No Bird Soars Too High - hvanwoong (dovekook) (2024)

Chapter Text

The dorm is deadly silent during the early hours, and Dongju knows all of the floorboards to avoid in order to keep it so. Out of the bedroom, down the dark hallway; one hand trails along the wall to keep his balance. His feet act on auto-pilot, quick as a fox on the trustworthy boards, and only out in the kitchen does he begin to pad across the room with less care. Most sound in this room is not audible back down the corridor. He heads to the fridge and peers inside.

With comeback season in full swing, the fridge is well-stocked by the managers. There are cooked meals on the upper shelf, in plastic tupperware boxes, some way down some baskets of chilled fruit, and in the door lines and lines of flavoured drinks. Dongju takes out a can of white grape sparkling water and opens it with a soft hiss and crack of the metal ring.

When something touches the small of his back, he almost leaps out of his skin.

Water bubbles over and spills down his hands as he gasps and turns. ‘Hyung!’

‘Shh!’ Hwanwoong presses a finger to Dongju’s lips and glances over his shoulder down the dark hall. ‘Don’t wake up the whole house.’ For a moment, like he’s unsure of whether to trust Dongju’s late night panic, his finger lingers and Dongju finds himself holding his breath.

Only when Hwanwoong slides his finger down, catching his lower lip for a second, and gives him a small smile, does Dongju dare to exhale. ‘I thought you were the ghost!’

‘That’s a lot of indignation for the one sneaking around first at night,’ grins Hwanwoong. He lifts the can from Dongju’s hand and takes a sip. ‘Nice.’

Dongju stares at him, aghast, but Hwanwoong is one of the hyungs that he doesn’t dare to try and argue with. Grumbling, he opens the fridge again for a new drink.

‘So what are you doing creeping around the dorm so late?’ whispers Hwanwoong. ‘We have to be up before dawn to travel to the show.’

There is always a penetrating look in Hwanwoong’s eyes that Dongju finds hard to ignore and even harder to lie to. It’s something in the way that his forehead furrows just enough to crease between his brows but not enough to create lines, and the way that his dark eyes look slightly up at Dongju, with sharp focus in his gaze. He shuffles his feet and opens his second drink. ‘Just nervous.’

‘Why?’ asks Hwanwoong in surprise. ‘We’ve done plenty of shows already.’

‘I tripped yesterday.’

‘No one even saw. Don’t worry about that.’

Dongju shrugs. Sometimes he can’t explain why some days he worries more than others. An involuntary jump catches hold of him for the second time as Hwanwoong touches him again, resting a gentle hand at his waist. Maybe it’s the late hour and the reminder of the ghost that Dongju swears is haunting the dorm, but goose-bumps rise on the skin under his loose white Disney tee. He’s not wearing anything else other than his underwear but it’s normal for them to walk around the dorm like that. It’s not a big deal.

Suddenly, though, he’s self-conscious.

‘Try not to be nervous,’ says Hwanwoong in a soft voice. ‘Your dancing has improved so much these last few months. I’m proud of you.’

A surge of a thrill runs from Dongju’s throat to his abdomen at the praise from Hwanwoong. Hwanwoong does not often give out compliments, and when he does they are brusque and non-emotive. There’s a little tremor in Dongju’s voice when he answers. ‘Thanks, hyung.’

Hwanwoong drops his hand from his waist and drains the rest of his can before crumpling it and leaving it in the sink. That motion makes Dongju want to roll his eyes. As if he couldn’t just carry it across the room to the garbage. ‘Go back to bed soon,’ orders Hwanwoong, in his stern-hyung voice. ‘I’ll be waiting up for you. I mean it. I won’t go to sleep until I hear you snuggling up in that bed.’

Hwanwoong is babying him. Sometimes Dongju wishes that he wouldn’t, because he’s not a kid anymore and he wants Hwanwoong to look at him like he is now. He sighs and nods. ‘On my way.’

His eyes follow Hwanwoong back down the hall as he skips along the same non-creaking path that Dongju took earlier. For Hwanwoong, though, the movements are more like a ballet dancer, leaping from board to board with such grace. At the doorway to the bedroom, he glances over his shoulder and gives Dongju a bright wave before slipping inside.

Left alone, a strange sensation settles in the pit of Dongju’s stomach. He wishes that he hadn’t drunk half of this can already because he thinks he feels sick, but after a second that thought passes and he realises that the feeling is something else. There’s pride, there, from the compliment that Hwanwoong paid him, and a tingle on his skin from where his hand rested.

It feels like the flash of a crush that he fell headfirst into when he walked into the rehearsal room as a trainee on his first day at the company and saw Hwanwoong practicing, sheened in sweat and focussed intently on his own reflection. Those butterflies in his stomach, those hot palms and red ears. But he put all that to bed a long time ago, when he realised that it could never be allowed to happen, and that Hwanwoong would never see him as anything other than his dorky little brother anyway. The memory of that time hasn’t even crossed his mind for months.

Nerves.

He puts it down to nerves.

Still, he waits a few minutes before following Hwanwoong back to the bedroom, in the hopes that he will have fallen asleep after all. The thought of him watching his movements silently in the dark makes his hand shake on his drink.

~

The stage is dark as they prepare for the live recording. Hwanwoong fiddles with his mic and ear monitor, nervous because two days ago his monitor came loose and he had to perform the bridge and chorus on pure instinct. His costume is still stiff, fresh from the heat press, the coat thick black and gold wool with ornate embroidery around the collar, and it is difficult to move his arms. Behind his eyes there is a dull ache from his late night excursion.

Hwanwoong does not do well when he has slept badly. It puts him in a sour mood and he knows that he snaps at people. Without his eight hours he can be a grouch all day, and he finds himself on edge.

Already, there is a focus cam pointed his way, so he keeps his expression neutral. Sometimes the weight of the cameras on him starts to drag his shoulders down. Sometimes in the middle of the night he jerks awake in a panic, certain that he is being watched. Sometimes he wishes for a private moment to prepare himself for a stage instead of this.

The first beat of the music begins, and he conjures up his character like an adept sorcerer. This song has a very specific concept and he must portray every detail on his face to tell the story to everyone in the room. There is no textual accompaniment, no explanation, only movements and lyrics to convey this message. And if they want to win today, then the message needs to be strong.

Today is the first time that they have earned the first place in the pre-voting. It plays on Hwanwoong’s mind, he thinks more so than the others. Whenever he brings it up, they always say that they aren’t that worried about wins. Hwanwoong is. The competitive gene was passed down from his parents, who even when he was little were ferocious when it came to board-games, and it nags at a corner of his brain even when he’s resting or playing videogames or practicing in the studio.

He wants to win.

The fans have worked so hard on the voting that he wants to win for them.

They’ve done their part and now it’s up to him and the others to do theirs.

The glow of their light-sticks in the crowd stands out in his periphery and the fan-chants are so loud, louder than he ever remembers them being before. He hits every beat with fervour, and he can feel without a glance at the stage monitors that it looks good. Adrenaline rushes in his veins and his fingers buzz with energy. As he moves through the steps lactic acid burns in his muscles and his breathing comes quicker. It’s hard to keep his voice stable, but a part of him is aware that people will love that. They’ll cut it into videos on social media, proof that they are live singers.

Towards the end of the song there is a moment in the choreography in which Hwanwoong entwines his fingers with Dongju’s before pushing him away. Even under the glaring white and red strobes, their eyes meet, and Hwanwoong gives his hand a squeeze. Their palms are sweaty and slip together, but their eyes scream triumph because this is their best stage yet. At their second of interaction, a scream rises up from the audience, before Hwanwoong pushes him away.

As the final beat of the song fades out, Hwanwoong drops to his knees and throws his head back. He takes out his monitor to listen to the screams of the audience, and he knows that for the live recording it is not just their fans in the crowd. They have won over everyone.

He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, as if he could fill his lungs with this moment for a lifetime. He hasn’t felt like this since their debut stage, when everything first fell into place. Sound pummels his ear drums but he drinks it in, until a hand closes around his arm and his eyes fly back open. Youngjo is pulling him up, and when he’s standing he throws an arm around his shoulders to give him an excited shake.

Dongju and Geonhak are still in their finishing positions like they are afraid to move, but Seoho and Keonhee are already hugging. The steps to the side of the stage seem to cross several miles, because Hwanwoong would do anything to live in this moment forever. He drags his feet as he bows to the audience, drags and drags and drags until he reaches the steps off stage and someone is immediately pulling free his jacket.

He hadn’t even noticed that he was hot.

Now, aware of it, sweat drips on his forehead and he’s conscious of the way that his black undershirt is sticking to him. A member of staff passes him a fan and he switches it to the highest setting, holding it close to his neck. His chest rises and falls at rapid pace and the narrow passage backstage is claustrophobic.

‘Amazing,’ grins Seoho and he pulls Hwanwoong into a hug that he can’t wait to escape, only because now that reality has crashed down on him he’s in need of space and air. Still, he hugs him back, and Geonhak and Keonhee too when they come to clap hands down on his shoulders. Excited voices fill the air and he’s propelled to a dressing room where one of the managers gives him back his phone.

Just when he has a moment to collapse down into a styling chair and take some deep breaths, Dongju appears beside him.

His hair is coloured red and the dye has run a little at his temples. Bright excited lights fill his eyes, and his lips are halfway to a broad smile, like he’s trying to keep composed. ‘I was good, right, hyung?’ he says.

The question makes Hwanwoong turn his tired head to the side. He knows that Dongju depends on validation, and that he often needs someone to tell him that he’s done well, but Hwanwoong isn’t usually the member he goes to. More often than not it’s Geonhak or Youngjo. ‘You were beautiful,’ he says, referring to his dance and his poise and his confidence on the stage today. Maybe the endorphins from the exertion on stage are making him soft, replacing the tiredness that makes him crabby.

‘You – you really think that?’ Dongju knots his hands together and wrings his wrists in front of his body.

‘Of course I think that,’ he exhales. His throat is dry and his eyes scan around, distracted, for water. ‘Have I ever lied to you?’

Dongju’s smile turns dazzling. He shuffles his feet and then bows quickly to Hwanwoong before darting back out of the room. Perhaps Hwanwoong would think that behaviour was weird if he weren’t so interested in finding a drink for his parched throat. When he spots an unopened bottle of juice from two seats along, he wheels the chair over and snatches it up.

After the performance they gave today, he’s not going to feel guilty for that.

~

Never before has Dongju felt nerves like this as they stand on the stage waiting for the scores to be announced. In previous comebacks, they have been placed near the back, watching the action unfold but not really participating. Being in the top two is intimidating, especially when the artist on the other side of the hosts is a well-known digital monster. Dongju squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to try to do the math as the scores start coming up.

He jumps when he feels someone take his hand, and he knows it’s Hwanwoong, because Hwanwoong is stood on his right-hand side. Their fingers lace together like they did on the stage earlier, and Hwanwoong squeezes his hand tight.

There is no one in the world that Dongju would rather have by his side than Hwanwoong right now. Hwanwoong who has helped him since the day he arrived at RBW, who stayed late with him after practice when everyone else went home but Dongju was panicking about not mastering the choreography. Hwanwoong who speaks up for him in meetings when Dongju is too shy to pipe up with his opinions. Hwanwoong who Dongju can’t pretend he hasn’t been crushing on for over two years anymore because there’s no other excuse for the way his heart beats faster every time he’s in his presence.

He squeezes his hand back.

When the word Oneus escapes the lips of the host, the world stops moving for a second. Dongju’s grip on Hwanwoong’s small hand is so tight that he’s sure he’s crushing his fingers. A murmur and a gasp and then a ripple of screams swings around the audience like a wave.

Then Hwanwoong’s hand pulls free and Dongju’s eyes fly open and Hwanwoong is pumping his fist in excitement.

Geonhak has crouched down and is running his hands through his hair.

Seoho and Keonhee and Youngjo have grouped in a hug.

Of all of them Dongju seems to have the slowest reaction. It can’t be real. It can’t be real but it’s real because his band-mates are reacting like it’s real. And he trusts them more than he trusts his own mind.

He’s wanted this for so long. He’s wanted this for himself but even more so for his hyungs. He thinks that this must be how it feels to win an Olympic medal or a statuette at the Academy Awards because Dongju can’t imagine anything less producing a euphoria like this. It rises up inside him from his abdomen to his chest, a hot energy like fire bubbling merrily under a cooking pot. It heats his heart until boiling point and his chest feels tight, but not in the panicked way – no, it’s more like he’s going to cry. Even now, a sting pricks at the corners of his eyes.

As he watches, lost for words, Hwanwoong turns to him to pull him into a hug.

Dongju cannot be sure how it happens.

Perhaps he goes the wrong way, or perhaps Hwanwoong does.

Maybe deep inside, Dongju thinks that he’s going the right way.

Their lips touch the way that rows of flowers brush together in the breeze. Delicate petals, like velvet, that’s what Dongju thinks of Hwanwoong’s lips in that split second. They taste of cherry lip balm and the artificial hint of his peach coloured lip tint. Dongju has imagined kissing Hwanwoong so many times that the reality should be almost disappointing compared to his elaborate day-dreams. But it’s not. It’s better. It’s so much better than he imagined.

Then the kiss is over, as quickly as it began, and Hwanwoong is holding him at arm’s length.

His fingers are tight on Dongju’s arms, grip vicelike.

And the ecstasy crashes down into crushing depths like waves dragging rocks from the cliff edges.

Oh God.

A blinking light in the back of Dongju’s brain knows that he should be thinking about the rest of the world; the team, who he may have just cost everything, and the other artists standing on the stage and the producers behind their monolithic cameras in front of them and the audience of fans and everyone who is watching at home because it is too late to take back what has been done. But Dongju doesn’t think about these things. All he can think about is Hwanwoong.

Hwanwoong who will hate him forever.

‘Hyung - ’ he tries to speak but words catch in his throat and he wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway.

