Archive of Our Own

Songwriting with Jiung is usually an uneventful affair. Tonight, Jiung has his laptop set up on the table in the corner of the hotel room, mixer beside him, headphones on. Stephen keeps sneaking glances at him as Stephen eats the kimchi left over from Jiung’s dinner. Jiung hasn’t looked up in minutes. He’s too busy fiddling with knobs on the mixer, turning and sliding them, making minor adjustments, with a focused, serious expression on his face.

Stephen knows Jiung well enough to recognize that now isn’t the time to interrupt him, even though he does eventually want to make some final edits to the lyrics they wrote earlier, before they submit them to the company for review. Stephen settles for finishing the last of the kimchi Jiung doesn’t like, then tosses the plastic container onto the chair beside him, adding it to the pile with the greasy, white styrofoam takeaway box from the burger Stephen ate already.

Stephen scrolls his phone absent-mindedly, considering if he should text Intak that he can come back from Taeyang’s room. Jiung and Stephen should be wrapping up in the next half hour, at least. But then Stephen glances over at Jiung again. His eyes are glazed over in that look of intense focus, and his cheeks are flushed red, like from heat. He seems too wrapped up in whatever he’s working on to bother to get up and turn down the thermostat.

“Do you want me to, like, turn the air conditioning on?” Stephen asks, more to tease Jiung than anything. Jiung’s too stubborn to say yes, even though Stephen can see the line of sweat starting to gather just below the edges of his baseball cap, wetting the black roots of his blond sideburns and sticking them to his cheeks.

But even as he asks, Stephen starts to feel it too, the way it’s definitely getting hotter in the hotel room, fast. He grabs the neck of his shirt and pulls it back, surprising himself with how it sticks to his skin, damp and warm. Stephen fans his face with his hand, but it feels like the air itself is becoming so sticky, so saturated with moisture, that it would be impossible to get cool, even with a fan in his face set to the highest speed.

He shoots another glance over at Jiung, and that’s when Stephen starts to worry. Jiung has taken his headphones off, and his hat. The red flush from just seconds ago has drained from Jiung’s cheeks, leaving them pale, tinged with an eerie, sickly sort of pallor. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen. It reminds Stephen of the time his friend back in Markham smuggled a joint into their church sleepover in ninth grade. Stephen got so high his eyes practically swelled shut, and his friend made him laugh so hard doing weird impressions that he snorted cup noodles out his nose.

Unlike that time, though, when the experience was fun and never really dangerous, Stephen is realizing that something is very, very wrong right now. Jiung’s body is starting to shake. Stephen can see his arms trembling, buried under a t-shirt three sizes too big for him.

“Ji—,” Stephen starts to say, tries to say, but the words catch in his mouth. It feels suddenly like his tongue is weighed down. There’s something bad happening to Stephen, and it’s getting worse, rapidly. A fog is setting in at the corners of his vision, clouding his periphery, softening everything around him. What only seconds ago was Jiung’s narrow frame, angular and sharp, has given way to something softer, the edges fuzzy and unfocused.

“God—um, w-what?” Stephen manages to stutter out, even though he swears it takes a year to form on his heavy tongue. He stands up from his chair, and wobbles on legs made of gelatin in Jiung’s direction. Stephen sways sideways, but by some miracle, he manages to catch himself on the bed. With his free hand, he reached blindly for the mass in front of him that he knows is Jiung.

Stephen feels more than he sees when his hand makes contact with Jiung’s wrist. Rounded nails dig into soft skin, and maybe Stephen would be less surprised if Jiung had yelped in pain. But the sound that seems to force its way free of Jiung’s lungs is something more akin to a whine.

The desperate noise that Jiung makes flares white-hot in Stephen. It sets a fire in him, something dangerous and terrible. It makes his hair stand on end, and causes something tight and awful to twist in his gut. The sound makes him want to dig his nails deeper into the meat of Jiung’s arm, hungry to see if he can pull that sound from him again.

Shocked by the suddenness and the depravity of that thought, Stephen shakes out of his hazy stupor, at least enough to register that Jiung has managed to stand up. Just as quick as Jiung clambers to his feet, though, he’s falling, tumbling, hauling Stephen forward onto the bed along with him.

“Whoa—hey now,” Stephen says, even though it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs, like he just ran a sprint, but all he did was walk across the hotel room.

Jiung doesn’t look any better. The way he fell has him crumpled on the side of the bed. His chest rises and falls, visibly ragged, his breath coming out in short, panted bursts. The way his body is shivering reminds Stephen of a fish out of water, sweaty skin wet as scales, darkening the collar of his shirt, drowning in the open air.

“Ji—,” Stephen tries, but he can’t catch his breath. There are rocks in his pockets, and the water is already up to his neck.

It’s then he catches sight of it: Jiung grasping in vain for the hem of his shirt. His hand is lifted off the bed, fingers clawing at the fabric, like if his nails were longer, he would slice clean through it. His face is screwed up in a look of concentration, like it’s the hardest he’s ever focused, but he still can’t seem to grab it, try as it might.

It terrifies Stephen to watch—this person that Stephen cares so desperately for, affected by whatever sudden thing has overtaken them both. Jiung’s blurred at the edges of Stephen’s vision, and Stephen’s body feels halfway to on-fire, but he also has enough sense left about him to know he needs to help Jiung—help them both—just survive at this point.

“Jiung,” Stephen attempts again, forming the word slowly in his mouth, a weak sort of gasp.

“Off, n-need this off,” Jiung whimpers from blue lips.

The fire in Stephen surges, propelling him forward. He lifts a shaky hand and manages to grab the hem of Jiung’s shirt in his fist. Stephen feels the heat rolling off of Jiung, like he’s a furnace, like he’s burning. Panicked, Stephen pulls the fabric upward, as fast as he can muster. After a bit of wrestling, he frees Jiung’s arms, but then there’s the matter of his head, and Jiung’s trembling is getting worse. He’s practically writhing now, fingers making indents in the thin duvet, back arching off the bed. Stifled, pained sounds spill out of his parted lips. Stephen can’t bear to risk hurting him even more.

“Jiung, I—I can’t—you’re—.”

“Rip it, god, f-fuck, I don’t care!”

The look of wild, horrible desperation on Jiung’s face is what gets to Stephen in the end. Jiung’s shirt is still stuck around his chin, dangerously close to choking him if Stephen isn’t careful. He makes the snap decision to grab the collar of Jiung’s red t-shirt in both hands and tear, hard as he can.

The fabric rips so easily it shocks Stephen, and instantly, Jiung sighs in relief. His shoulders slump forward, more relaxed, now that he’s rid of the offending fabric. It stokes that same fire in Stephen, the one telling him he should protect Jiung from whatever is happening to them both. The one that makes him want to touch, grasp, cling onto him.

Even that small exertion sends a sudden wave of exhaustion over Stephen, and it forces him to fall forward, body half-caging Jiung. Stephen grasps at the sheets on either side of Jiung’s frail frame. Close like this, Stephen can see all of Jiung’s shirtless body. There’s so much skin visible. Swaths of it: his hairless chest; protruding ribs; brown nipples.

All of Jiung radiates that awful heat, just like Stephen feels in his core, searing painfully through him. Stephen tries desperately to push his own discomfort aside, though, because beneath him, Jiung is shaking, violently, body covered in a sheen of feverish sweat.

It’s too much for Stephen. It feels like something he shouldn’t see. Like looking at something private and forbidden. His bandmate, half-naked, trembling and wheezing, feebly.

And yet, Stephen can’t pull away, as if drawn toward Jiung by some invisible magnet. At the same time he realizes this, he’s hit by another wave of this terrible thing, this sickness. His vision blurs, softening the sight of Jiung in front of him, distorting the lines where Jiung’s body ends and the duvet begins. It gets worse, fire scorching, a painful roar in Stephen’s chest, in his stomach, down to his groin. It tells Stephen he needs to get even closer to Jiung.

Meanwhile, Jiung has started to make these soft, pained sounds. “Uhhhh, K-Keeho,” he stutters, voice weak, wavering. Stephen feels a sudden, dull pressure just above his wrist. He glances down, and sees Jiung’s shaking fingers circling his forearm, holding tight. The flames inside of Stephen scream that Jiung is trying to pull him closer.

“Ughh, uhhh,” Jiung whines, desperate, like the sound is punched straight from his lungs. Jiung’s eyes are glazed over, but as Stephen looks at him, he can make out a sort of determination there, too, just below the haze.

“Keeho—,” Jiung begins, softly. Strangled.

Stephen waits, muscles screaming to reach out and touch. He fights the urge, tiny flashes of lucidity reminding him where they are; reminding him this is Jiung.

“Keeho,” Jiung repeats. His cheeks look sunken in, and his eyes are clouded over. He pulls on Stephen’s arm, weakly, but insistent. It feels like Jiung is dragging Stephen down, drawing Stephen’s face toward his, pulling their chests together, and their stomachs. Like somehow if Jiung tugged hard enough, he could connect every fraction of their feverish bodies.

“Jiung,” Stephen sighs, collapsing forward, straining arms finally giving out. His face hits the mattress, his cheek just brushing Jiung’s. They’re touching all over now, no space between them, and Stephen feels like he’s on fire, burning up at the sheer amount of contact.

Underneath Stephen, Jiung’s breath comes out thin and reedy. It sounds like he’s suffocating. Because of Stephen, or maybe just because of the sickness.

Somehow, though, Jiung’s shaking hands find Stephen’s clothed back. Slowly, he starts to rub, fingers sliding over muscle, over divots of rib and spine. He begins making these noises: little, frenzied whimpers.

The thing possessing Stephen rears at the sounds. It wails at Stephen to rid himself of his shirt. He needs to feel the individual ridges on the pads of Jiung’s fingers. He needs to feel each scrape of Jiung’s nails. Somehow, the fire raging in Stephen provides him the strength to pull himself back up, even as Jiung’s hands scrabble to hold him in place. Even as Jiung wails and writhes, his back arching up off the bed, like he’s in pain. Like the prospect of Stephen leaving is hurting him.

“Shhh, I’m not going anymore,” Stephen hears himself say. His tongue is still fixed to the bottom of his mouth; he has idea how he even forms words. But then Stephen is naked from the waist up, shirt cast off the edge of the bed, and the flames licking at his chest command that he touch Jiung again. They tell him it’s the only way to soothe Jiung’s pain, and his own.

Shirtless now, when Stephen leans back down, he can feel the swaths of Jiung’s hot, sweat-damp skin, all up his stomach, and up his chest. He can feel Jiung’s heartbeat, racing like he just ran a marathon.

This time, instead of Jiung’s hands snaking their way around Stephen’s back, Jiung raises them higher, all the way up until they find the sides of Stephen’s face. Feelings instantly erupt in Stephen. It’s a strange mix of emotions—surprise and worry and excitement. But for a moment it works: the pain in Stephen’s body eases.

And then, just as suddenly, Jiung’s mouth is pressed to Stephen’s, and Jiung is whining, panting, hips rolling against Stephen with a frenzied sort of desperation.

The flames in Stephen flare at the wet feeling of Jiung’s mouth against his. Thin lips part, and hungrily, Stephen licks between them, tracing Jiung’s tongue, feeling how Jiung moans against him. Wildfire spreads down Stephen’s chest, all the way to his navel, and then further, until it reaches his cock. He’s hard, body aching for relief.

Jiung holds firm to Stephen as he rolls his hips. Stephen can feel the hard outline of Jiung’s cock in his baggy sweatpants, unmistakable where it rubs against him. And surely, Jiung can feel Stephen, too.

Stephen grinds his hips forward, meeting Jiung’s thrusts, pushing him down into the mattress. Jiung tenses beneath him, blunt nails digging into Stephen’s bare skin. He sighs again, desperate, right into Stephen’s mouth, pained noises mixing with their spit.

“N-need,” Jiung mutters, straining.

Stephen presses another furious kiss to Jiung’s lips, catching the noises that keep leaving him. But then he moves to Jiung’s neck, forceful, sucking a bruise on the soft, warm skin there. The fire tells Stephen to do it; tells him it will help Jiung.

Against tender, purpling skin, Stephen musters the energy to ask, “Need what?” Compelled by the flames raging inside of him, Stephen sucks down, harder, like biting into a sweet, juicy peach. Jiung cries out, like it’s good; like it hurts.

Stephen looks into Jiung’s eyes. They’re swollen, welled up with tears. “Jiung-ah,” Stephen pleads, even as his arms burn, even as his cock throbs, wedged under layers of fabric between their overheated bodies. It’s so hard to form words, bordering on impossible. Still, Stephen musters the strength to say, “I need you to talk to me.”

Jiung whimpers. Scalding-hot fingers dig into Stephen’s sweating back. “Need… ugh—more, anything.”

It’s terrible—this is Jiung, Stephen’s bandmate. His friend. Minutes ago, they were songwriting together, before they were possessed by this fever, this force. But now they’re kissing, and they’re both hard, and Jiung is clinging to Stephen’s back, begging for him.

Stephen now knows what Jiung’s lips feel like against his, the skin cracked and peeling, wetted by spit. He knows exactly how Jiung’s small, trembling body fits beneath him. Stephen never would have imagined the two of them ending up in a position like this. But now that they’re both here, he can’t pull away. The harder Stephen tries, the more the fire inside of him builds, until it feels as if every cell in his body is urging him toward Jiung, telling him to touch, to consume.

