pentagon: no cover for my thoughts to hide (2018)

[staygame]

no cover for my thoughts to hide (ao3 link, see original work for author's notes) | pentagon, hui/e'dawn, explicit, 18.9k
tags: canon compliant, getting together, kink exploration, no archive warnings apply

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Hyojong has been training at Cube for almost four months when Lee Hwitaek joins. It's kind of a big deal—all the other trainees have been talking about the kid who was accepted by a bunch of companies, how he was the best vocalist at a JYP audition.

"We'll see about that," says one of the younger boys, Daehan, turning up his nose at the thought.

It's nearly a week before Hyojong meets Hwitaek for the first time. The dance team is the largest group of trainees. Too large, according to the whispers heard in the hallways, but BTOB's debut had culled many of the vocal trainees who no longer wanted to stick it out to the next group. Hyojong had been pointed toward rap early on and his vocal lessons are few and far between, but they've got him working on composing lately. The directors want the trainees to start presenting their own songs at the monthly evaluations.

When Hyojong enters the practice room, Hwitaek catches his eye. It's not just that Hwitaek is a new face among the familiar ones, but he's handsome. No one had mentioned that fact. His looks are unpolished like the rest of them, long black hair hanging in his face, but the long, straight nose and soft mouth take Hyojong by surprise.

It's clear throughout the lesson that Hwitaek has a special kind of talent. Even after their teacher dismisses them, Hwitaek remains bent over his notebook, drumming his fingers in a steady beat against the floor. Hyojong watches, long enough for the other trainees to shuffle out of the room, before he works up the courage to ask, "Hyung, have you eaten?"

"Oh?" Hwitaek doesn't look up. "Get lost."

Hyojong laughs, and immediately regrets it, because maybe he's been training longer but Hwitaek is his senior. But Hwitaek shifts his gaze then, meeting Hyojong's eye, the beginning of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hyojong's face is hot.

"Don't you think that's a bit cliche?" Hwitaek says. "I hate when people ask me that."

"And how would you rather me introduce myself?" Hyojong asks.

The full force of Hwitaek's smile is practically blinding, his eyes curving up into half-moons and every one of his teeth on display. It stirs something in Hyojong's stomach, a feeling not unlike stumbling, expecting solid ground beneath your feet only to find air.







Somehow, they're fast friends. It's weird. Hyojong has never made friends easily, always the odd one out. It took him months to warm up to the other dance trainees and he still doesn't like most of them aside from Hyunggu. When they go out for ramen and snacks after practice, Hyojong takes the bus to his goshiwon, working on raps to the beat of his neighbor's radio.

But with Hwitaek, it comes easy. Hyojong is delighted to learn that not only is Hwitaek a vocal powerhouse, but he's got the makings of a pretty good dancer too. They hang back at the end of the day sometimes, practicing EXO choreography or, if Hyunggu weasels his way into hanging out with them, learning girl group dances. Other nights, they share the piano bench and make up songs. Hwitaek is already a better composer, but Hyojong makes him laugh, coming up with jingles about their teachers or other trainees. And, other times, they lie on the floor of an empty practice room, talking about failed auditions and failed dreams and what they would eat right now if they had 50,000 won in their pockets.

Hwitaek's family lives outside of Seoul, a forty-minute bus ride if he leaves before midnight and twice as long if he leaves after. Hyojong's family is from the south and he hasn't been home in six months, but his goshiwon isn't far from Cube's headquarters by subway, less than an hour walk if he misses the last bus home.

"You can stay with me, you know," Hyojong offers one night when they're packing their stuff up at the lockers.

It's been a full day of dance, practice interviews (which means two hours of Hyojong being told that his smile isn't enthusiastic enough, his answers are too odd), and then more dance, and Hwitaek is flagging, slumped against his locker for support. It's because Hwitaek looks pitiful that Hyojong asks, even though it makes his chest feel itchy.

Hwitaek tilts his head to look at Hyojong, barely able to keep his eyes open. "Really?"

"I mean, it's a shithole," Hyojong says, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. "But it's closer than your parents."

"As long as it has a bed, I'm in," Hwitaek says and shuts his locker. He musters up enough energy to swing his arm out, pointing at the exit. "Lead the way."