The noise on the stage is still raucous. Perhaps the kiss felt longer in Dongju’s mind than it really was; perhaps the rest of the group did not even notice. Perhaps all they saw was the two embrace. Maybe the truth is destined only for the cameras. Hwanwoong is supposed to take the microphone from the host – that’s what they agreed – but right now he does not look capable of doing anything. There’s panic in his eyes. Real panic. He shakes his head as if in slow motion. His breath is coming in rapid gasps and his throat is bobbing as he swallows over and over.

Dongju is frozen to the spot. He wants to run away, but he couldn’t move if he tried and where would he go? There’s no place for him. No place other than the dorm and the studio and all of the places where Hwanwoong lives and Hwanwoong is never going to forgive him for this. He’ll hate him forever.

Youngjo pushes past both of them with haste to take the microphone.

He’s so composed. Dongju wishes that he was like him. As Youngjo talks in a quick, smooth voice about how grateful they are, and how they owe the win to their fans, Dongju feels an arm around his shoulders and he jerks in surprise. It’s Geonhak. Did he see? Is the touch a reassurance or just a moment of comradery after their win? The not-knowing is the worst part.

His heart pounds with vicious intent against his chest, as if it will punish him for what he’s done by breaking right out of the bone.

Their song starts to play. It sounds distant, like an old juke-box playing at the end of a long train tunnel, because Dongju’s ears are rushing. The encore stage. Already the other artists are shuffling right and the group are going to be expected to perform while the credits roll. Dongju thinks how he’s dreamed about this for so long, and instead of feeling thrilled he feels like the world has ended. His world has. This might even be the last time that he gets to perform on stage with his friends.

Hwanwoong is backing up, tripping over his own feet and bumping into one of the other singers behind them. Youngjo catches him by the arm though and pushes him towards his position on stage. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Dongju realises that Hwanwoong hardly looks able to stand, let alone dance.

‘Just sing the song,’ says Geonhak right against Dongju’s ear. His voice sounds louder than the music even though it cannot be so much so. He squeezes Dongju’s shoulders and directs him too.

It is the longest couple of verses of his life.

Not because his muscles scream like they sometimes do or stage fright grips hold of him.

It’s the dread and regret that seep like an ugly stain in his veins, which make the minutes feel like hours.

~

‘Don’t touch me,’ chokes Hwanwoong when Youngjo puts an arm over his shoulder to brush the bangs from his face. He shakes his head like that’ll free himself but Youngjo doesn’t stop. His fingers are steady and unwavering as he smooths the hair back from Hwanwoong’s forehead.

‘It’s okay,’ murmurs Youngjo. ‘You’re okay.’

Hwanwoong vomits again. There’s nothing left in his stomach except for acid and bile but he coughs that up too. His throat burns like he’s skinned it raw and his empty stomach heaves with every breath he takes. He didn’t eat before the stage, so the fist of fear squeezes the empty space until it folds and crumples. The clenched fist twists and twists and he whimpers in anguish.

‘Why don’t we go outside?’ Youngjo whispers. He’s still stroking Hwanwoong’s hair. The two of them are sat in a mess of limbs on the floor of the small bathroom stall buried deep in the labyrinth of the television studios. When Youngjo followed him in, he bolted the main door to keep everyone else away, so the only other sound is the drip of one tap outside the stall and the rumble of pipes somewhere overhead. ‘The manager-hyungs want to see you. They’ll take care of you. They’ll take us home.’

‘I’m g-going to be kicked out. I’m going to be kicked out of the group and the company and the industry and I don’t have anything else! There’s nothing else I’m good at! It’s all over, Youngjo, I’m finished.’ The words stumble out so quickly that some of them blur together and Youngjo has to frown to keep up. ‘What if – what if Dongju gets kicked out because of me? Oh God, hyung! What if he gets kicked out because of what I did?’

‘Hey,’ Youngjo turns him around and holds his face gently in his hands. ‘You’re catastrophising. Stop. Take a deep breath. Look at me. That isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it happen. Neither of you are going to be… f*cking… kicked out because you did something by accident on stage.’

Hwanwoong turns away and retches again.

‘It was… was it an accident, Woong?’ Youngjo says in a softer voice. ‘Because you can talk to me.’

‘Of course it was an accident.’ His voice is heavy and there are tear-tracks on his cheeks. ‘He went one way and I – I went the same way – and it just – it was an accident. It’s all my fault. Dongju – Dongju must be feeling - ’ He starts to clamber to his feet so abruptly that he almost knocks over Youngjo. From the time spent crumpled on the stall floor his legs are numb and he stumbles clumsily until Youngjo manages to stand up and catches hold of him.

‘Woong, stop.’

‘Need to find Dongju.’

‘Stop.’ Youngjo holds him tight. ‘You can’t go out looking like this. Come on.’

He unlocks the stall door and steers Hwanwoong over to the sink basin. When Hwanwoong catches sight of his reflection in the mirror over the basin he winces. His stage make-up has run down his cheeks in dark tracks and the eyeliner under his eyes is smudged and watery. There’s a pale tinge to his skin from the nausea and his hair is knotted and messy.

Youngjo wets his sleeve under the water and lifts his hand to gently dab away the stains.

‘Don’t let them kick me out,’ whispers Hwanwoong. He can’t stop saying it. Oneus is his life. It’s everything that he’s ever worked for. Today was supposed to be their big moment. And he’s ruined it all.

‘No one’s going to try that, Woongie,’ says Youngjo. ‘It’s all of us or none of us. There’s no group without you or Dongju. Your mind is just working in hyperdrive right now. You need to calm down. I know it’s hard but you need to try and keep steady.’

‘I want to go home.’

Youngjo nods. He straightens Hwanwoong’s shirt and pats down his hair. ‘Let’s find Dongju and we’ll all go home together. Everything’s going to be okay.’

‘Promise?’

For a second, Youngjo falters, but then he nods. ‘Of course. I promise.’

When he unlocks the bathroom door and slips outside, they find the two main managers who accompanied them to the music show. One, Manager Jeong, has a face like thunder. The other, Manager Byun, looks more concerned. Hwanwoong gravitates towards the latter, and Youngjo is happy to steer him that way. He keeps a protective arm around his back.

‘Where’s Dongju?’ asks Hwanwoong in a ragged voice.

‘We need to get out of here. Too many eyes,’ interrupts Manager Jeong, and he reaches out a hand to grab Hwanwoong by the shirt sleeve, but Youngjo nudges Hwanwoong aside and places himself between the two of them subtly but firmly.

‘I need to find Dongju,’ Hwanwoong repeats.

‘Dongju’s gone,’ says Manager Byun.

‘Gone where?’ asks Youngjo, trying to keep his voice steady. Hwanwoong knows that it’s because he’s probably worried that he will panic again if he starts to sound worried.

‘Bolted,’ mutters Manager Jeong with a suspicious look around the corridor like there will be spies or cameras hidden behind or below every surface. ‘Still in his costume.’

‘Don’t worry,’ murmurs Manager Byun. ‘Giwook already messaged Seoho. Dongju took a taxi-cab, went to their dorm.’

‘Dongmyeong will make sure he’s okay,’ says Youngjo and he rubs Hwanwoong’s back. ‘Let’s go back to the dorm.’

‘We need to go to the company building right away,’ snaps Manager Jeong. ‘We need to get ahead of this. On top of this, we’re already too late to get ahead of it. All the time you spent crying in the bathroom has cost us valuable minutes. You’re trending top of every live search. The forums are exploding. Social media is out of hand and the journalists are salivating - ’

‘Hwanwoong doesn’t need to hear this right now,’ says Youngjo angrily. ‘We’ll go back to the dorm. Everyone’s been awake since before dawn, we’re all tired. There’s no point going to the company without Dongju and there’s nothing that can’t wait until morning. Hwanwoong needs to rest.’

The Manager’s words are going round and around in Hwanwoong’s head. The cacophony is deafening. The press. The fans. Every member of the public who logs into Naver. They’re all going to know. They’re all going to see it replayed over and over and over. There’ll be cuts of it on Twitter, five second loops of the moment their lips touched. Maybe Manager Jeong is right and they need to move fast. But Hwanwoong is tired, his stomach and his throat are burning, and it’s easier to hide than to act.

He wishes that he had his phone.

The itch to read the comments is overwhelming.

‘Home,’ says Youngjo. Out of all of them, he is the only one who sounds calm. ‘Let’s just go home.’

~

Dongju curls up in his brother’s bed, the way that he used to whenever their parents would argue when they were kids, or whenever someone had said something cruel to him at school. The blankets are warm and soft, and he can almost imagine that it isn’t winter outside. With the shades drawn and the comforter up over his head, he can almost pretend that the outside world doesn’t exist at all. As soon as he arrived at the dorm, Dongmyeong took his phone away.

Whatever is going on beyond these walls, Dongju does not know.

‘Ju, wake up,’ murmurs Dongmyeong’s voice, as if Dongju could ever have fallen asleep.

He pushes the comforter away from his face with reluctance and meets his brother’s eyes in the dark room. Dongmyeong is sat on the side of the bed, and in his hands is a bowl of some sort of stew.

‘Harin cooked this for you,’ says Dongmyeong. ‘You should try to eat. I know that you never have meals before shows because you’re always worried it will make your face puffy.’ There is a fond smile on his lips.

Here in this room, Dongju can pretend that his world hasn’t just fallen apart. This room is safe. It’s the room that Dongmyeong shares with Giwook, and there are posters pinned up to the walls and the silhouette of two basses on delicate stands and in the far corner a battered keyboard. There are no secrets in this room, because Dongmyeong has known the truth for years. Dongju remembers the first time that he uttered the words aloud to the Dongmyeong, the first time he’d even uttered them aloud to himself: ‘I think I’m gay.’

Dongmyeong had pressed a kiss to Dongju’s forehead, which was unusual because the two of them had never been the most physically affectionate of brothers. Then he told him that he loved him and that he should talk to Giwook too.

When Dongju talked to Giwook, he realised that he wasn’t alone.

He sits up and takes the bowl as Dongmyeong fusses arranging the pillows behind him. ‘What are they saying about me?’ asks Dongju, his mind back on the world. ‘About us?’

Dongmyeong misunderstands, assuming that he is talking about the other members in the dorm. ‘They’re worried, but they’re ready to protect you. Everyone here understands. We’re all here for you. We love you.’

Dongju doesn’t mention that he was talking about the fans. Or the press. He just nods, because the thought that he’s in a safe place makes the anxiety in his chest settle just a little. The stew that Harin made is warm and comforting; succulent beef, soft oyster mushrooms and aromatic sauce drenching the wilted cabbage. Only when he eats the first few bites does his stomach realise how hungry it was, and it gives a loud rumble that demands satiation.

‘You know they’re all going to love you and protect you too, right?’ whispers Dongmyeong. ‘Youngjo and Seoho and Geonhak and Keonhee and – and Hwanwoong. I’m sure they’re all worried about you right now. I’m sure Hwanwoong is worried.’

‘He’ll hate me. I’ve ruined everything for him. I’ve – I’ve taken it all away.’

Dongmyeong squeezes his arm. ‘Nothing’s going to be taken away. Things might change, but we’re all going to get through this.’ When a silence falls, the only sound is Dongju eating, but Dongmyeong soon breaks it. ‘Do you have feelings for Hwanwoong, Ju?’

This is the question that he has been dreading, the question that he’s known has been coming since the second he arrived in the dorm, frantic and panicked and ice cold even from the short walk between the cab and the front door. He knew he looked a mess, still in his stage costume, but Onewe invited him in without hesitation, wrapping him up in warm blankets. They’d already seen the news. ‘It was an accident, Myeongie.’

‘That’s not what I’m asking. Do you have feelings for him?’

‘I did a long time ago,’ he whispers. ‘When I first joined the company. But I was a kid. He was so experienced, everyone looked up to him. Everyone had a crush on him. I – I knew then that he would never look back at me the same way. He’s older, more mature. He doesn’t mess around with silly things like me. I’m just his dorky dongsaeng who likes Disney too much and plays with crafts. It’s not like he’d like me back.’

Dongmyeong’s face turns to an angry frown. ‘Why are you talking down about yourself like that? Those are all the things that make you great. I’m sure Hwanwoong loves them too.’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway. Hwanwoong likes girls.’

‘Well just because he likes girls, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like boys too.’

‘Doesn’t matter either way,’ Dongju prods moodily at his stew. ‘He still doesn’t like me.’

There is a second in which Dongmyeong looks like he’s going to argue, but then a knock on the door rings around the room and Dongju flinches in panic.

‘It’s me!’ Hyungu’s voice. When he opens the door a crack, his head pokes in the gap, silver hair falling in his eyes. ‘One of your managers is here, Dongju. They keep knocking.’

‘I don’t want to see them,’ whispers Dongju. He knows that running away from his problems isn’t going to help, but this room is safe. And leaving a safe space for the horror show outside is not a decision he’s going to rush in to.

‘Okay,’ nods Hyungu. ‘I’ll tell Yonghoon-hyung to scare him off.’

When Hyungu leaves, Dongmyeong pounces again. ‘Ju, I think you should tell Hwanwoong the truth. You’re never going to be in a situation like this again, a moment where you can lay it all out on the table. No one in the group is going to judge you for who you are. And Hwanwoong… he isn’t going to… he’s not going to be mad at you. It might help him understand what happened today. Even if he doesn’t feel the same then he’ll understand. He’s not going to hate you.’

It’s easy, Dongju thinks, for his brother to say. It’s always easy for someone else to say.

Giving advice is the easiest thing in the world.

Acting on it is the hardest.

~

Hwanwoong sips the drink that Geonhak made for him. Only twenty-four hours ago, he met Dongju in this kitchen and joked with him in the dead of night. How much has changed since then. He swings on the bar stool and stirs the chocolate drink as his eyes scan the latest screen on his phone. Morbid fascination keeps his gaze glued to the constant updates.

His name is already the second most searched term on the live trends.

Dongju’s is fourth.

Oneus are trending on Twitter in Korean and English.