Jiung cries out again, and it’s hard to listen to. It hurts Stephen, seeing Jiung out of his mind with pain. He’s doing this for Jiung, Stephen convinces himself, as he takes the waistband of his sweatpants and drags it downward, along with his briefs, just enough to free his leaking cock.

Driven by sheer, mindless desperation, Stephen rubs the sticky-wet head of his cock over the coarse hairs just below Jiung’s navel. Stephen rolls his hips, body flooded with sudden relief, like being doused in cool water.

Jiung whines at the sudden contact. His hips buck wildly, erratically, immediately trying to match the roll of Stephen’s hips, and Stephen is suddenly too aware of how clothed Jiung is in comparison to him.

Without separating his body from where it’s plastered against Jiung, Stephen grabs the waistband of Jiung’s joggers and forces them downward, enough for the shiny head of Jiung’s cock to poke out above the waistband.

“Yes, ugh, fuck,” he hears Jiung pant. Stephen takes both their cocks in one hand and starts rolling his hips, quick and frenzied.

Immediately, deep, frantic moans start to pour from Jiung. They spark hot in Stephen, spurring him on. He grinds their overheated bodies together, messy and rough and fast, letting both their precum slick his hand.

Stephen’s mouth is on Jiung again, teeth and tongue laving over his shoulder, over his collarbones. This close, Stephen gets to hear the sharp catch of Jiung’s breath when Stephen speeds up his thrusts. He’s helping them, Stephen tells himself, caught between the dizzying, aching, inescapable pain coursing through his body and the sick, insatiable urge to get any sense of relief.

It doesn’t take long to work them both up. Jiung’s breathing gets heavier, louder, and now Stephen will have it imprinted in his mind forever, what Jiung sounds like when he’s aroused, when he’s close to orgasm. And maybe it should scare him, but that’s a problem for future Stephen, once the fire burning his insides is finally stamped out.

When Jiung finally tenses up; when his cum wets Stephen’s hand; when Stephen smears it down his own cock as Jiung rides out the aftershocks, it’s Stephen’s name that leaves Jiung’s lips. So soft it’s barely audible: “Keeho.” Burned onto Stephen’s eardrums.

Stephen looks down, at Jiung’s cum splashed across both their bellies, and at Jiung’s red, raw cockhead, wrapped tight in Stephen’s fist, squeezed up against Stephen’s aching cock, and that’s when Stephen comes, barely seconds later.

Shuddering through his orgasm, Stephen can feel how the fire raging in him suddenly dampens; stills. It’s not total relief, but for the time being, Stephen can tell the wildfire is contained.

Stephen releases his hold on both of their cocks. Jiung whimpers, but it sounds more exhausted than genuinely pained, and his grip on Stephen's back loosens, allowing Stephen to separate their sticky bodies and flop onto his back with a groan.

Stephen stares at the ceiling for a moment, letting his breathing slow. Already, some of the fog clouding his thoughts seems to have lifted. His muscles still ache dully, but the intense, searing pain has eased. His body feels cooler, too, like his fever is subsiding.

Still, a part of Stephen knows he isn’t totally in the clear yet. His vision is still blurred, the too-bright lights on the ceiling blending into the white paint. It’s like looking through a soft-focus lens, his vision fuzzy and sparkling and wrong.

Beside Stephen, Jiung stirs. Jiung makes a sound—a horrible, guttural whine.

“Jiung-ah,” Stephen says, and even that single word is hard to form on Stephen’s leaden tongue. Something is definitely still wrong. He rolls onto his side, and sees Jiung clutching at the sheets beside him, bony knuckles turned white.

Jiung calls out again, pained. His teeth are gritted. Color has returned to his face, but his eyes are still foggy, as if coated in a film.

Jiung turns his head toward Stephen, and a trail of spit leaks out his kiss-swollen lips. His slender neck is littered with purple bruises that Stephen gave to him, and it makes Stephen recoil. He did that; he marked Jiung. He hurt him. Stephen’s chest clenches, aches, and instantly that torturous fire starts to creep back up on him, sparking hot and terrible right where his heart should be.

He tries not to look lower, down to where he knows Jiung’s soft cock sits—where he knows both their cum is drying. No, that would be too much, even for how dire their current situation is. Stephen has already done too much damage, on account of the fire raging inside him.

Stephen inches closer, wondering if he could reach out to touch Jiung. If Jiung would let him again, or if he would spook like a scared aninal. If Stephen could rub over the welts and bite marks that cover Jiung’s neck and shoulders and chest, hands smoothing over burning-hot skin, would that somehow make things right?

And just as Stephen is wondering if he would be allowed to reach out for Jiung, Jiung lifts a trembling hand and brings it to Stephen’s bicep. Jiung’s fingers circle it weakly, fingertips just barely pressing down into sore muscle. His eyes are watery, expression scared, seeking, as he looks up at Stephen. “H-hurts,” Jiung stutters. “Keeho-yah. It hurts.”

Hearing his bandmate like this, desperate and so clearly in pain, awakens something in Stephen, like someone poured gasoline on the fire inside him. That awful, gut-turning pain spikes, burning Stephen from the inside out all over again. It screams at him, yelling that the only way to soothe both their pain is to touch Jiung again.

“What do you need?” Stephen asks, frenzied, pulling himself up, letting his knees bump Jiung’s, feeling how they scald Stephen’s skin, even as the flames beckon him closer.

Jiung wraps a shaking arm around Stephen’s back again, and then his lips make contact with Stephen’s. His kisses are frantic and wet, driven by a desperation that Stephen understands, although Jiung seems even more affected than Stephen feels.

Stephen sighs into Jiung’s kiss. Using what strength he has remaining, he hauls Jiung’s body toward him, until their entire fronts are touching again. Hand wrapped around Jiung’s back, Jiung feels tiny, frail, like if Stephen moves him the wrong way, he could snap him in half.

Jiung makes a pleased sound when Stephen’s cock—hardening again, already—brushes his, and it makes Stephen cling tighter, press their bodies together with more force.

Stephen rolls his hips, finding a rhythm, until they’re both achingly hard and wet enough that their precum eases the slide. Jiung is still trembling against Stephen and panting into his mouth. He sounds beautiful; terrible.

However, just as Stephen is starting to think he could come again like this, dick sore and throbbing and purple from getting hard again so quickly, Jiung pulls back. “Keeho,” he mutters. His eyes are wide, panicked.

Stephen slows his hips. As soon as he does, the fire surges, burning Stephen’s fingers where they’re splayed across Jiung’s back and his lips where they’re waiting, parted and slick, just centimeters from Jiung’s.

Jiung shakes his head weakly, like it hurts to move. Stephen registers the movement so slowly, brain clouded again, Jiung blurry in his vision, making it hard to tell where Jiung’s body ends and Stephen’s begins.

“Keeho,” Jiung repeats, soft, rasped, “It’s—it’s not enough. I need m-more.”

Stephen risks a glance downward, toward Jiung’s cock, small and stiff and leaking steadily from the slit. It looks red and painful, bobbing slowly as Jiung trembles underneath him.

Stephen pictures what’s lower as a fleeting thought. Barely a flicker, but as soon as he does, something low in his gut lurches, excitement and dread mixing in equal parts. As soon as he thinks about it, touching Jiung there, Stephen knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is the solution, the only thing that will cure whatever illness has possessed them both.

Still: “I—can’t.” Stephen shakes his head. The fire in his chest roars. It commands him to touch every part of Jiung he can get his hands on.

Jiung blinks slowly. His jaw is set in a way that’s familiar, like when they’re hours into a late dance rehearsal, and they’re all exhausted, and the only thing keeping them all from collapsing is sheer determination, gritting through the tired ache in their limbs.

With the same terrifying calm in his voice as when Jiung counts them off during those rehearsals, he says, quiet and surprisingly steadily, “Keeho. I need it. Please.”

And Stephen, he gives in, too easily. The fire extends up his arms, down his legs. It engulfs him. It sears his insides, blackening them, turning them to soot.

Stephen pulls Jiung’s pants the rest of the way off, with as much care as his burning hands can muster. He feels how Jiung twitches and writhes, how his breath catches, heavy in his throat, like the simple act of dragging his pants down his legs is hurting him.

But then Jiung is naked in front of Stephen. Totally bare, just swaths of smooth skin turned pale-blue. His abdomen is a mess of sweat, slick between his pecs, wetting his belly and the hair that trails down to his groin.

Stephen’s stomach turns over with worry. He can’t deny what the sight of Jiung spread out naked does to him. Even overtaken with this strange sickness, Jiung looks unbelievably attractive. Stephen sweats, and his muscles throb, and the thoughts swirling in his clouded mind tell him to reach down, part Jiung’s legs, and feel him.

Hastily, Stephen rids himself of his own pants and underwear, before the magnetic pull of Jiung drags Stephen in again. Jiung’s arms wrap around Stephen’s back, and deliriously, Stephen grinds their hot, sticky bodies together.

“Keeeeho,” Jiung moans. His mouth finds Stephen’s again, and it’s heated, frantic, more spit and tongue than lips. It makes Stephen groan, makes his cock throb, and temporarily, it soothes some of the searing pain.

Jiung is shaking, even worse than before, and Stephen tries to quell it by dragging a finger down Jiung’s backside until he finds Jiung’s ass. Nervous and desperate, he spreads Jiung’s cheeks, just enough to brush a dry fingertip over Jiung’s hole, feeling the furled pucker of skin, the soft hair.

As soon as Stephen touches him, Jiung moans, loudly, right into Stephen’s mouth. Jiung’s body tenses, but Stephen doens’t miss how Jiung’s cock twitches against him. It urges Stephen on, flames still licking at his insides.

"Pleeease,” Jiung begs.

Stephen hurts. His body aches, muscles sore, cock hard and aching for relief. He needs to keep touching Jiung. He needs to be inside of him. But some little voice inside of him—that small shred of sense remaining, not yet stamped out by the illness, by the fire—knows that he can’t hurt Jiung more. Even if in the end this will save them both.

Jiung is fragile in this state, and Stephen is already taking too much from him. He shouldn’t take more.

“Wait,” Stephen manages, through lips exhausted from sickness and kissing and want.

“C-can’t.”

But Stephen is firm. He pulls back, even as Jiung’s fingers tighten their grip around his back in a desperate attempt to keep Stephen close. As soon as Stephen disconnects their bodies the smallest fraction, though, he’s hit by a headache, so severe it feels as if it’s splitting his skull in two. His vision turns red, and then white.

Consumed by pain, and by panic, Stephen reaches blindly past Jiung, grabbing at the nightstand beside the bed, trying to find lube, lotion, anything to make this less painful for Jiung. Less humiliating. All he feels is the smooth leather of his wallet and Jiung’s box of cigarettes, which promptly tumbles onto the floor with a dull thud. “Fuck.”

Jiung is starting to whimper, pain too severe to hold in. He’s wheezing again, too, breathing shallow and reedy. Jiung’s nails dig so deep into Stephen’s skin he’s sure they’ll leave crescent-shaped marks. They’re running out of time.

In a last, futile effort, Stephen yanks open the drawer of the nightstand. He reaches around inside, scrambling to find anything that he could use to make this easier on Jiung, but there’s nothing inside, nothing to help them.

By now, the shooting, blinding pain in Stephen’s skull has spread down his spine. It takes everything he has to even pull his hand back out of the drawer. Stephen winces, arm burning as he returns it to his side. Jiung is whimpering brokenly, and something in Stephen snaps.

“Yeah, f-fuck, ok,” he mutters, more to himself than anything. Shaking, arm heavy as stone, Stephen lifts his hand to his mouth and spits into his palm. It’s a sad sort of lubrication, but the relentless throb of pain is all Stephen can focus on now. He needs to be rid of it.

Stephen rubs his saliva over Jiung’s hole, and Jiung cries and writhes, clinging as tight as he can to Stephen, not even able to speak with how rapidly the sickness seems to be progressing. It’s too dry as Stephen works a finger inside, and Jiung is suddenly quiet. Stephen knows he must be hurting Jiung, but he can’t stop, because the fire tells him not to.

“Jiung-ah,” Stephen mumbles. He doesn’t know what to say; can’t form the words. He wills things to be alright—wishes he could tell that to Jiung. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? So Stephen doesn’t say anything else, just works a second finger into Jiung, the stretch unbearably tight. The only sounds coming out of Jiung are raspy, ragged breaths. He sounds like he’s hurting, like Stephen is hurting him. The flames in Stephen’s chest turn another artery to ash.

“Nggnnnh,” Jiung moans, when Stephen withdraws his fingers suddenly.

“Shh,” Stephen says. He’s terrified. He spits in his palm again and rubs it over his cock, wetting it the best he can. He rolls Jiung over, trying to be gentle, and then his cock nudges against Jiung’s barely-stretched hole, and slowly, Stephen begins to push inside.

Jiung groans—a horrible, tortured sound. Stephen panics, and it makes the flames flare, singeing his insides. He can’t pull back; his tired limbs won’t let him. So instead, Stephen settles for stuffing two fingers into Jiung’s slack mouth, coating them in spit. Jiung doesn't even fully close his lips around them. Instead, he just suckles weakly, teeth and swollen lips gnawing on burning skin.

Jiung is unbelievably tight, but Stephen continues to force his way inside. Stephen holds Jiung, hand firm around his slender waist, rocking him, cradling the scalding heat of his body. Then he begins to thrust his hips, slow at first, but quickly faster, blisteringly fast, a frenzy of pain and heat and sensation.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Jiung moans, breathless, mouth still stuffed full with Stephen’s fingers. The sounds catch on Stephen’s ears, melodious but straining, adding fuel to the fire in Stephen’s core.

