Archive of Our Own

Yoon Jongwoo looks good slumped in the driver’s seat of the car that he technically shares with his older sister—one hand loose on the wheel and dark bangs peeking out from beneath the baseball cap perched on his head. The city is tipping into May and the temperatures are slowly climbing—the heat extending further and further into the night, refusing to be chased away with the sun. 

Now that they don’t have to worry about cameras and TV restrictions, Jongwoo has both sleeves of his jacket pushed up, exposing the tattoo on his left forearm and wrist. The car rumbles like a sleepy beast on the curb and Jongwoo grins at him, crooked and a little sad, as Jiwoong slides into the passenger seat. The clock on the dashboard reads 12:30 a.m., which theoretically should be late enough to be safe. Once upon a time, this hour would mean a club somewhere in Itaewon or laughing with friends crammed around a table at a night market or even the comforting dark of his own bedroom and a warm body moving against his own. 

For the last six months, that body has been Jongwoo. 

Now, Jiwoong finds himself checking for any suspicious loiterers, anyone who might have a camera, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief when Jongwoo quickly pulls away from the dorm building back into the endless flow of city traffic. 

“Wow,” he says without taking his eyes off the road. “It’s starting already?” 

“What?” Jiwoong asks. 

“The idol paranoia,” Jongwoo jokes. 

Jiwoong sighs. He knew, logically, that the show was watched by a lot of people. He heard numbers rattled off to him: millions of votes, nine thousand fan messages, over thirty thousand viewers of their pajama party live, seven thousand people in a stadium to witness him make the debut lineup. He thought that he understood the scale. Then he was surrounded in an airport by a crowd so thick that he could barely move or breathe and he realized that he didn’t know anything at all. 

“Something like that,” he says to Jongwoo, keeping it vague because it’s only been about three weeks since he held Jongwoo in that stadium, feeling Jongwoo’s tears wet his stupid gray suit jacket and Jongwoo’s shoulders hitch beneath his hands, and he’s nervous about rubbing salt in an open wound. 

“Don’t worry,” Jongwoo says, flashing another smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “we’ll be discreet.” 

“Love motel?” Jiwoong asks. 

This was a lot easier when he still had his own apartment they could retreat to during filming breaks. 

Jongwoo shakes his head, keeping the car heading north along the river towards Haenju Bridge. “Nah, I don’t want to bother with that. Let’s get out of the city. How long do you have?”

Jiwoong wishes he could say as long as you want but those days are gone. “Maybe three or four hours?” He’s pretty sure they have a shoot starting at seven a.m., though he can’t remember for what, and he’ll need to be back at the dorms by six a.m. at the latest to avoid arousing suspicion. 

Jongwoo hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “That should be enough time, then.” 

Jiwoong raises his eyebrows in a silent question that Jongwoo clocks with a glance and smiles again, a little brighter this time. “Where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see,” Jongwoo says, the smile lingering, showing off slightly crooked upper teeth that Jiwoong has always found endearing. 

“This could count as kidnapping.” 

Jongwoo scoffs at that. “Sure, hyung. Want me to take you back to the dorms instead?” 

“No,” Jiwoong says immediately. 

The last three weeks have been some of the most intense in his twenty-four years of life and that includes nearly six months of filming a survival show. He’s still trying to find his feet, get his bearings, in this world where he’s about to become an idol, where he’s going to be stuck in a dorm with eight other boys for the next two and a half years, where he’s going to learn intimate details about each of those boys in the name of onscreen chemistry, where he might continue to reach heights he barely allowed himself to dream of. 

Jongwoo is something familiar, something precious. He wants to cling to it. Especially because he’s not naive enough to ignore the fact that it’s slipping through his fingers. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jongwoo says, a little smug, and smoothly takes the exit for the bridge. 

_ _ 

(Jiwoong doesn’t remember how it started. Maybe that playful attempt at fanservice that resulted in Jongwoo almost kissing him on camera during their auditions. Maybe before that, meeting in a little dance studio to practice their routine—two independent trainees sizing each other up, and Jiwoong was a little captivated by Jongwoo’s intensity, by the fluid way he was able to move his body, like his bones were made of water. 

What matters is this: Jongwoo rocking up to kiss him in the laundry room in the middle of the night, taking advantage of both the late hour and the fact that they’re in a camera-free zone. 

It startles Jiwoong, even though he’s used to people finding him attractive. He knows that multiple boys here do and that Jongwoo is just the first bold enough to try to act on it. He freezes long enough that Jongwoo pulls away with a nervous frown and asks “wrong move?” 

No, Jiwoong decides. He likes Jongwoo: bright and extroverted and fierce and determined and so unafraid to touch him even with multiple cameras pointed on them, cleverly knowing that he could shield attraction behind a joke, behind the dismissive excuse of fanservice. It might be a risk to do this in the middle of a literal survival show, mostly surrounded by cameras, but Jiwoong believes they’re both adult enough to know how to be careful. 

At the very least, they both want this opportunity too much to be reckless with it. 

“Right move,” Jiwoong says and leans in to kiss him back.) 

_ _ 

They don’t talk much on the drive, content to listen to the music filtering out of Jongwoo’s speakers—an indie artist that Jiwoong doesn’t recognize but fits the vibe of this strange, liminal hour, and the blur of lights around them. Jiwoong allows himself to drift in an exhausted haze, head mostly empty. At some point his hand drifts to rest on Jongwoo’s thigh, as though his body has become so accustomed to touching him that it moves on instinct, like it's performing one of the dance routines that have been carved into him over the course of the show. 

Jongwoo feels solid beneath him, warm through the layer of his jeans, and he doesn’t push Jiwoong’s hand away. 

When Jongwoo stays on the Incheon Airport expressway, winding their way out of Seoul, Jiwoong uses his other hand to poke him inquisitively in the shoulder. “Yah, are you taking me to the airport? Is this really a kidnapping?”

“Yeah,” Jongwoo deadpans. “We’re going to Japan. I have fake passports ready and everything. We can be exchange students. I’ll translate for you.” 

“My Japanese is pretty decent,” Jiwoong argues. “I’d be fine.” 

“Even better,” Jongwoo says. “Eventually, I’ll ransom you back to Wake One.” 

“For how much?” 

“Ten million won.” 

Jiwoong whistles. “I doubt I’m worth ten million won.” 

Jongwoo shrugs. “Aim high, right?” He glances at Jiwoong, expression settling into a frown. “And you are. You will be.” 

Jiwoong answers with a shrug of his own. “I only placed eighth, Jongwoo-yah.” 

Jongwoo makes a noise of disagreement, but mercifully doesn’t say better than eighteenth, right? like he could, digging nails into the tender parts of Jiwoong, of them. 

Instead, he merely changes the topic. “I’m not taking you to the airport, don’t worry, hyung. I just want to see the ocean.” 