It's not until they're walking to Seongsu station that it occurs to Hyojong that he only has one bed, a flimsy twin mattress that has a noticeable dip in the middle. There's not enough room for a futon, barely enough room for Hyojong to get dressed without slamming a knee into his desk or wardrobe. And it's stupid, because Hyunggu has spent the night a dozen times when he's feeling homesick and the thought of sharing a bed never fazed Hyojong. Hwitaek is different, though, in a way that Hyojong still can't put a finger on, and unlike Hyunggu, Hwitaek can't be bullied into giving up more of the blanket.

Hyojong's building is a short walk from Yongdu station, but too far from any of the nearby universities to hike up the price. It's cheap and the owners, an older couple, keep the communal kitchen stocked with kimchi and eggs. The woman had fretted over Hyojong during his first week there, swatting at him with her rag and telling him to eat more. Hyojong even has a window, not that he's ever around during the daytime to enjoy its view.

"There's a shared bathroom," Hyojong warns as he works the key into the lock. He keeps meaning to mention to the owners that it's sticking. "And only one bed. If that's okay."

"No, I'm leaving," Hwitaek says, and tucks his head between Hyojong's shoulder blades.

Inside, with Hwitaek beside him, Hyojong is acutely aware of the cramped space. On his first night, Hyojong figured out that he could pace the length of the entire room in four strides. Add in another person, and there's barely enough room for Hyojong to breathe. He feels awkward, so he says, "What if I only brought you back here to kill you so I become the best trainee?"

Hwitaek laughs, short and loud, then claps a hand over his mouth to cover the sound. "You're weird," Hwitaek tells him.

"I know," Hyojong says, because it's certainly not the first time he's heard it and it won't be the last.

Hyojong passes Hwitaek a shirt and pair of sweatpants from the wardrobe. Hwitaek is a little broader in the shoulders, but Hyojong prefers baggier clothes anyway. He turns his back while Hwitaek changes, swapping his own tank top for a t-shirt to sleep in. The trainees change in front of each other all the time, even shower together when the demand exceeds the supply after practice. There's no reason for Hyojong to feel shy, or for his cheeks to tinge pink when he turns around to see Hwitaek pulling the hem of his shirt down over his stomach.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," Hyojong says, gesturing to the hallway. "Do you need anything?"

Hwitaek shakes his head, already sprawling out across the mattress. Hyojong takes only a few minutes to brush his teeth and clean his piercings, but by the time he returns, ready to tell Hwitaek that there's ramen in the kitchen if he wants it, Hwitaek is asleep. The overhead light is still on and Hwitaek hasn't even gotten properly under the blanket, an arm and a leg hanging over the edge of the bed. Hyojong watches for a moment without meaning to, tracking the rise and fall of Hwitaek's chest with his eyes until Hwitaek shifts in his sleep and Hyojong realizes he's being creepy.

"Shove over," he says, to which Hwitaek replies with a muffled grunt. Hyojong manages to slot himself in beside Hwitaek without too much disruption.

In the room next door, Hyojong's neighbor is watching a Gag Concert rerun. The walls are thin enough for Hyojong to make out the familiar sounds of audience laughter, but as Hyojong's eyelids grow heavy, his world seems to narrow down, until all he's aware of is the sound of Hwitaek breathing, slow and steady.

Hyojong wakes up to a hand on his bare stomach. It takes a moment to reorient himself, to make sense of the shape of Hwitaek's body tucked up against his, socked feet curling around Hyojong's calves. His shirt had ridden up sometime in the night and Hwitaek's hand is warm, resting against the smooth stretch of skin just above the waistband of Hyojong's sweatpants. When Hyojong shifts, trying to wake up the arm that's been crushed under his head for hours, he can feel Hwitaek tense behind him, hand jerking back.

"Sorry," Hwitaek says, sounding bashful. "I'm used to cuddling my pillow."

"I didn't mind," Hyojong says, even if his heartbeat has gone slightly erratic. He'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before, but he's relieved when he looks at his phone to see that it's only 8, plenty of time to get to the studio for practice.

