(no subject)
our kiss is a secret handshake
hongbin/hyuk, pg-13, 3440ⓦ
Note: Konbini is "convenience store" in Japanese.
Their first kiss happens on camera.
Hongbin’s hands are still on his shoulders, but between them, Jaehwan’s hands are cupped, waiting. Hongbin pulls away first, voicing assurances - “It didn’t touch,” he’s telling the others - and the note of insistence strikes some chord of dissonance in Sanghyuk. He bites down on what’s left of the Pepero stick, dry biscuit crumbling, and draws back to his seat. Someone, probably Wonshik, lets out a low whistle as it’s measured. “2.3cm,” Hakyeon reads aloud, laughing. “Congratulations.”
They switch teams when Wonshik snaps his Pepero stick laughing and Taekwoon intentionally disqualifies himself. Hongbin worries vaguely at his bottom lip for the rest of filming, quiet, breaking into smiles a beat late, while Sanghyuk tries not to look at him until he’s turned away. Back in the car, they sit side by side. Hongbin looks out the window, staring at something beyond his reflection, and every time the car makes a left turn, his thigh shifts away from the contact, comes back to a careful, deceptively casual equilibrium.
In reality, the kiss is the barest of touches, a brief moment of pressure, of contact. Already he is forgetting what it felt like. When the show broadcasts, the first round is cut. Sanghyuk spends the ride awake, staring at Hongbin’s hands, empty and still in his lap, and feels oddly bereft.
He rises in time with his alarm, moving silently through the still-dark room to Wonshik. He’s still sleeping, laid out in a sprawl, mouth ajar, one leg hanging half off his bed. He leans over, giving him a rough shake. “Hyung, wake up,” he whispers, and gets a muffled groan in return.
In the morning, the bathroom light is always particularly bleak, casting shadows on his face. The routine nature of it acclimates him to morning, being awake: walking out to the kitchen, taking the cereal out, the quiet clink of his spoon against the bowl as Wonshik appears, yawning. He makes room without being asked, blinking a few times to stir himself into a greater wakefulness so that Wonshik isn’t lulled back to sleep. “Yeah,” he raps, waving his spoon in a vague swag movement. “I left the Special K on the counter, yo.” Wonshik kind of snorts out a laugh, shuffling past, which Sanghyuk counts as a win.
In class, he takes increasingly detailed notes to stave off the sleepiness that crawls over him like a blanket. Next to him, his friend stretches out and kicks the leg of Sanghyuk’s table every time he starts blinking too slowly. “Thanks,” he mouths, after a particularly hard jolt, rubbing at the crick in his neck. By the time the van rolls up to the school gates, he’s stumbling over his steps, dropping into the backseat like a weight, and forgets to find his neck pillow before his head is drooping.
He wakes of his own accord, the sound of Jaehwan yanking open the van door rousing him. When he lifts his head, peeling himself away from a sticky collarbone, Hongbin’s watching him. Dazed and warm with sleep, he almost leans up. Then he registers the hand he has cradled up against Hongbin’s side, body habitually curled into the nearest warm body. He pulls back abruptly. “Sorry,” Sanghyuk mumbles thickly, embarrassed, but Hongbin shakes his head, flashes him a tiny smile.
“I don’t mind,” he says, just before they alight to the sound of scattered screams. Sanghyuk steps down and squints, recognises the KBS building. “You looked uncomfortable, before,” he continues, and then turns around abruptly, hanging back to wave to the group of girls gathered alongside the van. The fresh wave of screams cuts the conversation short, and Sanghyuk forces his gaze from the back of Hongbin’s head to a neutral point, raises his hand and waves.
Filming for the concert VCRs starts in August. Behind the cameras, Sanghyuk narrates: “N hyung suffers from excessive drooling due to his overbite.”
“As a result, he's forced to wear a bib,” Hongbin continues, with a shaky attempt at a straight face. He bursts out laughing the instant Sanghyuk does, ducking his head away.
“It's a cravat,” Hakyeon yells, mock cross, and ruins the take. He makes a threatening face, aiming a neck chop at each of their necks, which only makes Sanghyuk laugh harder. Hakyeon glares, crawling back into his coffin.
In the final edit, his canines will be elongated, sharp. There will be dramatic music, an eerie haze of fog. On the set, Hakyeon’s arm pushes open the lid of his coffin with a creak. “Bib,” Hongbin whispers, so only he can hear, and Sanghyuk presses his mouth against Hongbin’s shoulder in an attempt not to laugh. He can feel Hongbin shaking. When their eyes meet, Hongbin cracks. Laughs like it’s the first time.
In the waiting room, he hooks his foot around Hongbin’s ankle, kicks up so that their legs come up together. “What?” Hongbin says, amused. He doesn’t disentangle himself, the weight of his leg settling on Sanghyuk’s. It takes him a moment to look up from his iPod, but he’s smiling when he does.