The headlines range from polite to outraged depending on the cheapness of the tabloid. The comments range from disgust to euphoria depending on the account. There are nasty comments, the sort that sicken Hwanwoong to his stomach not because they are about him but because they betray a terrifying prejudice against others. There are excited comments that make him raise his eyebrows because he never expected some people to be so thrilled. They’ve given him and Dongju a collection of titles already: XiWoong, HwanJu, Icons…

Both of their live-in managers are hovering around him, like they’re afraid he’ll post something incriminatingon the official Twitter account if he’s left alone. He tries to ignore them. The drink is sweet, made with dark chocolate and melted marshmallows, and it’s too indulgent to be drinking when they’re in the middle of promotions but Hwanwoong doesn’t care anymore. At the end of the day, he does not even know if he’ll be promoting after today.

There is a flurry of activity when Dongju returns home, and Hwanwoong’s stomach flips over once. Twice. Three times. Geonhak and Keonhee are the first to the door.

Seeing Dongju again…

Everything is different now.

Hwanwoong thinks about kissing him. It all happened so fast that it is hard to remember, but the soft, slightly bitten texture of his lips will stay with him. The taste of gloss. The way his hands touched Hwanwoong’s chest.

How can he ever look at Dongju the same way again?

They bring Dongju to the kitchen, but the boy stops rooted to the spot in the doorway when he sees Hwanwoong. There’s a look of such anxiety in his eyes that Hwanwoong feels the responsibility to stand up and tell him that it’s going to be okay, but how can he convince him of that when he does not even believe it himself? But Dongju is younger, and that means it’s Hwanwoong’s job to take care of him.

He stands but his legs are like jelly. One hand swings out to hold himself up against the counter, and then he crosses the room and pulls Dongju into a tight hug without hesitation.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘We’re alright.’

Dongju rests his chin down onto his shoulder. Hwanwoong can feel the moment that his body starts to shake, and he holds him tighter. ‘I’m sorry,’ whispers Dongju, and Hwanwoong holds him back with a frown as he searches over his features. Dongju’s eyes are glassy and tired. They’ve been awake for so many hours that he can’t keep track anymore.

‘No, no,’ murmurs Hwanwoong. ‘You don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I – I don’t know what came over me. I’m the hyung, I should’ve been more responsible. None of this is your fault.’

The thought that Dongju is blaming himself is crushing. Dongju doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know that Hwanwoong lies awake at night trying to figure out why sometimes he’s thought about kissing another boy.

It all started a few months ago. During the promotions for their previous comeback, he found himself staring at Dongju when he was filming one his parts. His brown hair was feathery in the breeze of the open landscape; a soft blue silk band nestled across his throat; he kept smiling and laughing with Keonhee and they started doing impressions together. Hwanwoong thought he was beautiful. Not cute or handsome, but beautiful, like the sun’s rays were strobes marking centre stage only for him.

At that time, he told himself that it was understandable. Dongju was maturing into a handsome man, everyone said so. Hwanwoong was no different. There was nothing unusual about appreciating someone’s beauty.

Then, a month later, he woke up one night, breathing heavily after a dream that found him clinched in an embrace with one of their dancers. One of their male dancers. He’d raced to the bathroom to avoid embarrassment, head playing the dream out over and over in a constant replay. He’d never looked at the guy like that before, he was just a friend, a colleague. It didn’t mean anything, or it shouldn’t have.

Hwanwoong was confused.

None of it made sense.

If he had these feelings for guys then surely it would’ve started much earlier. When he was a teenager, when all of the other kids at school were starting to get boyfriends and girlfriends. That was how it always was in the movies. Hwanwoong couldn’t be all the way in his twenties and not know.

Then, a few weeks ago, during a rare private moment, he found himself scrolling through a very uncensored website, the sort that made him glance constantly at the door even though he knew he was alone in the dorm, and he tried a different video to usual. He liked it. He liked it a lot. He liked it so much that he threw away his phone afterwards and ran to the shower just to let the cold water numb his head for half an hour because everything inside was riotous.

He couldn’t tell anyone.

He couldn’t tell his teammates, because what would they think if they knew he’d even thought about Dongju or their dancer friend that way? What if they thought it was wrong, to think about any other guys that way? What if it got in the way of their work together, if they began to look at him differently? If they didn’t want to be around him anymore? If they –

It was all stupid. He knew it. He knew the thoughts were stupid. He knew that his members would never treat anyone differently because of who they were. He knew that it was unfair to even contemplate it.

But between the confusion and the anxiety, there was a corner of his brain that could not be reasoned with.

Besides, it could never materialise into anything other than a dream anyway. If anyone found out about it, it would spell the end of his career, and he’d worked too hard to let it all go.

So he’s kept quiet.

All this time.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Now, everyone in the world has found out.

And he’s dragging down Dongju with him.

‘It’s my fault, Dongju. All mine,’ he says. From up behind him walks Keonhee, and he wraps his arms around Hwanwoong’s chest. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s comforting just to know that he’s there.

‘Well you’d better decide quickly between the two of you,’ snaps Manager Jeong. ‘Because you’ll be meeting with the CEO at 8am sharp and if I were you then I’d have an explanation ready.’

‘That’s not fair!’ says Seoho, who has also entered the kitchen wearing his checked flannel pyjamas. ‘None of us have slept. We need to rest.’

‘Well the rest of you don’t have to worry. Only Hwanwoong and Dongju need to attend.’

Fear grabs Hwanwoong by the throat and squeezes tight.

‘It’s alright,’ says Keonhee, and rubs his hands up and down Hwanwoong’s arms. ‘We’re not going to let you go alone. This concerns all of us. We’re a team.’

While it’s true, Hwanwoong can’t help but feel alone.

It’s he and Dongju who have their necks on the chopping block.

~

They only moved into this dorm recently. The living room is small but comfortable, because by comparison they did not have much extra living space in their old dorm. Blue and green cushions give the couches a bright feel and the walls are painted white to flood the room with light during the day. Winter doesn’t overwhelm this dorm like the old one, but Dongju still sits on the floor by the heater and wraps his arms around his legs. The burn on his back reminds him that everything is real, and that he hasn’t just slipped into one of his nightmares. He wishes that he had.

His eyes flicker up when Hwanwoong enters the room. He’s carrying Dongju’s blue blanket, and he holds it out for him without words. The soft jersey runs through Dongju’s fingers, and he lifts it around his shoulders.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ whispers Dongju.

Hwanwoong shakes his head and sits down beside him. ‘I meant what I said, Ju. What happened wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I should’ve known better. You deserved better than this.’

Neither of them seem content to admit that it could just have been an accident.

Dongju can’t watch it, he cannot watch Hwanwoong do this to himself. There is an instinct deep inside him to be brave, even though he’s never thought of himself that way. When they were at school, Dongmyeong was always the brave one who stood up to bullies or even stood up to their teachers. Dongmyeong was the bolder, and therefore Dongju had never had to exercise that part of himself, content to let his brother do the talking. But Dongmyeong isn’t here, now, and Dongju wants to have courage.

The words form on his lips before his thoughts. ‘Oh hyung… you don’t have to say all this. Can I tell you something?’

‘Of course,’ whispers Hwanwoong. ‘You can always tell me anything.’

‘The truth is, hyung, that I’m gay.’ He doesn’t stutter. It isn’t like coming out, to Dongmyeong or talking to Giwook for the first time. The words roll with ease, so easy that he doesn’t even think about them. Because for just this one moment, his own fears feel less important than bringing some kind of understanding to Hwanwoong, whose life has been turned upside down – an understanding of what happened on that stage. ‘And what we did wasn’t your fault. I don’t even think it was mine. It was just something that happened.’

There’s only one thing that he won’t tell him, no matter how much Dongmyeong tried to convince him. He cannot betray the truth to Hwanwoong, the truth about his feelings. Not when their position is already so precarious. He will not lay that burden upon him too.

There’s a glimmer of surprise in Hwanwoong’s eyes, and something else and something else and Dongju realises that he’s never been able to read the thoughts that trail across Hwanwoong’s dark irises, deep black pupils. Whatever is there, though, it doesn’t look bad. Hwanwoong exhales a shaky breath, but he takes Dongju’s hand and holds it tight in his. ‘I never knew,’ he whispers.

‘Well I never said so.’ A soft laugh escapes Dongju’s lips and it’s a sound too delicate for the situation they are now in. Relief is a salve on his hot skin, burned from the heater and from adrenaline. ‘Is it okay? You’re not mad at me?’

‘Why would I be mad at you?’ Hwanwoong frowns, and then he takes Dongju’s cheeks between his hands and gives his head a small, playful shake. ‘Silly boy. What do you take me for? I’m proud of you, always proud of you.’

His cheeks flush scarlet and he pulls away before Hwanwoong feels the heat.

‘Do any of the others know?’ asks Hwanwoong.

‘About me? No. I told Dongmyeong, and I’ve talked to Giwook about it too. But it’s never been… the right moment.’

‘Well I’m glad you told me,’ he whispers. ‘And you know that when you tell the others, they’re all going to be glad, too? You’re like our baby, Dongju.’ A soft smile crinkles the corners of his eyes and Dongju feels his heart break because despite the comfort, the support, he knows that’s all he’ll ever be to Hwanwoong. Hwanwoong who likes girls and thinks that Dongju’s like his little brother.

With those thoughts rattling around his mind, Dongju can’t think of a response. They fall into quiet. Only one lamp is switched on in the room and it bathes them in soft pinkish glow. When Dongju looks up, the light is glancing off Hwanwoong’s angular jaw and his cheekbone and his pretty dark eyes and Dongju wonders how he ever managed to convince himself that he wasn’t in love with him anymore.

‘Have you watched the video?’ asks Hwanwoong.

Dongju shakes his head.

‘I have.’

‘Well now you have to show me,’ Dongju sighs. He takes Hwanwoong’s phone and follows the link to the recording of the live broadcast. His eyes pop at the views. Since the evening it has already been viewed nearly two million times; he doesn’t even remember their performances being seen by so many people. When he skips through the video to the fateful moment, his heart starts to pound faster. Even though he knows what is going to happen, he still hopes that somehow they will have missed each other. Like watching a movie you’ve seen ten times before and still praying that things will go differently this time.

When the kiss happens, it’s even worse than he thought. The live production had zoomed in on them at that very moment, anticipating their hug, and only the two of them are in frame. Dongju doesn’t even remember closing his hands on the front of Hwanwoong’s jacket like that. It doesn’t even resemble a hug. And what felt like a flash of an experience is much longer on camera.

Seconds, even.

The camera cuts away, but far too late.

Dongju rewinds the video to watch it again, then sighs. ‘Well, they couldn’t have captured it any more perfectly.’

‘There’s no explaining this away,’ says Hwanwoong, and his voice sounds miserable again. ‘Do you think we’ll be kicked out of the company?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

Hwanwoong rubs his eyes. ‘Everyone worked so hard, we got so far, we even got our first win. And now it might all be over, just like that, we’ll be forgotten.’

Listening to Hwanwoong voice these fears aloud is not what Dongju needs to hear at this moment, but then again it’s nothing that he hasn’t already thought for himself. He puts his arms around Hwanwoong’s shoulders and hugs him tight. Though their position on the floor is awkward, the message is still the same. We’re in this together. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘if we go to bed now then we can still get a little sleep before the meeting in the morning.’

For the first time in his life, Dongju feels brave.

~

They arrive at the company building in a testudo formation. Hwanwoong and Dongju are protected at the centre with the other members framed around them, while their managers walk ahead at pace. The journey between the car and the doors seems to span a mile. Cameras line the streets – fansites, fans, journalists, even bystanders who’ve stopped to see what all the fuss is. It was the same outside the dorm. The flashes crash and sputter like old movies when the bulbs would burst.

Hwanwoong sure feels like he’s walking on broken glass.

Almost none of his face is visible, because a black mask covers the lower half and a dark beanie is pulled down over his hair. Even though the winter day is cold and the sun is buried behind wispy grey clouds, he wears sunglasses. If the cameras want to get photos of the one slither of skin showing between his glasses and his beanie, half of him covered by Keonhee to his left, then good luck to them.

His claustrophobia begins to take hold of him again, though, with so little freedom to breathe. Before he can take command of his mind, his breath starts to come in quicker gasps and his hands begin to shake and he has to close his eyes just to centre himself. Seoho, who walks behind, places a reassuring hand on his back when they turn to the entrance.

Even though the lobby is familiar, it feels to Hwanwoong like entering a viper’s nest. They rarely travel all the way up to the top floor to see the CEO, and in the elevator Hwanwoong thinks this must be how it would feel to be sent to the principal’s office at school. He wouldn’t know, because he was a model student. He’s always been a model student, at school and at both of his entertainment companies and all through his career to this very moment.

How have I ended up here?

It is obvious that the others keep trying to reassure him and Dongju with little touches. A squeeze of the arm, a hand on the lower back, a shoulder bump to try to make them smile.

They arrive four minutes before their meeting. Politely but not aggressively early, and never, ever late. The managers have agreed that the other members will permitted to join the meeting, but they have advised them not to speak.

Knots wind like twisted yarn in Hwanwoong’s stomach. Before they left the dorm, he kept rushing to the bathroom. There is a burning in his chest too, one that rises up his throat when he talks and makes his voice scraggly. He wants someone to take his hand and hold it, but he knows that wouldn’t be the best thing to do right now. Once he takes off his coat and mask and glasses and beanie, he looks like he’s attending an interview for a job at a prestigious city firm, in a smart jacket and white shirt.

It felt fitting for a meeting with the CEO.

Though it might be too late to try to give a good impression.

When they’re sent into the office, his fear jumps up another notch. This is not the first time that he’s been in the office but nor is it familiar enough to be comfortable. The room is small even though it belongs to the CEO, and the walls are lined with shelves of books and vinyl records and all of the latest physical releases from the groups under the label. There are only two chairs laid out across the black desk, so Hwanwoong and Dongju exchange a glance and nod gingerly. Clearly the seats are for them.