He's the first to stand, tugging his t-shirt down as he stretches his back. When Hwitaek sits up, strands of his hair are curling upward, giving him the impression of a bedraggled cockatoo. Hyojong wishes he could take a picture, both for potential blackmail material and because Hwitaek looks cute like this, but that would definitely cross over into weird territory.

Instead, Hyojong turns away, starts to rifle through the pile of clothes, in various states of cleanliness, that have accumulated at the bottom of his wardrobe.

On the way to the company, Hwitaek buys them both egg toasts from a vendor outside of the subway. "Toast!" Hwitaek jokes as he bumps his sandwich against Hyojong's. He laughs at his own joke, which makes Hyojong laugh too. "For letting me hog your covers," Hwitaek adds.

"Anytime," Hyojong says.







The notification on Hwitaek's phone gives it away. He's showing Hyojong something when a Katalk message pops up, and even though Hwitaek quickly dismisses it, Hyojong gets a good look at the content.

"It's your birthday?" he asks, smacking Hwitaek across the arm. "Hyung, why didn't you tell me?"

They're in one of the smaller studios, theoretically working on an arrangement for the upcoming evaluation, but mostly just dicking around on the computer and pulling up memes on their phones to show each other. Hwitaek leans back in his chair, covering his flushed cheeks with his hands. "Ah, I don't like people making a big deal out of me."

"But it's your birthday," Hyojong protests. "Your first birthday at Cube."

"If we don't finish this, it might be my last," Hwitaek says, which they both know isn't true, because Hwitaek is the best singer out of any of the trainees.

Hyojong slams his hands down on the keyboard, which responds with a resounding low note. "Nope, we're going out tonight. Don't fight it."

Hwitaek doesn't fight it. After they finish with the evening's classes, Hwitaek dutifully follows Hyojong to the bathrooms to clean up and change. Hyojong's invited Changgu along, the other trainee that Hwitaek is close to, and, despite being the last one who'd want to sacrifice practice time, Hyunggu automatically joins them as they head out of the building.

There's a BBQ restaurant that Hyojong knows of from the seniors, one that doesn't check IDs and they can get a bottle of soju to go with their samgyeopsal and galbi.

"What are we toasting to?" Changgu asks after Hyojong has doled out the shots.

"To debuting together," Hwitaek says. His cheeks have already begun turning red from the heat of the restaurant, and his smile is infectious. "All of us."

Hyunggu makes a sour expression after downing his shot. "Why do people drink this?" he sputters as Hyojong laughs at him.

"Is this your first drink?" Changgu asks. His eyes go wide. "We're corrupting a minor."

Hyojong shoves a refilled shot glass into Hyunggu's hand. "It goes down easier after the first."

None of them have enough money to get properly wasted, but they get decently buzzed off shots and then beer as the night continues. Drunk Hwitaek is not all that dissimilar from sober Hwitaek, only turned up a few notches. He's touchier, fully leaning into Hyojong's space as he laughs, a hand curling around Hyojong's upper thigh. His laugh is louder, dumber, though not quite as bad as Hyunggu's. Hyojong, meanwhile, feels lightheaded, so light that his whole body might drift away if he wasn't weighed down by all of the food and beer in his stomach.

"Fuck, marry, kill. Um." Hyojong hiccups. "Eunkwang, Minhyuk, Ilhoon."

Changgu covers his face with his hands. "Can I abstain?"

"No!" Hyunggu shouts, slapping Changgu on the back. "You have to pick!"

Hyojong doesn't actually listen to what Changgu says. He's leaning his head against Hwitaek's shoulder, tucking his nose against Hwitaek's neck as he laughs. Hwitaek smells like the same soap as Hyojong, but it's better on his skin, somehow.

"Ya," Changgu says, throwing a wooden chopstick across the table at Hyojong. "If you're going to ask, you have to pay attention."

"Guys," Hyunggu interrupts. "I love you."

"He's going to cry," Hyojong tells Hwitaek, in what he thinks is a private voice, but is apparently not, because Hyunggu makes an affronted noise and adds, "except Hyojong hyung."

