trip easy [2/2]

[teddyescher]

it looms closer.

(what does?)

the end.

in a sense, bobby still hasn’t had it come crashing down upon him, yet. he guesses he’s lucky, in a way. it still doesn’t feel like reality. the fact that three years of work is finally going to pay off. the impact hasn’t borne itself down upon him just yet. it still doesn’t feel like reality, the fact that there are now a dozen cameras surrounding him during the day, and even more to come in the future, once the smoke clears, once the fog fades.

just the other night, donghyuk had shot up straight in bed, breath racing and voice coming in hasty, self-realising whispers, we’re almost there, so close, we’re actually doing this.

and they are. they’re inches away from what they’ve all been striving for, now.

bobby had always wondered how it’d be, if it had just been the three of them. just like it had been in the start. just the three of them. hanbin, jinhwan, bobby. the unbeatable trio, bobby used to joke during dinner, back in the day. rap, dance, vocals. they’ve got it covered.

jinhwan had given him that trademark look, and had just said, big dreams for a little kid.

you’re one to talk, hanbin had commented offhandedly.

man, had he gotten it from jinhwan, that day.

but, now?

now, bobby can’t imagine taking the stage without the others. without all six of them, right up there on stage. the other five, right next to him. team b. but not as team b. winner, maybe. yeah. winner. the syllables feel awkward in his mouth, but he shrugs the feeling off. they’ve got this.

they’ll be winner. all six of them. they haven’t done all this for nothing.

bobby leans back in his chair, glances over at where hanbin is lying down, spread out across the couch, snapback tilted at an angle over his face, and says, “hey.”

“mm,” answers hanbin.

bobby nudges his foot. “hey,” he repeats, and hanbin tugs the cap down, looks up at him, eyes half-lidded, the sleep evident in the lines of his face. “go home. i’ll take over until tomorrow.” they still have some work to do on the original song. they still haven’t tracked vocals over teddy’s song, either. hanbin’s been worrying himself to pieces over their schedule, and all bobby wants to do is shove him back into a bed and make him stay there for the next year or so. but he’s a little too realistic to afford those thoughts. those thoughts go stuffed into a corner of his mind, tucked away along with all the other hanbin-thoughts that he doesn’t allow himself to ponder on for too long.

“then you’ll just be alone.” hanbin tugs himself back up, and lets out a monstrous yawn, stretching till his joints pop. “working alone is boring as fuck. i’d know.”

“yeah, yeah.” bobby reaches out with a hand. “come here.”

hanbin considers this for a moment, before getting up to drop into the chair beside bobby, scooting closer until bobby’s arm rests easily along the line of his shoulders. “you gonna ease me out?” asks hanbin teasingly. the double-meaning isn’t hard to catch. bobby flicks his temple and snorts. cheeky kid. thinking he can bypass surveilance with thinly-veiled remarks and sharp comments.

“keep dreaming.” bobby lets their heads fall together, even as they observe their work on the screen. comfortable. easy. they’re only missing one piece of the puzzle. but working like this has always been a hanbin-and-bobby thing. the same way those fleeting touches and everchanging expressions are a jinhwan-and-hanbin thing. the same way the too-honest conversations at odd hours of the night are a bobby-and-jinhwan thing.

the puzzle comes together several ways. but in the end, all the pieces are needed to complete it.

in the same way, bobby is content to let hanbin rest his head along the dip of his neck, just until the sun comes up. just until he can sink his attention into the curve of jinhwan’s smile when he opens the door to find them here, just until he can settle back into the comfort of jinhwan’s hand on the small of his back during dance practices, just until he can find the same old wishful thinking.

(he’s the one who keeps dreaming, really.)

junhwe is the one who comes up with hanbin’s birthday surprise. he comes up with most of the surprises, here. past birthdays, little events with the other trainees. he’d been the one to orchestrate the prank on jinhwan, too. excitable thing, he is, whenever it comes to things like these.

“track over it,” he tells bobby, grinning widely. “he won’t know what’s coming.”

“you guys are awful,” comments donghyuk, shaking his head. “who’s paying for the cake?”

“not it,” goes half the room immediately.

it’s almost amusing to see the blood drain out of hanbin’s face, later, when he’s told by one of the staff members that he’s going to have to rework the entire song. bobby can only imagine how he’s feeling. he nearly cackles when hanbin returns and sits slumped in a chair, only moving to run the song once more to see what he can switch about.

“well, at least we’ll be up all night on your birthday,” says bobby sombrely, and hanbin just presses his face against the desk in frustration.

and it’s an even better feeling when hanbin glances up in utter confusion at the horrifying voice singing happy birthday over the track. bobby holds up their hastily-scribbled homemade birthday card (happy birthday, you fool!) for the cameras as the others grin madly at hanbin’s reaction. hanbin threatens to hit them all, but the smile on his face is wider than anything bobby’s seen in the past few days. it’s beautiful.

and the party hats were totally yunhyung’s idea.

“happy birthday, hanbin-ah,” says jinhwan fondly, patting his shoulder, and hanbin beams back, halfway through a packet of fries. the staff had treated them to a round of mcdonalds. pre-battle days have never tasted sweeter than the big mac in bobby’s hands. “sorry we didn’t get you anything proper.”