Most days, he doesn’t think about it. Hongbin is a fixed presence, always a casual arm’s length away to borrow a drink of water or whisper a joke, there to meet his eye when he glances over. He doesn’t second-guess the way he gravitates.
Only sometimes, watching him lift up the back of his shirt to adjust his mic pack, or slide him a glance through a smile, does he remember. “Nothing,” Sanghyuk says, dropping his leg. He stands, faking a stretch, and finds Hakyeon instead.
“You’re cute,” Hakyeon says by way of greeting, when Sanghyuk bobs up from behind his chair. He’s sitting in front of the dressing room table, fiddling with the array of rings. “What’s up?”
Sanghyuk shrugs, one-shouldered, and drops down into the other chair. He prods the ring on Hakyeon’s finger. “Hi.”
“Ow,” Hakyeon says, voice pitched high and reproachful. “Ow,” he repeats, when Sanghyuk prods the ring again, more bluntly. He wiggles his finger to make the ring move. “Why are you doing this to me?” Sanghyuk laughs, and then they’re called up.
Performing shakes him out of it, just as much as the sight of Hongbin’s face when a hundred cheer slogans unfurl at once, at the end of “G.R.8.U.” “Happy birthday, Kong,” Hakyeon yells, over the fans’ screaming, and swipes a sticky, caked finger down Hongbin’s face. Hongbin’s laughing too hard to protest, breathless as he dodges Wonshik’s finger, getting cream in his hair. Taekwoon licks his fingers, disinterested, as Sanghyuk plunges both hands into the cake he’s holding.
He bobs up in front of Hongbin, tongue peeping out as he slaps a messy handful of cake against Hongbin’s cheeks with both hands. “Artwork,” Sanghyuk says, with relish, and Hongbin grabs him by the wrists before he gets a look over Sanghyuk’s shoulder, eyes going round.
“Wait, wait,” Hongbin yelps, as Taekwoon approaches, holding up what’s left of the cake. Hongbin ducks at the last minute, swinging Sanghyuk around with him. The wet smack of impact makes him cringe, cream and cake sliding down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. The screams are deafening. “You deserved it,” Hongbin whispers into his other ear, grinning and unapologetic, and lets go.
They make a convenience store run the first night in Tokyo. “Hurry up,” Wonshik says in a loud whisper, waving them over from halfway down the hall. “I’ve been holding this elevator for like five minutes.”
Sanghyuk shivers when he steps out of the hotel, the cold seeping through two layers of jackets to his skin. He sticks his hands in his pockets, stamping his feet to get warm, then catches up. “Konbini-san,” he trills, plucking at Hongbin’s sleeve.
“Yes,” Hongbin lilts in reply, and Sanghyuk grins.
At the convenience store, Sanghyuk grabs a bag of wasabi peas and sidles into the next aisle to bury it in the handful of ramen Hongbin hands him out of Wonshik’s overladen arms. “They’re for Taekwoon hyung,” Sanghyuk says blithely, when the bag spills into sight at the register.
“Did he specifically ask for those,” Wonshik starts, but the cashier’s already scanning it with the rest of the items, and Sanghyuk widens his eyes in a shrug, dancing out of reach when Wonshik starts to reach for his hood. “Wait,” Wonshik says to Hongbin, tugging hastily at his elbow, but it’s too late: Hongbin’s pocketing Shinwoo hyung’s credit card again already.
“What?” Hongbin says, then eyes Sanghyuk, who’s shoving the wasabi peas into his hoodie pocket.
“Nothing,” Sanghyuk says, cheerfully, picking up drinks. “Winning our bet.”
Hongbin reaches over in response, tugging it back out by the corner. The logo appears before Sanghyuk shoves it back in his pocket, taking Hongbin’s hand with it. Hongbin wiggles free, grinning. “That’s not going to work.”
“I don’t know anything about this,” Wonshik says, defeated, and tucks packs of ramen under his arm.
The others are still watching the same nature documentary when they get back, Jaehwan and Hakyeon on one bed, Taekwoon on the other. When Sanghyuk tries to cross the room, Taekwoon hauls him down by the waist without breaking his gaze. Sanghyuk follows it to the television, then looks to Jaehwan, who mouths, help. Sanghyuk points to Taekwoon’s arm, still barred across his stomach, and then at Hakyeon: busy, ask our deposed leader. Baby ducklings march across the screen as Wonshik stoops down into a squat to avoid blocking the television, waddling over to the other bed with everyone’s drinks, and Sanghyuk stifles a laugh.
He wriggles under Taekwoon’s grip to get his attention, holds out the wasabi peas like a bargaining chip. Taekwoon considers for a moment before letting go, taking the bag. Sanghyuk holds his breath as Taekwoon pops a handful in his mouth. Three handfuls later, he crunches serenely and swallows. “They’re good, thanks,” he says.
“Unbelievable,” Wonshik mutters, to no one, and Sanghyuk makes an aborted shut up gesture. “I’m glad you like them,” he informs Taekwoon, pillowing his head on Taekwoon’s thigh. Hongbin coughs.