It's after midnight when they finally stumble out onto the street, Hwitaek and Changgu singing a BoA song and Hyunggu half-carried out on Hyojong's shoulder. Hyojong remembers the first time he got really drunk and threw up in his neighbor's bushes; if the worst of Hyunggu's alcohol cherry being popped is excessive cuddling, Hyojong will take it.

"He can come home with me," Hyojong says, jostling Hyunggu for emphasis. "Will you guys be okay?"

Changgu salutes. "We'll make it."

Hyojong turns, ready to haul Hyunggu to the station, when Hwitaek says his name. Hwitaek's cheeks are bright red, his face shiny with sweat, and Hyojong's brain feels fuzzy, as though suddenly reminded of his lack of sobriety. "Thank you," Hwitaek says, then trips over his own feet.







A week later, Hwitaek corners Hyojong at his locker in the morning. "Close your eyes," Hwitaek tells him before Hyojong can even get out a hello.

Hyojong quirks an eyebrow but obliges, squeezing his eyes shut. He can feel Hwitaek's fingers sliding down to cup one of his hands, and then Hwitaek is pressing something rounded and plastic into his grasp.

"You can open now," Hwitaek says.

In his hand, Hyojong is holding a plant in a plastic pot. It's a succulent, a small one with powdery purple leaves that fan out into an intricate rosette. "It's cute," Hyojong says.

"It's for your window," Hwitaek explains. "In your room. The guy at the market said you don't have to water it often and—" Hwitaek cuts himself off, looking sheepishly down at their shoes. "Sorry, I hope you like it? I wanted to give you something for the birthday dinner."

"I love it," Hyojong says, clutching the pot a little tighter to his chest. Hwitaek bought him a plant for his solitary window in his shitty room. It may be the nicest thing anyone has done for him in a while. "You didn't have to, hyung."

Hwitaek's eyes squeeze into crescents as he smiles. "I wanted to."

Hyojong puts the plant on his windowsill. He remembers to water it once a week or so, rotates it when the leaves start to grow at an angle towards the sun. On nights when Hyojong comes home so exhausted that he falls asleep without brushing his teeth or changing his clothes, the plant feels like the only living thing in the room. A month and a half later, Hwitaek comes home with Hyojong and immediately approaches the window.

"Are you growing big and strong?" he asks, running a finger over the succulent's smooth leaves. His voice is quiet, like he's sharing something secret that he doesn't want Hyojong to overhear. "Is Hyojongie taking good care of you?"

Hyojong doesn't know why it makes his chest feel tight.







"You've been spending a lot of time with Hwitaek hyung lately," Hyunggu says, cornering him in an empty room after one evening's practice. He's pouting slightly, shoulders slumping.

Hyojong rolls his eyes. "Did you miss being the center of attention, Hyunggu-gugaga," he says, tacking on baby noises to the end of Hyunggu's name like he does when he's teasing.

"No," says Hyunggu, scowling. "I was just wondering. Since when do you make friends?"

"I'm a very friendly boy," Hyojong says. The sweat on his back is starting to dry under his shirt and it feels gross. He needs a shower, and a nap, and to take something that will get rid of the persistent ache in his hip flexors. He should've stretched more before practice.

Hyunggu snorts. "You're a sometimes-tolerant stray cat who eats garbage."

"I'm feeling very attacked right now."

Still, Hyojong doesn't protest when Hyunggu worms his way into Hyojong's arms and drops his head back onto Hyojong's shoulders. Hyojong hadn't liked Hyunggu when all he knew about him was triple threat with three months' experience already under his belt. It was only when Hyojong realized how cranky and needy Hyunggu could be, demanding attention and whining when he didn't get it, that he was charmed. That probably says a lot about Hyojong.

"Hyung," Hyunggu says, "I just want you to be careful."

"I don't know what you mean," Hyojong says, but he has a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what Hyunggu means.







Sometime in November, they get a rare long weekend off. Almost everyone goes home, save for the few trainees from too far south like Jeju or abroad. Having been home for Chuseok not too long ago, Hyojong doesn't think it's worth it to take the train to Hwasun for only 48 hours with his family, though he's sure his mother would disagree.

Instead, Hyojong puts on his jeans with the rips up to the thighs, smudges a little eyeliner along his lashes, and heads to Itaewon.