“you don’t need to,” says hanbin, and it’s honest, the words are. everything about hanbin is honest. sincere. believable. “i have all of you here already.”

“isn’t that line from a movie?” comments yunhyung playfully, and bobby guffaws. “you’re losing touch with your originality, hanbin.”

“hush,” says hanbin, “or i’ll reduce your lines.”

“hey!”

later at night, bobby makes up for their lack of a present for hanbin by snatching him away to the kitchen, and sitting him down in front of jinhwan and bobby for a shared bowl of ramyun with a little happy birthday placard sticking out of a fishball. and it’s totally a present. bobby doesn’t just cook for anyone in particular.

“cute,” comments hanbin, smiling up at them as he spoons soup into his mouth. “i’m surprised you let bobby-hyung near the stove at all, jinhwan-hyung.”

“he had adult supervision,” says jinhwan mildly, waving away bobby’s indignance.

“do you want me to bring the party hats out again?”

hanbin taps bobby’s nose with the end of his chopsticks. “that’ll be the end of you.”

“brat,” says bobby, but it’s too affectionate to be anything other than a pet name, and hanbin makes a face at the word.

“well,” says jinhwan, “we would have given you something other than the noodles, but i don’t think it’d be fit for broadcast.”

the words send hanbin spluttering, and bobby laughing soundlessly.

jinhwan smiles. a mischievous thing when he wants to be. “relax,” he says, reaching over to thump hanbin on the back. hanbin swallows his mouthful of noodles, and levels a glare in their direction. “just kidding.”

“yeah, well.” hanbin clears his throat. “i wasn’t kidding, you know. i mean. i really am just satisfied with everyone here.” he adds, voice quieter now, “with the both of you, here.”

the room is silent, minus the sound of their breathing, utensils clacking, and the whir of fans.

“good,” says jinhwan, finally, “because you’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

hanbin smiles, slow-spreading. “good,” he replies. “i’m glad.”

bobby reaches over and ruffles his hair. “happy birthday,” he says again, and lets his hand linger on hanbin’s cheek just a second too long, and he repeats, softer, “happy birthday, hanbin.”

“yeah,” comes hanbin’s voice, and it’s a bare whisper now, though his smile is still present. “thanks, guys.”

they still have time to figure this out. there’s a time and place for everything.

all they need for now is the understanding that runs between them, and the smiles that match in coherent silence.

(they eat amidst easy conversation until three in the morning. bobby likes it like this. conversation that flows without a rock in its way to cease its steady streaming. when hanbin and bobby are put at the same table, the words never stop. but when jinhwan joins them, the words take a turn for quality, instead of quantity.

jinhwan watches bobby and hanbin battle for the final fishball for about five minutes, before he picks it straight out of the bowl and pops it into his mouth. bobby and hanbin stare at each other for a good five seconds before jinhwan waves cheerfully, and slips away to his room with a last greeting of goodnight.

“knew it,” comments hanbin, dropping his chopsticks into the bowl, and bobby shakes his head.)

this is all they need.

the final stage is not nearly as wide as the stage he sees in his dreams, not by a mile, but it’s getting closer. this is as close as it gets, for now. and he’ll take it with arms outstretched.

it’s a rush of moments, of crowds of people and hurried staff members, of hastily plastered-over in-ear tape and last minute whispered reruns of lyrics and pats on the back all around, of their team getting ready to go up there and do what they were meant to do. do what they were brought together for. and that’s to take the crowd by storm.

to show everyone who the winner really is.

towards the end is where it gets tougher to sit still. team a is out there, performing their song, and even though bobby’s eyes are trained on the screen backstage, where the rest of them are monitoring the onstage performance, he can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like when they’re out there one last time. one last stage. one last performance.

his limbs are aching (their limbs are aching) but the adrenaline that runs through him (that runs through them) is enough to keep him (keep them) going for days.

this is their time.

two seats away, donghyuk is absently rubbing at his shoulder, still a little sore from the tumbling, and on one side, hanbin’s gaze is completely still, focused on the monitor before them. the other has jinhwan quietly observing the screen as well. behind, yunhyung is mouthing lyrics to himself quietly, and junhwe has fallen back into his nervous knee-jiggling habit.

there are bare minutes left before it’s their turn again. a skeleton frame of time that encloses the air around them, that squeezes tight and reminds them that it’s almost them, it’s almost them, it’s almost them.

bobby can barely wait.

seeing his mother’s face on the screen, just a few moments prior-that had been enough to threaten to set off the waterworks, almost. but bobby is stronger than that. bobby-he can’t let himself cry. not now. not yet. there’s a time and place for everything, rings a familiar voice in his head.

she’d seemed so proud, though. so had his brother. bobby recalls their smiles, the looks on their faces. he hopes he can live up to those expectations. he just hopes.

“hey,” comes hanbin’s voice from beside him, and bobby turns to see him, just looking at bobby, that same old contemplative expression on his face. “you’re thinking too loud.”

the words are familiar. bobby takes comfort in them, and lets his lips twist into a smile. “and when do i ever not?” he replies. easy banter. hanbin knows these returns as well as he does. and bobby knows that hanbin does. “and you,” adds bobby, “both of you.” hanbin shifts, close enough that their shoulders brush. jinhwan leans in out of familiarity. “you’re both thinking too quietly. i can’t hear you guys.”