The CEO is half hidden behind a large computer tower, but when the other members shuffle in behind the two of them, and the managers join the group, he swivels to one side and looks sternly over half-moon glasses.

He has always been a fair CEO, quite young and willing to allow the group to make their own way in many matters. That doesn’t instil Hwanwoong with confidence, though, because many people seem quite agreeable until their prejudices are revealed. Wary, he folds his hands on his lap and bows to a right angle before taking a seat.

‘Well you two sure have made a name for yourselves,’ sighs the CEO.

Hwanwoong fights the urge to glance across at Dongju for his reaction. Until asked to speak, he will remain resolutely silent and keep his gaze cast down out of respect.

‘Still trending at number one.’

With the arrival of the morning, the news had only begun to explode even more. It strikes Hwanwoong as so strange, the way that a single moment that takes place over mere seconds can define someone’s whole life or career, can spark the interest of thousands or even millions of people. It doesn’t seem fair.

‘Does one of you want to explain exactly what happened here?’

‘The two of them - ’ starts Manager Jeong, but the CEO holds up his hand with a look of mild irritation.

‘From the boys, please.’

This feels like Hwanwoong’s responsibility as the older. Dongju is shy, far more shy than him, and does not deserve the burden of having to talk. Especially not after what he told him last night. The stakes are high for both of them but Hwanwoong must protect Dongju now.

Clearing his throat, he starts to speak. His throat is dry and his mouth even drier and he wishes that he’d brought some water with him. ‘After the performance, all of us were very caught up in adrenaline. When the host read our name as the first win, all that energy rose back up again. It was like… ecstasy, euphoria. I think that we all wanted to share in it together. And Dongju and I were side by side, and - ’ At last he falters and glances right at Dongju, who is picking at his nails with his eyes turned down on his lap. ‘We were only going to hug.’

‘And?’ His tone is not rude, merely pressing for an answer.

‘I guess we both went the same way. It just happened.’ The remarkable grasp that he had on words for the first part of his story fades away. Now, he is aware of the ache in his eyes and the throbbing headache at the back of his skull from the lack of sleep. His limbs feel heavy and whenever he moves his muscles seize up because they did not cool down after the performance yesterday.

The CEO sighs again and pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘Let us hope that the PR team can spin ‘it just happened’ into a meaningful statement.’

‘Are we going to be kicked out?’ asks Hwanwoong in a moment of courage.

‘No.’

In the periphery of his vision, Hwanwoong sees Dongju’s head snap up.

‘It wouldn’t look good for the company, and it would end the career of the group. We’ve invested a lot in you boys.’

Guilt, that’s just another thing to weigh on Hwanwoong’s gut. As if the confusion wasn’t enough.He could not sleep all night, filled with questions. Should he have told Dongju about the way he’s been feeling? The way he’s been feeling about boys? Would it have comforted Dongju to know that maybe he wasn’t alone and that they were in this together even more than they thought? He feels ashamed, ashamed that he could not get his head together quick enough to support him.

‘But we need to move with intelligence from this moment forwards. The statement will be put together by the PR team, to be reviewed by me. What I need to clarify with you today is the position that we find ourselves in now. We must safeguard against further scandal.’

Hwanwoong nods. This is better than anything he expected from this meeting. It is difficult not to show his relief on his face. ‘Of course, sir.’

‘So, are the two of you in a relationship?’

Both Hwanwoong and Dongju lift their hands instantly in protest and Hwanwoong shakes his head particularly rapidly. He’s so aware of the other members behind him. He’s even more aware of their managers, and he doesn’t want Manager Jeong knowing Dongju’s personal business, let alone his own. ‘No, no!’

Perhaps sensing his disquiet, the CEO raises his eyebrows. ‘Do you want the others to leave the room so that we can discuss this in private?’

‘We’re not dating,’ says Dongju. ‘I promise. We promise.’

There’s a palpable air of relief in the room. ‘So there’s no risk of something coming back to bite us? Because if we categorically deny this in the statement and then in a few months new issues arrive then there will be a big problem.’ The CEO looks at them both with very stern eyes.

‘Well…’ Dongju starts.

Hwanwoong’s eyes shoot over to him in a panic.

‘I – I am gay,’ says Dongju. ‘And maybe one day I’d like to date another man. I can’t promise that I can keep my life secret forever. So if that is classed as new issues then… then maybe yes.’

It’s so bold, so brave, that it takes Hwanwoong’s breath away. He cannot take his eyes off him. Dongju’s brow is furrowed just a little in focus and his mouth is set in a firm, confident line. This is not the Dongju that Hwanwoong thought he knew, the shy maknae, always just a bit awkward. No, before him now might be the bravest person that he has ever seen and he’s overwhelmed by pride and envy.

Dongju. Brilliant Dongju. Brilliant, beautiful Dongju.

The atmosphere in the room changes. Geonhak’s hands rest gently on Dongju’s shoulders from behind and he gives them a reassuring squeeze. Youngjo’s head rolls back in sheer shock as he stares up at the ceiling. Hwanwoong knows that they will be asking why. Why didn’t he confide in us before? But he understands Dongju; he understands the need to keep this most private thing close to his chest like a baby bird, until it is reared to enough strength to let it soar in a second.

Hwanwoong’s baby bird is still delicate and does not have all of its feathers yet.

The managers shake their heads. The CEO buries his head in his hands in a momentary loss of composure.

When his lungs reach bursting point, Hwanwoong has to remind himself how to breathe. He wants to take Dongju’s hand and hold it tight, but anxiety still lives in his own veins. What if it makes people ask questions?

Should he tell the truth too?

Is this the moment?

Would the two of them find strength in numbers?

Hwanwoong cannot bring himself to do it. The guilt is there again. And shame. Shame that Dongju who is younger and shyer can be so brave. And he can’t.

‘And you, Hwanwoong?’ their CEO asks.

Deer in the headlights.His mouth opens and closes. Words don’t work.

‘It’s just about me, sir,’ interrupts Dongju. ‘This isn’t Hwanwoong’s fault.’

‘I don’t think anyone will believe any statement that we make anyway,’ Hwanwoong whispers, eager to get the conversation away from any mention of his own sexuality. ‘They all saw what they saw.’

‘Statements aren’t about making people believe them,’ says Manager Jeong in a condescending tone, like this ought to be obvious to any adult. ‘They make their judgment the second it happens. Statements are about being seen to act, and apologise where necessary.’

‘Well we can’t release a statement denying the sexuality of any of the members,’ pipes up Youngjo, with anger in his voice, and they all turn to look at him in surprise. The audacity to speak up without being spoken to in front of their managers and the CEO of the company… Hwanwoong feels like more of a coward than ever. ‘There’s nothing wrong with whoever anyone in the group is attracted to, and if we make a statement denying it then it implies that it’s a bad thing to wash our hands of. And I’m not signing off on anything that makes Hwanwoong and Dongju feel like they have to apologise.’

No one seems to know what to say to that. Hwanwoong feels a surge of gratitude for his friend.

‘So you’re suggesting that we release no statement at all?’ The CEO sits back and touches his fingertips together, and Hwanwoong could be mistaking it but he could swear that there is a hint of interest in his eyes. He almost looks entertained, impressed by Youngjo’s bravery.

‘I just think that maybe the company should be the on the right side of change!’ Youngjo continues. ‘Some people might not like it, some people might not like the group anymore, but those people will already have decided that the moment they saw the kiss. A statement won’t change anything, and it might alienate a lot more of our fans. In a few years things will have moved forwards and don’t we want to be the company who moved in that right direction instead of backwards?’

The headache behind Hwanwoong’s eyes is worsening with the rate at which his eyes flit back and forth between each person in the room. His hands are shaking where they’re curled in his lap. Again he wishes that someone would hold them.

‘I agree with Youngjo.’ Manager Byun claps a hand on Youngjo’s shoulder as he says it, and the gratitude in Hwanwoong’s chest grows even greater.

No one knew anything before they entered this room and yet they have adapted like sails in the wind. They have accepted Dongju in less than a second. That means they will accept him too.

That means they will accept me too.

‘Say nothing?’ the CEO muses, tapping his fingertips together. Hwanwoong can tell that he’s engaged by the idea. ‘It is bold. Very bold.’

‘I think it’s good to be bold. Would we ever play it safe with our music? No.’ Now that he has begun, Youngjo seems unable to stop. ‘Someone always has to be the first. Or the second. Or the third. But over time people will realise that we were on the right side all along.’

Hwanwoong holds his breath, and his own hands knotted together, bated in anticipation.

‘I’ve always allowed you as much freedom as I can,’ says the CEO. He sits up straight. ‘You have always governed yourselves more than any other group that I have observed. Be it working without a leader, and choosing your own roles in your productions. I have faith in you. So I will support you in the choice you make.’

The breath that Hwanwoong has kept halfway between his chest and his mouth breaks free in a rushed exhale.

‘The six of you ought to go home and get some sleep. The next music show films tomorrow and if we are going to move on without explanation then we must continue as if nothing has happened. I will discuss our next steps with your managers.’

Relief.

Relief is all over Hwanwoong’s skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end and his spine unfold into a relaxed shape for the first time in hours.

‘Go home.’

Seoho helps Hwanwoong up with a comforting hand on his arm, as the other members close in around Dongju with murmurs of support. Even though he’s not sure he deserves it for keeping all of his own secrets in the office, Hwanwoong is grateful to have someone by his side too.

~

Dongju sleeps for at least five hours during the day, before the scent of cooking from the kitchen wakes him up. It is likely a good thing, because were he to stay in his dreams any longer he would not be able to fall asleep when night came. The memories take a moment to flood back, and then he stares up at the ceiling. He needs to call his mom, because seeing it broadcast across the national media is not how he expected her to find out the truth, and he knows that he has missed calls on his phone. For now, though, he doesn’t feel ready to talk, and he knows that Dongmyeong will have called her anyway.

He climbs down from the top bunk, trying not to make the bed creak because Hwanwoong is still asleep on the lower bunk. Dongju pauses by the bed and watches as he wriggles a little under the blankets and squashes his face down into the pillow. His blond hair is freshly-washed and wavy over his forehead, and Dongju longs to reach out and brush it away in case it tickles his face and wakes him, but he keeps his hands closed firm by his sides. Hwanwoong looks small when he sleeps, because he curls up like a tiger cub, leaving most of the end of the bed empty.

As he tiptoes out to the kitchen, Dongju finds Geonhak cooking.

‘You’re awake?’ Geonhak smiles.

‘Sure looks like it,’ yawns Dongju and he stands tall to poke his head over Geonhak’s shoulder at the simmering pan. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Tangsuyuk,’ he answers, and he takes the boiling sauce off the heat. Then, with that teacher-look about him, he turns to Dongju and takes his shoulder. ‘What you did in that office today was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen. I’m proud of you.’

Dongju looks down, a lump in his throat. Even though he knew that his friends would not care, there was still a part of him that feared how they might react. He’d thought that talking about the food would be a few moments more to avoid talking about everything else, but now under Geonhak’s soft but firm gaze he finds the nervous knots in his stomach starting to unfold. ‘You don’t – you don’t mind?’

Geonhak cups his cheek gently like a brother. ‘No one minds, Dongju. We love you. We’re all here to support you.’

They both look up as Keonhee wanders into the room and gives a comic pause. ‘Sorry, did I interrupt?’

‘I was just saying how much we all support Dongju. How we’re all going to be here for him,’ says Geonhak, in a stern voice that demands reciprocation.

‘Oh of course,’ says Keonhee and he pulls Dongju’s back against his chest in a hug. Dongju protests but there is no escaping. ‘You can’t get away from us that easy, Ju, we’re here for life!’

‘Can we talk about something else?’ groans Dongju. He’s never liked having people all over him, and talking about himself is his least favourite subject. Unless the subject is games or something else that he loves, he prefers to listen to everyone else talk. Watching his hyungs is his favourite past-time, especially when they grow animated or even when they argue. It reminds him that this is his second family, the one he never expected to have.

Keonhee makes an effort, which is admirable, but the subject does not change quite enough for him to be comfortable. ‘Is Hwanwoong okay, Dongju? Did you talk to him?’

‘He’s sleeping. We should let him sleep.’

‘Did you talk to him about everything? Did he already know the truth?’

‘Yes,’ he sighs. ‘I told him last night. I thought that he had a right to know.’

‘Is he… like you too? Because he talks about girls and I know you said it was an accident but you can tell us if it wasn’t, the managers aren’t here now, and I’m just confused and I want to help support you and him and - ’

Keonhee’s words ring strangely in Dongju’s ears. Hwanwoong can’t be… Dongju’s never seriously entertained the thought that he could be… no. He’s always brushed it away as a ridiculous notion brought on by his crush. ‘I… I don’t think he’s gay, Keonhee.’

‘What if he likes girls and boys?’ he says, just like Dongmyeong did. ‘It’s just that I’ve never accidentally kissed a guy and I’m not saying it means anything but what if it does mean something?’

‘I don’t know, hyung. It’s none of our business,’ he whispers. His mind is moving a mile a minute but he’s steady enough to know that they shouldn’t be talking about this. He knows because he absolutely would not have wanted anyone talking like this about him before he came out. ‘We shouldn’t talk about it behind his back.’

Luckily, Dongju is saved from further prodding by Seoho who comes into the kitchen with a game controller and thrusts it into his hands. ‘Come on, I need my healer!’

Though the kind words and the touches of support are nice, nothing can compare to throwing himself onto the couch and doing something normal. It’s difficult to put into words, but feeling like nothing has changed, like his declaration in that office has made no difference to anything at all, is the most comforting thought of all. He can sink into the familiar graphics of the video game like a meditative state, and letting himself give in to auto-pilot for a while settles his heart-rate back to normal for the first time since that kiss.

Geonhak brings out dinner, which also summons Youngjo from his bedroom.

‘Should we wake Hwanwoong?’ asks Keonhee.