Ah, the beach. Jiwoong squeezes Jongwoo’s thigh—apology, acknowledgement, and gratitude all packed into the single gesture. Jongwoo’s fingers curl tighter around the leather of the steering wheel and the music fills the silence, the lyrics making a cut all their own.  

“Stay, I am my memories' owner/Stay until I send you away/Stay even in my memories...” 

_ _ 

(He brings Jongwoo to his little studio apartment and tries not to feel self-conscious, not to read failure in how cramped it is, how most of the furniture is secondhand and the light in the entryway flickers because he keeps forgetting to change the bulb.

Jongwoo just grins at him, folding into a ball on Jiwoong’s worn loveseat. “Hyung, this is so much better than trying to hook up in the bathroom.”

That makes Jiwoong laugh and he allows Jongwoo to reel him in, push him back onto the cushions so that Jongwoo can straddle him. He moves with the efficiency and confidence that Jiwoong’s gotten used to in the months they’ve been co-existing and working together—knees on either side of Jiwoong’s hips, arms on Jiwoong’s shoulders, eyes dark and wanting. Jiwoong pushes up his left sleeve, baring his tattoos, and rubs a thumb along the inked skin. 

“I thought we should do it on a bed at least once,” he says. “Even if it’s a twin bed.” 

Jongwoo cackles and leans in to kiss him, shifting to sink a hand into his hair, and Jiwoong melts against him. 

He’s no stranger to sex, but Jongwoo makes it easy. 

Too easy, sometimes.) 

_ _

The parking lot at Wangsan Beach is empty, but Jongwoo still chooses a spot at the very edge of it, tucked away in the shadows. The ocean is an endless dark mass that brushes at the edges of the white sand, and they’ve made it far enough away from the city lights that the stars are visible, if faint, in the sky above their heads. 

It’s beautiful. It seems like a perfect place for a goodbye and Jiwoong’s heart twists. 

“Hyung,” Jongwoo says, gaze on the water. “This is going to be the last time we do this. Okay?” 

Jiwoong was half-suspecting that, but it still hurts far more than he thought it would—a searing ache in his breastbone. 

“Jongwoo-yah—” 

“Because I’m not going to be an idol’s secret,” Jongwoo continues. “And I’m not going to let myself fall in love with someone who has feelings for someone else.” 

Jiwoong’s head spins, struggling to process fall in love and feelings for someone else. 

“What?” 

Jongwoo finally turns to him, expression wry. “I’ve seen the way you look at Seok Matthew, hyung. I’m not blind.” 

Jiwoong freezes, feeling suddenly akin to a deer caught in a snare and unable to do anything but stare, wide-eyed and mute, until Jongwoo shakes his head and gets out of the car. The sound of the driver’s door slamming jolts Jiwoong out of his stupor and he half-scrambles after Jongwoo, rounding the front of the car to hover at Jongwoo’s side. 

“Mattthew is….” 

Is what, exactly? Because it’s true that Jiwoong finds him cute, finds him magnetic—sometimes feels like he’s become a star helplessly in orbit around Mattthew’s sun. But he has no idea if Matthew feels the same way. Matthew hasn’t really given any indication that he does outside of practically scripted flirting. He also doesn’t know if this is a powerful crush that will pass if he smothers it for long enough or if it’s going to take root and become impossible to ignore, painful and enduring. He’s been trying not to think about it, to just let himself get caught up in the maelstrom of predebut instead. 

But Jongwoo needs an answer, deserves an answer, even if it’s a lame one. 

“Matthew isn’t anything definitive yet.” 

“But he could be,” Jongwoo argues, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“So could you,” Jiwoong points out. 

Jongwoo laughs and it isn’t a pretty or pleasant sound. “No, hyung. This ship sailed when I didn’t make the cut.” He sighs, some of the bitterness draining with the exhale. “You’re going to get Matthew for the next two and a half years. What would we be? Some secret rendezvous once in a fucking blue moon when you have a window in your schedule? I won’t do that to myself, I—” 

His voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I deserve better than that,” he whispers and it’s true, though he sounds like he doesn’t believe it. “Maybe I should be happy begging for scraps from an idol but I … let me keep some pride, at least, hyung.” 

The ache radiates, knots up his stomach, and Jiwoong wraps his arms around Jongwoo from behind, pulling Jongwoo against his chest. “You do,” he says. “You deserve better, Jongwoo-yah. I just … everything’s changing. I don’t want to let go of you.” 

No matter what he might end up feeling for Matthew, the idea of looking at the space Jongwoo has occupied for over a half a year and seeing a void instead terrifies him. 

“You have to,” Jongwoo says. “You need to let go of me.” 

“It’s not like I’m going to a different planet,” Jiwoong protests and hates how pathetic he sounds. “We’re still going to be in the same city.” 

“You are, though,” Jongwoo argues. “I saw the airport footage. You’re entering a different plane of existence. A different Seoul than the one I’m going to be living in.” 

Jiwoong wants to say that isn’t true, but he remembers the crush of people at the airport, the shock of the size of the crowd that came to see them off and the realization that the amount of eyes on them is probably only going to grow. It’s thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, having to readjust his equilibrium so much. His Seoul is going to be various company buildings and MV sets and glossy practice rooms and a haze of stages. Not the little practice rooms Jongwoo frequents or the tiny cafe in Itaewon Jongwoo took him to that’s run by a wonderful trans woman or the lesbian bar on Homo Hill only a few streets over where the owner told him that they’d seen him in Holland’s new music video and offered him a drink on the house. 

For all that he’s going to gain, he’s slowly understanding there is also a great deal he’s going to lose. 

Including the man currently in his arms. 

He presses closer to Jongwoo, trying to figure out what to say. Thank you for being so good to me? Or I know you’re gonna end up somewhere good?  Or Don’t give up? 

Everything sounds too trite. He isn’t in love with Jongwoo but another version of him could have been. A version who didn’t place in the top 9. A version who didn’t get sucked into Seok Matthew’s magnetic field. 

“You’re right,” he sighs in surrender, pressing his forehead to the back of Jongwoo’s shoulder. “You’re right.” 

“I don’t want to be,” Jongwoo says. “But I’m also happy for you. You deserve it, hyung.” 

So do you, Jiwoong thinks and doesn’t say, deciding it’s safer to change the topic. “What was the other part? About falling in love with me?” 

Jongwoo elbows him in the stomach, pulling away. “Yah, I said let myself fall in love with you. I’m not there yet and I’m not going to be.” 

“But you could have?” Jiwoong can’t help asking. It’s another stupid question and Jongwoo levels him with a very deserved look of frustration. 

“Yeah,” he says and it’s sharp, defensive. “I could have.” 

“I could have, too,” Jiwoong offers and that softens Jongwoo a few degrees, his stiff shoulders slumping. 

“We’re a perfect match, then,” he says dryly and Jiwoong laughs through the awful tears coalescing at the back of his throat. 

“So,” he says, launching them into another topic change. “What sort of goodbye is this supposed to be?” 