“what did you want to hear?” jinhwan’s eyes curve when he smiles, this time. bobby hopes the final stage won’t take away too much of that smile. “how terrified we are about the performance?”

“not that.” the side of bobby’s hand grazes gently against hanbin’s, and then jinhwan’s. it’s a risk. it is the roll of a dice with a prayer that none of the faces show up. it is bobby letting his hands creep closer, until his palms are half over the top of hanbin’s hand and the curve of jinhwan’s thumb, warmth emanating, skin against skin. hanbin lets out a barely-there breath, but doesn’t pull away. jinhwan just looks down at their hands, all three sets of hands, quietly. “you know,” says bobby. soft, teasing. “how glad you are that i’m here right next to you two.”

to his credit, hanbin only lets out a tiny little bark of a laugh, shaking his head. “you think way too highly of yourself,” he says, but he lets his hand turn over. palm to palm. bobby’s fingers thread between his, light and unexpecting. “but i am,” continues hanbin, not meeting bobby’s gaze. “i’m glad.”

“me too,” says jinhwan, and their hands slip together too. more warmth. more assuagement. if they had been standing, it would have been close enough for hanbin to curl his fingers around jinhwan’s too. “i just,” says jinhwan, “i’m glad it’s the both of you.”

and, oh. bobby wonders if this is the adrenaline now, that’s making his heart race this fast-or is it just the way hanbin and jinhwan’s grips on bobby’s hands tighten when team a finishes their performance onscreen, falling into the interval period between their stages? perhaps both. and maybe, it’s just tinged by the fear that never seems to depart, the fear that always arises in his chest. but there is no time for fear now, not in these moments.

“we have to stand-by, now,” says hanbin, and their hands pull apart. “come on.” hanbin raises his voice just enough for the rest of the members’ attention to be hooked, and he says, “showtime, guys.”

bobby breathes in; anticipation. and he breathes out; alacrity.

the remaining footsteps will come to him. they will. he’ll meet them running.

what’s the limit, anyway?

(there is none.)

he hears his name amidst the scrambled shouts and screams syllable-bare; he hears his name and the names of the others too. he hears bobby junhwe donghyuk hanbin yunhyung jinhwan and he hears the echo of their exhilaration falling back onto them, from the animated audience to the slow-setting lights that shine down upon them now.

the stage is doused in a dim blue-grey, but every sound that pierces the air comes in technicolour.

he catches donghyuk’s light smile as the opening piano intro floats through the air, an almost comical moment where donghyuk falters just a couple seconds behind the recording, before he lifts his microphone, words nearly staggering in his throat. but he dares to push forward. he dares, and he does.

and the words are true. she had appeared in his dreams, last night. she’d looked older. it had scared him so much. but her words had come gentle. like the earnest wind that blows across the shore on a spring-born march evening. honest. true. much like the words he lets the world know of, now.

i’ll pick you up, my earnest person.

and he sees the tears. he looks out to the audience and they’ve gotten it, they’ve taken each and every word he’s let spill forth, every rhyme he’s let flow, and they understand, don’t they? they know, now, just how much he would give for this. just how much he has in for this.

the voices of the other members soar from behind him.

he nearly forgets to keep in time when hanbin steps into his verse, walking down the main stage to the enclave portion. they’d had the rehearsal, and bobby had seen the way the stage had been planned out during hanbin’s lines, but it still hadn’t prepared him completely for it.

the lights slam on, ablaze. and god, the words hit hard. and seeing hanbin under those lights hits equally as hard. the words in his throat are hoarse when he screams hanbin’s name, when he shouts for hanbin to tell them, tell the entire world just what this means to all of them.

it takes all of his breath, it leaves him with none left.

(and maybe?)

bobby thinks maybe, just maybe, if he reaches out far enough, he could touch the sky.

just maybe.

the tears do end up coming, in the end.

they flood his messsage to his mother, and he guesses it’s his fault that the rest of the team start to cry too. overwhelming emotions in the heat of the moment. it’s almost something out of a movie. but he’s here, living it, and living it with them, and he wouldn’t be anywhere else for anything in the world.

funnily enough, it is minho who cries the most out of all of them, later when they’re backstage again. bobby drapes himself across minho and shares his tears, and shares the fears that they both know are present. they find solace in each other, they do, and it is always fascinating how infectious the waterworks are. never stopping. only continuing the second another person fumbles and begins.

bobby almost laughs when he sees hanbin standing awkwardly next to minho some time later, patting his shoulder. their ages all differ, but hanbin has never been nervous around those older than him. it’s the thought of letting more tears fall that keeps hanbin at bay, perhaps. wanting to show some strength for the members who just can’t, not at this point in time. wanting to show that he’s still capable of reigning it in.

he doesn’t have to. but he does, anyway.