Stephen continues to work his hips, too fast and too hard. The feeling is blissful—Stephen can’t even begin to deny that. Ripping his fingers from Jiung’s mouth, he wraps both hands around Jiung’s waist for leverage. Using what little strength he has left, Stephen drags Jiung down onto his cock, feeling his cockhead squished addictively up against Jiung’s burning-hot insides.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that. God, so fucking good, Jiung,” Stephen groans, beside himself, out of his mind.

Jiung’s head lolls back onto the pillow, lips parted, connected by a sticky line of spit. It’s all Stephen can see, all he can make out, before he falls forward and buries his teeth into Jiung’s shoulder. Feral, Stephen sucks and licks and bites every fraction of skin he can reach with his mouth. The wildfire in him screams, beckoning him onward.

It terrifies him, but Stephen can tell he’s getting close. He knows Jiung must be too, by the way the noises coming from his mouth grow louder and by the searing-hot clench of his hole around the length of Stephen’s cock.

Just before Stephen comes, he pulls back from Jiung’s shoulder. Stars flash in the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away, enough to focus on Jiung—on his parted, bluish lips, and on the hazy sheen covering his eyes. Stephen can’t believe he’s witnessing this, Jiung strained and shaking and strikingly, unbearably beautiful.

Stephen should apologize, some logical part of him knows. He’s sorry; this is his fault; he knows he’s hurting Jiung. But despite Stephen’s best efforts, now that he’s trying to form words, his lips are weighted down by lead. All he can do is let the flames engulf him, as finally he comes deep inside of Jiung.

For a moment, everything unfolds in slow-motion. Stephen’s vision whites, but the painful throb in his head vanishes, retreating, suddenly contained. He feels Jiung shuddering, hole clenching around Stephen. Jiung lets out a deep, strangled whine, and then he’s coming too, all over Stephen’s abdomen, wet cock trapped messily between their bodies.

Looking at Jiung, Stephen can see how the fog begins to clear. The haze fades from Jiung’s eyes, and color starts to return to his lips and cheeks. When Jiung looks Stephen in the eyes now, it’s clearer, focused. This is a Jiung that Stephen knows, or at least some close approximation of it. It warms something in Stephen’s chest, distinct from that terrible fire—something fond and endeared.

Their bodies are still tangled, arms wrapped around each other. Stephen is still inside of Jiung, cock sticky and softening where it’s plugged up in him. “Shit, uh,” Stephen mumbles, feeling his face flush with sudden shyness, “let me, um, haha.”

Slowly, Stephen eases his cock out of Jiung. It makes a squishy, wet sound, and with it comes a thick trail of cum, so much, leaking out of the red and brown pucker. Jiung’s hole looks swollen, painful, stretched without proper lubrication. Stephen does his best not to stare. It’s not something he even had the right to see in the first place.

Stephen doesn’t really know what he should be feeling. Something confusing and shameful simmers in the pit of his stomach, but it’s mixed with relief, and exhaustion. Jiung hasn’t said anything, but he does loosen his grip around Stephen, enough for Stephen to roll off of him.

Stephen doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling, but he does know he’s too nervous to talk to Jiung just yet. So what Stephen thinks to do instead is to start by cleaning them both off. They’re sticky, coated in sweat and cum. The rest, Stephen will deal with after. That’s his job as leader, right? Rolling with whatever punches they’re dealt and dealing with the fallout later?

Pushing himself up and off the bed, Stephen stands on mostly steady feet. A part of him knows, instinctively, that he isn’t completely free of this thing, this sickness, just yet. Stephen’s vision is still shiny, blurring at the edges, but at least now his skull isn’t splitting down the center. At least now Stephen can breathe.

The first thing Stephen does once he stands up is head to the bathroom to grab a towel for Jiung. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His blond hair is tousled, messy, slicked back off his forehead by sweat. His lips are red and puffy. There’s a purple mark forming in the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. If Stephen was someone else, and he saw himself, he’d know immediately what he had just been doing.

Washcloth in hand, Stephen returns to Jiung. He’s sitting up on the edge of the bed, which is a good sign. Hopefully some of his strength is returning. Jiung’s face is flushed, and he smiles weakly when Stephen approaches him.

The Jiung of an hour ago would have probably grabbed the towel from Stephen’s hands, and frowning, would have cleaned himself off. This Jiung though, the one that’s quiet and small and still shaking slightly, nods once, and lets Stephen wipe crusted-on cum from his stomach. Jiung spreads his legs, and then Stephen rubs the warm, damp washcloth over his small, soft cock. When Stephen reaches Jiung’s hole, he works slowly, carefully, even as Jiung winces.

Stephen feels almost reverent, being allowed this. It’s the least he can do, after what they’ve just gone through.

“Thanks,” Jiung mumbles, once Stephen folds the dirty towel and places it atop the nightstand.

After that, silence hangs over the room. Stephen finds his phone in the pocket of his pants, crumpled on the floor beside the bed. Even as he types a message to Intak, letting him know that Jiung got food poisoning and Intak should stay in Taeyang’s room for the night, Stephen can feel the beginnings of another headache creeping back up on him.

By the time Intak replies with a puking emoji and an, “Ew, good luck, hyung,” another wave of the illness has started to hit. It’s weaker than before—Stephen still feels like himself, like he has control over what he’s doing—but the pain is similar.

Jiung’s condition also seems to be worsening. His pallor has returned to a shade of sickly-blue, and his chest is heaving like he’s sucking in breaths through a straw.

Jiung is quiet when Stephen approaches the bed again. Jiung’s eyes go wide when Stephen gets close, flickering between Stephen’s eyes and his lips, like he’s searching for something. Stephen can’t quite make sense of Jiung’s expression, but he knows it’s not the same, pained look from before. That, at least, Stephen can find some comfort in.

A similar feeling—the desire to care for Jiung, to protect him—washes over Stephen when he cups Jiung’s jaw in the palm of his hand and pulls him into another kiss. Jiung’s lips are chapped and swollen against Stephen’s, but not as worryingly burning-hot as earlier.

“Is this–?” Stephen starts to ask, fingers trailing low, ghosting over Jiung’s cock, hard again already. The okay? he leaves unsaid, still unsure.

Jiung shudders, gasping into Stephen’s mouth. He doesn’t answer Stephen—not with words, at least—but he lays down onto his back, and with a shaking hand fisted in Stephen’s hair, starts to push Stephen’s head lower.

Stephen quickly learns that Jiung’s cock is small enough to fit all of in his mouth. He tastes salty, like sweat and precum, and the hair on his groin, now pressed up against Stephen’s nose, smells musky and heady and tantalizing. When Stephen works a single finger into Jiung’s already loose hole, the grip on Stephen’s hair tightens, pulling weakly on bleach-fried strands.

“Uhhh,” Jiung groans, when Stephen crooks his finger, pressing up against that spot inside of Jiung. The flames inside of Stephen have returned, and they tell him to do it again, but now they’re more like embers, flickers of the wildfire they were before.

Maybe that should scare Stephen, that he has control of what he’s doing now. But Jiung’s still hurting, and his breaths are still coming out shallow and raspy. Mostly now, the coals in Stephen’s chest remind him of what is most important, and that is making sure Jiung is alright. It’s making sure they both get through this.

Stephen’s face is covered in a fresh sheen of sweat by the time that Jiung finally comes thickly into Stephen’s mouth. The groan Jiung lets out is deep, rumbling in his throat, and before Stephen can swallow all of him down, Jiung is hauling Stephen back upward, nails digging into the meat of Stephen’s shoulders and the tender skin on his scalp, pulling him into a messy, frantic kiss.

Jiung’s cum leaks out the corners of Stephen’s lips, half-fed back right into Jiung’s mouth. Jiung sucks on Stephen’s tongue, licking up Stephen’s saliva and his own release like he’s starved for it. There’s a wild, desperate look in his eyes, both hazy and intensely focused. It reminds Stephen of the flames simmering within him, encouraging him like a devil in his ear to reach out and take from Jiung anything he can get his hands on.

It makes Stephen wonder what the fire in Jiung is telling him to do.

When Jiung doesn't let up, even after he’s swallowed down every last drop of his own cum, Stephen takes it upon himself to rearrange their bodies on the bed. He pulls back, just enough to roll Jiung onto his side. By now, Stephen is so hard he’s throbbing, and his vision is starting to blur again, and Jiung hasn’t stopped clinging to Stephen, like he’s fallen off the deep end and Stephen is his lone buoy.

And so Stephen lets his body act on instinct. He pries Jiung’s hands off of himself, even as Jiung murmurs some protest, and then Stephen turns his body until his mouth is even with Jiung’s cock and Jiung’s is even with his. Then, slowly, Stephen starts to feed his cock into Jiung’s warm, inviting mouth.

“God–,” Stephen mutters, before he begins pressing rough, open-mouthed kisses onto the salty, musky skin on the inside of Jiung’s thigh, leading up to his sac and his cock.

Around Stephen, Jiung’s mouth is wet and hot. Stephen has some control; just enough to not force himself down the back of Jiung’s throat, even though the wildfire in his chest whispers how good it would feel. No, Jiung’s lips wrapped around the sensitive head will be enough for Stephen. He’s so worked up anyway that it only takes a few slow, shallow thrusts of his hips, before he’s filling Jiung’s mouth with his release.

Jiung surprises Stephen by swallowing around him, milking him, tight, warm throat so easy to come down. The sounds Jiung is making are intoxicating: gurgles; moans; desperate and deep. He sounds frantic, swallowing and suckling the head of Stephen’s cock, as Stephen wraps a fist around Jiung’s cock and begins to slowly stroke him.

The flames inside of Stephen stir as he laves his tongue over Jiung’s sac and the sweaty crook where his thigh meets his groin. Stephen tastes hair and salty, slick skin. Jiung pulls back, enough for Stephen’s limp cock to slip out of his mouth, and now Stephen can hear Jiung clearly as his whimpers grow louder. “Y-eah, oh my g–.”

Stephen speeds up his strokes and sucks on Jiung’s sac as spit starts to pool between Jiung’s legs. He can feel Jiung tensing, muscles in his legs contracting, pleasured. “Please, ughh, like that!” Jiung cries out, and his cock begins to spurt, cum streaking Stephen’s cheek, landing on his nose and eyelashes.

After that, Stephen collapses onto the bed and pulls Jiung in for a kiss. He can taste both of them on his tongue, spit thick and messy. Jiung’s lips are chapped and familiar. As they kiss, it starts to dawn on Stephen that the pain in his chest has subsided. It’s a blessed, welcome sort of relief, at last. The flames have been stamped out, at least until the next wave hits.

Stephen’s mind is surprisingly clear: he knows what he’s doing, now, and can control it. That means, too, that he’s acutely aware that it’s Jiung whose hand is splayed across his chest. Jiung, who is so shy he doesn’t even change clothes around the other members, is now naked, body small and fragile, wrapped up in Stephen’s arms.

Stephen knows Jiung well. He’s learned so much about him, over years of sharing a dorm room, and fighting with each other, and navigating being in a band together. Still, this isn’t a scenario that Stephen ever imagined he would find himself in, let alone with Jiung.

And yet, as Jiung’s temperature starts to rise once more, and he looks up at Stephen with that glazed-over expression, and his hand starts to drift down Stephen’s torso, it almost feels right, doing this with Jiung.

~~~

The fire ebbs and flows for most of the night. When the illness spikes—when the headaches and the pain return, and it gets hard to breathe again, they help each other. Their mouths are wet and hungry, hands wandering, as they touch everywhere, consuming and taking, desperation leaking from their very pores. The frantic whines that Jiung makes when Stephen is inside of him become ingrained in Stephen’s ears, as do his sweeter, softer noises when they kiss.

When things get better, though, and the sickness is nothing more than a dull simmer, they have time to rest, a little, and to talk.

“What do you think, like, caused all this?” Stephen asks, gesturing vaguely around him with his free hand, the one not currently wrapped around Jiung’s back, holding him close.

Now, during one of those rare, clear-headed moments, Stephen gets to take in the sight of Jiung. The real one, not faded or blurred at the edges. And what Stephen can see is that Jiung is beautiful. Slender and delicate, a pretty stomach and a pretty chest, with small, rosy-brown nipples that Stephen has learned make Jiung squirm and honest-to-god giggle when touched. It’s so unexpected, so different from the side of Jiung that Stephen is used to seeing; different from a side of Jiung that Stephen could have even ever imagined.

Jiung makes a show of furrowing his eyebrow, all exaggerated, like he’s thinking hard. Impatiently, Stephen jabs two fingers between Jiung’s ribs, and it makes him crack a smile. Jiung laughs and tries to roll away from Stephen on the bed.

“Yeah? Haha,” Stephen says, smiling, and Jiung scowls, then quickly relents. He drapes an arm around Stephen’s front, then blinks up at Stephen, eyes surprisingly clear. He looks cute, so cute it scares Stephen. Another thought Stephen never would have considered when it comes to Jiung.

“Honestly? I think it was that food I ordered for dinner.”

Stephen laughs and rolls his eyes. “The bulgogi? I didn’t even eat any.” He rubs a finger over Jiung’s rib again, and Jiung flinches, then frowns, lips stuck out in a pout. He looks adorable.

“You ate the kimchi!”

Already, it’s starting to get harder for Stephen to focus. His arms are beginning to burn, and he’s shaking a little. He’s sure Jiung can feel it, with how closely their bodies are tangled together. Before tonight, Stephen would have laughed in Jiung’s face; told him there’s no way food poisoning could do something like this. But now that Stephen has lived it, maybe it is all just a terrible bout of food poisoning, or something akin to it.

His hand is already spreading Jiung’s bony asscheeks again, enough for his finger to brush Jiung’s hole. “Uhhh,” Jiung whines, high-pitched. His cheeks turn a shade of crimson, which he hides by burying his face in the side of Stephen’s neck.

“Oooh? You don’t say, haha,” Stephen laughs, just pressing the tip of his finger past the sensitive ring of muscle. He’s already lost track of how many times he’s touched Jiung there tonight. Jiung squirms as cute, little sounds spill from his lips, most of the panic and desperation from hours ago replaced by something sweeter. Something that Stephen might even mistake for romance, if he didn’t know about the fire in his limbs trying to deceive him at every turn.

Still, it’s nice to hear Jiung enjoying this. It’s nice to not feel like Stephen is hurting him.

It’s just nice, seeing this side of Jiung.