Jongwoo drifts closer again, breath mingling with Jiwoong’s in the small space between them, and Jiwoong allows himself to curl hands over Jongwoo’s hips, rucking up his shirt and jacket just enough to brush warm skin. 

“It’s a bad idea,” Jongwoo says, “but I wanted you to fuck me.” 

_ _ 

(“You should fuck me,” Jongwoo says, knelt on Jiwoong’s twin bed, and Jiwoong blinks up at him in surprise. 

“Yeah?” 

Usually he lets Jongwoo lead, suspecting that he has more experience than Jongwoo and so is more comfortable going with the flow. He wasn’t sure this was something Jongwoo would want—half-expecting him to ask for the reverse: to fuck Jiwoong instead. He would have been fine with that, but right now Jongwoo’s expression is a mixture of nervousness, vulnerability, and determination. 

He looks young under the diffused city light filtering through Jiwoong’s fifteenth-story window. 

“Yeah,” he says, not backing down and Jiwoong nods. 

“Come here, then,” he says, gentle, and draws Jongwoo into a kiss.) 

_ _ 

Surprise must flicker too obviously across his face because Jongwoo pokes him in the stomach again. “Yah, is that so shocking? I’ve bottomed more than half the times we’ve done this.” 

Which is only about six times in the last six months because it’s easier to stick to blowjobs or handjobs or just grinding against each other like horny teenagers when you’re trying to hook up in a dorm full of both other boys and copious amounts of cameras. But Jongwoo isn’t wrong. 

“I just wasn’t sure you’d let me,” Jiwoong says hesitantly. “That you’d want it anymore.” 

“It’s a bad idea,” Jongwoo repeats with a grimace. “But yeah, I want it.” 

He looks up at Jiwoong, radiating defiance. Like he’s daring Jiwoong to reject or humiliate him, and it’s an expression he’s worn several times in the past—frequently enough that Jiwoong wanted to ask who made think it wasn’t okay to express his desires.

He just never worked up the courage to. The questions got added to the pile of unsaid things between them. 

“Then, I want it, too,” Jiwoong says now, reaching up to rub his thumb over the bone of Jongwoo’s cheek in a careful, reassuring sweep. “Just….” He takes in their surroundings with a frown, registering the sea chill in the air and the empty parking lot. “Why didn’t we go to a motel, then?” 

“Because I wanted to see the ocean,” Jongwoo says. 

“So … are we going to fuck in the back of your car? Or….” 

He glances at the hood of the car and feels a flush spreading across his face. There’s no one around, they wouldn’t get caught, but sex this public is overwhelming to contemplate. At least at Planet Camp they had the illusion of privacy that a bathroom or shower stall provided. 

Jongwoo catches his furtive glance and smirks. “What, hyung? You wanna fuck me over the hood?” 

Jiwoong digs his fingers into Jongwoo’s hips in silent warning. “No, I mean—” 

Jongwoo waggles his eyebrows, exaggerated, and laughs—a full-body cackle that has him flopping against Jiwoong in his mirth. 

“Your face," he wheezes and he seems suddenly young again, giggling against Jiwoong’s chest. Sometimes, Jiwoong forgets that they’re both the youngest of their families. That Jongwoo was the maknae of his original group before it fell apart. 

It always makes him want to treat Jongwoo with more care than Jongwoo ever lets him express. 

“You can’t blame me,” he protests now, also laughing. “You’re the one who drove us here and said you wanted to have sex. It’s obviously an option.” 

“Obviously,” Jongwoo echoes with a final giggle. He pushes off Jiwoong’s chest, still grinning and eyes sparkling beneath the brim of his hat. “But, nah, as sexy as that would be.” Another eyebrow waggle that makes Jiwoong roll his eyes. “I’d rather not risk getting arrested for public indecency. I think we can manage in the back seat.” 

“Don’t you share this car with your sister?” 

Jongwoo shrugs. “I’ll clean it.” 

Jiwoong decides to stop protesting, since after tonight he’ll never get to have this again: the way Jongwoo cups the back of his neck when Jiwoong leans down to kiss him, the hot tangle of Jongwoo’s tongue against his own, the soft noise Jongwoo makes in the back of his throat when Jiwoong presses closer. The pads of Jongwoo’s fingers are calloused because Jay has been teaching him to play guitar, rough against the skin of Jiwoong’s neck, and he kisses like he’s about to come apart—frantic, searing, all-consuming. Jiwoong aches and aches and aches as he takes off Jongwoo’s cap to touch his hair, mussing it, then drags the hem of his shirt and jacket up to get hands on his soft stomach. 

It’s not enough. He wants more of Jongwoo’s skin, more of this building heat, more fucking time. 

More, more, more. 

When Jongwoo finally pulls away for air, it’s a physical challenge not to chase after him. 

“Come on,” Jongwoo says, voice a low rasp. He takes the cap from Jiwoong’s lax grip and tosses it into the front seat. “Let’s get in the car before we get too carried away.” 

Jiwoong tugs petulantly on his jacket. “Are you going to take this off?” 

Jongwoo mimics the gesture on Jiwoong’s sweater. “Are you going to take this off?” 

“If you want me too.” 

“No,” Jongwoo deadpans. “The idea of seeing you naked horrifies me.” 

Jiwoong shakes his head and nudges Jongwoo towards the car, tugging the sweater over his head as he goes. It ends up in the front seat alongside Jongwoo’s jacket and hat and Jongwoo climbs into the backseat, clearly intending to get on his hands and knees. 

“No,” Jiwoong blurts, stopping him with a hand on his hip. “No, I want—please, I need to see your face.” 

Jongwoo closes his eyes for a moment, but nods and shifts onto his front, sitting against the door with space for Jiwoong to fit between his legs. 

“Like this?” He asks in a whisper and Jiwoong cups his knees, strokes his thighs over the denim of his jeans. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like this.” 

“Okay,” Jongwoo says. “Help me get my pants off, then.” 

It takes an undignified amount of wiggling to get Jongwoo’s jeans down his hips and then off his legs. Jiwoong pauses to slip off his sneakers along the way, dumping them on the floor. Jongwoo kicks him in the leg. “Dude, take my socks off, too. It’s weird otherwise.” 

Jiwoong laughs at that, but complies. The socks join the shoes and the jeans and then he has Jongwoo spread out before him in just a t-shirt and boxers and it’s a sight he doesn’t think he would ever get tired of—in that alternate universe where they lasted longer than six months, where they maybe had years. 

Jongwoo shivers. “It’s fucking cold,” he complains. “Should have turned the car on.” 

It’s clearly a deflection, designed to disguise how vulnerable Jongwoo must feel in this position. Jiwoong scoots closer. 

“I’ll warm you up,” he says, knowing how cheesy it sounds and pleased when Jongwoo snorts at him. 

“Then get on with it.” 