jinhwan wanders near the stage entrance. not daring to step too close. not daring to show too much of himself. he lets seunghoon wrap an arm around his shoulder, but that’s all he does. never too much else, not in the moments like these. too fragile, too easily fracturable. bobby wants to press him close and tell him that it’s okay to not hold back. but jinhwan won’t hear him.

bobby glances over, catches hanbin’s attention, and it’s enough for him to know everything that bobby wants to say to him. thank you. and it is just that.

and hanbin smiles, a barely noticeable, infinitesimal smile.

jinhwan finally trudges closer, and bobby doesn’t say a word. neither does hanbin. jinhwan lets himself float back towards them, searching, wanting, but still not daring at the same time. bobby reaches out, reaches towards him, reaches for him, and tugs him into a hug, the briefest one he can. hanbin just says, voice a low quaver, “we know.”

there’s a nod in reply. his hands are shaking, the microphone along with them. bobby wants to hold them, wants to hold them so tight that it’s impossible to ever let go, wants to tell him the exact same words that he couldn’t even bring himself to voice to hanbin. thank you. but jinhwan knows.

and jinhwan tugs away. but it’s obvious. they know each other better than they know themselves.

the words that go unsaid; the hands that meet instead.

there are no regrets, really. he stands on that stage again, one last time, and there are no regrets at all. even as the emcees’ voices ring out clear across the auditorium, he has no such qualms. besides. they’ve already sang the words. as sincere as the spotlight that shines down upon all eleven of them, now.

and now: who is next? who is next? who is next?

bobby holds his breath.

win, baby.

the trip back to the trainee’s building is long.

it’s even longer than usual.

and it is commendable, really, how they all manage to hold it in, despite there being no more cameras, and no more staff following them around. it’s only until they reach the room that hanbin slams the door a little too hard, and donghyuk chokes back a sob that’s been holding in his chest for hours now, and yunhyung sits down on the floor looking like he’s without another care left in the world, having left all his tears on the stage.

“fuck,” mutters junhwe, dropping his bag into a chair. he looks like he’s considering kicking it for a moment. in the end, he just slumps back against the wall, head in his hands. “fuck,” he repeats, for lack of a better word.

the room is quiet.

“we won’t know what’s next until they decide,” comes jinhwan’s voice quietly, from a corner. “got a text.”

“christ,” whispers hanbin, shoving his own phone back into his bag, “we’re never gonna catch a fucking break, are we.” he sounds like he’s about to shatter into pieces. bobby-god, bobby’s still lost in the moment of the stage. it feels almost surreal. they’ve-they’ve really lost? they’re done? that’s all they have to say for themselves, now?

“are we going to be split up?” asks donghyuk, voice trembling. attempting to pull himself back from careening off the edge, verging on tears. bobby crouches down beside where he’s sitting and ruffles his hair. attempting to make some comfort of the situation. it only causes donghyuk to hiccough quietly, rubbing at his face with his palms. “i hope we don’t.”

“well, it’s not like we’ll even have a choice.” hanbin slams his fist against the cupboard, a sharp, loud motion that resounds through the near-silent room, that takes everyone aback. bobby only manages to take a single step forward before hanbin’s uttering, “i’m sorry, guys. fuck, i’m sorry.”

“don’t blame yourself,” says jinhwan. even his voice sounds strained, now. bobby doesn’t even want to know what he’ll sound like if he opens his mouth. hell, bobby doesn’t even want to know what the look on his face is, right now, resolutely refusing to face the rest and choosing to fix his eyes on the floor before him instead. “you did your best. we all did our best. it just-it wasn’t enough.”

“it’s never going to be enough,” says yunhyung despondently. “they’re debuting. what’s going to happen to the rest of us?”

“more practice. more training.” junhwe doesn’t look up. “another survival show. god knows. that’s if they even keep us.”

“they wouldn’t.” jinhwan’s voice contains almost enough shivering hope to save them all. almost. and almost is still not enough. “and we could stay together. we will stay together. we’re a damn good team, okay? they wouldn’t split us up.”

“we don’t know that.” hanbin runs his hands through his hair in frustration, shaking his head. “we don’t know anything. fuck.” he stands up, and heads straight for the door. jinhwan is already on his feet, and bobby is always a step right behind. the other three don’t even need to say a word when hanbin wrenches the door open and walks out. the looks on their faces tell that they know who’s going to follow right after him immediately.

they end up trailing hanbin a couple of rooms down, both jinhwan and him. it’s with a pang bobby realises that hanbin’s retreated to their little room within the practice room, with the computer and the keyboard, their recording room that holds every trace of night-them. and maybe it says something that hanbin chooses to flee here, to the most familiar place in the building. but then again, maybe it doesn’t.