~~~

Once, as the night stretches into morning, Stephen lets Jiung put his cock inside of him. Stephen’s muscles burn with overuse, and exhaustion clings to him, too tired to do much more than lay on the hotel mattress and let Jiung push his legs up to his shoulders.

Right now, Stephen can tell that the sickness’s claws are sunk far deeper into Jiung than they are into him. Jiung’s strokes are fast and self-serving, clearly just seeking a desperate, quick release. His cock, thin and short, mostly misses Stephen’s prostate; however, the sight of Jiung’s body, abdominal muscles slick with sweat and clenching with each roll of his hips, and the way his expression is focused, eyes dark and lips slack, is enough to get Stephen hard again. Within minutes, Stephen comes, barely a drool now, making a mess of the trimmed hair on his groin.

~~~

It takes hours, but finally the fog clears for them both. Stephen is exhausted, and yet, a strange sense of clarity surrounds him. It feels somehow like stepping off-stage after a perfect concert: Stephen’s body aches, but his mind is alight, racing with endorphins.

Stephen holds Jiung in his arms, but it doesn’t feel like clinging to a lifeline anymore. It doesn’t feel like a responsibility, either, like he needs to protect Jiung. The desperation is gone; they’re both safely ashore now, no longer at risk of drowning.

No, now Stephen holds Jiung because it’s comfortable. It’s familiar. Before tonight, Stephen knew so much about Jiung. Perhaps more than anyone else in the entire world. And yet, now Stephen knows exactly how his arms fit around Jiung when Jiung pushes into him. He knows how perfectly their lips slot together when they kiss. He knows how every inch of Jiung’s body feels under his fingers. He knows how Jiung’s skin tastes.

And even in the morning, when they both have to return to the real world, with their busy schedules, and all the pressures of idol life, nothing can take the memory of tonight away from them.

There’s no wildfire left in Stephen, telling him he needs to touch Jiung. Now, Stephen simply holds Jiung because he wants to.

Jiung is already asleep, and Stephen doesn’t want to disturb him by moving too much. They have a concert tomorrow, after all. Jiung needs his rest. They both do.

From Stephen’s current position, wrapped up in Jiung, he gets a perfect look at Jiung’s face. His expression is soft and peaceful, long eyelashes grazing the skin under his eyes, lips parted just slightly. Stephen can just make out the scar that used to be the mole under Jiung’s mouth. He can make out individual pores and the dark beginnings of morning stubble.

All this, Stephen has known about Jiung, but now he sees it from a new perspective. Maybe Stephen should be scared of all the things that have changed between Jiung and him in the last few hours. And maybe this is just the last of the sickness still wearing off, but Stephen doesn’t feel afraid. No, he’s faced hardships with Jiung before, and they’ve made it through. This, too, they’ll figure out.

It’s with that thought in his mind that Stephen drifts off to sleep, finally cured of that horrible illness.

~~~

Stephen awakens to the sound of Jiung moving around the hotel room. The first thing he notices is his stale, dry mouth, and after that comes the shock that he doesn’t hurt. His limbs aren’t on fire, his head isn’t pounding, and his vision, once he blinks the sleep from his eyes, is surprisingly clear.

If Stephen didn’t know any better, he’d almost call this a great morning. He feels strangely rested, despite barely sleeping, like somehow purging the sickness from him left him more refreshed than he’s felt all tour.

“Mmm, what time is it?” Stephen asks. He yawns lazily, then rubs a hand through oily hair, remembering with a wince how much he sweated the night before. Stephen will definitely need to take a shower as soon as he gets up. He wonders if maybe he should ask Jiung to join him.

“6:10,” comes Jiung’s terse reply. “We leave at 7. You might want to put some clothes on; I messaged Intak he could come back whenever.”

Stephen rolls onto his side. His shoulder cracks, stiff. His morning brain wants to reach out and pull Jiung back into bed, just for another minute. Intak can wait.

But then Stephen notices Jiung’s posture. He’s hunched over, just slightly, half-turned away from Stephen. He reminds Stephen of a dog with its tail between its legs.

It’s then that Stephen notices the welts: large and purple, some with the distinct, pronounced ridges of teeth marks, covering Jiung’s neck and shoulders. Stephen risks a glance lower, and confirms that Jiung’s hips are covered too, visible above the waistband of the sweatpants Jiung has already put on.

Jiung turns further, angling his body away from Stephen to slip a white t-shirt over his head. It’s one of Stephen’s—Jiung must have pulled it out of his suitcase. As Jiung throws on the shirt, Stephen catches sight of the long scratch marks down his back. Stephen doesn’t even remember leaving them there, and he wonders, fleetingly, if they hurt; if Stephen hurt Jiung, again, more.

Stephen catches a glimpse of Jiung’s torn, red t-shirt on the floor, and suddenly, a floodgate opens. Memories come rushing back to Stephen. He remembers ripping Jiung’s shirt in a frantic attempt to free him. He remembers the blinding pain, the fire burning in his limbs, how Jiung could barely move. Stephen remembers how they were dying, probably, both of them, and Stephen had to hurt Jiung, had to fuck him, so that they could breathe. So that they could even just survive whatever strange power had overtaken them both.

Stephen recalls the hours spent together. He remembers the intensity, how Jiung had clung to him, how they had laid in bed together for hours, talking and fucking and just holding each other. The whole experience feels surreal, looking back at it. Stephen saw a side of Jiung he would never in a million years have imagined. But somehow, it also felt right.

A lot of last night is fuzzy, but surely Jiung felt it too, whatever it was. Yes, the circumstances were unexpected, and vulnerable, and at times terrifying. But the chemistry, the feelings, those must have been real.

Surely, Stephen couldn’t have just imagined all of that.

Still, the air is tense as Jiung tosses Stephen his phone and his vape. They land on the duvet with a dull thud. A lot hangs wordlessly between them as Jiung packs up his laptop in silence. If Jiung is feeling any of what Stephen is, he definitely isn’t showing it.

“Gonna. Um. Haha. Guess I’ll shower.” Stephen pulls back the sheets, embarrassingly aware of how naked he is, while Jiung is completely dressed.

Jiung grunts, but his back is turned toward Stephen. He’s gathering his things, putting them in his backpack, and Stephen knows he’ll be gone by the time Stephen is out of the shower.

Stephen’s head throbs, but it’s a different kind of ache from the night before. If Jiung doesn’t want to talk about this, fine. Stephen’s been an idol long enough to know how to push his own feelings aside. How to not talk about them. If Jiung doesn’t want to acknowledge what happened between them last night, then sure, Stephen won’t either.

Nevertheless, a small pang of guilt tugs at Stephen’s chest, but he stomps that out quickly. If Jiung wants to sulk, then ultimately, that’s on him. Stephen has a concert to perform tonight. He has a group to lead.

~~~

Unfortunately for Stephen, the shower doesn’t provide any real distraction. All it does is make him dwell on the night before, little glimpses of sweet memories that now taste sour. When he rubs soap over his back, he can’t help but remember how Jiung’s fingers felt there. How his mouth felt. Stephen’s arms ache, too, like after a long workout. He never in a million years would have imagined something like this happening at a writing session, or with Jiung.

The rest of the morning is spent in a rush, as Stephen frantically tries to pack up his things to make it to the venue on time. He sees the thrown-open nightstand drawer, and remembers how he had rifled through it in a panic the night before. He sees the empty takeaway containers, too, that had been left out last night. Dredges of chili oil are crusted on the inside of Jiung’s takeout box, and the sight makes bile rise up in Stephen’s throat. Could some simple takeout really have been what has caused all this?

Intak comments on it when he gets back to the room. “Damn, that bulgogi must have really done a number on Jiung-hyung,” he says, gesturing at the pile of soiled sheets that Stephen had hastily stripped from his bed and thrown onto the floor.

It takes Stephen a full second to register when Intak said, still too dazed to fully be paying attention to him. But once he does, Stephen immediately turns defensive. “Well—hm! I mean—.” But then Stephen notices the look of genuine concern on Intak’s face, and he remembers the excuse he gave to Intak—that Jiung had regular-old food poisoning. Intak is just concerned for a sick bandmate, blissfully unaware of what actually transpired last night.

“Um, yeah, he’s—,” Stephen pauses, wondering how much he should tell Intak. On one hand, Stephen trusts Intak, deeply. Intak has kept his own girlfriend a secret from fans for months, so Stephen knows he won’t accidentally let something slip if Stephen comes clean about what really happened.

But on the other hand, Stephen honestly isn’t sure how he’d take it if one of his friends told him he had fucked his bandmate in a sickness-induced stupor, and maybe kind of developed feelings for him, and now they’re not talking. He’d probably just laugh and ask who’d sold them the drugs.

The other part of this is that it’s only half Stephen’s story to tell, isn’t it? He might be annoyed with Jiung—or confused, and put-off, at the very least—but he still respects Jiung, a whole lot. And because he respects Jiung, he also knows that Jiung would not be comfortable with Intak knowing exactly the ways that Stephen had touched him, had held him.

And so, what Stephen begrudgingly settles on telling Intak is, “It was pretty rough, haha. I mean—,” he gestures into the air, maybe more dramatically than the situation calls for, “well you get it. I don’t need to go into specifics, haha.”

Intak grimaces. He doesn’t ask for more details, which is exactly what Stephen hoped for.

Quieter, Stephen finishes, “I think he’ll be ok… but it might just take a little while.”

~~~

Despite chatting briefly with Intak before leaving, Stephen is still in a weird mood by the time he stumbles into the van. He sits down in the back next to Taeyang, who just nods at him. There’s no look of judgment, no questioning. It confirms what Stephen already assumed: Jiung definitely didn’t tell Taeyang about last night.

Intak and Shota take the seats directly in front of them, which leaves the frontmost row of seats for Jongseob and Jiung. Jiung files in last, and he keeps his head down, brim of his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Stephen doesn’t miss how he keeps his shoulders slumped forward, bruised neck hidden under the high collar of his zip-up. Jiung doesn’t look back at the rest of the group, just silently takes a seat next to Jongseob.

Despite how on-edge Stephen feels, no one else acts like anything strange is going on with Jiung. Taeyang and Intak chat loudly, and Shota and Jongseob interject periodically, between staring at their phones and talking between themselves. But of course things aren’t out of the ordinary; none of the rest of them lived through what Stephen and Jiung endured last night. They had normal evenings, hanging out at the hotel, getting some much-needed rest before their performance.

Stephen tries his best to act unbothered. He laughs at some dumb joke Intak makes, and clings to Taeyang’s arm, whining when Taeyang tries to push him off. This is what normal Stephen would do, he tells himself. The Stephen who hadn’t fucked his bandmate last night. The Stephen who hadn’t hurt Jiung, and so doesn’t have to be painfully aware of how silent Jiung is, just staring out the window of the van.

Luckily for Stephen, between soundcheck and the concert, the rest of the day is too busy for him to continue dwelling on Jiung’s sulking. Even when Jiung spends the entire time after he gets his makeup done sitting alone in the corner of the dressing room, headphones on, Stephen tries not to think too hard about it. Jiung hasn’t looked at him—just like he wouldn’t earlier that morning—but he hasn’t really looked at anyone else, either.

Stephen already told himself that if Jiung wasn’t going to come to him about what happened, then Stephen wasn’t going to push the subject. And he’s just stubborn enough to hold himself to that.

Still, Stephen can’t quite shake the worry that Jiung is really, genuinely upset. And after hours of waiting, bored and tired from sitting around backstage before the show, Stephen asks Taeyang about it.

“Is Jiung always this quiet?” He tries to keep his voice light, not betraying any hint of the real reason he’s asking.

Taeyang just shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Stephen glances across the dressing room at where Jiung is sitting on the floor, eyes still glued to his phone screen. The stylists have his dress shirt buttoned all the way up tonight so most of his neck is covered. Surely they must have seen the marks. The thought makes something spark in Stephen’s chest, a flicker of the fire that had burned through him not 24 hours ago.

Intak walks up and flops himself onto the ground, body spread out half on top of Taeyang. “What’re you guys talking about?”

Taeyang doesn’t answer immediately, and instead blinks slowly at Stephen. “Keeho was asking if Jiung is always this mopey.”