Jiwoong responds by pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, then over his Adam's apple, burning a path down his throat to the collarbones exposed by the wide neck of his t-shirt. They don’t have to film a show anymore so Jiwoong takes advantage and moves back up to suck a mark in the side of Jongwoo’s neck, scraping fragile skin with his teeth, sinking in deep enough that Jongwoo gasps. Jiwoong hums in satisfaction and shifts to make another, then a third. He wants them to last for days—an echo of him that Jongwoo can carry into their separate futures. 

Jongwoo angles his neck to let him, eyes closed and breath shaky. He’s always quiet during sex, clinging to composure that Jinwoong remains desperate to unravel—to make Jongwoo completely fall apart. 

Jongwoo’s never let him and he doubts that will change tonight. 

(He wonders, an awful flash of thought, if Matthew would be different. He squashes it quickly, like an errant fly, because Matthew doesn’t belong here, between him and Jongwoo in the backseat of this car,  and Jongwoo deserves better than to be compared to someone else, even hypothetically.

He’s sure Jongwoo has had enough of that to last a lifetime.) 

Jiwoong shifts to seal his mouth over Jongwoo’s again, letting his hands trail lower until he’s cupping Jongwoo through the thin layer of his underwear. He’s not fully hard yet, but Jiwoong can feel the damp of his precome, and he drinks up the moan that escapes Jongwoo when he rubs over Jongwoo’s cockhead through the fabric. 

“I want to blow you,” Jiwoong says, suddenly desperate to taste Jongwoo one last time. 

Jongwoo shakes his head, nose brushing Jiwoong’s cheek. “No space.” 

“I can kneel on the floor.” 

“And bend your back in half?” 

“I’m pretty flexible.” 

“Hyung….” 

“Let me try,” Jiwoong insists, scooting off the seat to kneel awkwardly on the floor like he suggested. 

It’s a weird position, and they probably should have moved the front seats up to give themselves more room, but he stubbornly coxes Jongwoo into a sitting position with his legs on either side of Jiwoong’s body. 

(Jiwoong remembers the first time they did this, in a bathroom stall at nearly three in the morning—the tile cold beneath his knees, digging patterns into his skin through his pajama pants; Jongwoo’s hands in his hair, pulling just enough to hurt; Jongwoo’s teeth sunk into his lower lip to keep himself silent, beads of blood along the fragile skin; Jongwoo’s hips jerking beneath his fingers; Jongwoo’s cock heavy on his tongue, filling his mouth. It was messy. They were terrified of getting caught. 

And Jiwoong loved every second of it.)

Jiwoong leans forward, scrunching himself down so that he can press his mouth to Jiwoong’s cock, but Jongwoo stops him with fingers on his forehead. 

“Let me take my underwear off first,” he protests. “I don’t want to drive back with wet underwear and I’m not going commando in fucking jeans.” 

Jiwoong huffs, swallowing a laugh, and adjusts his position so he can help Jongwoo get his boxers off. They go much easier than the jeans and then Jongwoo is just in the shirt that’s riding up, exposing his stomach. Jiwoong follows the light trail of hair with his lips and tongue, from belly button all the way down until he’s licking gently along Jongwoo’s shaft and Jongwoo is swallowing instinctive noises again. 

He’s almost completely erect now, flushed and pretty, and a groan finally punches out of him when Jiwoong wraps his lips around the leaking head, digging his tongue into Jongwoo’s slit and reveling in the way that Jongwoo’s thighs shake in response. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. 

It doesn’t matter that his shoulders and spine are going to hate him for how far he’s hunched over or that the car floor is rough on his knees. All he cares about is the familiar taste of Jongwoo on his tongue. He relaxes his jaw enough to let Jongwoo slip into the clench of his throat and listens to the rough hitch of Jongwoo’s breath. When he slides back up, he settles on a slow, steady rhythm: taking Jongwoo deep each time before pulling off to suck at Jongwoo’s tip, paying attention to all of the sensitive spots he’s discovered from past experience. 

“Hyung,” Jongwoo gasps, head tilted back against the seat and eyes squeezed shut. His fingers dig hard into the meat of Jiwoong’s shoulder. 

“Are you going to come?” Jiwoong asks, punctuating the question with another flick of his tongue over the head of Jongwoo’s cock. 

“No,” Jongwoo says, though it sounds like a lie. His voice is shaky like it always gets right before orgasm. “I wanted you to fuck me, remember?” 

“You can’t come twice?” Jiwoong asks and Jongwoo glares at him. “What? You have before.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not a guarantee.” 

“Come in my mouth,” Jiwoong insists because god, he wants to taste it. “And I’ll get you hard again, I promise.” 

He needs this to last, to draw it out at least a little, so that the final time he has Jongwoo isn’t just a quick fuck in the back of a car. He needs Jongwoo to stop holding back, even if it’s an unfair thing to ask of him. 

Jongwoo sighs in surrender. “Okay.” He shifts closer, hand at the back of Jiwoong’s neck. “Okay, hyung.” 

Jiwoong renews his efforts, picking up the pace and hollowing his cheeks so that Jongwoo can feel the slick glide of his tongue, the pressure of his lips, and Jongwoo predictably claws at his shoulder again, hiccuping as Jiwoong pushes him relentlessly towards the edge. He tips over when Jiwoong manages to take him to the root again, ignoring the ache in his jaw and uncaring of the scolding he’s going to get tomorrow for mysteriously wrecking his voice. It’s worth it for the taste of Jongwoo’s come against the back of his throat, for the feeling of Jongwoo’s hips stuttering beneath his palms, for the way that Jongwoo’s mouth drops open and his chest heaves in the aftermath. 

Jiwoong licks him clean and rocks back on his heels to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“Good?” he asks and Jongwoo scoffs at him. He smirks, bringing Jongwoo’s arm up so he can kiss along his tattoo. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“If I knew you’d be this turned on by my tattoos,” Jongwoo says, deflecting, “I’d have gotten more.” 

“Yeah?” Jiwoong lets him off the hook. “How many?” 

A shrug. “At least two. Maybe three?” 

“Where?” 

“My other shoulder,” Jongwoo says. “Maybe somewhere on my other arm. Or on my thigh.” 

“Your thigh?” Jongwoo spreads a hand over Jongwoo’s thigh, imagining ink decorating the pale skin and embarrassed at the way his mouth instantly waters. 

Jongwoo gives him a knowing look. “Yeah,” he says. “You would’ve liked that.” 

“I would have,” Jiwoong agrees easily. He doesn’t mind when Jongwoo wants to tease him, humiliate him just a little, just enough to make his cheeks flush and his belly squirm. 

“Maybe, I’ll still get it,” Jongwoo murmurs. 

Jiwoong swallows down the question he wants to ask: would it be a reminder of me? 

“You should,” is all he says. He scrunches himself up again so he can kiss Jongwoo’s thigh. He’s so hard in his jeans and Jongwoo’s taste lingers on his tongue. “It would look hot.” 