“hanbin,” calls jinhwan, and the door locks behind them before jinhwan continues, softer. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” hanbin can’t even look at them. “don’t be upset? don’t get mad? don’t care about the fact that we might not even get a chance after this?”

bobby finally finds his voice. “don’t run,” he says, and the words come out stilted, uneven, but it catches hanbin. it catches him and forces him to glance up, to meet their eyes, to see just how equally affected jinhwan and bobby are. and christ. what a leash they make. all three of them. it’s almost fascinating how, after all these years, their personalities have seemed to meld together in the strangest way. they know each other better than they know themselves, almost.

hanbin considers him for a moment. his fingers are distractedly toying with the hem of his jacket. a telltale sign that he’s more frustrated than anything. “i won’t,” he says, finally. “god, i’m-i’m sorry. i keep doing this. the last time too, fuck-i keep leaving you guys and i just-”

“it’s not just you,” says jinhwan, and bobby can hear the tears in his voice, despite how hard he’s trying to hold them back. jinhwan’s always had the mildest temperament of the three of them. it’s obvious hanbin can hear them too, with the way he shifts closer to them, torn between hanging back and placing a hand on jinhwan’s shoulder. “don’t blame yourself, okay? you’ve led the team well. so don’t beat yourself up for it too much.”

“but, hyung.” hanbin looks at them like he’s looking for a lifeline. for one of them to tell him that things are going to be okay. but their future is uncertain, and bobby doesn’t even know if he has the words to tell hanbin that things will be alright, no matter what happens. he doesn’t even have the words to tell that to himself. “we,” starts hanbin, biting his lip, “we tried so hard.”

“i know,” says jinhwan, and that’s all he can say. “i know,” he repeats, and hanbin moves forward, steps no longer hesitant. bobby is already ahead of him, drawing the both of them into his arms, and jinhwan sucks in a faint breath, saying, “if they even dare break us apart-”

“they won’t.” hanbin’s voice is determined. that haughty tone bobby’s missed. “i’ll fight for it.”

“you and whose army?” mutters bobby, and hanbin laughs noiselessly, knuckling a fist against bobby’s temple. “don’t you remember what jinhwan-hyung said? all of us will get fired even if one person goes to beg for it, anyway.”

jinhwan snorts, amused by his own words. “don’t jinx it,” he says.

they remain like that, for a moment. “we should go back to them,” says jinhwan. but they don’t separate. they don’t seem to be able to pull apart from each other. instead, jinhwan’s hold around the both of them only steadies, and the tiniest of breaths pulls itself from hanbin’s throat. “we should,” repeats jinhwan, but his actions contradict his words.

and there isn’t enough to describe exactly how bobby is feeling. there aren’t enough words in the world to mimic the thoughts that spark, that come, that fall. “jinhwan-hyung,” whispers hanbin, and bobby knows exactly what he means with those words. “i don’t know what this is.”

“this?” the corner of jinhwan’s mouth quirks up. “neither do i.”

“maybe we should figure it out, then,” says bobby, but jinhwan’s expression changes the second the words come out of his mouth. changes to something complicated, untelling. bobby can’t read him, for once. and he wonders if jinhwan is thinking the same about them. both of them.

this strange dance that the three of them are involved in.

one-step, two-step, three-step; repeat.

“yeah?” hanbin steps back. jinhwan is the first to step forward, and they fall back into place. lone pawns on a chessboard smaller than they know. “go on,” says hanbin boldly. but he takes another step back, and another, and jinhwan echoes those steps in reverse, until hanbin’s back is touching the wall, and jinhwan has overestimated his step, moving too close to pass this off as any other moment but this one.

in the process of backing up, hanbin’s cap has fallen off. bobby doesn’t know what he’s trying to do when he steps closer and reaches up to card his fingers through hanbin’s hair, messy and unkempt. hanbin doesn’t stop looking at either of them, though.

it’s the strangest thing, when bobby lets his hand trail down the back of hanbin’s hair, stopping at the nape of his neck, his other hand coming down to cup his chin. “it’s going,” murmurs bobby, and jinhwan matches the motion too, even as bobby’s hand falls to hanbin’s shoulder, even as jinhwan lifts a palm to hanbin’s face.

jinhwan’s thumb grazes over hanbin’s bottom lip. the breath that hanbin lets out is enough to make him feel the anticipation that hums in the space between the three of them.

“don’t do it if you’ll just regret it,” whispers hanbin, eyes flickering between bobby’s gaze and jinhwan’s mouth, and it’s obvious, the hesitance in hanbin’s voice, despite the biting challenge in his words. he’s never-hasn’t ever-hanbin’s never even kissed anyone before, and bobby is just here, floating.

but it’s when hanbin’s fingers, barely noticeable in their motion, find purchase in the hem of bobby’s shirt, just the slightest little tug, that’s when bobby forgets himself. he forgets everything about anything surrounding them, and closes the gap between them, the few inches that stand.

hanbin’s mouth is warm. soft. bobby leaves only the lightest brush of lips against his, but hanbin’s hand curls tighter into his shirt. “jiwon-hyung,” he says. it’s the tremble in his voice that catches him. bobby kisses him again, and it only comes with a tighter feeling in his chest.

the soft sound that hanbin makes when jinhwan gently kisses hanbin’s neck, right under his ear, is accompanied by the motion of hanbin’s free hand sliding up into jinhwan’s hair, curling hesitantly. it is new. it is terrifying. it is the three of them figuring everything out for the first time, all over again.

it is the look in hanbin’s eyes when bobby pulls away to let jinhwan kiss him instead. it is the look in jinhwan’s eyes when bobby tugs him over and knocks their foreheads together faintly. it is the way bobby kisses jinhwan like there’s nothing else in the world that could sate the thirst that runs bone-dry.