“I didn’t ask it like th–!” Stephen starts, just as Intak snorts.

“He’s always like that.”

Taeyang pats Stephen on the shoulder. It feels condescending. “Like I said.”

They don’t get much more chance to talk after that, because barely a minute later, a stagehand calls them for places, and then Stephen is forced onto the stage with Jiung, and for a couple of hours, Stephen has to pretend things are normal.

To the audience, everything probably seems totally fine. If Stephen didn’t know Jiung like he does, he would think so too. In front of a crowd, Jiung lights up. From the way he dances, to the way he makes the fans chant his name, Jiung just exudes stage presence.

However, Stephen doesn’t miss the tired look in Jiung’s eyes when his back is turned to the audience. He doesn’t miss the first time Jiung messes up the footwork in “Jump,” or the second time. And he definitely doesn’t miss how Jiung looks away immediately when Stephen accidentally makes eye contact with him during “Love Never Felt So Good.” It stings a little, and Stephen feels his cheeks burn red, but he tries to brush it off.

Stephen tries to keep the mood light during their ending mentions. “Haha, thanks for all the, um, energy and stuff today guys, haha. You guys really liked us, didn’t you, haha? Ok, um, anyway…” Stephen trails off. He’s scripted to introduce Jiung next.

He pointedly doesn’t look at Jiung as he says, “I think Jiung wanted to say goodbye.”

Right away, Jiung steps forward, arms lifted into the air as the crowd cheers and applauds. He's beaming, eyes alight in a way they only get when he’s on stage.

It’s so subtle that Stephen is sure the audience doesn’t notice, but Stephen has spent enough time with Jiung that immediately he catches the waver in Jiung’s voice when he yells, “I love you guys!” and then launches into his carefully-memorized ending mention. Stephen remembers how Jiung agonized over his speech, making Stephen proofread it more than once, just to be sure he got all the English grammar correct. It twists something in Stephen’s stomach, sad and bitter.

The crowd erupts as Jiung finishes his speech, then he introduces Jongseob. The whole time, Jiung doesn’t once acknowledge Stephen.

~~~

Jiung doesn’t come out for dinner with the rest of the group after the show. Taeyang shows Stephen his text. Pretty tired, so I think I’m gonna hang back tonight! Have fun, though 🙂! It’s such an unassuming message, and extremely expected from Jiung. Stephen watches Taeyang type out an ok sounds good and pocket his phone without so much as waiting for a reply.

The next few days pass in much the same way. Jiung doesn’t leave his hotel room unless they have a rehearsal, and the rest of the members go on acting like this is completely normal behavior. At first, Stephen worries about Jiung. He isn’t used to this much silence from him. However, the longer Stephen goes on only interacting with Jiung when schedules necessitate it, and the more the other members seem completely unfazed by Jiung’s antisocial behavior, the more that Jiung outright ignoring Stephen starts to feel like a new sort of normal.

The last few shows of the tour unfold without any more major hitches. Jiung doesn’t look Stephen in the eyes at their final show, but maybe that’s okay. It’s expected now, at the very least.

They return to Korea. Jiung sits next to Shota, by the window, in the farthest possible seat from Stephen on the flight home. Jiung doesn’t tell Stephen he’s mad at him, and he doesn’t suggest they talk about that night, but right before the flight takes off, he does post on Fromm that he’s good guys, really! I promise 🙂👍. Stephen will have to take Jiung at his word; it’s not like he’ll tell Stephen how he’s actually feeling.

At least by the time they get back home, the marks on Jiung’s neck are gone. He isn’t wearing his hoodies zipped up to his chin anymore, and when Stephen catches him coming out of the dorm bathroom after a shower a couple of days later, he sees how the scratches and the bruises have healed, leaving behind smooth, unmarked skin.

The second Jiung catches Stephen staring at him, Jiung puts his head down and makes a beeline for their dorm room. The next time Stephen sees Jiung, he’s hightailing it for the front door, not once acknowledging Stephen where he’s sitting on the living room couch.

To an outsider, everything between Stephen and Jiung probably seems fine. At dance practices or recording sessions, they still talk, when they absolutely have to. Actually, they’re not fighting like they usually would, and Stephen has even noticed that some rehearsals seem less tense, despite the newfound friction between Jiung and him.

Still, Stephen knows that things between Jiung and him aren’t alright. They never go out to eat together anymore. When they see each other in the dorms, or in the company building, Jiung will immediately look away, not so much as greeting Stephen.

Stephen also notices how gradually, Jiung begins staying in his studio later and later, until he starts getting home after Stephen and Intak have already gone to bed. It starts to genuinely worry Stephen, after the first handful of times it happens.

It begins to dawn on Stephen that he misses Jiung. He misses writing together in the studio. He misses the quieter moments, too, like when they’re both just sitting on their phones in the living room, occasionally showing each other some stupid memes. Hell, Stephen even misses Jiung’s nagging in their dorm room when Stephen leaves his clothes draped over every available surface because he’s out of closet space.

Things are just… different without Jiung. The dorm feels emptier. Lonelier.

Maybe it’s time for Stephen to admit that some of this could have been avoided if he had tried to approach Jiung sooner. Sure, in Stephen’s opinion, Jiung needs to grow some thicker skin and stop sulking, but still, Stephen hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to talk to Jiung, either. If there is anything Stephen has learned over the years, it’s that part of being a leader is knowing when to swallow your pride and acknowledge that you might be at fault.

Stephen sighs. He’s always hated having to say he’s sorry. Stephen remembers a time when he was a kid. His brother had accidentally torn a hole in one of Stephen’s stuffed animals, so in retaliation, Stephen had ripped the arms off his brother’s favorite action figure.

His brother cried, and went running to their mom, and she wouldn’t let Stephen have dessert until he apologized. So Stephen did what seemed logical: said he was sorry, with fingers crossed behind his back, and then enjoyed his vanilla soft-serve in a waffle cone.

Present-day Stephen rolls over on his bed and picks up his phone. Staring intently at the screen, he composes an apology to Jiung. Before hitting send, Stephen reads it back, and immediately decides it sounds disingenuous. He tries a few more times, but still nothing feels quite right.

This isn’t like when Stephen was a kid and he only apologized when it benefited him. Then, saying he was sorry was easy, because they were just empty words, meant to get Stephen what he wanted, while still avoiding taking any real accountability for his actions. Now, Stephen feels out of his depth, thrown into the deep end of a pool without first learning to tread water. He has no idea where to even start with something like this.

What can he even say to Jiung? Sorry we both got weird food poisoning and then had to fuck to avoid burning up? Also do you wanna be friends again?

Stephen takes a puff from his vape and stares at the Park Jimin poster on his ceiling. The smoke feels good in his mouth, sweet like the cotton candy flavor advertised on the label. He types another message, hoping the nicotine rush will somehow serve as the motivation he needs to hit send, but quickly he gets frustrated and deletes the text again.

After a couple more failed attempts at messaging Jiung, Stephen gives up and takes a break. He opens Twitter and scrolls the comments on his selfies. It’s one of Stephen’s favorite things to do when he’s feeling down. Seeing all the love from his adoring fans never fails to remind Stephen why he does this job, despite all the long nights, and the stress, and the pressure.

Sure enough, seeing all the positive comments does lighten Stephen’s mood, just a little. He taps back out of his latest selfies and scrolls further down the band’s Twitter page, then lingers on two photos that Jiung posted. Jiung looks, well, cute. The angle is kind of funny; Jiung’s head is tilted to the side, in a way that reminds Stephen of when his mom tries to take selfies. It isn’t the most flattering angle, but it’s endearing, nonetheless. It makes a sort of fondness well up in Stephen, just thinking about Jiung choosing those photos from his camera roll to post.

Stephen also notices that Jiung’s photos have more “likes” than Stephen’s latest post. Stephen tries not to be bothered by stuff like that, but he can’t help but feel a little envious. He thought his selfies were good ones; suggestive enough, but still tasteful. And unlike Jiung, Stephen knows his angles.

Finger lingering over the comments, deciding if he should read some and risk making himself more jealous, a notification pops up on the top of Stephen’s screen: Jiung went live.

Curiosity gets the best of Stephen. He taps on the notification, and it takes him to his Weverse app. Sure enough, Jiung is on the screen, bobbing his head to some slow pop song Stephen doesn't know. Immediately, Stephen recognizes the gamer chair and the dim, pinkish lights as the inside of Jiung’s studio.

Stephen should turn the stream off. It’s only going to make him wallow. But he hasn't seen Jiung look happy like this in weeks. Stephen misses that side of him.

Jiung bobs his head along with the beat and sings snippets of lyrics. Occasionally, he’ll stare at the screen, reading comments, and his eyes will light up. The bitter feeling rising in Stephen just continues to build, even as he tries to suppress it.

The jealousy keeps festering as Stephen watches Jiung, relaxed and in his element. He bounces in his chair, singing along to the Justin Bieber song that just started—one that Stephen only knows because Jiung showed it to him. Jiung runs his hands through his hair, and for a fleeting moment, Stephen is struck by a memory of how it felt to be touched by Jiung. How that same hair, fine and bleach-damaged, had felt resting on his chest. How Stephen had leaned forward and let it tickle his chin. How Jiung’s head fit perfectly there, right over Stephen’s heart.

Like the rest of the memories from that night, though, Stephen pushes it aside quickly; squashes it. Hurt—and pettiness, Stephen will even admit—overtake him. Sure, Stephen had been about to apologize to Jiung. But the more he watches Jiung having fun, and the more he thinks about how Jiung hasn’t bothered to bring up what happened between the two of them, the more Stephen decides it’s not even worth sending a text to say he’s sorry.

Jiung wasn’t alone in the hotel room that night, fighting off that horrible sickness, and he isn’t the only one who now has to live with those memories.

Two can play this game of ignoring each other. And one thing about Stephen: when it comes to fights, he doesn't lose.

~~~

Stephen learns quickly that it’s actually pretty easy to cut someone out of your life, even if you live with them. It helps that these days, Jiung wakes up well before Stephen, and he’s usually already at the company building by the time the rest of them arrive an hour later, still rubbing sleep from their eyes.

It helps, too, that at the end of the day, when the rest of the group breaks off to get dinner, Jiung always hangs back, saying he has a section of a dance that he wants to run again, or a song he’s been working on that he needs to tweak a little.

That’s all perfectly fine with Stephen. If Jiung wants to make things more difficult on himself by avoiding not only Stephen, but also the rest of their group, then frankly, that’s Jiung’s problem. Stephen will enjoy gogi-gui with Jongseob and Taeyang and leave Jiung to stew.

Days when they don’t have schedules prove slightly more difficult to pretend that Jiung doesn’t exist, but even those, Stephen learns to deal with quickly.

“D’you want any chicken?” Stephen glances over at where Intak is seated on the couch across from him in the dorm living room. Jiung is there too, on the opposite side of the couch, eyes glued to his phone screen, like Stephen—and by proxy, Intak—aren’t even in the room.

Intak frowns, thinking. “Yeah, I’ll get the spicy flavor.”

Stephen looks back at his phone and taps to add Intak’s order. There’s silence while he finishes typing out their address, which Stephen pointedly doesn’t fill, almost daring to Jiung break it. But Jiung just sits there, silently scrolling his phone, and Stephen hits the button to complete his order.

Shota texts Stephen to join him for a round of Apex in his room. Stephen makes a point of saying, “Bye, Intak,” as he leaves. To Stephen’s slight disappointment, Jiung doesn’t even glance up from his phone. On some level, Stephen knows exactly how petty he’s being. It’s just that it’s also extremely satisfying giving Jiung a piece of his own medicine.

~~~

The only times now that Stephen still has to speak at length with Jiung are during their radio shows.

“Let’s learn Korean!” Jiung says, smiling amiably at the camera. He reads from his script, glancing up periodically to make eye contact with the camera. Jiung still says lines at Stephen, things like, “This is how Keeho would ask for directions!” However, it’s impossible for Stephen to miss the careful way Jiung avoids his gaze, even when their scripts require them to talk to each other.

“Where are you going today?” Jiung asks Stephen in English. In the skit they’re performing, Jiung is playing the role of a taxi driver, while Stephen plays a woman visiting Seoul for the first time.

“Oh, haha, well, you see…” Stephen pauses for dramatic effect. He makes sure to keep his voice all high-pitched, perfectly in character, as he continues, “Haha, well, I need to get to my hotel. It’s in Insadong. Do you know how to get there?” Lightly, Stephen reaches out and pats Jiung on the shoulder. He watches how Jiung flinches, leaning instinctively away from Stephen, like he wasn’t expecting Stephen to follow that part of the script.

However, if there are two things Stephen is going to do, they’re giving 100% to a performance and pushing Jiung’s buttons.

Stephen can practically see the wheels turning in Jiung’s head as he glances back toward his script. “Yes, I know how to get to Insadong.” Jiung looks up, and Stephen catches a hint of something inscrutable in his expression.

“I could bring you to Insadong, of course, but Miss, I have to ask, have you ever thought how it makes me feel, having to drive you around the city?”

Stephen stares at his script. That line isn’t written anywhere. He flips the page, and then even turns the sheet over. Still, no sign of what Jiung is saying.

“Um… uh, Sir—?” Stephen tries to play off his own confusion as just being in character. Meanwhile, though, he bores holes into the side of Jiung’s head with his eyes, like he could somehow telepathically remind Jiung that they’re still on-air, and they have scripts to follow for a reason.

Jiung looks up again, and his eyes are wild, expression hinting at manic. “As I was saying, Miss,” he leans on the word, “have you thought about how I might feel, having to bring you to your hotel? After your vacation is over, will you remember us meeting just like I remember it?”

Stephen shakes his head, genuinely taken aback. It’s dawning on him, what Jiung is getting at. He just can’t believe that Jiung would have the audacity to have this conversation here, on their radio show, streamed to an audience, under the extremely tenuous veil of the scene they’re supposed to be acting out.

“Well. Haha. Sir.” Two can play at this game, and Stephen has never been one to back down from a disagreement. “Maybe you have an obligation, as someone who is also in this car, and who chose this profession, to be a little bit more understanding of tourists who are just trying to find their way around!”

Stephen slams his script down on the table, and it accidentally shakes their laptops and makes a rattling sound in his headphones that he’s sure the viewers can hear. When Stephen looks up, startled, the staff’s faces are pale, eyes wide. Stephen’s manager is waving at him, mouthing for him to cut to the next song.

Fortunately, Jiung pivots quickly. “And that’s… um. That’s a way that you could talk to someone vacationing in Seoul… uh, anyway, up next is ‘Antifragile’ by Le Sserrafim!”

The rest of the broadcast passes without any more hiccups, at least. Jiung stays on script, and Stephen puts on his most saccharine voice to say that he had such a wonderful time on today’s stream. Then Jiung packs up his things the moment the cameras turn off, and hightails it out of the recording booth before Stephen even has time to put his computer away.