He's nervous. Hwitaek texts him while he's on the subway and Hyojong thinks about turning off his phone, as though Hwitaek will be able to sense what he's doing through text, but he needs the list he saved, the one he'd received from one of the backup dancers. The one listing the gay bars in Itaewon that won't be filled with American military guys and might be fitting for Hyojong, who has never been to a club in his life. He only turned 20 this year.

Outside the subway station, the streets are crowded with groups of girls and young couples. Hyojong tugs his coat tighter and heads down a side street, passing restaurants with men seated on stools at the counter despite the chill in the air. If Hyojong's stomach wasn't rolling unpleasantly, he might've stopped for grilled octopus, but as it is, he walks forward like a man on a mission. He hears languages he doesn't recognize coming from every direction, passing Western faces with short, cropped haircuts that have to be American soldiers. The first club on Hyojong's list is off the side street, nothing about its sign giving any indication that it is somehow different than the clubs surrounding it until Hyojong spots a rainbow sticker in the corner of a window.

A man at the door checks his ID. Maybe it's because he's young, or the baby face the noonas at Cube have cooed over, but the guy looks at him for a long moment. Hyojong fights the urge to flee until the guy wordlessly hands Hyojong's ID back.

He hopes that a cocktail will settle his nerves. It's a struggle to get the bartender's attention, and then Hyojong stumbles over his words as he orders. When he gets his drink, he lingers at the edge of the dance floor, watching. Large groups of people can overwhelm him as is and this crowd is distinctive, made up of young guys dancing together, only a few women in sight. It's the first time Hyojong has ever seen men touching each other like this in public, and he feels so far out of his element that this might as well be a different planet.

But if there's one thing Hyojong feels confident about, it's dancing. He chugs the rest of his drink, sliding into the crowd as the beat changes and a remix of an Okasian song begins. He can do this without thinking, muscle memory taking over as bodies sway around him. There are so many people that Hyojong doesn't notice the guy who's dancing behind him until a hand comes down to wrap around his waist. Hyojong turns his head in surprise, has to crane his neck back to see the guy's face entirely.

He has a nice face. Not especially handsome, but interesting all the same. His cheekbones are sharp and his lips are thick, almost forming the shape of a heart when he smiles down at Hyojong. Then, he's leaning in, mouth close to Hyojong, "I'm sorry, did I scare you?" He has to shout over the noise and it vibrates in Hyojong's ear, a buzz that he seems to feel throughout his entire body.

Hyojong can't hold his neck back like this any longer so he turns and the guy's hands trail along his waist as he does, never losing their light grip through Hyojong's shirt. "A little bit," Hyojong shouts back. Their hips are close enough to touch and Hyojong is sweating now.

"I'm Minsoo," the guy says. He's not wearing a jacket, just a loose shirt that hangs at an angle, revealing the smooth skin of his left shoulder and a hint of collarbone, as if inviting someone to take a peek.

"Hyunggu," Hyojong replies, the first name that comes to mind.

Minsoo smiles again, halfway between satisfied and leering.

They dance together. Hyojong tries not to think, lets the bassline of the EDM track playing now drown out everything else. Minsoo's body is firm, solid, and his skin is warm, and Hyojong doesn't know what to do with his hands besides let them rest against Minsoo's hips. They're close enough now that Hyojong can feel the press of Minsoo's cock against his thigh and Hyojong isn't drunk, but he feels dizzy, overheated and a little turned on.

Minsoo leans in, presses a kiss to the sweat-damp skin of Hyojong's neck and Hyojong doesn't flinch. His eyes are closed. He can feel Minsoo's mouth slide down, his nose bumping against Hyojong's jaw, and at once, the scene shifts. Maybe it's a relic of one of the jerking off fantasies that Hyojong feels ashamed of afterwards and blames on proximity, or maybe it's because they've been here before, not kissing but in a tight embrace, Hyojong clinging and Hwitaek's face tucked against his neck. Or maybe this is what Hyojong has wanted all along, Hwitaek's mouth on his skin and not some stranger's.

Hyojong steps backward, running into a pair of guys making out as he extracts himself from Minsoo's hold. He can see Minsoo mouthing, Hyunggu?, looking confused, and Hyojong flees.