“hey, hey,” comes hanbin’s voice from beside them, just barely teasing, “i’m still here.”

“patience is a virtue,” says jinhwan, and he falls quiet when hanbin drapes himself across both of them again, arms around their shoulders, even as bobby pulls back to just take in what’s happened. the moment catching in his chest, even as hanbin’s fingers stroke along the nape of his neck.

it is surprising. almost like something out of a movie, really. three of them, falling together. falling for each other. not that bobby would go so far as to use the word-but it’s close. it’s damn close. it’s getting too close to be called anything else, and bobby doesn’t know what he’s more scared of: what, or who.

“okay?” asks bobby quietly, against jinhwan’s mouth, in between the breaths that unfurl in the air-conditioned air, “is this okay?”

a shudder. a pause. jinhwan’s words come out as if there is sleep in his throat, logging the words down. “yeah,” he gets out, and his eyes fall shut, for a brief moment. “it’s more than okay.”

“even if it isn’t,” says hanbin, “it’ll be-it’ll be okay. it will.”

“yeah?” says bobby, but his pulse is thundering murderously in his throat, for all that he sounds calm. or perhaps, he just thinks he sounds calm. maybe, he sounds just as breathless as hanbin does, even though they’ve done nothing but trade barely eight, half-second each kisses, within the span of two minutes. “okay then,” says bobby, swallowing hard. “we’re figuring this out.”

“we are,” echoes jinhwan. and his hands are trembling again, aren’t they? one in bobby’s hair, and the other fisted into hanbin’s shirt, but the tremors are obvious, and the fear is obvious, and bobby’s hands find their way to hanbin’s, and then to jinhwan’s. their fingers thread together, and their hands fall between them. a complete link. jinhwan’s gaze doesn’t shift the entire time. “if anyone-” begins jinhwan, voice softer than it’s ever been before, and bobby shakes his head.

“no one will find out.” bobby absently bites the inside of his cheek. “no one.” but that’s unpredictable, isn’t it? no one can know if there might be a camera hidden in the corner, or a staff member walking past, or even someone they know, turning the knob to the door and stumbling upon something that should never released to public domain.

“you can’t promise that.” and even hanbin sounds like he wants to tear himself away and walk straight to the door, but all he does is lean back into both their reaches, as if it’s all he wants to do for the rest of the night-and it probably is.

it’s what bobby wants to do, too.

time is a commodity, and privacy the one thing they can never be spared, though. this moment is rare enough. who says they will even get any more like this one, right here? “you can’t promise that,” echoes jinhwan, sounding more confused that anything.

“i know.” their fingers are all still entwined. bobby doesn’t think he wants to ever let go.

and they are young. this could-this could destroy them. destroy all of them. forget the notions of care. the notion that the unnatural occurs behind closed doors in this very building, behind these very doors, is enough to completely destroy all chances of them even letting their names surface in the rippling industry ocean. they are both so young.

but the comfort that spreads with each second means so much more than all of that.

they tug away with all the restraint they possess in their limbs. bobby straightens out his shirt, pats his hair back down, and watches jinhwan do the same, hanbin as well. the clock-hands resume their regular scheduled activity. time flashes back to the present; no time like the present. bobby watches the way jinhwan swipes the pads of his fingers over his mouth subconsciously, as if gauging what had just happened, before letting his gaze fall.

“i have to go see the company executives in the morning,” comes hanbin’s voice, rough around the edges. “they’re going to see what will happen to the rest of us.”

bobby pretends that the words don’t strike fear in his chest just as much as the thought of letting hanbin go alone does. jinhwan just says, “you think they’ll disband us?”

hanbin’s laugh is unassuming. “that’s if we’re even a band anymore, at this point.”

it stings. the reality of that statement stings. but bobby sucks the air back into his lungs and nods. the idea of having to go back to where he’d came from, with nothing to show for it, scares him more than anything else. the idea of having nothing to show after four years of being seas away from the people he cares about the most.

the people he cares about the most. he wonders, now, about that category. does-does jinhwan-and does hanbin, now-

“hey.” hanbin nudges him in the shoulder. “it’ll be fine.” his voice is firm. steady. the way it is on the nights where no one can bring themself to believe anymore. the way it is when bobby finds himself slumped against the desktop, head in his hands. the way it just is. “we’ll be just fucking fine.”

and bobby wants to believe that. god, does he want to.

“we?” bobby settles for asking, just before jinhwan’s hand closes around the doorknob, “or us?”

hanbin lets out an exhale. “both,” he answers, and he beckons ahead with his chin. “come on. we should check on the others.”

“yeah.” bobby steps out after him and jinhwan, and can’t help himself when he asks again, “do you think this is worth it?”

jinhwan’s voice comes mildly. “do you?”

bobby already knows the answer to that.

they call it a holiday. in reality, all it is for them is a safeguard. in reality, all it is for him is a return, in turn.

he takes the earliest flight, five in the morning, bags in tow, bearing his excitement in the same manner the others had worn theirs: filled to the brim with cheer. the old kick back in the heels of his kicks. there is nothing better than going home, he thinks.

nothing better.

they'd given him a handheld for the week. document your trip, they'd said. that had been all they'd said. no notion of a why. but he knows better than to question the way anything happens, these days. he'll take it as it is.