~~~

The next morning, Stephen gets a text from Jiung. It surprises him, considering how infrequently they speak.

Feeling pretty sick, not gonna make the radio show today.

Maybe Stephen wouldn’t mind so much, except that it’s not the first show that Jiung has missed. In fact, Jiung has probably been absent for as many shows as he’s attended. At this point, Stephen is surprised the company hasn’t just replaced him with literally any of the other members.

Annoyed, Stephen types out a rant—something scathing, about how Jiung needs to learn to respect Stephen’s time, and not humiliate Stephen by going off-script on a live radio show just because he can’t be upfront about the fact that they fucked and now things are awkward between them.

He reads back his message. It’s direct, but Stephen knows he’d be in the right for saying it. However, it’s early, and Stephen’s kind of not really in the mood to pick a fight before he’s even had his morning iced coffee.

Ok, he sends back.

Jiung doesn’t even bother to reply, but Stephen can see he read it. Fine then. Okay.

Jongseob volunteers to fill in for Jiung. “At this point, I usually just assume Jiung-hyung is going to cancel,” Jongseob says, shrugging, when Stephen approaches him about it. That does vindicate Stephen, some.

Ironically, the topic for today’s show is pet peeves, of all things. The staff hands Stephen and Jongseob their scripts a few minutes before the show starts. Stephen watches Jongseob flip through the pages, then laugh, as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Do you think they watched the last stream?” Jongseob whispers, grinning.

Stephen elbows him, just as the staff tells them they’re going live.

To Stephen’s credit, he manages to last almost the entire broadcast without losing his temper. That must count for something, at least. He and Jongseob chat idly, both in English and Korean. Jongseob lists the vocabulary words for the day, and Stephen reads the definitions dutifully, even adding in a little extra context when he feels it’s called for.

When Stephen looks up during one of the song breaks, his manager smiles back at him. Clearly, things are going better than their last show. It’s only as they’re nearing the end, when Jongseob and Stephen are supposed to discuss their own pet peeves, that Stephen’s self control wavers.

The script calls for Jongseob to ask Stephen what his pet peeve is. Stephen manages to start off calmly enough. “Um, well, personally, it bothers me when people say serious stuff but try to like, pretend it’s a joke because they can’t be confrontational.”

Jongseob’s eyes widen, and he nods encouragingly for Stephen to continue.

It’s then that Stephen makes the mistake of thinking about Jiung. He remembers yesterday, when Jiung tried to pick a fight with him, under the guise of a sketch for the radio. After months of silence, Stephen can’t believe Jiung’s audacity. If Jiung wants to tell Stephen he hurt him, he’s had plenty of chances to do it off-air.

Stephen can’t help it. He feels his annoyance bubble up. “Like, don’t play around with me. I’m not dumb! Like, just tell me straight-up what the problem is, because I’m not going to sit around and like, fish for some hints. I’m not gonna do that for you!”

By the time Stephen finishes, he’s shaking. Jongseob shoots him a worried look.

“Yeah, I get that,” Jongseob says, voice media-trained steady, then smoothly, he directs the conversation to his own pet peeve. Stephen appreciates the change of subject, even if he can’t help but still be annoyed about the situation with him and Jiung and the fact that there is no foreseeable end to the constant awkwardness between them.

~~~

It isn’t uncommon for Shota to ask Stephen out to eat. It’s just the urgent way he says, “Steph, we need to get dinner,” that alerts Stephen that something clearly isn’t right.

Shota had insisted on choosing where they ate, which meant that 30 minutes later they were both seated at a restaurant down the street, with two heaping portions of chicken katsu and a large plate of fried potatoes in front of them.

“This place serves fries,” Shota had explained, before shoving a handful into his mouth.

A thing that Stephen has learned from years of knowing Shota is that although he’s usually pretty quiet, when he does have something to say, he doesn’t beat around the bush. And sure enough, “What’s going on with you and Jiung-hyung?”

Stephen, mouth stuffed full of breaded chicken, chokes, coughing so loudly that he definitely sees the teenagers at the table next to them shoot him a look. “W-what’dya mean, haha?”

Shota sets his chopsticks down. When he looks back up at Stephen, his face is serious as death.

Stephen puts his hand over his mouth and tries not to laugh. “Whaaaat, oh my god? Haha, c’mon, what even is this? Like an intervention or something?”

There’s a full beat before Shota speaks. He just stares at Stephen, not with a look of judgment, exactly, but like he’s scrutinizing him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Usually, Stephen might roll his eyes and laugh and tell Shota to stop being weird. But before he can, Shota says, voice hushed, “Something happened to you guys on tour, didn’t it?”

Stephen splutters, again. Stammering, he tries to save at least some degree of face. “I–I, come onnnn, like, what do you even mean by that?”

Shota just stares back at him, eyebrow raised.

Stephen hates being read like this. Hates that of all the members, Shota is the one observant enough to realize that something is wrong, even when Taeyang and Intak quickly dismissed Jiung’s sulking as, well, his personality.

“Steph, be serious. You guys had a fight on the radio about tourism. Also, you literally haven’t looked at each other in months. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something happened.”

Frowning, Stephen weighs how much he can reveal to Shota. Not the truth, but some approximation of it, maybe; some admittance that Shota is right.

“Okayyy, um—I mean, yeah. Haha.” Stephen wrings his hands nervously, then wipes them on his pants, before remembering they’re leather and make a horrible, slippery sound. If Stephen was out to dinner with anyone else, they would have laughed, but Shota just stares at Stephen, dead-silent, waiting for him to continue.

Stephen has to look away. Shota’s gaze is too intense for him to think clearly. Glancing down at his plate of half-eaten food, Stephen says, “So, ok, yeah, we fought, like, in the hotel, on tour—haha. And, yeah, you’re right, we haven’t really talked about it.”

Once Stephen begins speaking, it’s like a ball rolling downhill, gaining momentum. He’s kept this to himself for so long that it’s hard to stop once he starts. “And so, yeah, it’s been, like, months, and honestly it’s pretty awkward, haha, having to share a room with him, and like, be together at rehearsals and stuff, when we’re like, literally not talking, haha.”

It’s strangely relieving to finally admit that something is going on with Jiung and him. It feels like an invisible weight lifting off Stephen’s shoulders. Even if what he’s telling Shota barely scratches the surface of what really happened, just acknowledging out loud that something occurred feels monumental.

Suddenly, a lightbulb turns on in Stephen’s brain, and he realizes just how little he’s actually processed that night. How much he pushed it aside, and squashed it down, and placed it into a neat little compartment in his brain, all to avoid having to genuinely come to terms with what happened between Jiung and him. All to avoid having to remember how he hurt Jiung.

It’s—well, it’s a lot to process while out to dinner on a Tuesday evening. When Stephen finishes speaking, he’s trembling. His legs feel weak; he’s not sure he could stand up if he tried.

Eventually, Stephen looks back up at Shota. His face is surprisingly expressionless. Shota pops another fry into his mouth and chews it slowly, before finally asking, “So… you gonna talk to him, orrr?”

Stephen raises his chopsticks to his lips, takes another bite of chicken, chews on the question. It’s too much. Shota is still staring at him, studying him, like anything Stephen could say right now would somehow undo the months of avoidance; would somehow undo what Stephen endured that night at the hotel.

Stephen falls back on what comes easy to him. “And what if I don’t, haha? Is Jiung going to come for me?” He looks around, dramatically. “Oooo, is he going to pop out and, like, try to talk to me right now? I’m sooo scared.”

Just like that, Stephen closes whatever Pandora’s box he had just opened. He hides it, stamps it down. And Shota, mercifully, doesn’t ask any more questions. He just shrugs. “Ok then,” he says, then bites down on another fry.

~~~

For the next week, Stephen does his best not to think about what Shota said at dinner. He busies himself with rehearsals and with radio. He goes live on Weverse one night, and a few people comment that he looks sad.

“You would be too, if you had people constantly asking stuff like that!” he snaps. His phone immediately lights up with a warning from his manager.

Jiung still won’t look Stephen in the eyes, but that, like many other inconveniences, Stephen has learned to just accept as part of idol life. Stephen is doing fine. Totally and completely fine. That is, until Saturday, when he wakes up in the middle of the night with a splitting headache.

“Definitely Covid,” the doctor tells him, after shoving a swab so far up Stephen’s nose he swears it scrapes his brain. Immediately, he’s carted off to his mother’s apartment to quarantine away from the other members.

Luckily for Stephen, unlike the first time he had Covid, on tour in the U.S. and confined to a hotel with the other members and half the staff, this time he’s armed with the comfort of his own bed, cuddles with Mandu, and more of his mother’s homemade dubu jjigae than he could ever want.

Also lucky for Stephen is the fact that the medication the doctor gives him works wonders. Within a couple of days, he’s feeling almost good-as-new. Still, the lingering traces of a headache, and the sore muscles, and the fever, all feel too familiar to Stephen, in a way that’s hard for him to dwell on.

The last time Stephen felt this bad—well. It had been that night in the hotel room, back when he was on tour. The fatigue, the aching in his limbs, the headache, it all takes him back. Back to the feeling like that sickness was legitimately going to consume him.

The problem, too, is that once Stephen starts to feel better, he gets bored. He’s tired of texting Taeyang to complain, only to receive a single, “That sucks,” back, and then radio silence for hours. And there’s only so many times that Stephen can handle listening to Intak rave about all the sex he’s having with his girlfriend before even that starts to get old.

He tries messaging his Canadian friends, just for something to do, but the time zones get complicated. He does not feel like getting up at 3am to video call. Even his once-lively group chat with Mark, Kevin, and Jacob has been dead.

Honestly, Stephen wishes he could text Jiung.

Blame it on the boredom, and the isolation, and the simple fact that Stephen can’t leave his house, but quarantine creates the perfect storm for him to start thinking about what Shota said to him at dinner. Stephen realizes this is the first real break he’s gotten since tour, and therefore the first opportunity he’s had to actually sit down and process that night at the hotel.

Sick, and confined to his bedroom, it dawns on Stephen just how truly terrible what happened to Jiung and him was. Sometimes, Stephen can still feel the remnants of that night is his body. Vividly, he can picture the burning fire that had flowed through him. He remembers how heightened every single sensation, every emotion, had felt. He remembers the panic, the build up, the release.

He remembers the comfort of having Jiung there with him.

Now that Stephen is thinking about it—really thinking about it—he understands how nothing about that night should have happened. It isn’t normal to be possessed like they were by some unknown sickness. It isn’t normal to be forced to have sex with your bandmate—with your friend—and then have to immediately return to everyday life, like that’s just something that happens to people.

No wonder Jiung has been having a hard time. That night wasn’t something that can be easily swept under a rug and forgotten about. Stephen tried, sure, but look where that’s gotten him: sick and alone, without his best friend to text.

Stephen remembers when he and Jiung just used to fight about their problems. They would yell, and sometimes even throw things, until one time they knocked over a figurine Intak’s grandmother had given him, shattering it on the floor. Intak cried, and Taeyang had to be the one to tell them both they needed to work out their issues.

But that’s just the thing. Back then, once the yelling was done, once there was nothing else to throw, all that was left was both of their stubborn desire to debut. They moved on; made things work for the sake of the group.

In a lot of ways, the fighting was easier than this constant silence. At least when the fighting was over, they could look each other in the eyes.

Stephen remembers when things changed between them. It was a slow process, measured more in months and seasons than in days. How that careful, intentional sort of toleration turned into an understanding, and how that understanding into friendship. Like a garden, soil cultivated with care, seeds planted and watered day after day until their fragile sprouts just peeked out of the dirt, Stephen began to know Jiung, the real him. Better than anyone else, probably, because of the tireless effort it took to get there. And with that understanding came a real, genuine friendship, roots strong and green leaves turned toward the sun.