“Noted,” Jongwoo says, wry, and touches Jiwoong’s chin—an echo of the move they performed in their audition choreography. “D’you want my mouth, too?” 

“No,” Jiwoong says. “No space.” 

Jongwoo laughs, disbelieving. “Then fuck me?” 

“You brought stuff?” 

“Shit, it’s in the glove compartment.” Jongwoo gestures to the front of the car. “But uh, I prepped before I came to get you.” 

The image of Jongwoo opening himself up immediately sears into Jiwoong’s brain. He watched Jongwoo do it once, when they were showering together at Planet Camp, and soaked up the pretty clench of his jaw, the rough, desperate movement of his arm as he worked his fingers deeper, the gravelly sound he made when he found his prostate and had to press his forehead to shower wall, panting against the wet tile. 

“Yeah?” he asks now and Jongwoo nods, almost shy. 

Jiwoong kisses his palm. “That was a while ago, though. Let me check?” 

“You just want an excuse to finger me,” Jongwoo mutters and Jiwoong smiles. 

Another kiss. “That too.” 

“Fine, but you’re getting the supplies.” 

It would probably be easier to just get out of the car and go around, but it’s cold outside, so Jiwoong settles for flopping around like a fish on land as he squirms his way between the seats and grasps for the glove compartment, aware of Jongwoo’s amused gaze on him as he stretches his arm and finally manages to snag the latch. He fumbles some more, until his fingers brush a small bottle and familiar foil. 

“Got it,” he grunts. 

“Good job,” Jongwoo says, dripping with enough sarcasm that Jiwoong pinches him on the leg. 

His jeans are driving him crazy, chafing against his erection, so he deposits the condoms and lube next to Jongwoo and shoves them down his hips, leaving them tangled around his thighs. Jongwoo has closed his legs, potentially self-conscious about being the only one so naked, and Jiwoong rubs gently over his knees. 

“Come on,” he murmurs with too much tenderness. “Let me open you up.” 

Jongwoo tilts his gaze to the ceiling but lets Jiwoong push his legs apart again, shivering when Jiwoong strokes his thighs, then brushes a thumb over his hole, pushing carefully inside. He’s still wet from his earlier prep, but it’s not enough. He feels too tight and Jiwoong pulls back to coat his fingers with the lube, rubbing them together to warm it up. 

Jongwoo still has his eyes shut, bangs nearly covering them, and Jiwoong pauses to take him in. His shirt’s ridden up even higher and he’s all sinewy muscle—a dancer’s physique. He’s beautiful, so beautiful, and Jiwoong’s heart is throbbing at the back of his mouth. 

“Jongwoo-yah,” he says and Jongwoo blinks at him in confusion. 

“What are you waiting for?” 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jiwoong blurts and Jongwoo flinches away from the praise like he usually does. This time, Jiwoong doesn’t let him run. “I need you to hear this. You’re gorgeous and you’re enough. You’ve always been enough for me.” 

Even with Matthew in the picture now. Even if Jongwoo isn’t going to debut with them.

“Just fuck me,” Jongwoo mumbles, shoulders hunched up and eyes fixed on the window. 

“No, I—please, I need you to hear me.” 

“I hear you.” 

I just don’t believe you, goes unsaid. 

Jiwoong sighs and decides he’s not going to get anywhere by pushing now. So he focuses on making Jongwoo feel good, sinking two fingers into him slowly, all the way to the second knuckle. Jongwoo makes his loudest sound of the night, groaning against the car seat, cheek pressed to the faux leather. 

“You always take me so well,” Jiwoong says, curling his fingers to brush against Jongwoo’s prostate. “Love getting to see you like this.” 

It’s probably too earnest, but Jongwoo is too lost in sensation to offer protest, moaning again when Jiwoong continues to fuck him, making sure to hit that sensitive place with each push in. It isn’t that long before Jiwoong tucks another finger inside, nudging Jongwoo’s legs apart further so that he can see the stretch of Jongwoo’s hole in the dim glow of the distant parking lot lights, fascinated by the way Jongwoo’s body opens for him. 

Jongwoo’s getting hard again and he rocks his hips impatiently, trying to fuck himself deeper on Jiwoong’s fingers. 

“C’mon, hyung,” Jongwoo whines, sounding younger again. Almost like a maknae. “‘M ready, get on with it.” 

“Okay,” Jiwoong whispers because he’s been hard for so long that he can’t keep dragging this out, as much as he wants to. 

They have to shift again to give Jiwoong enough room and Jiwoong kicks his pants further down his legs as he settles on top of Jongwoo, holding himself up with one arm so he can get the condom on, which is an entire ordeal that has Jongwoo snickering at him. 

They probably look stupid and undignified, but safe in the quiet bubble of the car all Jiwoong can see is the way Jongwoo’s expression shifts as he pushes inside with his cock instead of his fingers. It’s like something in Jongwoo breaks, that composure finally cracking, and Jiwoong can see every flicker of pleasure and pain across his face. He’s still so tight inside—wet and hot and perfect—and Jiwoong kisses along his jaw as he tries not to tremble at the feel of him. 

“Okay?” he murmurs in his ear, holding still until he’s sure. 

“Okay,” Jongwoo promises. “You can move.” 

“Take me so well,” Jiwoong repeats with the first rock of his hips. 

“Fuck,” Jongwoo hiccups, head knocking against the car door as he tips it back. He shifts to meet Jiwoong’s next thrust. “Fuck, hyung.” 

“Does it feel good?” Jiwoong asks, nuzzling Jongwoo’s cheek and keeping the pace slow and deep, not enough to make either of them come yet. “Do you like it when I’m inside you?” 

He could probably go for more inspired dirty talk, but a wave of heat still flares in his gut when Jongwoo nods and mutters, “yeah, feels so good. Like it so much.” 

His face is flushed—evident even in the bad light—and he looks like he wants to hide after the admission spills from him. Jiwoong doesn’t let him, resting their foreheads together. “Look at me.” 

“No,” Jongwoo protests. “You stare too much.” 

“Because I like looking at you.” 

Jongwoo grimaces at that, always unable to take a compliment, especially about his appearance. 

“I like looking at you,” Jiwoong repeats, bracing a hand on the door above Jongwoo’s head so he can shift the angle of his next thrust, finally hitting the right spot to wrench a whine from Jongwoo’s mouth. “Especially like this. And I’m never going to get to do it again, so look at me, Jongwoo-yah. Let me see you.” 

Jongwoo blinks up at him with his red cheeks and his red lips parted around another broken noise and he’s beautiful. 

“Beautiful,” Jiwoong says and Jongwoo’s gaze is hazy and dark, for once not sliding away in search of an escape. 

Jongwoo licks his lips, shifts impatiently under Jiwoong. “Is this all you’ve got? C’mon, hyung.” 

“It’s hard in the back of a fucking car,” Jiwoong grumbles, finally allowing Jongwoo the deflection like he always does. “Besides….” Another slow, tortuous roll of his hips. “You just told me how good this feels.” 