“So sincere,” Taekwoon says, looking down at him. For a moment, he looks fond. Then he gently pushes Sanghyuk’s head off so that it thumps down onto the bed.
At the commercial break, Taekwoon, still holding the remote, moves over to supervise, taking the chopsticks from Hongbin. Sanghyuk takes the opportunity to grab a pillow, hitch himself up higher. The bed dips at his hip, and a moment later Hongbin’s tumbling down on his other side. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and smoggy air. “Told you,” he says, in an undertone.
Sanghyuk laughs, drums his fingers on the pillow. “I’m starting to think he really does like everything.”
Hongbin leans back. “Well,” he says, grinning over at him, and Sanghyuk feels something lodge in his throat. “It’s my turn.”
On stage, Rovix’s mouth opens with a pneumatic hiss, billows of steam as they’re raised up in silhouette, released into a sea of people. Light sticks illuminate the darkness like starlight. Listening to his name being chanted, thunderous and incredible, the anxiety vanishes, replaced by a pure shot of epinephrine. The sound of Real V, V.I.X.X, VIXX! echoed by a thousand voices, and then the introduction to “Rock Your Body” floods the arena.
Wonshik shouting, microphone raised in the air, Let’s go, Seoul! as Jaehwan lays down a beat. Hakyeon, lit up by a single spotlight, dancing to his own choreography. Backstage, Sanghyuk listens to Taekwoon’s voice soaring up and up, tugging on a new jacket, checking his mic. Next to him, Hongbin flashes him a smile, sweet and nervous. “Ready?”
“Cherry Blossom Ending,” Sanghyuk had said, when they were brainstorming, and laughed immediately afterward. The list included Bruno Mars, Justin Timberlake, and Sanghyuk crossdressing. Next to the last idea, Sanghyuk had written an adamant NO in English.
“Shower songs are off-limits,” Hongbin said defensively, distracted from where he’d been writing a discreet YES. They were in one of the individual practise rooms at Jellyfish, sitting opposite each other, Hongbin’s right leg lined up against Sanghyuk’s left. When Sanghyuk reached forward for the list, his foot nudged Hongbin’s hip. The room was too cramped to play keep-away. Hongbin watched him write it down, then took the list back and said: “Then I’m putting IU’s ‘Good Day’ down.”
The opening chords set off a frenzy of screams. When the lights come on, it’s to Hongbin laughing a little as Sanghyuk, on impulse, plucks one of the fake pink flowers off the stage. He drops down to one knee and offers it to Hongbin, throwing him a wink for full effect.
Hongbin sings the first line to Sanghyuk, fingers sliding down the neck of his guitar, then takes the flower, tucking it behind his ear. He leaves it there for the rest of the performance, slipping it into his pocket during the ending talk, and when they take their final bow, Sanghyuk reaches for Hongbin’s hand and finds it already halfway to his.
Sanghyuk turns the lights on, then cringes, flipping them off again hastily. “It’s bad,” Sanghyuk says.
“He might not notice,” Hongbin says unconvincingly, fiddling with the elastic on his party hat. Sanghyuk gives him a look that he can’t see. “Ow, that was my foot.”
“Sorry.” Sanghyuk shifts away from the direction of Hongbin’s voice, flicks the lighter and gets a flash of Hongbin and Jaehwan’s faces, illuminated in orange. He gets enough light to find the light switch again, turning it back on. “What now?”
“We still have five minutes.” Jaehwan turns the cake around, inspecting the damage. It’s mostly the piping, one side slightly flat. “Give me a fork,” he says, and Sanghyuk leans over, pulling one out of a drawer to hand to him. He hovers a little, mirrored by Hongbin, as Jaehwan combs the tines through the cream, mending the scrape.
He leans back a little when he’s finished. “Operation complete,” he announces, overtly pleased, and then there’s a series of beeps at the door, the muffled sound of voices. Sanghyuk leaps into action, lighting the candles hastily as Hongbin picks up the cake - “Two hands,” Jaehwan whispers, sternly, just before he cuts the lights.
Taekwoon doesn’t bother acting surprised, but he ducks his head in a smile when they appear, Hakyeon simultaneously wrapping his arms around Taekwoon from behind, each of them singing different renditions of happy birthday: Sanghyuk in a fluttery falsetto, Wonshik in a Gregorian chant, Jaehwan outlasting them all in an operatic version that makes Taekwoon’s mouth twitch as he socks him in the shoulder. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s pretty.”
Jaehwan, out of Taekwoon’s line of sight, flashes them an exaggerated wink. Sanghyuk grins at him. Then Hongbin ducks his head to mutter a thank god in a low undertone, and it sends his pulse jumping into his throat, laughing a little to offset the sudden rush of warmth in his ears. “Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds hollow, shocked. “Right.”
