn’t notice Jongseob behind him. So when he stands up and turns around, he bumps straight into Jongseob. A muffled oomph! escapes him, and he feels Jongseob's arms wrap around him in the clingy way he gets when he’s tired and emotional.

“Hyung,” Jongseob whispers right into Taeyang's ear. Instead of asking Taeyang why he's so restless, he just says, “Come back.”

When Jongseob smooshes his entire body into Taeyang like this, pressing every inch of himself against Taeyang’s bigger frame, it makes Taeyang feel alive. It reminds him that everything will be okay again. One way or another.

The warmth emitting from Jongseob’s body, the pressure of Jongseob’s arms locking him in. The rise and fall of Jongseob’s chest against his very own, the beating of their hearts blending together to create their very own song. A natural balance that paces itself just right, moving alongside each other rather than one far ahead or another falling behind.

Sometimes Jongseob blazes like an exposed flame, burning with enough passion to intimidate. Yet, Taeyang has never been put off or scared away by such ambition. He welcomes it—every facet of Jongseob’s being—with open arms. Sometimes even going out of his way to seek it, not devastating like a moth to flame, but rather, calm in the way a cat follows the moving sun patch.

Taeyang hums an okay, and allows himself to be led back to the living room by a sleepy Jongseob.

“Take a nap with me?” Jongseob asks with pleading eyes as he plops himself back onto the couch, this time pulling Taeyang down with him so they’re lying together. “Please?”

And who is Taeyang to deny Jongseob of anything?

Without having to contemplate for even one full second, Taeyang turns his body towards Jongseob and nods. “Of course.”

At that, Jongseob immediately snuggles closer and makes a content noise. His arm comes up to drape across Taeyang’s middle as Taeyang runs his fingers through Jongseob’s hair. The closeness is comforting and assuaging, slowly but surely washing away the stress and anxiety that has accumulated over the weeks. And while they can’t control the chaos and busyness that surrounds them, this quiet intimacy that they share together has both of them quickly drifting off to sleep.

——

Later that evening, Jiung comes back to find the dorm in complete silence, which is normal; the three of them are so perfectly suited to living together in the sense that off-hours are meant for one’s own.

What does surprise him though—in the best and most relieving way—is finding his two housemates cuddled up on the couch, tangled together like two cats peacefully sharing warmth and mutual trust.

Jiung knows that it’s been rough for all of them lately. Knows, or rather hears, Taeyang uncharacteristically shuffling around their flat during the wee hours of the night. Some days Taeyang and Jongseob will come back together, but that has also been rare considering Jongseob basically lives in his studio these days, only coming home to shower and change before immediately heading out again.

The sight before him makes Jiung smile. And for a second, he considers taking his phone out to snap a picture, just to have this sweet moment captured forever. But he decides against it, because something about it feels too private, too intimate. Meant only for Taeyang and Jongseob, and maybe the few people around them whom they trust enough to let their walls down.

Jiung goes to his room, grabs a spare blanket (the softest one he can find), and steps back into the living room as quietly as possible.

It genuinely surprises him how soundlessly they’re sleeping, because even as Jiung walks up to them, drapes the blanket over their bodies and adjusts it so that they’re both covered and cozy, neither Taeyang nor Jongseob stir awake.

How precious, Jiung thinks as he returns to his room with a much more relaxed heart and assured soul. He takes one more look at his lovely housemates before closing his door, wishes, Goodnight, sleep well.