“Yeah,” Jongwoo pants. “But … I wanna come.” 

“Not yet,” Jiwoong insists, though it comes out sounding more like a plea. 

“Bastard,” Jongwoo hiccups without any real heat, thunking his head against the car door as his eyes slip closed again. He manages to draw his legs up a little more, giving himself enough leverage to rock up when Jiwoong grinds down, rubbing his leaking cock against Jiwoong’s shirt. 

“Here,” Jiwoong says, rucking the shirt up so that they’re skin to skin, so that he can feel the messy smear of Jongwoo’s precome across his belly when Jongwoo’s cock slides against him again. “Does that feel good?” 

“Fuck.” Jongwoo reaches up to tug at the hair on Jiwoong’s nape. “You’re not gonna let me touch myself, are you?” 

“You can come without it,” Jiwoong says because he knows from experience—got to watch it happen the first time he ever fucked Jongwoo during a filming break, in that flimsy twin bed in his cheap apartment. It took them both by surprise, turned Jongwoo pink with embarrassment, and Jiwoong had to kiss the flush of his cheeks, laughing gently against the hollow of his throat. 

“Bastard,” Jongwoo says again, breath hitching. His thighs are shaking from their position, from the constant press of Jiwoong’s cock against his prostate. 

He feels more open now, able to take Jiwoong deeper, and Jiwoong knows that he’s rapidly approaching his own limit, probably won’t last longer than a few more minutes. He wants Jongwoo to come first, wants to feel the rough clench of him around his cock, so he focuses his attention on unraveling the final threads of Jongwoo’s control. Practice has taught him to go a little rougher now because Jongwoo chafes at too much gentleness—get a hand in his hair and pull hard enough to force his head back, scrape teeth against the exposed column on his throat, fuck him faster so that he has to brace himself against the seat, breathing going short and pulse rabbiting against Jiwoong’s lips. 

“Hyung,” Jongwoo gasps, which means he’s right on the edge. 

“You wanted me to make you come.” Jiwoong tugs one of Jongwoo’s legs higher in a bruising grip, opening him up more, and fucks in deep. “So come, Jongwoo-yah.” 

“Ah,” Jongwoo whines, forced into incoherence, and Jiwoong reaches down with his free hand to touch his stretched rim, then up to massage his perineum with gentle but insistent fingers. 

“Let me feel you,” he says, kissing Jongwoo’s stunned sound off his lips. 

Jongwoo exhales through gritted teeth in response to Jiwoong’s continued touch, to the sensation of Jiwoong making sure Jongwoo’s full enough that all he can focus on is Jiwoong’s hands and Jiwoong’s cock keeping him open, rubbing his prostate in a punishing, ceaseless rhythm. Another kiss and Jiwoong feels the first clench of Jongwoo’s hole around him as an orgasm finally crashes through him. He groans when Jongwoo spills across their stomachs, getting so tight inside that Jiwoong can’t move—helpless to do anything but press his face to Jongwoo’s neck and let his own orgasm drown him. 

He collapses onto Jongwoo’s chest when he’s done, uncaring of the mess between them—nose to Jongwoo’s cheek and hands reaching to comb Jongwoo’s damp bangs off his forehead. 

“Your hair’s gotten long,” he says and Jongwoo hiccups a laugh, palm heavy on Jiwoong’s heaving back. 

Jiwoong loves him, in this moment, and won’t allow himself to in the future and it hurts. All of it. 

“I like it,” Jongwoo says. 

“I do, too,” Jiwoong agrees. “You look handsome.” 

Jongwoo huffs at him, post-orgasm glow apparently rapidly fading. “Get out of me,” he says, poking Jiwoong’s shoulder. “We need to clean up and my legs are cramping.” 

“In a minute,” Jiwoong protests, shifting to mouth gently at the line of Jongwoo’s jaw. He wants to bask in this hazy warmth, in the feeling of Jongwoo’s heat around his softening cock. “You feel good. Was it good?” 

(Was it everything you wanted? Was it enough of a goodbye? How much is this hurting you, too? )

“It was good,” Jongwoo whispers, vulnerable, tipping his head to give Jiwoong better access. “It felt good.” 

Jiwoong smiles against Jongwoo’s skin. “And now you can check car sex off the bucket list.” 

“Ha,” Jongwoo says flatly. “It was never on the bucket list. And I wouldn’t do it again, my back is killing me.” 

“We could have just gone to a—” 

“I know,” Jongwoo cuts him off. “Shut up, I was being spontaneous and I regret it.” 

“Glad I’m special enough to have sex with in a car,” Jiwoong says, overly smug as he gives Jongwoo one more kiss before Jongwoo pushes on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, now please get off me, I’m serious.” 

Jiwoong complies, reaching down to carefully pull out. Jongwoo hisses as he slips free and he glances up in alarm. 

“I’m fine,” Jongwoo insists with a flap of his hand. “Just sore. It’s been … I haven’t done this in awhile, you know that.” 

Nearly four months, because somehow they ended up only sleeping with each other. Because even as a crush on Seok Matthew started to bloom, Jiwoong couldn’t imagine sleeping with anyone else. 

“I know,” he says quietly. “Did you bring stuff to clean up?” 

Jongwoo sighs. “I should have brought towels, if I was planning better.” He gestures to the floor. “But there should be wipes under the seat somewhere.” 

Jiwoong pats around until he finds them and insists on being the one to clean the drying come off Jongwoo’s stomach and cock, dipping down to wipe carefully over his puffy rim in soothing sweeps. He wipes himself down much quicker and ties off the condom with a grimace. This is always his least favorite part of sex and they keep banging into each other in the confines of the car, all sharp elbows and knees. He somehow manages to locate Jongwoo’s underwear and help him put it back on, then they both stumble outside to hurriedly finish dressing in the parking lot.

By some miracle, none of their clothes are stained, and Jongwoo hides his riotous hair beneath his cap while Jiwoong rakes his fingers through his own in a feeble attempt to tame it. The marks on Jongwoo’s neck keep him looking freshly fucked but at least they are no longer at risk of getting arrested for public indecency.

“I was wrong,” Jongwoo says as he stretches out his shoulders with a groan. “We should have just fucked over the hood.” 

Jiwoong chokes on a breathless, startled laugh at Jongwoo’s matter-of-fact tone. “It probably would have been easier.” He has an awful crick in his neck and the small of his back and he thinks that he somehow managed to scrape his leg on a seatbelt. 

He doesn’t regret any of it. 

Jongwoo shuffles over to the hood of the car and sits on it, propping his feet up on the front bumper. “Come here, hyung,” he says. “I wanted to see the ocean so let’s sit for a bit.” 

Jiwoong joins him, grateful that the night isn’t ending yet. Their shoulders brush and their foggy breaths mingle in the air in front of them. It’s fucking freezing out here, a contrast to the Seoul, but the ocean is terrifying and gorgeous stretched to the dark horizon line and the stars gleam faintly overhead. Jongwoo draws his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees, looking small and young and more than a little sad. 