They celebrate New Year’s in the dorms, Wonshik and Jaehwan piling in with six-packs of Hite sometime in the afternoon, clamouring at the entrance as they stamp their feet, hands clumsy in their gloves. He can hear Hakyeon calling softly to someone in the other room. Taekwoon, who is bracing the ladder he’s standing on, says, “A little to the left.”
He adjusts the garland, and at Taekwoon’s nod of approval, reaches for the tape dispenser, fixing it in place. He’s shifting the ladder to put up the last of the decorations when Hongbin comes into the living room, blowing up a balloon, an arm looped around Jaehwan’s. Jaehwan’s holding a half-empty bag of deflated balloons, which Sanghyuk recognises as the one Hongbin’s been working on for the past hour. Hongbin’s face is flushed when he pulls the balloon away from his mouth to knot off the end, laughing breathlessly when Jaehwan dangles another flat balloon in front of his face. “You do one,” Hongbin says, shaking his head and batting Jaehwan’s hand away. “I’m dizzy.”
“I only blow bubbles,” Jaehwan’s insisting, as Sanghyuk clambers down. Taekwoon waits until he has both feet on the floor before he retreats back into the kitchen, where Hakyeon is cooking. By the time he’s returned the ladder to the security guard on the first floor, the sun is going down.
The dorm goes quiet a while after the countdown ends. Wonshik falls asleep first, mouth slightly open against the pillow Hakyeon had slipped under his head, an apology for the unibrow he and Jaehwan had given him earlier, hissing over his prone figure, laid out on the floor, “I could only find a brown marker-”
Jaehwan lies beside Wonshik to take selcas afterward, startling every time Wonshik’s snoring went irregular. The door to Taekwoon’s room closes sometime after 1 a.m. When Sanghyuk goes to the kitchen, Hongbin’s there, standing at the sink, where he’s stacking up dishes. Sanghyuk sidesteps him to open up a cabinet, pulling out a clean glass to pour himself a cup of water.
Hongbin bumps against him a little, rests his chin on Sanghyuk’s shoulder. Sanghyuk offers him the glass, and he takes it, finishes what’s left. “Going to sleep soon?” Hongbin says, pulling away to put the glass in the sink. Sanghyuk’s buzz is starting to fade, but everything still feels soft, vague, and when he leans into Hongbin, moving with him, Hongbin looks a little startled.
He’s reminded, suddenly, of the MyDol PD, drawing the two of them aside to say, Sanghyuk, sit further away from him. How the scripted tension had worked itself between them, so that when he talked to Hongbin, he felt his face heat, suddenly aware of the uselessness of his hands. How they’d manufactured a distance to breach, breaking down bridges, so that later, in the car, with the cameras off, Hongbin had started to slide in next to him, then stopped and reversed.
It feels the same now, hesitant to look up for fear of the honesty he might see there, conscious of their proximity, feeling it cut through the haze. He starts to pull back, and when Hongbin reaches out, puts a hand on his forearm, his first instinct is to flinch. Hongbin lets go almost as quickly, and Sanghyuk says, a little desperately, “Wait, no, sorry-”
Something in Hongbin’s face flickers. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he reaches out, slowly. This time, when Hongbin’s hand circles around his wrist, Sanghyuk lets it. Opens his mouth to the press of Hongbin’s, warm and tentative. Sanghyuk is less careful. He’s breathing hard when Hongbin pulls away, his hand still on Sanghyuk’s wrist. Some part of Hongbin’s mouth is red, and Sanghyuk thinks, with a sudden clarity of want, yes.
For a moment he sees it reflected back at him. Then somebody in the living room makes a sound and Hongbin startles, stepping back.
It’s been months since they came even close to talking about it, even longer since he’s wanted to. “Hyung,” Sanghyuk says. His voice wavers a little. He clenches his hand in a fist to stop himself from reaching out.
Hongbin hesitates, then says, “The first time, it wasn’t an accident.”
It takes Sanghyuk a minute to get what he means, to remember the kiss. “You could have said-”
“I know,” Hongbin interrupts, awkward. “I’m saying it now.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching a little. His voice goes a little soft. “I didn’t think you-”
Sanghyuk laughs a little, self-conscious as he digs a socked toe into the floor. “Are you kidding?” He glances back up, catching sight of Hongbin’s expression, and flashes him a grin, sweet and nervous.
This time, he reaches out first. Pulls them close and brings his mouth down to Hongbin’s.
He’s splashing water over his face when Hongbin comes in, exhausted, to press a handful of paper towels against his sweaty hairline. Hakyeon had only called five when Jaehwan had mixed up his steps, crashing into Wonshik when he went right instead of left. “Hi,” Sanghyuk says, and pats his face dry.
“Hey,” Hongbin says, through the paper. Sanghyuk dabs at the stray water droplets on his shirt, waiting for Hongbin to finish. When Hongbin reaches the door, Sanghyuk hooks his pinky finger with Hongbin’s, leading the way back to the practise room. He doesn’t have to look back to know Hongbin’s mirroring his smile.
hongbin/hyuk, pg-13, 3440ⓦ
Note: Konbini is "convenience store" in Japanese.