“have fun,” hanbin had said, clapping him on the shoulder, beaming. “take lots of photos for us. don’t forget to tell your mom we said hi.”

the camera nearly runs out of battery even before he’s halfway across the ocean.

the air really isn’t different. it’s been three years, three going on four, but everything is the same. and yet, nothing is the same at all. the gravel crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way across the tarmac and through the gates, pulse thrumming with excitement.

he’s finally home.

his brother catches him in a tight one-armed hug. he’s still as tall as bobby remembers. but bobby’s gotten taller now, too. “hey,” says his brother, smiling, and bobby smiles right back at him, and god, it’s almost like looking in a mirror. he’s missed this so much. “took you long enough.”

“yeah, well,” says bobby, adjusting the handheld camera in his palm and pulling his cap back. the old habit. “you’d rather i swam here?”

“please,” laughs his brother. bobby can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his own chest.

there aren’t any words for this. none at all.

they drive straight to church. it’s a sunday morning, and bobby’s far from wearing his sunday best, but his brother waves it off and says that everyone’s waiting for him there, anyway. “besides,” he adds, voice softer, “mom’s been waiting.”

and maybe bobby’s afraid. he knows-they video-call, they talk over kakaotalk, they send stickers back and forth sometimes, on the nights bobby can’t seem to fall asleep on his own-but still. it has been four years. they haven’t seen each other in person for so long. so many things could have changed.

they have. she’s smaller than he remembers. maybe it’s his height. maybe it’s her age, bearing her bones down in the winters that lapse. maybe it’s the shoes he’s wearing, kicks a little too flashy for a simple sunday morning service like the one he’s just traipsed into. everyone looks on and smiles and coos. all bobby can hear is her voice, and her joyful call of, “jiwon.”

“mom,” he says, and it’s all her can say, it’s all the words that will come, even as he wraps his arms around her (and hopes to never have to let go). she tears up, and bobby jokes his own tears away, but everyone knows, anyway.

the week seems to speed past too fast.

he manages to catch up with those he’d left behind. a couple of friends, here and there. they make friendly fun of his hair and his piercings and ask him if everything they’d seen on win had been scripted or kept real. they laugh at his stories about the other trainees, and thump his back when he mentions a few good things, here and there. it’s not the same as before. but it’s just as good. he’ll settle for this, just as well.

“you cried so much on that show,” says his brother, patting his cheek fondly over dinner one evening, and bobby shoots him a look. “never knew you were that kind of kid.”

“hey,” says bobby indignantly, “you would have done the exact same thing if you were in that position.”

his brother just smiles. “probably would have been worse.” there’s a pause. “you know,” he adds, “you’ve always been stronger than i am.”

bobby blinks. “huh?”

“you know.” his brother shrugs. “i could have never done all of that. leave here. train the way you do. work so hard that it becomes all you think about.”

“it’s not all i think about,” says bobby, but the dry feeling in the back of his throat says the opposite. “but-”

“really.” his brother spoons more rice onto bobby’s plate while he’s talking. “i’m proud of you, jiwon.”

bobby glances down at his plate for a moment, before looking back up, and smiling slightly. “thanks, hyung.”

his brother just reaches over to ruffle his hair lightly. “wish you could stay longer,” he says, and there’s that tone of regret in his voice. bobby knows it well. he hears it in his own voice, most times. “i’m going to miss you, kid.”

“just wait,” says bobby, pointing his fork at him. “i’m going to bring all of you home with me, one day. just wait.”

“we’ll wait.” his brother shakes his head in amusement. “don’t worry about that.”

and there it goes. one week. just like that.

“mom,” he says, on the last night, flopping down onto the bed right next to her. he feels like he’s thirteen all over again. the way she turns to smile at him. the way their heads are bumping slightly as he scoots closer, holding the camera in the air. part of him says it’s just for the staff to have whatever footage they want. the other part of him says it’s to remember this night for as long as he can. as long as it’s possible to do so. “my mom,” he says, like they’re the last words he’ll ever say.

“my son,” she says in return, voice scratchy with sleep. but her tone is as bright as ever. “mm. i love this.”

“you do?” her arm is warm around him. bobby wants to fall asleep like this. him and his mom. age slips away when things like these come to play. “me too.”

there’s nothing better at all.

he steps foot back in the dorms a day later. the others crowd him, ask him about his trip. all bobby wants to do is sleep away the high that he’s coming down from. all bobby wants to do is lie down and not think about the people he’s left behind for the second time, now.

jinhwan sits on the edge of his bunk, later that same night, and strokes behind his ear, little soothing motions that he knows will always undo bobby. “did you have fun?” he asks, simply. jinhwan is such a simple creature. bobby envies this, sometimes. how casually jinhwan handles everything. from the unending practices to being away from home for so long.

“yeah,” answers bobby, and jinhwan makes a sound that could mean, good.