“You know,” he says. “When I first kissed you, I was sure you were gonna reject me.” 

Jiwoong frowns at him in surprise. “Really? Why?” 

A scoff. “Please, hyung, I knew I was aiming out of my league.” 

“I’m not out of your league,” Jiwoong protests. 

Now Jongwoo levels him with an incredulous look. “Have you seen you? Have you looked in a mirror recently?” 

Okay yes, Jiwoong knows how handsome he is, knows that his face has always been—for better and often for worse—his greatest asset, but he’s also aware that he’s a giant dork and really not cool at all. He doesn’t have Jongwoo’s easy confidence or his fierce independence. 

“Sure, fine, I’m more conventionally handsome,” he admits. “But I admired you from the first day we practiced Mirotic together. You danced so fluidly and you were so … sure of yourself. I wanted that.” He shrugs. “I wanted you.” 

Jongwoo looks shocked by this and Jiwoong thinks about the vitriol that spread across the internet like wildfire and how Jongwoo would try to ignore it but sometimes his expression would go tight and closed off, sometimes he’d come back from their breaks and he would flinch away from Jiwoong’s praise like it was burning him, like he thought that Jiwoong was only offering it out of pity. 

Yoon Jongwoo is one of the strongest people he knows, but words have a horrible tendency to burrow under the skin and linger. 

“I wanted you,” he repeats. “If you hadn’t kissed me first, I probably would have made a move eventually. When you pretended for the show, I almost forgot where we were. I was going to let you do it. You’ve always been attractive to me.” 

(You’ve been enough. You were never, ever not enough and I’m so sorry if I made you believe otherwise.)  

Jongwoo’s next inhale sounds watery and he turns his face away, shoulders tense. Jiwoong leans closer, desperate to make him hear this just once. His final chance. 

“You’re handsome and kind and funny and I could have loved you, remember? I would have. I—” He swallows, wishing he was more eloquent, like Sung Hanbin—always able to string the right words together. “I know what people said, but they were wrong.” 

“Sometimes I almost wish I hadn’t gotten into the finals,” Jongwoo murmurs, still looking away so that Jiwoong can’t read his expression. His voice is controlled, purposefully emotionless. “I’m proud of what I accomplished, I’m grateful people voted for me, in spite of … of everything that was said on the internet, but … it made me get my hopes up too much.” He hiccups through another wet breath. “I wanted it too much.” 

_ _ 

(Jongwoo says “hyung” in a broken voice and burrows himself into Jiwoong’s chest, tears wetting the front of Jiwoong’s gray suit jacket and Jiwoong pats his back desperately, wanting to comfort him, wanting to make it better. 

The realization hits then, hooks in his chest: they really won’t be doing this together. He’s devastated that Jongwoo didn’t make it and elated that Matthew did and it feels like he’s tearing down the middle. 

Jongwoo is weeping against him and all he can do is rub his back, aware of his own tears slipping hot down his face, and know that it’s not enough. Everything is ending. Everything is beginning. This clash of grief and joy is drowning him so he holds on to Jongwoo, letting him cry, and wishes that victory didn’t taste like salt. So bittersweet.) 

_ _ 

“I’m sorry,” he says helplessly, like he didn’t the night of the final and probably should have. “I—” 

“Don’t apologize,” Jongwoo cuts him off. He finally turns back and his eyes gleam in the dark but his face is dry. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m glad you made it. You deserved it, hyung.” 

“So did you,” Jiwoong says and Jongwoo’s smile is tender, but tinged with bitterness. 

They both know that it isn’t always about deserving. That so many boys there deserved it, too. It’s useless to talk about this, it’ll just hurt them both. 

Still, Jiwoong shifts closer, and cups Jongwoo’s face. “Jongwoo-yah, I’m glad you kissed me. I’m glad I got to have this with you. I think you’re hot. I like your face and your tattoos and the way you dance. You should learn to accept compliments. Make sure you find someone who gives you a lot of them.” 

Jongwoo blushes but doesn’t pull away. “You’re so corny.” 

“You knew that already. And you’re still deflecting.” 

“Fine,” Jongwoo says. “I’m cute and hot and sexy and actually way better looking than you and you’re lucky I decided to kiss you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jiwoong says cheerfully, pushing against Jongwoo’s cheeks so his face scrunches up. 

“Everyone just voted for you out of pity.” 

“Probably.” 

“Everyone online who said mean things are losers who don’t know what they’re talking about and should look in a mirror.” 

“Definitely.” 

“I’m gonna miss you.” 

“Well obviously—” Jiwoong swallows the rest of the words when he registers what Jongwoo said and that he can feel water running across the backs of his hands—Jongwoo’s tears finally spilling over. 

“Oh, Jongwoo-yah.” He wipes Jongwoo’s cheeks. His chest is a giant knot, heart all tangled up. “I … I know we’re going back to different Seouls. I know there’s Seok Matthew now and that I’m … I’m giving up a lot of pieces of myself.” 

His sexuality, this boy in front of him, all the boys he’s loved in the past, all those underground, welcoming places throughout the city that shaped him. 

“But I’m not going to actually disappear,” he continues. “Don’t you dare delete my number, okay? And maybe I can’t come running. I know we won’t be that to each other. And I know you won’t need me. You’ve never needed me. But if someday, by a slim chance, you do, then … message me. I’ll listen at least. As a friend, as a hyung. I’ll always listen.” 

And for once, Jongwoo doesn’t fight him. “Okay,” he says, closing eyes and leaning into Jiwoong’s touch. “I won’t call you right away, don’t expect that. But I’ll be cheering for you.” 

“Glad to know I have a fan,” Jiwoong says, chest still too tight. 

He knew that Jongwoo was going to pull up all the stakes he planted in Jiwoong’s life, just to survive, to protect himself, and he has to allow Jongwoo that, but fuck it still hurts. He didn’t expect it to hurt this damn much. 

“Just the one,” Jongwoo jokes, gaining some of his equilibrium back. He pulls away to scrub his face with the sleeve of his jacket, but doesn’t flinch when Jiwoong curls a hand over his thigh. 

“Well, at least it’s an important one,” Jiwoong says softly. 

“Yeah. There from the very beginning.” 

That practice room where they danced to Miroitc and Jongwoo cupped his chin and the air crackled between them with something new and electric. 

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Jiwoong confesses, pressing his mouth to the blade of Jongwoo’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth.” 

“It’s worth something,” Jongwoo sighs. “At least you won’t have to see my face everywhere.” 

“I follow your Instagram.” 

“You shouldn’t.”

“You can’t stop me.” 

Jongwoo rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth is twitching and Jiwoong internally awards himself a victory. 

“If I figure out which account is yours, I’ll block you.” 

“Good luck. I’m well hidden.” 