Their first kiss happens on camera.
Hongbin’s hands are still on his shoulders, but between them, Jaehwan’s hands are cupped, waiting. Hongbin pulls away first, voicing assurances - “It didn’t touch,” he’s telling the others - and the note of insistence strikes some chord of dissonance in Sanghyuk. He bites down on what’s left of the Pepero stick, dry biscuit crumbling, and draws back to his seat. Someone, probably Wonshik, lets out a low whistle as it’s measured. “2.3cm,” Hakyeon reads aloud, laughing. “Congratulations.”
They switch teams when Wonshik snaps his Pepero stick laughing and Taekwoon intentionally disqualifies himself. Hongbin worries vaguely at his bottom lip for the rest of filming, quiet, breaking into smiles a beat late, while Sanghyuk tries not to look at him until he’s turned away. Back in the car, they sit side by side. Hongbin looks out the window, staring at something beyond his reflection, and every time the car makes a left turn, his thigh shifts away from the contact, comes back to a careful, deceptively casual equilibrium.
In reality, the kiss is the barest of touches, a brief moment of pressure, of contact. Already he is forgetting what it felt like. When the show broadcasts, the first round is cut. Sanghyuk spends the ride awake, staring at Hongbin’s hands, empty and still in his lap, and feels oddly bereft.
He rises in time with his alarm, moving silently through the still-dark room to Wonshik. He’s still sleeping, laid out in a sprawl, mouth ajar, one leg hanging half off his bed. He leans over, giving him a rough shake. “Hyung, wake up,” he whispers, and gets a muffled groan in return.
In the morning, the bathroom light is always particularly bleak, casting shadows on his face. The routine nature of it acclimates him to morning, being awake: walking out to the kitchen, taking the cereal out, the quiet clink of his spoon against the bowl as Wonshik appears, yawning. He makes room without being asked, blinking a few times to stir himself into a greater wakefulness so that Wonshik isn’t lulled back to sleep. “Yeah,” he raps, waving his spoon in a vague swag movement. “I left the Special K on the counter, yo.” Wonshik kind of snorts out a laugh, shuffling past, which Sanghyuk counts as a win.
In class, he takes increasingly detailed notes to stave off the sleepiness that crawls over him like a blanket. Next to him, his friend stretches out and kicks the leg of Sanghyuk’s table every time he starts blinking too slowly. “Thanks,” he mouths, after a particularly hard jolt, rubbing at the crick in his neck. By the time the van rolls up to the school gates, he’s stumbling over his steps, dropping into the backseat like a weight, and forgets to find his neck pillow before his head is drooping.
He wakes of his own accord, the sound of Jaehwan yanking open the van door rousing him. When he lifts his head, peeling himself away from a sticky collarbone, Hongbin’s watching him. Dazed and warm with sleep, he almost leans up. Then he registers the hand he has cradled up against Hongbin’s side, body habitually curled into the nearest warm body. He pulls back abruptly. “Sorry,” Sanghyuk mumbles thickly, embarrassed, but Hongbin shakes his head, flashes him a tiny smile.
“I don’t mind,” he says, just before they alight to the sound of scattered screams. Sanghyuk steps down and squints, recognises the KBS building. “You looked uncomfortable, before,” he continues, and then turns around abruptly, hanging back to wave to the group of girls gathered alongside the van. The fresh wave of screams cuts the conversation short, and Sanghyuk forces his gaze from the back of Hongbin’s head to a neutral point, raises his hand and waves.
Filming for the concert VCRs starts in August. Behind the cameras, Sanghyuk narrates: “N hyung suffers from excessive drooling due to his overbite.”
“As a result, he's forced to wear a bib,” Hongbin continues, with a shaky attempt at a straight face. He bursts out laughing the instant Sanghyuk does, ducking his head away.
“It's a cravat,” Hakyeon yells, mock cross, and ruins the take. He makes a threatening face, aiming a neck chop at each of their necks, which only makes Sanghyuk laugh harder. Hakyeon glares, crawling back into his coffin.
In the final edit, his canines will be elongated, sharp. There will be dramatic music, an eerie haze of fog. On the set, Hakyeon’s arm pushes open the lid of his coffin with a creak. “Bib,” Hongbin whispers, so only he can hear, and Sanghyuk presses his mouth against Hongbin’s shoulder in an attempt not to laugh. He can feel Hongbin shaking. When their eyes meet, Hongbin cracks. Laughs like it’s the first time.
In the waiting room, he hooks his foot around Hongbin’s ankle, kicks up so that their legs come up together. “What?” Hongbin says, amused. He doesn’t disentangle himself, the weight of his leg settling on Sanghyuk’s. It takes him a moment to look up from his iPod, but he’s smiling when he does.