‘No,’ says Youngjo, before Dongju has to pipe up again. ‘His body will wake him when it has had enough rest. We’ll just box up some dinner for him and leave it on the side.’

Even as they eat, Hwanwoong’s absence is felt. It’s not like they never eat without him, because Hwanwoong often stays behind late at the studio to practice or make new choreographies, but as the five of them eat together knowing that he is just down the hall, there is an air of discomfort. His spot on the second couch is empty. Keonhee shuffles along to it halfway through the meal, as if to try to make the space less conspicuous, but if anything it only draws more attention.

When Dongju is scraping the bottom of his bowl with his ceramic spoon, Youngjo speaks, and he feels his tummy flip again.

‘I think we need to say, here and now, that if anyone has a problem with what Dongju told us today, then they can’t be around the group anymore.’ It is a necessary announcement, but it makes Dongju cringe inside.

‘None of us has a problem with Dongju,’ says Seoho softly and he squeezes Dongju’s leg in reassurance.

‘I’m not talking about the group. I’m sure that we can all trust each other on that. But I’m talking about other people. I, for one, am not comfortable with the way that Manager Jeong has reacted to this whole situation, and if Dongju or Hwanwoong feel threatened then I need to talk to Manager Byun or even go over his head and talk to the CEO. I don’t want anyone around who makes our members feel unsafe.’

‘Did he make you feel that way?’ murmurs Geonhak and he catches Dongju’s eyes with an expression that is hard to look away from.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispers. ‘He was probably just shocked. And mad. He was right to be mad at what happened. We could’ve cost the group everything.’

‘Hey, none of that!’ says Seoho. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. No one should be mad at you. Our CEO wasn’t mad.’

‘I think he was,’ says Dongju in an edgy voice. ‘He just didn’t want to show it.’

‘Well the important thing is that you need to tell us if anyone does make you uncomfortable, Dongju,’ continues Youngjo, cutting through the conjecture. ‘Whether it’s a member of the management team, or a stylist, or someone who works on a TV program, or anyone else. If anyone says anything to you, or makes you feel like you aren’t safe, then you need to let one of us know. We can deal with it for you. It’s not your responsibility.’

‘Promise you’ll tell us, Dongju,’ says Geonhak.

‘Yes, yes I’ll tell you,’ he whispers. There’s nothing left in his bowl to distract himself.

His thoughts drift to the music show tomorrow. Will people stare at them? Surely. Will the fans still attend or will they be angry? Dongju doesn’t know. He’s heard stories about people abandoning groups for the smallest things, and he doesn’t think that this is a small thing. The feeling of fear comes back.

He knows that he needs to get through these first few days. That’s what Dongmyeong told him. His brother warned him that the first couple of days, even the first week, would be the worst, but that if he could just survive that then things would start to drift back to normal. He told him that the industry moves so fast that someone else will have taken over the headlines in a couple of weeks, and that once people get used to the idea, they’ll start to move on.

‘Will you tell Hwanwoong that, too?’ says Youngjo. ‘That if anyone makes him feel uncomfortable then he needs to let us know?’

Dongju nods and gulps. ‘Sure. I think I’m going to go back to bed, now.’

Anything to get away from the scrutiny. He knows that his members mean well but he’d rather not talk about it at all. None of them try to stop him as he shuffles back to the room that he shares with Hwanwoong and Keonhee. When he pushes open the door as quietly as he can, he sees Hwanwoong drop his phone onto the bed and pretend to be asleep. The screen glows, though, open on his social media.

‘I don’t think you should read that stuff, hyung,’ he says softly. ‘People can be very nasty when they’re behind a screen. It makes them feel like they’re invincible, like they’ll never be held accountable for the things they say.’

Hwanwoong does not reply straight away, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he can get away with feigning sleep. ‘I wasn’t reading anything.’

‘Okay,’ sighs Dongju. ‘There’s some dinner in the kitchen for you, if you want it.’

‘I’ll go later, once everybody goes to bed.’

What Keonhee said won’t stop playing in his mind. ‘Hyung, you can talk to me about anything, you know that right?’

Hwanwoong turns away to face the wall and pulls up his blankets over his shoulders. It is a clear indication that he doesn’t want to talk anymore. Dongju wishes that he had the confidence to make him speak, to show him that he can confide in him about how he’s feeling after what happened, but his courage fails him. Maybe he used it all up this morning in the office. Maybe after a good night of sleep, he’ll recharge his bravery-batteries.

He’s certainly going to need them tomorrow.

~

‘Hwanwoong?’

Blood rushes in his ears. His reflection glares back at him, dark shadows around his eyes giving him a dangerous look. He throws his arms out and back to his chest, closing his fingers on his silk shirt with a grip so tight that it might tear.

‘Hwanwoong!’

He turns around and lets go of the wounded fabric. Dongju is stood in the doorway with a worried look on his face.

‘You need to come to make-up.’

‘Oh.’ Has he been practising for so long? He changed into his stage-clothes early, eager to get away from the prying eyes of some of the staff, and came to this room to run through the choreography. Dancing is what keeps him sane, no matter what else is going on in his mind. Steps and time – 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. That’s a rhythm that the world can stick to, even when everything else is in chaos. If he can keep his body in time, then the waves won’t pull him under.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he lies, because dread is making his skin sting. ‘Do you think we should change the choreography? The part where we hold hands?’

Dongju’s face falters. ‘They haven’t told us to change it.’

Hwanwoong nods. Of course. They did nothing wrong. They’re acting as if nothing happened. Why would they change the choreography? ‘I need to do something,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

Dongju looks like he doesn’t want to leave, but he concedes, and Hwanwoong pulls out his phone. He can’t go on television in front of thousands of people without doing this first – he owes them this much. With a sigh, he taps on the contact number for his mom and holds the phone to his ear. He didn’t phone her last night, because he knew that she was on her shift at the emergency room, but he has no excuse today. Not when she messaged him during the night, asking him to call.

The first ring is painful; the second one is agony; the third one makes him want to hang up – but then she picks up the phone.

‘Hwanwoong? Oh Hwanwoong, I thought you’d never call!’

He closes his eyes and presses the phone close to his face. Even though worry still grips his gut, it is comforting just to hear her voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I didn’t know when to call. I – I don’t have long, because I have to go to make-up. We’re still doing the show today.’

‘Talk to me, darling. Talk to me.’

The corners of his eyes start to sting. Not now, don’t cry now, he thinks. ‘I really screwed up, mom.’

‘Hwanwoong, don’t - ’

‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean for it to happen. And now - ’

‘Slow down, love. It’s okay.’

‘D-did dad see it?’

She pauses, and Hwanwoong rubs his eyes with his free hand. This is the question that he’s been worried about. His mom is a nurse, a gentle and understanding person and he knows that he can count on her, but his dad can be a little more austere. It’s not that he’s too conservative or too harsh; he’s just not as… emotional, as his mom. ‘Yes, of course. We watch all of your shows. We talked about it, Hwanwoong. It’s okay. I’m your mother, I always suspected that this day was going to come. It’s okay.’

He wants to deny it. He wants to lie and say that it meant nothing but the words of comfort are too important to reject. ‘I’m so confused, mom,’ he whispers and his voice breaks. ‘I don’t know what it means. I don’t know who I am.’

‘Listen to me. You’re Yeo Hwanwoong, you’re my son,’ she’s talking quickly, like she knows their minutes together will soon be taken from them by the stage. ‘You’re just you. You’re always going to be you. Everything else is just little details. Perfect little details that make you who you are.’

‘I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.’ He wipes away a tear that falls down his cheek with a furious hand.

‘Talk to me. Talk to your friends. Talk to Dongju. You’re surrounded by people, Hwanwoong. Don’t let this make you feel like you’re alone.’

There’s another rap on the door and he looks up with wide, wet eyes. ‘I have to go. I really have to go.’

‘Hwanwoong - ’

‘I love you mom.’ He hangs up before he can cry any harder in front of her, but the silence makes it worse. Tears spill over the rims of his eyes and he finally cries, properly for the first time since the kiss, because every other moment has been fleeting or half-hearted. It’s as if he’s been saving up tears since the moment it happened, holding them back like a dam, but now the barriers are broken and he can’t hold back the rush of water. He should’ve let it out earlier, bit by bit, before it became a flood.

His shoulders shake and he runs his hands into his hair and he doesn’t even notice the door open or the moment that Youngjo crouches down beside him and puts an arm around his shoulders to try to still the shuddering.

‘Hwanwoong,’ he whispers, ‘Woongie you need to breathe.’

He does as he’s told but every time he tries to hold his breath in, it’s caught in a hiccup and a gasp. ‘Need to go to makeup,’ he says in between hiccups.

‘You can’t go on stage like this,’ murmurs Youngjo. ‘It’s okay. It’s too much, too fast. That’s okay. You don’t have to perform.’

‘N-need to support Dongju.’ He clears his throat with a hack and blinks angrily. Brave Dongju. He won’t let him face this alone.

‘And I need to support you. I don’t think you’re ready, Woong. You’re still in shock from everything that has happened.’

Hwanwoong shakes his head. ‘No. No. I’m going to perform. Need to show the world… there’s nothing wrong.’

There’s a lot that he needs to do, starting now with taking out his tear-blurred contacts and ending somewhere in the future with telling the truth to Dongju, who might still be feeling alone as the rest of the world moves around him. A bit of make-up will cover his red face, and in a few minutes his eyes won’t look so puffy anymore. He won’t let Dongju walk out there by himself. He owes him that much.

When they arrive at the small styling room, everyone turns to look at him and then back away quickly. There are only three chairs so a couple of the members are stood as the stylists work on their hair. A rack of spare clothes in case of rips or other emergencies is against one wall, and Hwanwoong eyes a dark red silk shirt, aware that there are tears staining the neck of the one that he pulled on earlier. His make-up artist crosses over and tilts his face to one side with her hand before sighing.

It’s a sympathetic sound, rather than an irritable one.

~

Finding a sense of routine steadies the earth under Dongju’s feet. With the music show finished, there are a few precious hours in which he can exist in peace at home. Tomorrow morning, they will travel to filming again. Only now, when each show costs every ounce of effort in his body, does he realise how punishing the promotion circuit is. Even after today there are five more music shows to film before they have a day off, and in a few days’ time they have to record their first variety show since the kiss. He can only imagine the questions that will come.

Now, though, the cold tiles of the bathroom floor remind him that he’s out of the hot seat. He takes off his make-up with meticulous attention and leans over the basin to look into the mirror. His red hair needs to be dyed again before it begins to fade to pink, but he’s not due a colour for two more days. There’s a breakout threatening his chin and he’s sure that it is the stress but he doesn’t want to apply any of his expensive products until after his shower so he turns away from the mirror and starts to slip out of his clothes.

As the material slides off his skin he gets the feeling that he’s shedding a skin. This is the thick skin that he wore on stage today, when he checked with the managers whether they had been able to fill their section for the fans, when he panicked and messed up a step before the part of the choreography where he and Hwanwoong hold hands, and when he felt the eyes of other idols boring into the back of his neck during the live show. When he’s naked, he feels soft again. Vulnerable.

The shower in their newer dorm heats up quickly, and when he slips under the stream tension unfolds from his muscles and he lets the hot water spill down his back. He takes several deep breaths through his mouth and rests his hands flat against the white tiles. It is already late but he does not feel tired yet. Too much noise fills his head.

He thinks about Hwanwoong. The image of him in the dressing room, red-eyed and puffy-faced, voice croaky, is seared into his mind. He would never have expected it of his hyung but he thinks that Hwanwoong might not be handling it as well as he himself is. Maybe Keonhee is right, and there is something else going on inside him, but then Dongju ends up at the same place as his friend. If he wants to support him, then in what way can he do so when Hwanwoong refuses to confide in him?

Dongju recalls how it was before he came out to Dongmyeong. He remembers how he would lie awake at night gripped in a vice of worry and spiralling thoughts about how maybe, just maybe people would not accept it. If Hwanwoong is confused, or questioning, or even sure of who he is but keeping it locked inside, then Dongju knows exactly what will have been going on in his mind: the feeling of total isolation, trying to convince himself that it’s not real, living in terror of the consequences of something he cannot control. Something that shouldn’t have consequences at all.

He washes his hair and looks down at the tray of body-washes. Everyone likes different scents, but Dongju usually just steals from one of the other members. He likes Hwanwoong’s pink floral scent the most but he feels like it would be provocative to use that now, so he picks out the bottle of Keonhee’s lavender wash instead with a silent apology for his regular act of theft.

Caught in thoughts again as he traces his hands over his soft stomach and thin arms, he wonders what sort of man Hwanwoong would go for, if he were interested. Maybe someone like Geonhak or Youngjo, bigger and stronger than him, or the dancers they work with because they have more in common with him. They’d have lots to talk about. Dongju can’t imagine any realm of possibility in which Hwanwoong would be interested in him.

‘Stop,’ he says aloud, like a red sign in his way. Dongmyeong told him to stop putting himself down.

Hwanwoong loves him, even if it’s not in the way he daydreams about. And that’s a gift. They cuddle and they laugh together and they’ve cried together. He gets to have the man he loves in his life every single day, and he’s grateful for that.

He stays under the water for a long time, until his skin starts to go wrinkly and the heat makes him dizzy. Only when he’s engulfed by a further cloud of steam as he opens the shower door does he realise quite how much he’s drenched the room in condensation. Quickly, he grabs up his towels and starts to pummel his skin dry. He used to go to the bedroom to get dressed but Hwanwoong is there, and that feels different now.

His skin is still damp when he pulls on his stripy pyjama pants and tee but he desperately needs to open the door to let some of the heat out.

A sigh of relief breaks from his lips when he sticks his head out into the cool corridor, and he throws the door wide while he does the rest of his skincare. The routine is an act of self-care that brings peace to his ever-nervous stomach. He steals a blob of Youngjo’s most luxuriant moisturiser, with another unspoken apology, and smiles as he pats it into his skin. The scent is almond and macadamia.