Jongwoo shakes his head, surrendering. “We should get you back.” 

Jiwoong doesn’t even know what time it is, just that they’ve likely hit an ungodly hour and if he doesn’t get back soon, he’s going to risk getting in trouble. He still wants to keep sitting on this freezing car hood, staring at the ocean with Jongwoo. 

He pushes the reckless urge away, reaching for the responsible adult. “Yeah, I don’t want to get chewed out by management.” 

“Mm, gotta wait until a few months after debut before you get rebellious.” 

“I’m the oldest, I can’t be rebellious.” 

“No, it’s your responsibility to offer a counter to Hanbin’s leadership through rebellion.” 

“I can’t do that to Hanbin.” 

Jongwoo hops off the car, spinning to face Jiwoong with his hands in his pockets, an amused expression on his face. “Please, he needs to crack once in a while. It’ll be good for him.” 

It’s true. Sung Hanbin has laced himself up so tightly that Jiwoong worries about him. Worries about the pieces of himself that Hanbin is also leaving bloody on the cutting room floor. It’ll be a problem for future Jiwoong to tackle over the next two and a half years. And he already suspects that Zhang Hao will have better luck than him. 

He shrugs in response to Jongwoo and pushes himself off the hood as well, wincing as feeling gradually returns to his extremities. Jongwoo cranks up the heat when they’re both back in the car. The clock on the dashboard says that it’s nearly four a.m. and it feels like an accusation. But he has two and a half years to set a good example and only once chance to say goodbye to a boy he could have loved. 

No regrets. 

_ _ 

(It’s hard cuddling in a twin bed but they manage—legs tangled together, Jongwoo’s head on Jiwoong’s chest, Jiwoong’s arm around Jongwoo’s waist. It reminds Jiwoong of falling asleep together on the practice room floor, using each other as pillows. He stares up at the crack running across his ceiling that he keeps meaning to call the management company about and revels in the thrill of having a boy he likes in his bed again. 

A boy who just let Jiwoong fuck him and left teeth indents in Jiwoong’s pillow when he came. 

He thinks Jongwoo is asleep but when he shifts Jongwoo shifts with him and murmurs, “Do you think I’ll make it?” He sounds unexpectedly vulnerable–a dongsaeng seeking reassurance from his hyung.

“Yeah,” Jiwoong says. Jongwoo just climbed twenty-three ranks and he did it all on his own. Jiwoong’s a little in awe. “We’ll debut together and then you’ll be stuck with me for two and a half years.” 

“Shit, wait,” Jongwoo says. “I don’t want to debut anymore. Should I just drop out now?” 

Jiwoong kicks him under the blankets and Jongwoo snickers. 

“Nah,” he says. “I guess two and a half years with you wouldn't be too terrible, hyung.” 

I like you so much, Jiwoong doesn’t say, even though the words perch eager on the tip of his tongue, emboldened by the quiet cocoon of his apartment. 

Hopefully, he’ll have time to let these burgeoning feelings develop. Hopefully, he’ll find the right moment to voice them. For now, he pulls Jongwoo close so that he can kiss his temple and wonders if Jongwoo hears all the things he’s swallowing down anyway.) 

_ _ 

The drive back to Seoul is mostly silent, underscored once again by Jongwoo’s soft, almost melancholy music. Too soon, Jongwoo is parking up the street from the new dorm building and they’re facing each other on an empty city sidewalk—the looming goodbye heavy in the space between them. 

“Hyung,” Jongwoo says, hands in his jean pockets, expression firm. “I’ll be okay. Really.” 

“I know you will,” Jiwoong says. Yoon Jongwoo always lands on his feet. 

“So go be incredible.” Jongwoo gives him a crooked smile. “Okay?” 

“You, too,” Jiwoong says and he can’t not touch Jongwoo one last time, even if it’s so much riskier here. There might be fans lingering around but he still steps close enough to cup the back of Jongwoo’s neck. “Go be incredible. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Jongwoo says, the word tender and soft—all that almost-love in it. 

“I was lucky to have you,” Jiwoong says and it’s cheesy but true. “Make sure, you find someone better than me.” 

“Oh, I will,” Jongwoo says. The amusement fades and Jongwoo reaches up to touch his face, eyes suddenly serious. “But please be careful. With Matthew.” 

“Don’t worry,” Jiwoong tries to reassure him. “I won’t break his heart.” 

Matthew is young and so bright, so stunningly vibrant. Jiwoong’s always wanted to hold him carefully. Make sure he’s always safe and smiling. 

“No, hyung,” Jongwoo says sadly. “Don’t let him break yours.” 

Jiwoong sucks in a surprised breath, feeling suckerpunched and horrifically see-through. “I won’t,” he says, though he thinks that it’s already a lie. That he might be in deep enough that he would let Matthew grind him to pieces and he wouldn’t protest. 

And Jongwoo knows that. 

He doesn’t press any further, though, just rocks up to plant a lingering, final kiss on Jiwoong’s cheek. 

“See you around, hyung.” 

A lie for a lie. 

“Goodbye, Jongwoo-yah,” 

And then Jongwoo is gone from Jiwoong’s arms, walking back to the car. He pauses right before he opens the driver’s door, smiling at Jiwoong frozen on the sidewalk. 

“I was lucky to have you, too,” he says and gets inside before Jiwoong can respond, determined to have the last word. 

Jiwoong stays out in the cold to watch the car pull away from the curb, keeping his gaze fixed on it until it’s swallowed in the blur of city lights and traffic. 

The chapter closes. The fractured pieces of his heart grind together like tectonic plates in his chest. He drifts back up to the dorm an aimless ghost, making sure the front door closes softly behind him and avoiding the creaky floorboard they all discovered a few days after moving in. 

And he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s nearly six a.m. The sun will be coming up soon and he should retreat to his own bed and pretend like he’s been here the whole night. But he feels like a giant bruise and he ends up slipping into Matthew’s room instead, then into Matthew’s bed. 

Matthew makes a sleepy noise and squints at him, adorably ruffled. Jiwoong wants to squish his face and cry at the same time. 

“Hyung,” Matthew mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. “Are you okay?” 

Jiwoong is obviously still fully dressed and his skin is red from the cold. He smiles at Matthew and hopes it’s convincing, drawing Matthew back down to the mattress as he tries to sit up. He’s smaller than Jongwoo, but he fits in Jiwoong’s arms the same. 

“I’m fine,” Jiwoong says. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” 

Matthew huffs and allows himself to be held. “‘M’kay. We’re talking about this in the morning.” 

Jiwoong doesn’t point out that it’s technically already morning and he hopes Matthew will be tired enough to think this is a strange dream. Jiwoong’s planning on being gone by the time he wakes up again. And Jiwoong will tell him about it all someday, if this thing between them keeps growing, but not tomorrow. Not until his heart settles and the fault lines close. 

Outside, the rising sun breaks against the skyscrapers, bathing the city in gold. 

And a chapter begins.