Most days, he doesn’t think about it. Hongbin is a fixed presence, always a casual arm’s length away to borrow a drink of water or whisper a joke, there to meet his eye when he glances over. He doesn’t second-guess the way he gravitates.
Only sometimes, watching him lift up the back of his shirt to adjust his mic pack, or slide him a glance through a smile, does he remember. “Nothing,” Sanghyuk says, dropping his leg. He stands, faking a stretch, and finds Hakyeon instead.
“You’re cute,” Hakyeon says by way of greeting, when Sanghyuk bobs up from behind his chair. He’s sitting in front of the dressing room table, fiddling with the array of rings. “What’s up?”
Sanghyuk shrugs, one-shouldered, and drops down into the other chair. He prods the ring on Hakyeon’s finger. “Hi.”
“Ow,” Hakyeon says, voice pitched high and reproachful. “Ow,” he repeats, when Sanghyuk prods the ring again, more bluntly. He wiggles his finger to make the ring move. “Why are you doing this to me?” Sanghyuk laughs, and then they’re called up.
Performing shakes him out of it, just as much as the sight of Hongbin’s face when a hundred cheer slogans unfurl at once, at the end of “G.R.8.U.” “Happy birthday, Kong,” Hakyeon yells, over the fans’ screaming, and swipes a sticky, caked finger down Hongbin’s face. Hongbin’s laughing too hard to protest, breathless as he dodges Wonshik’s finger, getting cream in his hair. Taekwoon licks his fingers, disinterested, as Sanghyuk plunges both hands into the cake he’s holding.
He bobs up in front of Hongbin, tongue peeping out as he slaps a messy handful of cake against Hongbin’s cheeks with both hands. “Artwork,” Sanghyuk says, with relish, and Hongbin grabs him by the wrists before he gets a look over Sanghyuk’s shoulder, eyes going round.
“Wait, wait,” Hongbin yelps, as Taekwoon approaches, holding up what’s left of the cake. Hongbin ducks at the last minute, swinging Sanghyuk around with him. The wet smack of impact makes him cringe, cream and cake sliding down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. The screams are deafening. “You deserved it,” Hongbin whispers into his other ear, grinning and unapologetic, and lets go.
They make a convenience store run the first night in Tokyo. “Hurry up,” Wonshik says in a loud whisper, waving them over from halfway down the hall. “I’ve been holding this elevator for like five minutes.”
Sanghyuk shivers when he steps out of the hotel, the cold seeping through two layers of jackets to his skin. He sticks his hands in his pockets, stamping his feet to get warm, then catches up. “Konbini-san,” he trills, plucking at Hongbin’s sleeve.
“Yes,” Hongbin lilts in reply, and Sanghyuk grins.
At the convenience store, Sanghyuk grabs a bag of wasabi peas and sidles into the next aisle to bury it in the handful of ramen Hongbin hands him out of Wonshik’s overladen arms. “They’re for Taekwoon hyung,” Sanghyuk says blithely, when the bag spills into sight at the register.
“Did he specifically ask for those,” Wonshik starts, but the cashier’s already scanning it with the rest of the items, and Sanghyuk widens his eyes in a shrug, dancing out of reach when Wonshik starts to reach for his hood. “Wait,” Wonshik says to Hongbin, tugging hastily at his elbow, but it’s too late: Hongbin’s pocketing Shinwoo hyung’s credit card again already.
“What?” Hongbin says, then eyes Sanghyuk, who’s shoving the wasabi peas into his hoodie pocket.
“Nothing,” Sanghyuk says, cheerfully, picking up drinks. “Winning our bet.”
Hongbin reaches over in response, tugging it back out by the corner. The logo appears before Sanghyuk shoves it back in his pocket, taking Hongbin’s hand with it. Hongbin wiggles free, grinning. “That’s not going to work.”
“I don’t know anything about this,” Wonshik says, defeated, and tucks packs of ramen under his arm.
The others are still watching the same nature documentary when they get back, Jaehwan and Hakyeon on one bed, Taekwoon on the other. When Sanghyuk tries to cross the room, Taekwoon hauls him down by the waist without breaking his gaze. Sanghyuk follows it to the television, then looks to Jaehwan, who mouths, help. Sanghyuk points to Taekwoon’s arm, still barred across his stomach, and then at Hakyeon: busy, ask our deposed leader. Baby ducklings march across the screen as Wonshik stoops down into a squat to avoid blocking the television, waddling over to the other bed with everyone’s drinks, and Sanghyuk stifles a laugh.
He wriggles under Taekwoon’s grip to get his attention, holds out the wasabi peas like a bargaining chip. Taekwoon considers for a moment before letting go, taking the bag. Sanghyuk holds his breath as Taekwoon pops a handful in his mouth. Three handfuls later, he crunches serenely and swallows. “They’re good, thanks,” he says.
“Unbelievable,” Wonshik mutters, to no one, and Sanghyuk makes an aborted shut up gesture. “I’m glad you like them,” he informs Taekwoon, pillowing his head on Taekwoon’s thigh. Hongbin coughs.