Only when everything is done and he pulls his hair back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck does he leave the bathroom at last and venture back to the bedroom. Keonhee is already in bed, limbs splayed out with one foot sticking from under the blankets, and when Dongju looks left he sees that Hwanwoong is in bed too, but he’s propped up looking at his phone.

‘Goodnight, hyung,’ whispers Dongju.

Hwanwoong looks up and shuts his phone off before fiddling nervously with the collar of his lilac pyjamas. They cross over with a velvety tie at the front because Hwanwoong hates buttons when he’s sleeping; he says they wake him up when they jab into his bones. Dongju knows this because they’ve always told each other everything. Except for the things that they didn’t tell each other; that they haven’t told each other. ‘Dongju?’

‘Mm?’

‘Can we still… do the thing we used to do?’

It takes a moment for Dongju to realise what he means, and then his heart swells so huge that he thinks it might burst from his chest. He’d put the thought from his mind, assuming that too much had changed between them, and that Hwanwoong wouldn’t want to do that anymore.

It was one of Dongju’s more embarrassing confessions, at least a year ago now, when he admitted to Hwanwoong that he couldn’t sleep without something to cuddle, and that sometimes plushies weren’t enough. Instead of laughing at him though, Hwanwoong had invited him into his bed and rolled onto his side so that Dongju could hold him while they slept. That first time was the best night of sleep that Dongju had had in his life. It had gone on, as many as two or three times a week. Hwanwoong would never admit to getting anything from it, claiming that he tolerated it just to help Dongju sleep.

But Dongju’s always thought that Hwanwoong must like to be held, too.

‘Yeah,’ Dongju exhales and he walks to the bed with quiet fox-like steps in case Keonhee is already asleep. If he knows Keonhee at all, though, he bets that he’s still awake, listening to their every move. ‘I’d like that.’

Hwanwoong shuffles up to the side of the mattress against the wall. It is only a single bed, so it is a squeeze, but by the time that they cuddle up they never occupy too much space anyway. When Dongju climbs into the bed, he does so more delicately than before, like he’s nervous about touching Hwanwoong accidentally. Only when he settles down on his side takes a very deep breath does he wrap his arm over Hwanwoong’s body and pull him close against his chest.

Hwanwoong tugs up the blankets over them and curls his own hands under his cheek, facing the wall. His frame is so familiar but Dongju feels like he’s holding him for the very first time, suddenly hyper-aware of every detail. He’s small and quite bony but there’s a layer of muscle from his dancing, and he has a high body-temperature, much higher than Dongju’s. That sweet, floral scent of his body-wash is all over the back of his neck, and Dongju tries to breathe it in with subtlety.

‘This is nice,’ whispers Hwanwoong.

Dongju takes that as a reassurance, and he tightens his grip. ‘Good,’ he murmurs back.

When Hwanwoong is in his arms, it doesn’t feel like winter anymore.

~

For the third day in a row, Hwanwoong wakes up with Dongju in his bed. They’ve slipped back into this cycle with ease, but already Hwanwoong can’t bear the thought of the night when Dongju is going to return to his own bunk instead. Feeling close to him, that has become the new lifeline that he depends on. It’s all down to the fact that only the two of them can truly understand what they are going through, that even though the others can try their best to help them, only Dongju can relate to the fear every day in Hwanwoong’s tummy.

This morning, Dongju is still asleep. The music show for today does not film until much later but they have a variety show to record a few hours beforehand. There is no sound in the room, so Keonhee is either fast asleep or already awake and out in the kitchen. Hwanwoong can’t peer around to look because the slightest movement might disturb Dongju’s slumber.

Sometime during the night, Hwanwoong must have turned around in Dongju’s arms because his face is close against his neck and chest, and his arms are all crammed in against his body to fit in Dongju’s tight embrace. Immobilised, he tries to concentrate on falling back asleep, but it is difficult when he’s so aware of Dongju all around him. With the heating switched on and their blankets knotted around their bodies, Hwanwoong is hot.

There’s a scent of lavender on Dongju’s chest and for some reason it reminds him of Keonhee. For some stranger reason, it makes Hwanwoong feel oddly irritated. Dongju used to steal his nice soaps all the time and then feign total ignorance when the bottles ran dry. Why has he switched to Keonhee’s?

He fidgets just a little because he’s starting to lose feeling in one of his arms. As Dongju lets out a sigh, he freezes. It ruffles the top of his hair. Only when everything turns still again does Hwanwoong try again to extricate his arm and then –

‘Stop moving,’ mumbles Dongju in a petulant voice.

‘You’re squashing me!’ whines Hwanwoong. He puts on his best cute voice, the one that always wins over Youngjo and Geonhak when he wants something.

Dongju though just laughs and holds him tighter until Hwanwoong starts to squirm. ‘I can’t help it, you’re my plushie!’

Hwanwoong giggles and manages to free himself, but then his legs tangle in the blankets and the heat hits him and the bunk overhead is too low and he starts to panic. It comes out of nowhere, a black cloud of anxiety and he needs to get out of here. He kicks out, one hand grasping the front of Dongju’s shirt to try to push him away. Dongju, though, takes his arms with a firm grip and pulls him out of the bed into the bedroom as his breaths shorten to quick gasps.

‘Hyung? Hwanwoong it’s okay,’ he drops any hint of formality.

Hwanwoong leans over and grips the side of the nightstand as he closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down. He counts to ten in his mind. He knows that Dongju is aware of his claustrophobia, because all of the members are. In their profession, it’s hard to avoid situations where the fear bubbles to the surface; dark, compact corridors backstage, less-than-head-height passages beneath the stage, and endless travel in steel prisons. ‘I’m alright,’ he whispers.

‘I shouldn’t have held you so tight. I’m sorry,’ says Dongju. He rubs his hand in a gentle circle on Hwanwoong’s back. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘It wasn’t you,’ he shakes his head. ‘Just the bed. Just got caught up.’

‘Do you want us to stop cuddling at night?’

‘No!’ he says, a little too quickly.

‘Do you think we should ask Keonhee to trade beds with you? If the bunk is too low?’

Hwanwoong shakes his head again, wishing that he could find a way to explain that his claustrophobia has only worsened in the last few days, with the crushing weight of the world around him beginning to close in like the walls of his nightmares. Cabin fever is starting to get to him, because between the cameras and fans camped outside their dorm, and the gruelling promotion schedule, they are not spending any time outside.

He longs to walk down to the local restaurant to pick up some take-out food, or to the gongcha place on the corner, or even just down to the river to breathe in some fresh air.

‘It’s alright, Dongju. I’m fine.’

He’s not fine. Not now that they’re stood in the centre of the familiar bedroom and the soft moment they shared in bed is a distant memory. Reality is all around them, and reality means going to film a show and being interviewed properly for the first time since the kiss.

The room is a mishmash of the three of them. Most of the bric-a-brac belongs to Dongju, because he enjoys collecting things and the rest of them spoil him. Hwanwoong doesn’t keep so many possessions himself, only one shelf of books and games and some trinkets next to the bunk-bed. Keonhee’s stamp is on the walls; there are letters from fans pinned up beside his bed, so many of them that they rest three-deep against the paintwork.

Hwanwoong brushes his hair back from his forehead and centres himself. After days of terrible anxiety, he has learned to ground himself quicker than he ever could before. ‘Let’s go and see what the others are making for breakfast,’ he says, and he reaches out to ruffle Dongju’s hair, like he has done since they first met.

Perhaps he lets his hand linger for longer than usual, allowing a few strands to trail between his fingers, before he drops it to his side.

~

The environment of the variety show is a draining one for Dongju, and he thinks that it must be even harder for Hwanwoong, because he is the one along with Keonhee who does the most talking. Thus far, the hosts have been friendly; before the show, they were briefed strictly not to mention what happened on the music show, and they have obeyed instruction without question. Nonetheless, though, Dongju cannot relax. Even more than usual, he is hyper-aware of his every movement.

When they are seated on small white cubes, he cannot decide whether to keep his legs crossed or uncrossed, so he fidgets the whole time. When they stand up, he cannot figure out what to do with his hands, and he clasps them in front of himself and then behind and then keeps them loose at his sides. Did he always have this many limbs? Suddenly it seems impossible to keep all of them in check.

He does not usually answer many questions, content to sit back and let the older members do the talking, but he is so on-edge today that he feels the need to focus on every word, in case something dangerous slips in.

As Hwanwoong talks, Dongju finds himself watching him, and that’s something else that he has to police. He tries not to stare, afraid that the camera will capture his lovelorn eyes. But Hwanwoong is so magnificent. No matter what he is feeling inside, he talks with ease, and laughs, and carries every conversation with charisma. Even though all of the attention is on him, his voice doesn’t waver. The only thing that betrays his nerves is the way that he fans himself whenever he steps back, because Dongju knows he gets hot around his neck.

Looking down at his hands, he lets Hwanwoong’s voice wash over him instead. It has a sharp sort of timbre that Dongju enjoys listening to, not as deep as Geonhak’s or pointed as Keonhee’s but appealing in the way it comes from low in his throat, and the way that he shapes the sounds with precision. Then, he laughs, and it hurts Dongju’s heart because he thinks that it is the most beautiful laugh in the world. Hwanwoong always hides his face when he laughs and Dongju wishes that he wouldn’t, because it’s such a full and rich sound that he needs to see the smile to go with it.

His eyes drift up and he watches for a while as Hwanwoong answers a question. For the first time in days he looks carefree, the smile easy and genuine.

If it is one thing that Dongju has observed over his years, it is that level waters rarely stay peaceful for long. Sometimes the disturbance begins with ripples on the surface, while other times it crashes in on the back of a vast rogue wave that emerges from nowhere and destroys everything in its path. For this reason, Dongju has learned to enjoy the water while it is steady, and he tries not to think about when the boat will start to rock, but today he’s been expecting it.

‘Xion?’

He looks over to the host who has addressed him, always a little caught off guard by his stage name when he has been distracted. After a moment of panic, he remembers that they are reading out fan questions from the live feed. He smiles and tears his attention from Hwanwoong back to the interview.

‘The fans want to know, what is your ideal type? For a girl?’

He knows from the look in her eyes that it’s no accident. In fact, within a second he’s certain that no fan asked that at all. His mouth turns dry and he wishes that he had Hwanwoong’s quick wit with answering questions. And he wishes, more than anything, that he had some kind of restraint, some kind of control over his body but he’s weak, and his eyes flicker over to Hwanwoong for a split second that, just like their kiss, will be immortalised in video forever.

Why are you looking? It’s not like someone else can answer for you.

‘I’d say that my type is a person who makes me feel safe and warm,’ he says, and once he starts talking the words roll out with less difficulty than he expected. Instead of anxiety, his stomach is starting to burn with irritation and anger, frustration that they would prod at him like an animal in a zoo. ‘The appearance of the person isn’t so important, because what matters is how they treat you and how they make you feel loved.’

Seoho makes an excited sound and the others join in, like a playful joke at their youngest being too romantic. When Dongju chances another glance at Hwanwoong, he sees that he hasn’t joined in, but is instead watching Dongju with a look that he can’t read.

‘Hwanwoong,’ the host directs next, and Dongju watches the way his eyes flit back to her with a wary, guarded look. ‘This might be a cheeky one, but the people want to know. You have to tell us about your first kiss.’

It’s a relief that Dongju has an excuse to look at him now, because otherwise he would not be able to keep his eyes away. If alarm bells are blaring through Hwanwoong’s veins, then he does an admirable job of keeping it from his face. Youngjo glances over off camera, quite obviously looking for their managers, but there is nothing to be done. The question is asked.

‘Was it at school? I think everyone has that first love at school,’ the host presses, and her smile is sickly sweet, dressed up in coral coloured gloss. ‘Or was it later?’

‘I was too busy dancing to think about that sort of thing at school,’ says Hwanwoong, and his voice sounds different to normal but Dongju is sure that no one else would even notice the slight change. Only someone who swam in the sound of his voice all day every day would notice. ‘Maybe it was when we played the paper-kissing game with our members.’ A smile twitches up the corners of his lips. ‘But if I could remember, then I wouldn’t tell you. A gentleman doesn’t tell.’

When his eyes turn back to the host again, Dongju cannot figure out whether the way she flicks her hair is annoyance at not getting the answer she wanted, or satisfaction at having asked without retribution. The hairs on his arms are standing and his throat is dry and scratchy from worry, because they still have a segment left to film and now he has never felt less safe.

When Dongju does catch the eye of Manager Jeong behind the camera, halfway through the final segment, he can see that he is bristling with rage. That makes Dongju gulp. Although he thinks that he and Hwanwoong answered the questions well, he begins to analyse their responses over and over in his head and worries that they may have said the wrong thing. The more that he tries to remember their exact wording, the cloudier the memory becomes. He doesn’t want to get into trouble again.

The recording crawls by.

Nothing else is said, but every time either of the hosts speaks up, Dongju’s heart constricts in worry again. There are only so many smiles that he can force, and whenever he chances a look at Hwanwoong he sees that he, too, seems to be faltering. His answers to questions become more clipped, and the smile on his lips does not even begin to reach his eyes.

When the wrap is called, Hwanwoong does not lead the group in a thank you greeting to the production team, and instead runs an agitated hand through his hair and jumps straight down from the set before pushing his way through the surrounding staff to get away. None of the others seem to be inclined towards pleasantries either, and Youngjo is the first to follow Hwanwoong with worry in his eyes. Dongju stands on the elevated set and looks around with a blank expression, unsure of what to do. Only when the rest of the members go after Hwanwoong, Geonhak managing a bow, does he accept that it’s safe for him to do so and he follows too.

He’s barely past the cameras though, when Manager Jeong confronts him. ‘What the hell was that?’

Dongju looks after the other members with a longing look, like he’s the last straggler in a fleeing pack of prey animals, who has been caught by the lion. Dragged down to the dusty earth. ‘I - ’

‘Are you stupid?’