And that’s what’s been missing the last couple of months, isn’t it? Stephen had tried his best to ignore Jiung, to forget how close they once were, but how can he just push years of companionship aside? He knows Jiung: has fought with him and worked with him. Has slept with him, almost died with him, and learned, somehow, to still carry on alongside him, albeit at the expense of what used to be a close friendship.

Maybe it took getting sick, and having some needed time apart, for Stephen to realize just how deeply he misses Jiung, and just how badly he wants Jiung back in his life. But in coming to terms with that, Stephen also realizes that for as stubborn as he’s been to admit it, he might have really, genuinely hurt Jiung that night at the hotel.

So much of that evening is a haze to Stephen, lost both to the illness that had overtaken him at the hotel, and the months spent acting like it hadn’t happened. But there are some vivid moments, too—parts that stick out to Stephen in striking, terrible detail.

The way Jiung had shaken, weak and barely able to move, is something imprinted in Stephen’s mind. He remembers clearly how Jiung’s voice, feeble, had begged Stephen through blue lips to touch him, and that Stephen didn’t even have the strength to say no, he couldn’t, not when Jiung was in that state.

Stephen remembers it in horrible detail, how he hadn’t even bothered with lube, had just spit into his palm, and then taken, taken, taken. And Jiung laid there, and moaned, and dug blunt nails into Stephen’s spine, like Stephen was somehow doing them both a favor, and not like it was all the fire inside of Stephen’s doing, eating him up, consuming him, consuming them.

The longer Stephen focuses on those memories, the more he pieces them apart in his mind, the more he understands, with horrible clarity, exactly why Jiung won’t talk to him. Why Jiung will barely even look at him. Stephen would hate him, too, if he was in Jiung’s position.

It’s like swallowing an awful piece of humble pie, but Stephen finally admits that he owes Jiung an apology. Not one like when he was a kid, with fingers crossed behind his back and the intention of a reward at the end. No, Stephen needs to apologize to Jiung because he hurt him, and he really, truly, is sorry.

~~~

Over the last days of his quarantine, Stephen arrives at the conclusion that he needs to be the one to approach Jiung. But in realizing that, Stephen is also forced to confront the fact that just because he’s going to apologize to Jiung, doesn’t mean that Jiung will necessarily forgive him.

It’s a scary thought, allowing himself to be vulnerable with the knowledge that it still might not fix things between the two of them. But in the end, wouldn’t that still be better than radio silence? Wouldn’t that still be better than never at least trying to clear the air between them?

Stephen’s not sure he could live with himself if he didn’t at least attempt to make things right. Still, it’s probably the hardest thing he has ever done.

Stephen gives his mom a hug once his quarantine is finally up, then gets into the car the company sent to bring him back to the dorms. “Do you think you could… d-drop me off at the company building instead?” Stephen asks the driver, voice cracking in the middle from nerves.

It’s evening, past dinnertime, and Stephen knows that Jiung always spends his nights in his studio, working on songs. Stephen could wait—try to talk to him at the dorms later, maybe. But ultimately, what would be the point in delaying this conversation any longer? It’s already months overdue.

The sun has already set by the time the driver pulls up to the company building. Stephen gets out slowly, taking his time as he steps into the building. His head is racing, heart pounding in his chest, as he makes his way up the elevator and through the halls, already knowing exactly where he’ll find Jiung.

The whole walk there, Stephen replays conversations he’s been having with himself for days. It’s terrifying, knowing he’s about to lay himself bare, about to say that he's sorry for hurting someone so important to him, fully knowing that Jiung might not accept his apology. And still, Stephen knows he has to humble himself and admit that he messed up, maybe irrevocably, and then only made things worse by stubbornly refusing to talk about it.

The rest of the walk through the building passes in a daze, and in no time, Stephen is outside the door to Jiung’s studio. From where Stephen is standing, he can hear soft music playing, something bassy and slow—probably a new song that Jiung is working on.

He spares a glance through the narrow window on the studio door. Sure enough, Stephen can see Jiung sitting at his desk, with his eyes glued to his computer screen. Stephen stands and watches for a minute as Jiung bobs his head in time to the beat. He pauses the music for a moment, then leans forward to furiously adjust something on his soundboard.

It fills Stephen with a certain sort of fondness, watching Jiung work. Jiung has always said that his studio is the place he feels most comfortable—from the moody, pink lighting, all the way down to the couch that he complained took months and about 10 emails to finally get delivered.

That fondness, that genuine, elated sort of feeling welling up in his chest from seeing Jiung, that’s also something that Stephen has thought hard about over the last few days. He’s sat with it, studied it, tried to understand exactly where the feeling comes from. The conclusion Stephen eventually arrived at is that what he initially thought was just the aching, hollow feeling of a friendship lost, was actually something more.

When Stephen thinks back on that night they spent together in the hotel, he remembers the bad parts, sure—the parts where, in his own pain, he hurt Jiung. But there are other moments that Stephen can recall, too. Memories that despite the haze, and the months passed, he still carries with him. Memories of tenderness, of being wrapped up in each other’s arms, of sharing stolen words and quiet moments.

It’s strange. Stephen had never consciously thought about Jiung as anything other than a friend, but that night, despite the circumstances, a lot of things had somehow slotted into place. Stephen realized just how easily he can picture Jiung in his life in a romantic way, as someone who is not just a friend to him. It shocks Stephen, really, just how effortlessly he can imagine it.

And once Stephen pictured something like that for Jiung and him, what quickly followed was the realization that he wants that, desperately, if Jiung would ever have him.

That’s what Stephen thinks about as he watches Jiung in his studio. It’s also why Stephen hesitates. What he has to say now, it could shatter the possibility of rekindling any sort of relationship with Jiung.

Stephen takes a deep breath, then releases it with a shudder. This is it. There’s no going back now. He takes one more, fleeting moment to watch Jiung work. He looks so at-ease, completely in his element. Stephen almost hates to interrupt him.

Hand outstretched, trembling, Stephen knocks on the door to Jiung’s studio. He waits, but when Jiung doesn’t stir, he tries the handle. To his surprise, it isn’t locked. The door swings slowly open with a soft creak, and that’s finally when Jiung turns around and sees Stephen.

At first, Jiung’s eyes widen, startled. But then Stephen watches Jiung collect himself, lips forming into a careful frown. Jiung opens his mouth, and Stephen’s first instinct is to cut him off, just get everything off his chest all at once, but he waits to let Jiung speak.

For a moment, Jiung pauses. His eyes flicker from Stephen’s face, over to the wall just past him, and back, never quite meeting Stephen’s gaze. It seems like Jiung is genuinely searching for words.

His tone sounds defeated as he settles on, “You’re here.”

The laugh Stephen lets out feels knocked from him, punched straight from his gut. “Ha, yeah? Yeah, I’m–I’m here.”

Jiung’s expression sours. With his shoulders slumped forward and his hands clasped neatly in his lap, mostly hidden under oversized sweatshirt sleeves, he looks small, fragile.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice soft.

Annoyance sparks suddenly in Stephen. He spent days building this moment up in his head. He expected something more climactic.

“If you’re mad at me, can you just, like, say it?” Stephen winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. He doesn’t know why he says that. “Sorry, um, I didn’t—.”

Jiung shakes his head, a quick, jerky sort of motion. In the dim, pink lighting, the blacks of his eyes look like saucers. Stephen is reminded of a deer caught in the headlights of his mom’s car, one time when their family vacationed in rural Ontario, driving home on backroads late at night. Stephen wishes he could reach out and touch Jiung; explain to him that he doesn’t mean any harm.

Jiung shakes his head again. He blinks, fast, then glances downward, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. Jiung looks back up, somewhere not quite at Stephen, but Stephen doesn't miss how his eyelashes clump together, wet with the beginnings of tears.

“Jiung-ah,” Stephen says, gentler.

“No, stop.” Jiung puts his hand up and turns his head away, like he’s embarrassed that Stephen might see him cry. Like they haven’t been roommates for years. Like they haven’t seen each other stressed about evaluations, and debuting, and tour. Like they haven’t cried together before.

Stephen cocks his head to the side, waiting. “Fine, go on,” he says, then realizes a second later how abrasive it comes off.

This has always been how things work between them, though, hasn’t it? Bantering turned to fighting turned to making up and working things out. Tension that results in songs written, and rehearsals run effectively, and concerts sold out. It hurts, but it’s familiar territory.

It’s better than silence.

Jiung is quiet for a long time after that. He rubs his face again with the sleeves of his hoodie, dabbing his eyes. Finally, Jiung asks, “Did you really think that I would go months without talking to you because I was mad at you?”

It takes Stephen a beat to realize he’s supposed to answer. “Ha, I—I mean…”

“You're so..." Jiung trails off, just staring at the floor. Stephen watches as Jiung worries his already chapped lips with his teeth. "Fine, come here, I want to show you something.” Jiung motions with his hand for Stephen to come closer.

And Stephen, he hesitates for a moment. But Jiung has already spun his chair back around to face his computer, and he’s already typing furiously on his keyboard. It’s once a familiar song starts playing from the speakers that Stephen finally crosses the tiny studio, closing the space between them.

“Is this—?”

“Just listen.”

So Stephen does, standing in silence, letting a melody he’s heard hundreds of times wash over him. The arrangement is sparse, loose around the edges like it hasn’t been mixed. But the voice playing from the speakers is unmistakable.

“W-what? Why do you—still have this?”

From where Stephen is standing, he can only see half of Jiung’s face. And from what he can make out—Jiung’s blank expression, eyes carefully trained on the screen in front of him—he can’t tell what Jiung is thinking.

“Jiung-ah, seriously? C’mon, like, I don’t even have this recording saved anymore.”

The song continues, filling the small space. It’s an old demo, recorded just before they debuted. Stephen had meant to release it years ago, but then he got busy with promotions, and in the end, he settled for performing it live once.

“All of me, wants all of you,” Stephen hears his own voice sing.

He looks back at Jiung, studying him, as his eyes flicker across the screen, still wet with tears.

Voice soft, but clear and surprisingly steady, Jiung finally says, “Keeho-yah, did you really think I spent months avoiding you because I hated you?”

Stephen sits with that for a moment, stews on it, as the music fades out of the speakers. He watches Jiung, watches the minute changes in his expression. The way his lips purse. The way he won’t look at Stephen, even as they listen to a throwaway John Legend cover that Stephen had all but forgotten about, but Jiung somehow still has saved, all these years later.

And then it hits Stephen, all at once, so hard it knocks the wind out of him.

“Ohhh, Jiung, you didn’t—? No…”

That, somehow, is what finally gets Jiung to look at Stephen. Whipping his chair around, he stares Stephen straight in the eyes, expression fiery, burning. “Are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted? Fine, ok, you win! I liked what we did. Fuck, fine—I liked you before that! But god, Keeho, you didn’t have to fucking hold it over me for months.”

Stephen’s breath catches in his throat, surprised. It comes out as something like a laugh, and he slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed.

Jiung’s voice gets louder. “Are you serious? If you’re going to laugh at me, you can go. Now you know, ok? Naive Jiung, thinking that night meant anything to you. God, I was so fucking stupid.”

Jiung’s practically shouting, and it hurts, like an arrow straight to Stephen’s chest. Wasn’t this what Stephen wanted, for them to finally yell it out, just like the old days? Why does it feel wrong, then?

“Don’t—don’t say that about yourself.”

“Why the fuck not?” Jiung jumps out of his seat, pushing his chair back, away from him. It hits the wall with a loud crash, rattling Jiung’s soundsystem.

Eyes wild, chest puffed out, Jiung steps closer to Stephen. His hands are balled up into fists, and for a split second, Stephen genuinely thinks Jiung is going to throw a punch at him. But then, Jiung does something even more shocking: he reaches out and grabs a fistful of Stephen’s t-shirt. For a split second, Stephen sees Jiung hesitate. His eyes flicker between Stephen’s eyes, left then right, searching, pleading.

And then he kisses Stephen.

On instinct, Stephen’s arms come up, and he wraps them around Jiung’s back. He feels the exact moment Jiung’s legs give out—when he crumples, collapsing into Stephen. Stephen holds Jiung up, hands grasping at the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer. Then Stephen is crying too, tears mixing with Jiung’s spit on his lips and his tongue in his mouth.

“Wanted this so bad, thought about this so much,” Stephen mutters, hoping Jiung understands. Hoping this is alright. Hoping it doesn't end.

“Asshole,” Jiung half-whispers. He’s laughing, or maybe he’s sobbing. Stephen feels it, where their chests are pressed up against each other.

Jiung pulls back, just enough to meet Stephen’s gaze. His cheeks are shiny with tears. “Could’ve just said something.”

“I’m sorry… I—thought I hurt you.”

Jiung shakes his head, smiling. “Oh my god, I thought you just hated me. I was embarrassed. I thought you were, I don’t know, too ashamed to even be around me. Like I was that pathetic for having feelings for you."

Stephen’s arms are still around Jiung’s back. He’s warm, and small, and familiar in a way Stephen missed, so much. “I had no idea. I—I thought. Like, I don’t even know.” Stephen’s still blinking back tears. He sniffles, and Jiung snickers, and Stephen swears his heart swells three sizes from sheer fondness.

“I guess, like, everything felt so real that night, you know, while it was happening. But then afterward, like, you were so cold, and you had all those bruises—.”

Jiung coughs, then blushes. “They were hot. I hated that I had to hide them.”

Stephen groans. “Ohhh my god, we really could have just had this, this whole time. God, we were so duuumb.”

“Well, you were,” Jiung counters, eyes glinting with something devilish.

“Haha,” Stephen laughs, waterily.

Jiung steps back, enough that Stephen drops his arms from around Jiung’s back to let him free. But then immediately, Jiung takes Stephen’s hand in his. “Really, though, I’m glad we’re past the weird silent treatment.”

“Me too,” Stephen agrees.

Jiung’s eyes narrow, then. He takes another step backward, pulling Stephen along with him. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “There’s just one more thing, though, that I think you should do, you know, to make it up to me.”

He tilts his head, motioning toward the couch. “I always wondered if that couch would be comfortable to make out on.”