“So sincere,” Taekwoon says, looking down at him. For a moment, he looks fond. Then he gently pushes Sanghyuk’s head off so that it thumps down onto the bed.
At the commercial break, Taekwoon, still holding the remote, moves over to supervise, taking the chopsticks from Hongbin. Sanghyuk takes the opportunity to grab a pillow, hitch himself up higher. The bed dips at his hip, and a moment later Hongbin’s tumbling down on his other side. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and smoggy air. “Told you,” he says, in an undertone.
Sanghyuk laughs, drums his fingers on the pillow. “I’m starting to think he really does like everything.”
Hongbin leans back. “Well,” he says, grinning over at him, and Sanghyuk feels something lodge in his throat. “It’s my turn.”
On stage, Rovix’s mouth opens with a pneumatic hiss, billows of steam as they’re raised up in silhouette, released into a sea of people. Light sticks illuminate the darkness like starlight. Listening to his name being chanted, thunderous and incredible, the anxiety vanishes, replaced by a pure shot of epinephrine. The sound of Real V, V.I.X.X, VIXX! echoed by a thousand voices, and then the introduction to “Rock Your Body” floods the arena.
Wonshik shouting, microphone raised in the air, Let’s go, Seoul! as Jaehwan lays down a beat. Hakyeon, lit up by a single spotlight, dancing to his own choreography. Backstage, Sanghyuk listens to Taekwoon’s voice soaring up and up, tugging on a new jacket, checking his mic. Next to him, Hongbin flashes him a smile, sweet and nervous. “Ready?”
“Cherry Blossom Ending,” Sanghyuk had said, when they were brainstorming, and laughed immediately afterward. The list included Bruno Mars, Justin Timberlake, and Sanghyuk crossdressing. Next to the last idea, Sanghyuk had written an adamant NO in English.
“Shower songs are off-limits,” Hongbin said defensively, distracted from where he’d been writing a discreet YES. They were in one of the individual practise rooms at Jellyfish, sitting opposite each other, Hongbin’s right leg lined up against Sanghyuk’s left. When Sanghyuk reached forward for the list, his foot nudged Hongbin’s hip. The room was too cramped to play keep-away. Hongbin watched him write it down, then took the list back and said: “Then I’m putting IU’s ‘Good Day’ down.”
The opening chords set off a frenzy of screams. When the lights come on, it’s to Hongbin laughing a little as Sanghyuk, on impulse, plucks one of the fake pink flowers off the stage. He drops down to one knee and offers it to Hongbin, throwing him a wink for full effect.
Hongbin sings the first line to Sanghyuk, fingers sliding down the neck of his guitar, then takes the flower, tucking it behind his ear. He leaves it there for the rest of the performance, slipping it into his pocket during the ending talk, and when they take their final bow, Sanghyuk reaches for Hongbin’s hand and finds it already halfway to his.
Sanghyuk turns the lights on, then cringes, flipping them off again hastily. “It’s bad,” Sanghyuk says.
“He might not notice,” Hongbin says unconvincingly, fiddling with the elastic on his party hat. Sanghyuk gives him a look that he can’t see. “Ow, that was my foot.”
“Sorry.” Sanghyuk shifts away from the direction of Hongbin’s voice, flicks the lighter and gets a flash of Hongbin and Jaehwan’s faces, illuminated in orange. He gets enough light to find the light switch again, turning it back on. “What now?”
“We still have five minutes.” Jaehwan turns the cake around, inspecting the damage. It’s mostly the piping, one side slightly flat. “Give me a fork,” he says, and Sanghyuk leans over, pulling one out of a drawer to hand to him. He hovers a little, mirrored by Hongbin, as Jaehwan combs the tines through the cream, mending the scrape.
He leans back a little when he’s finished. “Operation complete,” he announces, overtly pleased, and then there’s a series of beeps at the door, the muffled sound of voices. Sanghyuk leaps into action, lighting the candles hastily as Hongbin picks up the cake - “Two hands,” Jaehwan whispers, sternly, just before he cuts the lights.
Taekwoon doesn’t bother acting surprised, but he ducks his head in a smile when they appear, Hakyeon simultaneously wrapping his arms around Taekwoon from behind, each of them singing different renditions of happy birthday: Sanghyuk in a fluttery falsetto, Wonshik in a Gregorian chant, Jaehwan outlasting them all in an operatic version that makes Taekwoon’s mouth twitch as he socks him in the shoulder. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s pretty.”
Jaehwan, out of Taekwoon’s line of sight, flashes them an exaggerated wink. Sanghyuk grins at him. Then Hongbin ducks his head to mutter a thank god in a low undertone, and it sends his pulse jumping into his throat, laughing a little to offset the sudden rush of warmth in his ears. “Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds hollow, shocked. “Right.”