‘I didn’t know what to say!’ he says, in a small but defensive voice. ‘It’s not my fault that they asked that!’

Manager Jeong grabs him by the shoulder to hold him still and look into his eyes. ‘You couldn’t keep your eyes off him! Do you have any idea how much harder the two of you are making my job? I don’t care what you are but this sort of thing is messing with my work. All I’m asking is for you to not behave like an idiot in front of the cameras!’

Dongju swallows and tries to shrug his shoulder free. His eyes flicker around in search of Manager Byun, but he must have gone after Hwanwoong. There are members of the filming crew dotted around, though, and when Dongju tries harder to pull free, the manager cannot risk keeping hold of him any longer. Shaken by his anger, Dongju hurries away after the other members, so fast that he almost collides headlong into Geonhak, who is waiting in a nearby corridor.

‘Dongju!’ Geonhak catches him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I want to talk to Youngjo-hyung,’ he mumbles.

‘He just went to get some water for Hwanwoong,’ says Geonhak in a gentle tone, ‘what do you need?’

Geonhak can help too, he thinks. With a shaky breath he starts: ‘Do you remember what Youngjo said? That I needed to tell him if anyone made me feel uncomfortable?’

Geonhak nods and takes his arm. Unlike the manager, his touch is light and careful and comforting. ‘Who? Who’s made you uncomfortable?’

‘Manager Jeong,’ he whispers, looking over his shoulder. ‘I know he’s always been strict but he seems to be really mad and he just had a go at me in front of other people. I don’t – I don’t like it.’

‘Okay,’ Geonhak ruffles his hair and cups his neck with a reassuring hand. ‘I’ll talk to Youngjo-hyung. We’ll get things fixed. I promise.’

Dongju exhales and tries to calm his beating heart. ‘I thought that we did okay.’

‘The two of you handled it well,’ says Geonhak. ‘I was proud of both of you. You did great.’

After a moment, in which Dongju looks over his shoulder at least three more times, his heart starts to steady, and his mind strays to the music show that they have to record later. There will not be even a moment to catch his breath.

‘You’re doing good,’ Geonhak reminds him. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

~

‘Can I ask you a question, hyung?’

Hwanwoong shifts and thinks that he’s had enough questions for one day. Nonetheless, though, he closes his eyes and nods, hoping that Dongju will feel the movement against the pillow. After the events of the day, Hwanwoong was glad that Dongju came to hold him, because he thought that he needed it even more. Between the uncomfortable interview questions, and failing to make it into the final two of their music show, Hwanwoong was feeling miserable before Dongju climbed into his bed. Now, his pain has abated a little.

‘You’ve never told me, when was your first kiss?’

A small laugh escapes Hwanwoong’s lips and he rests his fingers on Dongju’s forearm, where his arms are wrapped tight around his waist. ‘I lied on the show,’ he admits, ‘I haven’t always been too busy with dance. I had a girlfriend, one of the other trainees, for a while before you joined the company.’

‘You did?’

‘Mmhm,’ he murmurs, remembering Yejin. She was a year older than him, and one of the best dancers he’d ever seen. ‘We didn’t tell anyone, of course. We would’ve got into big trouble with the company.’

‘How did it end?’ whispers Dongju.

With a sigh, Hwanwoong turns onto his back and looks up at the underside of Dongju’s unused bunk. ‘She left the company for another,’ he shrugs, ‘I was sad, but we were young. It was fun. But it wasn’t meant to be forever.’

‘Oh,’ says Dongju, and his voice suggests that he’s in thought.

Hwanwoong thinks about the kiss itself, and tries to remember if there were fireworks or angel song or any of the other things that he was promised. Mostly, he remembers worrying about whether or not he was good at it. ‘What about you, Dongie?’ he switches to his most affectionate name for him, because he knows that for this kind of question he’ll need to earn an answer. ‘Any secret trysts?’

Dongju rolls onto his back too, and they lie side by side, both looking up at the metal slats and the lopsided mattress. ‘No.’

‘So…?’

‘I guess it was… you know, when we kissed on the stage.’

At that, Hwanwoong sits up. A stone drops into the pit of his stomach as he realises that his confusion on that stage has cost Dongju the chance at an important first. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, because that’s the first thing that he thinks. Beside him, Dongju looks upwards still, soft red hair falling all over his forehead. Hwanwoong notices that his eyes have some smudges of make-up beneath them, and he resists the urge to brush his thumbs over the dark marks to wipe them away.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ says Dongju. When he’s not playing up to his role as the baby of the group, his voice is deeper, the pronunciation clearer, and it always reminds Hwanwoong that while the Dongju in front of the camera is great, the Dongju that he knows at home is even better. His tone is attractive. ‘They say your first time should be with someone you trust, right? Well you’re like my best friend. I’m glad it was with you.’

‘I don’t think they’re talking about kissing when they say that,’ laughs Hwanwoong, but inside his heart gives a strange lurch at Dongju’s words. Not for the first time, his mind drifts back to the first time that he really noticed Dongju during filming; not noticed him as his friend or their brother, but noticed him. The way his hair was pushed back from his face by the breeze, and the way he moved with a newfound grace.

‘Have you done that too?’ asks Dongju, and then he visibly cringes as if he’s just realised what he said.

Even though heat rises on Hwanwoong’s neck in a red rush, he hopes that the smile on his face still looks playful. ‘That’s a very personal question.’

Expression a picture of embarrassment, Dongju grabs a pillow and covers his face with a groan.

‘You’re much too young to be talking about such things,’ sniffs Hwanwoong.

At that, though, Dongju pulls down the pillow and glares at him. ‘I’m over twenty years old! I’m not a baby! You all should stop treating me like one. It makes me feel stupid!’

It is clear in a second that he’s not joking, and that Hwanwoong has struck a nerve. He frowns and takes the pillow from Dongju’s hands to set it aside, before crossing his legs and tilting his head to one side. ‘I was joking, Dongju.’

‘Well don’t,’ says Dongju in a voice that must be intended to be harsh but just sounds more than a little hurt.

‘Hey,’ Hwanwoong catches his hands and holds them still as Dongju makes to climb out of the bed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that this bothers you so much. You could’ve told me and I would’ve stopped a long time ago. I thought you liked it.’

Dongju flops back on the bed, unable to escape, and huffs as Hwanwoong interlinks their fingers and squeezes his hands gently.

‘You should tell the other members. I’m sure they just don’t realise.’

‘I don’t care about the others doing it,’ says Dongju, and then for the second time he looks aghast at his own loose tongue. If Hwanwoong did not have hold of his hands, then he thinks he would have clapped his hand over his mouth.

Confused, Hwanwoong asks, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I don’t know. I just meant - ’ Dongju’s eyes are in a panic, almost like they were in the moment after the fateful kiss; that’s an image that will be seared into Hwanwoong’s memory forever. ‘I just look up to you, and I don’t want you thinking I’m just like some kid. I want you to – to respect me. Like we’re equals.’

‘Did I make you feel like I don’t respect you?’ Hwanwoong whispers. ‘Dongju, I never meant to make you feel like that. I respect you more than anything.’

Dongju tugs his hands free and stumbles off the bed. ‘No, that’s not what I meant! It’s not you, it’s never been you, it’s me,’ he stammers, like he’s grabbing around in the darkness for an explanation but each other is pushing him further into the corner. ‘I want to go to bed.’

By means of escape, he climbs up onto the top bunk and Hwanwoong stares out into the bedroom in complete confusion. The bed creaks and wobbles as Dongju moves, and Hwanwoong knows that he’s hiding under his blue blanket. From across the dimly lit room, an awake Keonhee meets Hwanwoong’s eyes and gives him a shrug. Unable to contemplate going to sleep now, Hwanwoong finds his phone and follows Dongju out of bed, but this time he takes himself to the kitchen.

‘I thought he liked it,’ he mumbles to himself, feeling ashamed.

‘Liked what?’

Hwanwoong jumps when he sees Seoho raiding the refrigerator. ‘Nothing,’ he says quickly, but his cheeks are scarlet.

~

On their one day off from music show promotions, the group still attend the studio. They arrive early in the morning, sleep cycles disrupted from the promotion circuit, to a spattering of cameras waiting outside the company building. There are not as many as there were a few days ago, and Dongju finds himself wondering whether it is too soon to say that things could be quietening down. The six of them are walked inside by Manager Byun, who leaves them at the door of the dance studio with the promise that he’ll bring up drinks and snacks for them within the hour.

‘Manager Byun?’ asks Dongju in a small voice before he leaves, looking over his shoulder as the others get ready for practice. ‘Where’s Manager Jeong?’

He asks because it is usually Manager Jeong who drives them to the studios, and because he wants to know how best to avoid any residual wrath. To his surprise, though, Manager Byun gives him a look of confusion. ‘He’s been reassigned, Dongju. I thought that you already knew that?’

‘Oh – oh I didn’t,’ he says in astonishment. He prays that the relief isn’t written all over his face, because he thinks that that might be disrespectful. Even if he has to run into Manager Jeong around the company building, he still thinks that this is a turn up that he never could have expected to come his way so easily. His eyes stray to Youngjo, who is pulling off his black hoodie and checking his phone. When he shuffles over there, Youngjo looks up with a smile.

‘Okay, Dongju?’

‘Did you get Manager Jeong reassigned?’ he asks in a rush.

Youngjo looks a little tired, like he was up during the night, but no one is ever allowed into his room because he’s anxiously protective of his private space, so Dongju does not know if he has slept. ‘Geonhak told me that he was making you feel unsafe, and I’m not going to let that happen. There’s enough going on outside without you having to deal with it inside too.’ With that, he makes a vague gesture towards the door, and Dongju figures that he’s referring to the press.

‘Thank you,’ he whispers, somewhat in awe of Youngjo’s nerve.

‘I meant what I said, Dongju. We’re all here to protect you. Both of you.’

Dongju nods and looks over at Hwanwoong.

This is Hwanwoong in his element. Though he thrives on the stage, there is something different about him here in dance practice. It reminds him of watching Youngjo in the music studio. There’s a zone that he slips into, a zone that’s completely inaccessible from the outside, but it doesn’t matter because Dongju is content to watch.

Today, Hwanwoong is dressed in loose white sweats with red seams, and an oversized sweater of dark green. Even though the others are still getting ready, he has already started running through steps in front of the mirror, eyes focused on his own reflection. His bangs are pushed back from his face with a narrow black band, exposing his high forehead, and without make-up his skin looks fresh and decorated with little blemished details that only the people closest to him can witness, like the richest custodians of illustrious paintings.

At some point, Dongju realises that he’s staring, but even that realisation doesn’t stop him. Seoho is fiddling with the sound system, and Keonhee is over playing with the lights, and if anyone else wants to watch him stare then they can. Just for a moment. Dongju needs to drink Hwanwoong in while he’s focussed like this.

‘I want to run through the b-side,’ says Hwanwoong, when the music buzzes from Keonhee’s phone into the system. He turns, and Dongju tears his eyes away, concentrating instead on re-lacing his sneakers. ‘Come on,’ he claps his hands once and Dongju jumps to attention even more dramatically than the others.

Hwanwoong can be a ferocious taskmaster when they practice as a group, far more intimidating than their choreographer or dance teachers. He does not like wasted time or procrastination or what he calls ‘dilly-dallying around’. Dongju understands because dancing is what Hwanwoong takes seriously; it’s more than a job to him, more than a tiring part of the bigger picture that the rest of them accept because they have to. It’s his life.

And Dongju loves to watch him live his life.

Still, after two hours of practice, Dongju is ready to collapse, no matter how much he wants to impress Hwanwoong. Ever since he joined the company, he has worked overtime at his dancing for two reasons: firstly, he will do just about anything in the hopes of earning a compliment from Hwanwoong, and secondly, it has meant staying late with him at the studio after the others have gone home, over and over and over. He told himself that it was all in the interest of progress, of course.

Now, when he looks back on that time, he’s not so sure.

‘Okay, let’s break,’ says Hwanwoong. Although his chest is rising and falling heavily and sweat shines on his face, his voice sounds quite steady.

Youngjo immediately collapses to the floor with a groan and rolls onto his back. Keonhee and Seoho race to the door on a quest for refreshments. Geonhak puts his head between his knees like he thinks he’s going to faint.

Dongju, though, does his very best to appear composed. Even though he wants to drop to the floor too, he stays bolt upright and crosses to Hwanwoong, panting hard but smiling nonetheless. ‘I think the dance is looking really good, hyung,’ he says, trying to fill his voice with enthusiasm. As he speaks, he remembers that his hair has stuck to his forehead and he pushes it back with a quick, rough hand. Are his cheeks too red? He hopes not.

‘I think so too,’ says Hwanwoong.

Between the two of them, in the small gap, there is a strange electricity. It does not exist when they are cuddling, or when they’re crammed together in the car, but for some reason it crackles now, perhaps because amongst the exertion they have let their guard down. Dongju could be imagining it, but then he watches as Hwanwoong’s eyes slide down his body a little and back up to his face.

Dongju resists the urge to cross his arms over his body, aware that his damp tee is clinging to every curve and line. Dongmyeong has told him before that he needs to keep his body language open instead of closing off so much, and he’s found that it helps. Already, people talk about how much his confidence has grown, and talking to people has become easier. With his posture relaxed and his chin tilted up, he feels older and bolder.

Even if he stands no chance with him, Dongju still wants to become the sort of man that Hwanwoong would be attracted to.

In moments like this, though, a quiet voice at the back of his mind begins to try to convince him that it wouldn’t be so ridiculous. Perhaps it’s his own crush playing tricks on him, but he’s sure that Hwanwoong glances his way too, sometimes, and that there’s something in the way that he drags his eyes across him. No one else let’s Dongju crawl into their bed every night, either.

As if snapped from his reverie when the door flies back open, Hwanwoong jumps and blinks three times in rapid succession. Keonhee emerges, brandishing snacks, but Dongju doesn’t even turn. His eyes are fixed on the way that Hwanwoong swipes a quick tongue over his dry lips and dabs the back of his hand against his hot neck.