~~~

Stephen’s never booked a hotel on his own before, and it’s a little embarrassing, having to explain to his manager what he’s up to. Luckily, his manager doesn’t ask for specifics, because Stephen doesn’t even know how he would begin to offer them.

And that’s how Stephen finds himself back at a hotel, this time in Seoul, Jiung underneath him, multicolored hair messy from Stephen running his hands through it, lips puffy and wet with spit.

Tonight, they took things much slower than last time. They got dinner first, at a place Stephen remembers Jiung mentioning has the best samgyupsal in Seoul. At the end of the meal, Stephen had pulled out his wallet and nervously slid his card to the waitress.

“Hey, like, don’t even worry about it. My treat,” Stephen said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though his face felt on-fire. Stephen is sure his pink cheeks gave away immediately how nervous he really was.

Now, Stephen doesn’t feel any less overwhelmed. The unmistakable line of Jiung’s hard cock is pressing insistently against Stephen’s hip, and Stephen himself is throbbing in his underwear. He’s sure Jiung must feel it, too.

Stephen pulls back, enough to reach off the side of the bed for his bag. He loses his balance in the process, and has to grab onto Jiung’s leg to steady himself. It makes Jiung laugh, loud and warm.

Stephen feels his face flush. He’s too embarrassed to look, but he’s certain his whole chest must be red. He manages to grab his bag—the Prada one that he knows looks nice on his arm. He hopes Jiung noticed, although he would never ask. Jiung would just tease him for being vain.

Nervously, Stephen rifles through his bag and pulls out a small bottle of lube and a condom. He triple checked before leaving for the restaurant that he had packed both. Stephen is serious about this being their do-over. He doesn’t want to hurt Jiung this time. He wants Jiung to be comfortable.

“I–um–yeah. Haha. Well—I brought this,” Stephen says, holding the condom out in his hand, kind of like how he would show something off to the camera in a vlog. Stephen winces and covers his face, realizing too late how cringy he’s being. God, it would be so awkward if Jiung is judging him for this and doesn’t want to sleep with him anymore.

Jiung stares at Stephen, straight-faced. “Do you really think we need that?”

“Ok like, I mean—it’s safer this way. Haha.” Stephen is sure his face must be redder than a tomato right now.

“But you already came inside me. A lot.”

“And that’s why I’m saying—.”

Suddenly, Jiung bursts out laughing. He sits up a little, best he can with Stephen still straddling his legs, and plucks the condom out of Stephen’s hand. Then, Jiung makes a show of throwing it off the bed.

“I don’t even care. Seriously, you already came in me—it’s whatever. What’s gonna happen, you get me pregnant?”

“Ughhh, god.” Stephen groans. His dick twitches, and Jiung absolutely notices, because he smirks.

To make matters worse, Jiung chooses that exact moment to peel his briefs down his legs. His cock is hard, and darker at the tip, and shiny with precum. It curls upward, slapping lightly against Jiung’s belly when he frees it from under the waistband and pulls his underwear the rest of the way down his legs.

The whole gesture feels so effortless, and Stephen knows he’s staring, but he really can’t help it. He’s transfixed by how easy Jiung makes stuff like this look, compared to Stephen, who can’t help but feel shy and self-conscious.

Jiung lays back, arms folded behind his head, relaxed. “Go ahead, you can finger me.”

Stephen chokes, and he feels his eyes go wide. Jiung doesn’t wait for Stephen to collect himself, though, just rolls over onto his stomach. Then, looking back over his shoulder, Jiung asks, “So, are you gonna…?”

Face burning up, Stephen uncaps the lube and inches closer to Jiung. He can’t believe he’s so nervous. Stephen can feel his heart pounding in his chest, rattling against his sternum. His hands feel clammy, and he’s shaking a little bit. Stephen doesn’t want to mess this up, his second chance with Jiung.

Slowly, Stephen pulls Jiung’s asscheek to the side and gets a glimpse of his hole, tight and brown and rimmed with sparse, black hair. He doesn’t miss how Jiung’s breath catches.

“Really?” Jiung asks, sounding breathless, and Stephen loses his nerve, enough to stop staring so closely. Jiung chuckles, and Stephen’s skin feels like it’s on fire, but the good kind. The kind that doesn’t hurt.

Stephen pulls back his hand so he can pour lube onto his finger. “Oh,” he says, startled, when a little drips onto Jiung’s thigh. He scoops it up quickly, grateful that Jiung’s only reaction is a low hum.

Still, by the time Stephen is circling Jiung’s rim with a tentative, lube-soaked finger, he can tell Jiung is getting impatient.

“You gonna put it in today, or…?”

“Yah! I’m just—hmm. I’m working up to it.”

Jiung turns his head, shooting Stephen an exasperated look, but Stephen chooses that exact moment to slide his finger in, all the way.

“Oh–,” Jiung sighs, surprised. The sound shoots straight to Stephen’s cock, and he only barely resists the urge to palm himself over his briefs, just to take some of the anxious edge off.

Carefully, Stephen slides his finger in and out of Jiung’s hole. There’s too much lube, and it squelches, obscene, as Stephen watches his knuckle disappear into that tight, puckered heat. Even with the lube, Jiung is a vice around Stephen, and frankly, Stephen has no idea how he’s going to fit his cock in there.

Like this—unburdened by pain, no wildfires whispering in his ear—Stephen gets to hear Jiung, all of him. Each catch of his breath. Each stifled whine. Stephen wants to hear him; wants to tell Jiung he’s allowed to let go. But Stephen is too shy, too nervous. Maybe he’ll tell Jiung another time, if there is another time.

He notices it slowly, how Jiung starts to squirm, hips just barely rocking into the mattress, almost imperceptibly. When Stephen curls his finger just so, Jiung grunts, soft and deep. It registers in Stephen’s abdomen, in his cock.

“Can I—?”

“Mmm, yeah.”

Stephen withdraws his first finger, and it makes Jiung groan. Stephen can’t believe how impatient Jiung is—how desperate. He can’t believe he gets to witness this.

He uncaps the lube again, then carefully pours more onto two fingers. Gingerly, Stephen brings his fingers back to Jiung’s hole, and slowly he slips them inside. The stretch is smoother now, his fingers so wet that Jiung just sucks them straight inside.

“Shit,” Stephen mutters, watching his fingers disappear as he works them slowly in and out, Jiung's greedy hole accepting them so easily.

By now, Stephen’s so turned on he’s practically shaking. Each time he crooks his fingers to rub against Jiung’s prostate, Jiung moans. It sounds easy, mindless, so different from the frenzy of last time, when every sound Jiung made was forced out of him, like Stephen was hurting him.

Stephen can’t wait to hear what kinds of sounds Jiung will make when his cock is inside of him.

Finally, after minutes of working Jiung’s hole open, letting Jiung’s breathy whines and the wet squelch of the lube fill the room, Jiung says, bluntly, “You can put your dick in me now.”

“God, ok—yeah,” Stephen mutters. He removes his fingers from Jiung’s hole with a slick, wet sound. Nervously, Stephen pulls down his underwear and tosses them to the side. He knows they’ve done this before, but still, he can’t help but feel oddly bare, naked in front of this version of Jiung.

Stephen spreads lube over his dick, then lines himself up with Jiung’s rim. He starts to press the head of his cock against the soft, puckered skin, and slowly the muscle starts to give way for him. This is really happening.

Jiung lets out a soft, contented hum as Stephen slowly pushes into him. The stretch is surprisingly easy now, with how much lube he used, and Stephen can hardly believe how good Jiung feels—smooth and warm and soft inside. He’s absolutely sure he’s going to come in about a minute flat.

“You can move,” Jiung says, a hint of breathlessness in his tone, and it drives Stephen wild, that he’s having that sort of effect on Jiung.

“Haha, yeah. Ok.” Stephen pulls his hips back slowly, feeling how his cock drags along the hot, slick walls of Jiung’s hole. Once only the head is inside, crown spreading Jiung’s hole extra wide, Stephen thrusts forward, faster, his hips slapping against bone and muscle.

“Yeah, fuck, again,” Jiung says, like a sigh, all airy and tinged with the beginnings of desperation.

For Jiung, Stephen tries, as best as he can. He draws back, then drives his hips forward, hard, attempting to build up some sort of rhythm. It’s difficult, Stephen quickly realizes, when he has stamina and the insistent burn in his thighs to think about. So much is different from the first time they did this. It’s a completely new experience.

Jiung is mouthier this time. He’s vocal about what he likes—yeah, yeah, just like that—and what he doesn't—little slower, no not that angle, ok yes, fuck yes, there!

To Stephen’s credit, he manages to last longer than a minute. “T-turn over,” he mutters, dragging Jiung back onto his cock with hands gripped firmly around his waist.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Jiung mutters. His voice is gruff, strained, and it shoots straight to Stephen’s dick. He feels dizzy, high on it.

Stephen loosens his hands, then pulls out. Jiung rolls onto his back with a groan, immediately lifting a leg up to his chest and arching his back slightly to grant Stephen easier access. Jiung’s eyes are dark, bangs messy and plastered to his face. Sweat glistens on sharp cheekbones, on his neck and collarbones.

There is so much of Jiung that Stephen wants to touch. Touch and really feel, and not just because some fire says he must. Stephen runs his hands up Jiung’s sides, fingers tracing over pronounced hip bones and the indents between ribs. Stephen watches as Jiung’s lips fall open, lost in sensation, a thin trail of spit splitting a cute, small mouth.

It feels like consuming Jiung, but not like before. Not like when their lives depended on it. No, this time, Jiung’s breathy moans aren’t tinged with pain. This time, his skin isn’t burning up under Stephen’s touch.

Stephen takes his cock in his hand again and slowly pushes back into Jiung. Jiung throws his head back, thick vein bulging in his neck, as a soft moan escapes his lips. With Jiung’s legs propped over his shoulders, Stephen plasters his body against Jiung, bending Jiung in half, sweaty chest rubbing against sweaty, bare chest.

Stephen brings his mouth to the edge of Jiung’s jaw and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the wet, warm spot there, right where Jiung’s jaw meets his neck. He tastes of salt, and the prickles of stubble rub pleasantly against Stephen’s cheek.

“Uhhh,” Jiung groans, hips rolling desperately, bucking up into Stephen to meet his thrusts. His hands are fixed around Stephen’s back, and it’s terrifyingly similar to the first time they did this, and yet wonderfully different. Stephen tries his hardest to commit each tiny moment to memory.

Stephen speeds up the motions of his hips, getting closer and closer to finishing. He can tell Jiung is close, too, by the deep, frantic sounds slipping from his mouth, and by the way his cock leaks steadily onto Stephen’s abdomen, trapped tightly between their bodies.

It hits Stephen fast—that desperate, frenzied sort of need for release. “Close,” he mumbles into the side of Jiung’s neck.

Jiung’s breath catches, soft and unbelievably hot, and then Stephen hears his low grunt and feels as Jiung comes hotly onto both of their sweaty stomachs.

“God,” Stephen sighs. His body tenses, the muscles in his groin pulling tight as Jiung continues clenching around him. And that’s how Stephen comes, deep inside of Jiung, filling him up, as Jiung digs blunt nails into his back and breathes hotly against his ear.

~~~

When they’ve cleaned themselves up, Stephen pulls Jiung back into bed. “We still have a little more time,” Stephen says, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

Jiung tries to push him away, but there’s no real force to it. When Stephen doesn't let go, Jiung gives up easily and collapses onto Stephen’s chest.

For what feels like an eternity, neither of them speak. Stephen’s hands are in Jiung’s hair, rubbing through fine strands, still crisp from all the dyeing. Jiung’s cheek is warm and soft on Stephen’s bare chest. It feels so strange, getting to do this, without pain, and without the constant, nagging worry about some sickness possessing them both.

Stephen is the one who eventually breaks the silence. “Remember the last time we did this?”

Jiung turns his head and groans, “Ugh, don’t remind me. I was just getting comfortable, too.”

Stephen can’t help but grin fondly at him. This is Jiung, who he’s known for years. Who he’s worked with, and fought with, and made love to. Jiung, who’s quiet, and smart, and perceptive, and a great songwriter, and an even better dancer.

Stephen can’t stop thinking about it. He wants this, for as long as Jiung will have him.

Just then, Jiung interrupts Stephen’s reverie. “We should probably get going.”

Stephen glances at the clock on the nightstand. Sure enough, the time they paid for is almost up.

As they’re leaving, Stephen pulls Jiung into one more quick kiss, savoring how small Jiung feels in his arms, and how the chapped skin on Jiung’s lips feels against his. It’s cute. It’s undeniably Jiung.

“You up for a midnight snack?” Stephen asks, as they step out the door of the hotel and are greeted by the cool, nighttime breeze. “I’m starving.”

“Sure,” Jiung says, then stops suddenly, eyes wide, “just… maybe not kimchi.”