“sleep, now.” there’s a movement. bobby turns to see jinhwan, bending over him, just hesitating. maybe about to press a kiss to his forehead. possibly leaning over to brush the hair back off his face. instead, jinhwan breathes in, and kisses bobby in full. the soft, tender brush of lips to lips. bobby likes jinhwan’s kisses so much. they seem to contrast so well, jinhwan and hanbin do, when it comes to the way they handle bobby. sleepy-warm, to fire-bright. “goodnight,” murmurs jinhwan, tucking a hand under his chin, thumbing over his lip.

“goodnight,” replies bobby, and he watches jinhwan slide off the bed, watches him pad over to the door, and flick the light off, before shutting the door behind him. he’s still rooming with donghyuk, but donghyuk is still indulging in a late-night television show with yunhyung in the living room, and probably won’t come in until bobby’s long-past the point of sleep.

the darkness seems to reflect his mind.

it’s probably the third, the fourth, the tenth, the fiftieth time he’s wondered now: how did he get here? how has all of this fallen into place the way it has? how have things worked up to where they are now?

and he guesses-just guesses. maybe it’s because of that one word. that word called-

the door opens. donghyuk stumbles in and nearly knocks his foot against the cupboard by the door, biting back a swear. “goodnight, hyung,” he mumbles, making his way to his bed, before promptly passing out on top of the sheets.

bobby just laughs quietly.

and, well. that word doesn’t have to be said now, does it? he’s got the rest of his life to figure that out. or, more like they’ve got the rest of their lives to figure out. together. for now, all that matters is the slick slide of the stage beneath their soles, and the burning lights that shine upon them from above. that’s all that matters, really.

bobby tugs the blanket up, presses his face against the warmth of his pillow, and lets himself pretend that it’s the winter of twenty-twelve all over again.

maybe it’s the way they stay up late into the night, and there the progression runs again. the same old melody that they’ve always known. the harmony that comes together when all three sit slumped along worn-in chairs and worn-out desks. the calluses on the tips of bobby’s fingers match the weariness under hanbin’s eyes. but the soft cheer that jinhwan brings matches the hope that sits in bobby’s palms as well.

maybe it’s the way the scene repeats itself so many times that bobby can’t keep track of the time anymore.

“the song needs to be good,” murmurs hanbin, eyes scanning the screen of the computer before him. “i overheard the staff saying it’s going to be for the new show.”

bobby sits up straight. “what new show?”

hanbin shrugs. “dunno,” he answers, “maybe some kind of reality thing. like win tv or something. following the lives of six yg trainees? who knows.”

“whatever it is,” says jinhwan, “as long as something good comes out of it, in the end.”

“something will.” hanbin makes a series of clicks with the mouse. “i know something will.”

too hopeful, maybe. hanbin has been a curious mix of too-hopeful and too-jaded, ever since win had ended. but who hasn’t been the same, really? everyone is hoping for the same thing. everyone has had near-similar experiences. they’re all growing into the new year with little left to spare, and too much given away.

but there is so much more to go before any of their candles burn out.

“you think yunhyung can take this part?”

“yeah.” jinhwan leans into hanbin’s space, chin resting on his shoulder easily. “he’s been sounding less strained with his high notes recently.”

“mm.” hanbin scribbles a note down, passes it to bobby.

they work in silence, as they usually do. the quiet nights that always follow through. in all reality, they have weeks before the song is due. but hanbin and bobby will always insist on working until it no longer feels new, until the song is steeped in their bones and ringing in the aches in their wrists after days of palms resting across keyboards and keyboards, writing cue after cue.

ending early is a godsend. they lock up behind them, bags slung over their shoulders, before they return. making a detour to the convenience store nearby is second nature. they get ramyun and soda and discuss in hushed voices which sudoku book to get for seunghoon’s birthday.

“he doesn’t even like sudoku,” says hanbin.

“exactly,” says bobby, a giggle catching on the back of his teeth. hanbin smacks the back of his head. jinhwan just sighs, and fishes one of the books off the magazine rack.

the streetlights are dim, the sidewalks bare.

bobby tugs them closer as they walk, arms slung around both of them. it takes a moment, though, the old hesitant moment, before the tense angle of their shoulders lowers. bobby presses his face against the top of jinhwan’s head, curls his fingers into hanbin’s jacket collar, and says, “this is nice.”

“sap,” says hanbin, but he leans in anyway. “hey,” he says, as they reach their block, “this won’t last, will it?”

“will what?”

“you know.” this. us. the group? team b. the three of us? what we have going right now. all of this. the dream. the work. the passion. the way your hands feel in mine. “this.”

none of them know how to answer that.

but it’s okay.

(or, maybe, just maybe-

reverse, rewind, replay.

the year is twenty-eleven.)

bobby traces the outline of his name on the signed form with the pads of his fingers.

he doesn’t know when he’ll come home.

but all he knows is that he’s going to go there, and build a home.

“you can do this,” he whispers to himself. “you’ve got this.”

the way his name seems to shine back at him, written in hasty blue ballpoint pen ink, kim jiwon, bobby, it makes him believe that yeah. maybe he does have this. maybe he can do this. he will do this. he will.

he will.

there are these chances, and then there is bobby.

(reverse, rewind, replay.

back to the beginning.)

one | two