‘Why do I feel like I’m interrupting something?’ laughs Keonhee, pushing an energy bar into Dongju’s hand. It’s an offhand joke, the sort that they make to each other all the time, but Hwanwoong clears his throat and shakes his head.

‘Daydreaming,’ he says, and he looks away.

Dongju wishes that he’d keep his eyes on him for longer. The spots that he laid his gaze upon are tingling. Hwanwoong might as well have brushed a tender, intimate caress over his skin with the way that his body reacts to his fleeting interest.

~

Every day goes by in a blur. They fade past the windows of Hwanwoong’s vision the same way that the over-ground trains rocketed past his bedroom window as a child in a small apartment on the less affluent side of Seoul. Back then, they lived out of two main rooms, Hwanwoong’s bedroom the converted living room, and the trainline was so loud that he learned to sleep with the quarter-hourly rumble and rattle until it was so familiar that he found it hard to rest without it.

Today shoots by like the faster trains that didn’t stop at every station.

The dawn start is a rush, because Dongju oversleeps and Seoho loses his bag. The morning is even quicker, a chaotic sequence of styling and make-up and costuming that takes a hit when Seoho’s jacket tears at the hem. The pre-recording for the music show races by, and Hwanwoong finds himself light-headed under the bright strobe lights, so dizzy that one of the team takes him aside to do a breathing exercise in between filming.

When the live stage begins, Hwanwoong fears that the bright lights will overwhelm him again. Outside, it is snowing, and the television staff have boosted the heat in the venue to compensate. Before they even start to dance, sweat beads on his forehead under the smooth layer of make-up.

By the time that it’s over, he wishes for home.

Bed.

Snuggling up with Dongju.

There, he feels safe.

He used to thrive during comeback time, but ever since the kiss he has found it more draining than ever before. Each schedule sucks a piece of life from him that he fears he’ll never get back. His heart used to beat faster on the stage from the thrill, but now it thuds with worry and anxiety. Now that his life has been shaken off its tracks once, he cannot shake the fear that it will happen again.

During the night, when he wakes up in cold sweats, he checks his phone to make sure that there’s no new revelation about him on the news. How can there be? The other members, his only brothers in this world, do not even know yet. But that reality doesn’t stop the all-consuming dread of his nightmares.

‘Alright?’ checks Youngjo beside him.

The stage is packed with all of the groups who have performed tonight. Oneus stand at the front, selected for the top two, and Hwanwoong waits between Youngjo and Geonhak, well away from Dongju lest something disastrous happen again. He plays with his hands in front of his stomach and tries to remind himself that they will be on camera, that his every fidget is captured for the world to see. ‘Fine,’ he says.

When the scores begin to be called, his eyes flicker up.

Math was never his strongest subject in school but he still scored well in his exams. There are certain categories in which they will struggle to compete, but others in which he knows they can excel. Numbers whizz across the forefront of his brain as he tallies, and he jumps a little when Youngjo’s hand rests at the small of his back in some kind of reassurance, and then the numbers are in the high thousands and it’s all scrolling too quick for him to make sense of and –

‘Oneus take their second win!’

The words are out of place, like they belong in another dimension. In this realm, such a gift cannot possibly be being bestowed upon them. Not after everything. Hwanwoong has begun to believe that good things will never come his way again after the mistake he made. When he can’t sleep, he convinces himself that a lifetime of bad luck is the punishment for risking his members’ futures like that.

Youngjo pulls him into a tight hug. Overhead, silver and gold ticker-tape explodes from two cannons and spills over them, as their song begins to play in the background. Silver confetti settles in Hwanwoong’s hair and he laughs as he begins to shake it out. Geonhak leans over and brushes away the excess, and from the corner of his eye Hwanwoong notices Dongju, pulled into a hug by Seoho and Keonhee. Quickly, he looks back down and concentrates on the moment.

The moment.

Though it will go down on paper as their second win, to Hwanwoong if feels like the first. That first instance of euphoria, over a week ago, was flattened in a second by crushing fear, like a falling anvil on a tiny cartoon character. Now, as if wounded by the last time, his feelings take a moment to catch up with what is happening. Afraid to feel a moment of happiness, he swallows and stares at the microphone that Youngjo holds out for him.

I’m not ready, he tells him with his eyes.

Youngjo talks instead, followed by Keonhee.

Slowly, as he realises that the win isn’t going to be snatched away from them at any second, excitement builds in his stomach. A warmth spreads across his abdomen and rises up into his chest; at first, it could be confused for fear or anxiety that has become his natural state, but when it doesn’t start to burn Hwanwoong thinks that it might be joy. Geonhak squeezes his shoulders and his happiness reminds Hwanwoong that it’s real, that no one is waiting in the wings to take it from him.

‘Well done,’ says Geonhak, right against his ear.

Hwanwoong doesn’t know what the praise is for – for the stage? For the win? Or for managing not to throw himself onto Dongju again?

Whatever it is, it makes the warmth turn to a happy bubble, and a tingle runs down Hwanwoong’s spine as the realisation hits that it is possible for things to be good again.

~

In the dressing room, Dongju needs at least ten minutes just to convince himself that he is not dreaming. No amount of prodding his skin or trying to shake himself to wakefulness will do the job; this cannot be real. The thrill that was taken from them so quickly after their first win is like mist in the air, impossible to take hold of and make solid. Even as his heart pounds with excitement against his chest and his body buzzes with adrenaline, his mind still does not fully believe it.

His phone pings with congratulations messages, from his brother and his parents and all of his friends. He realises, a little absentminded when it comes to conscious thought, that they never received messages like this after the first win. Everyone must have been too shocked. He hadn’t even noticed.

Already there is talk of a party. Manager Byun is on the phone ordering food and drink for back at the dorm and Dongju’s heart jolts at the thought of how it will be to celebrate back home, not just with all of the members but with Hwanwoong specifically. Will they be able to settle into the party? Act like nothing happened before and everything is okay again? Can they really treat this like the first win they deserved?

Normally he would take his make-up off before leaving, but today Dongju leaves it on. Even though it will only be him and the other members along with their managers, he still wants to look good. Every single day is a quest to impress Hwanwoong more than the last.

‘Can you believe it?’ beams Seoho as he runs into the dressing room, bag already slung over his shoulder. ‘Two wins. The fans voted for us, Dongju! And the digitals, the digitals were higher than ever!’

‘I know,’ he exhales. He knows, now, that they placed in first position for both the pre-vote and the live voting. It seems unbelievable but he is beginning to come to terms with the unbelievable.

‘Manager Byun is organising a party, we should get going.’ Seoho takes him by the hand and pulls him to his feet. ‘We earned this. You earned this.’

‘Where’s Hwanwoong?’ he asks, because it is the only thought on his mind.

Seoho looks around and then shrugs. ‘I don’t know. He must have already gone to the car. Let’s go.’

He tugs him along, but Dongju can’t help but keep peering around over his shoulder like he’s afraid that Hwanwoong will have hidden in a niche somewhere. What if they leave him behind? ‘Do you think - ’ he starts, just as they reach the exit to the covered parking lot and the ice cold air of outside hits him. He stops, because Hwanwoong is leant against the car waiting for them.

He’s hopping up and down, rubbing his hands together for warmth and breathing into them.

Why didn’t he wait in the car? Dongju thinks.

The part of his brain that sometimes tells the truth and sometimes does its very best to trick him, answers:

He was waiting for you.

~

The rooftop is freezing cold and snow dusts over every surface, like sparkling silver glitter. Grey clouds bring an ethereal light to the dark sky with a threat of further snow, and the moon is already cleaving a white passage between them. There are no stars visible, but their ghost lives on behind the clouds. The air is dry but that threat of snow feels more like a promise to Hwanwoong as he steps out onto the small terrace and takes his bottle and cup over to the low wall.

This side of the rooftop looks out over the back part of the building, so no camera lenses breach his peace. Other houses and apartments are packed in dense rows close against the dorm, but the curtains are drawn and the yellow glow behind the windows offers only a silhouette of a glimpse into the lives of others. How different they must be to his, but in some ways they may be the same: highs and lows, triumphs and tragedies. Despite the late hour, the lights beam on, in a city that doesn’t sleep.

Hwanwoong pours out another cup of the grape soju and drinks it back. Downstairs, the members are celebrating their second win with a vast spread of food and too many bottles of spirit to count. Manager Byun treated them to a special meal, and Hwanwoong is trying not to drink too much because he does not want a sore head in the morning, but with every cup the anxiety of the recent days starts to dwindle.

Outside, it’s easy to forget everything else.

Of all the members, Hwanwoong spends the most time on the roof terrace. Up here, his claustrophobia fades into nothingness, and he cannot wait until the summer when he’ll be able to lie down and look up at the stars and maybe even sleep on the smooth paving. Tonight, though, he wraps his baggy leather-look jacket tighter around his body and pulls down his beanie over his icy ears.

He jumps when he hears a sound, but a glance over his shoulder shows him that it is only Dongju, stepping out onto the terrace too with a crunch of snow underfoot and a wince at the sudden onslaught of cold air.

It’s only Dongju.

Only Dongju?

Hwanwoong does not think that he’ll ever be only-Dongju ever again.

‘Oh hey,’ says Dongju when he looks up. ‘Sorry, I thought there was no one up here! I wanted to get some air!’

‘It’s okay,’ answers Hwanwoong in a soft voice. He tips the last of his bottle into his cup and holds it up. ‘You know that I like some air too.’

Dongju crosses over and leans over the low balcony wall too. He’s thrown on a very fuzzy woollen jacket that makes him look like a little lamb, but already the tips of his uncovered ears are turning red from the cold. When Hwanwoong looks at him, he thinks that Dongju manages to look both cute and handsome in a way that he envies. Every time that the fans call him cute, he wishes that they would call him handsome.

Dongju’s eyes are wide and pretty, dark brown like a doe’s, and his skin looks fresh and pink where he has scrubbed his make-up away. His hair is beginning to fade out to pink, and Hwanwoong wants to tell him that it suits him, but he can never find the right words. So acutely outlined are his pink lips that Hwanwoong wants to trace the curves with his fingertips just to know that they’re real. No longer can he keep a secret from himself, locked inside never to be confessed to his own conscience.

Dongju is beautiful.

And the soju is reminding him of that with prods of need like lightning bolts to his fingertips.

‘I never imagined that we’d get another win. Especially not after…’ Dongju trails off.

Hwanwoong drinks the last of his courage and sets the bottle down onto the wall. ‘Me neither. I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose we reacted better than last time,’ he adds with a laugh, which makes Dongju smile and turn away in embarrassment. Since their one significant heart-to-heart, they have done little to discuss what happened on that day, content to leave it in the past. Like many things, though, the past fights against its abandonment. Questions live in Hwanwoong’s head forever.

Dongju licks his lips and looks down, and the expression suggests that he’s ready to say something. ‘I don’t think that we reacted so badly. I mean – I don’t think what we did was so terrible.’

The words squeeze an ache into Hwanwoong’s heart, because he knows what Dongju means but speaking such words from his own lips would mean giving into a reality that he has spent a long time running in circles trying to escape. ‘What do you mean?’ he says, mouth turning dry.

‘I think I’ve had too much soju,’ laughs Dongju.

Nothing about his words sounds like a joke to Hwanwoong, though. He turns to face him fully, aware that the cool breeze is turning his nose pink and lifting his washed hair into a fluffy cloud, but he cannot find it in his heart to care. ‘Do you not regret it?’

Dongju cannot meet his eyes, but with the help of the alcohol his words roll out into the night. ‘When I think about regrets, I don’t think about moments between us.’

An overwhelming instinct takes hold of Hwanwoong’s body, so viscerally that his mind cannot control it anymore. He lifts his hands and turns Dongju’s face towards him before standing up on the balls of his feet to press a kiss to his lips. It’s slow and measured yet utterly uncontrolled. Dongju’s lips are so cold that they feel like ice against his, but alone on the rooftop, the kiss feels warmer than the embrace on the hot stage in front of everyone.

Hwanwoong closes his eyes and lets himself live in a moment of paradise, when consequences don’t exist and the constant chatter in his brain is silenced. The crushing weight of the world around him is lifted. The first signs of oncoming snow in the air are the only disruption to total peace.

Dongju’s lips are cold but his hands are still just warm when he touches Hwanwoong’s face, palms on his jaw and fingertips featherlight on his cheeks.

Before this moment, Hwanwoong would never have thought that something could feel so safe and so dangerous all at once. Only when he pulls his lips away and rests his forehead down on Dongju’s shoulder does it hit him, what he has just done. He squeezes his eyes shut. A shaky breath breaks from his lips and he feels Dongju’s arms wrap around his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, as if he knows what for.

‘It’s okay,’ murmurs Dongju, and his fingers rub gently at the nape of Hwanwoong’s neck, ‘it’s okay.’

Tears spike in Hwanwoong’s eyes but he has cried enough. He’s tired of crying. ‘I’m confused,’ he chokes out.

‘I know, trust me I know,’ says Dongju. He kisses Hwanwoong’s hair and it’s so tender that Hwanwoong’s sure he won’t be able to stop himself from falling apart, but something in the very back of his brain reminds him that he’s supposed to be keeping it together. Dongju’s hand shakes as it moves to Hwanwoong’s back and pulls him against him, but it could just be the cold. ‘I’m here for you. Right here for you.’

Hwanwoong inhales sharply and the distinct scent of his own floral body wash hits him from Dongju’s woollen jacket.

Although their first kiss was on the stage, in front of so many people, this one feels more risky. The first was a mistake, but for this one he has nothing to blame. The choice tastes more dangerous on his tongue. A daring choice and grape soju and Dongju’s lip balm, the heady co*cktail of which he’ll never forget the taste.

‘It’s okay, hyung,’ repeats Dongju. ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’

Not for the first time, Hwanwoong thinks that he would give anything in the world to have one ounce of Dongju’s courage.