They celebrate New Year’s in the dorms, Wonshik and Jaehwan piling in with six-packs of Hite sometime in the afternoon, clamouring at the entrance as they stamp their feet, hands clumsy in their gloves. He can hear Hakyeon calling softly to someone in the other room. Taekwoon, who is bracing the ladder he’s standing on, says, “A little to the left.”
He adjusts the garland, and at Taekwoon’s nod of approval, reaches for the tape dispenser, fixing it in place. He’s shifting the ladder to put up the last of the decorations when Hongbin comes into the living room, blowing up a balloon, an arm looped around Jaehwan’s. Jaehwan’s holding a half-empty bag of deflated balloons, which Sanghyuk recognises as the one Hongbin’s been working on for the past hour. Hongbin’s face is flushed when he pulls the balloon away from his mouth to knot off the end, laughing breathlessly when Jaehwan dangles another flat balloon in front of his face. “You do one,” Hongbin says, shaking his head and batting Jaehwan’s hand away. “I’m dizzy.”
“I only blow bubbles,” Jaehwan’s insisting, as Sanghyuk clambers down. Taekwoon waits until he has both feet on the floor before he retreats back into the kitchen, where Hakyeon is cooking. By the time he’s returned the ladder to the security guard on the first floor, the sun is going down.
The dorm goes quiet a while after the countdown ends. Wonshik falls asleep first, mouth slightly open against the pillow Hakyeon had slipped under his head, an apology for the unibrow he and Jaehwan had given him earlier, hissing over his prone figure, laid out on the floor, “I could only find a brown marker-”
Jaehwan lies beside Wonshik to take selcas afterward, startling every time Wonshik’s snoring went irregular. The door to Taekwoon’s room closes sometime after 1 a.m. When Sanghyuk goes to the kitchen, Hongbin’s there, standing at the sink, where he’s stacking up dishes. Sanghyuk sidesteps him to open up a cabinet, pulling out a clean glass to pour himself a cup of water.
Hongbin bumps against him a little, rests his chin on Sanghyuk’s shoulder. Sanghyuk offers him the glass, and he takes it, finishes what’s left. “Going to sleep soon?” Hongbin says, pulling away to put the glass in the sink. Sanghyuk’s buzz is starting to fade, but everything still feels soft, vague, and when he leans into Hongbin, moving with him, Hongbin looks a little startled.
He’s reminded, suddenly, of the MyDol PD, drawing the two of them aside to say, Sanghyuk, sit further away from him. How the scripted tension had worked itself between them, so that when he talked to Hongbin, he felt his face heat, suddenly aware of the uselessness of his hands. How they’d manufactured a distance to breach, breaking down bridges, so that later, in the car, with the cameras off, Hongbin had started to slide in next to him, then stopped and reversed.
It feels the same now, hesitant to look up for fear of the honesty he might see there, conscious of their proximity, feeling it cut through the haze. He starts to pull back, and when Hongbin reaches out, puts a hand on his forearm, his first instinct is to flinch. Hongbin lets go almost as quickly, and Sanghyuk says, a little desperately, “Wait, no, sorry-”
Something in Hongbin’s face flickers. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he reaches out, slowly. This time, when Hongbin’s hand circles around his wrist, Sanghyuk lets it. Opens his mouth to the press of Hongbin’s, warm and tentative. Sanghyuk is less careful. He’s breathing hard when Hongbin pulls away, his hand still on Sanghyuk’s wrist. Some part of Hongbin’s mouth is red, and Sanghyuk thinks, with a sudden clarity of want, yes.
For a moment he sees it reflected back at him. Then somebody in the living room makes a sound and Hongbin startles, stepping back.
It’s been months since they came even close to talking about it, even longer since he’s wanted to. “Hyung,” Sanghyuk says. His voice wavers a little. He clenches his hand in a fist to stop himself from reaching out.
Hongbin hesitates, then says, “The first time, it wasn’t an accident.”
It takes Sanghyuk a minute to get what he means, to remember the kiss. “You could have said-”
“I know,” Hongbin interrupts, awkward. “I’m saying it now.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching a little. His voice goes a little soft. “I didn’t think you-”
Sanghyuk laughs a little, self-conscious as he digs a socked toe into the floor. “Are you kidding?” He glances back up, catching sight of Hongbin’s expression, and flashes him a grin, sweet and nervous.
This time, he reaches out first. Pulls them close and brings his mouth down to Hongbin’s.
He’s splashing water over his face when Hongbin comes in, exhausted, to press a handful of paper towels against his sweaty hairline. Hakyeon had only called five when Jaehwan had mixed up his steps, crashing into Wonshik when he went right instead of left. “Hi,” Sanghyuk says, and pats his face dry.
“Hey,” Hongbin says, through the paper. Sanghyuk dabs at the stray water droplets on his shirt, waiting for Hongbin to finish. When Hongbin reaches the door, Sanghyuk hooks his pinky finger with Hongbin’s, leading the way back to the practise room. He doesn’t have to look back to know Hongbin’s mirroring his smile.