It took until his first year of high school for Hyojong to convince his parents to let him attend a dance school in the evenings. They weren't exactly thrilled—learning English at a proper cram school or preparing for entrance exams like his brother had done would've been preferable, but they couldn't deny that books and learning had never really been Hyojong's thing.

He auditioned for a dance academy in Gwangju and, despite stumbling over his feet in the middle of the H.O.T. choreography he was covering, got accepted. For the next year and a half, he caught the bus to Gwangju after school, learning to overcome motion sickness in order to finish his homework along the way. He practiced until his legs felt like jelly and his lungs burned and he fell asleep during class because all he wanted to do when he got home from practice was practice some more. Until he got good.

Hyojong had never been the last one picked for gym class and he never went through one of those growth spurts that left other boys looking like fawns taking their first, unsteady steps, but he wasn't exactly athletic. The control Hyojong felt over his limbs when he danced was new and exhilarating.

Han Gunwoo was the oldest kid in the academy, a few months older than Hyojong. He shook hands with Hyojong during their break in the very first class, an overly formal gesture, palm sticky with sweat. "We're the same age," Gunwoo had said, "let's be friends."

They were both from the countryside, though Gunwoo lived on the other side of Gwangju in Jangseong, and they both wanted to be idols. Gunwoo looked up to Yunho and could perform any DBSK choreography on the spot. He had a square chin and two crooked front teeth, but there was something special about Gunwoo's face that made Hyojong think he was destined for stardom.

It was Gunwoo who introduced him to popping. They stayed after class to watch World of Dance videos on YouTube and Hyojong had to lean in close to see the phone screen, close enough that he could smell the salty, pungent sweat drying on Gunwoo's skin. It should've been gross, but inexplicably, it made Hyojong heart beat faster. When Gunwoo jumped to his feet to try out some of the choreography, Hyojong watched, mesmerized by the way Gunwoo's muscles would flex when he locked his arms and how he seemed to pack power into every move.

Over time, Hyojong wasn't just looking forward to the evening because it meant dance practice. He was looking forward to seeing Gunwoo. Hyojong's parents were pleased that he'd made a friend. "Invite him over on the weekend," his mom had encouraged. Hyojong never did. He was scared that whatever bond they had only existed within the domain of dance class, and without the shared experience, Gunwoo wouldn't like Hyojong the same way.

Years later, staring up at the shadows cast by the street lights through his window, Hyojong amends this fear. He wasn't worried that Gunwoo wouldn't like him, not entirely. He was scared that without the four walls of the academy around them, Hyojong wouldn't be able to stop himself from reaching out and touching.







Hyojong compartmentalizes. He's good at it, too, skilled enough to add it to the special talents on his profile, right after popping and before tongue-twisters. If he's ever asked, Hyojong could say, "Well, I managed to not wake up with a boner every time Hwitaek spent the night."

He strictly limits the opportunities he allows himself to stare at Hwitaek's hands tracing over the piano keys or Hwitaek's tongue resting at the corner of his mouth when he's thinking. Hyojong convinces himself that whatever he's feeling is the product of proximity and crossed wires in his brain. He didn't come this far to get derailed by this, whatever it is.

So he compartmentalizes. There's the Hwitaek who laughs in loud, annoying shouts, who doesn't complain when he works on songs late into the night, who trips over his own feet on a daily basis but can dance like he was made for it—and there's the Hwitaek that Hyojong imagines when he closes his eyes at night. Hyojong can separate them. He has to.







The thing about training to be an idol is that it's not just dancing until blisters form on your heels and mottled purple and yellow bruises cover each of your knees, not just singing and rapping and learning to pose, learning to answer an "ideal type" question with grace. It's also volunteering, Japanese lessons, meeting with a counselor who asks, her glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose, "How are you feeling?" like the answer is supposed to be anything other than tired.

It's also, much to everyone's immense horror, a mandated sex education class.

"I know where babies come from," Hyojong whines before the class starts. "We all have the internet."

"Babies come from the stork," Hyunggu says. "Everyone knows that."

"The stork must've gotten lost on his way to deliver you to the landfill," Hyojong says, which makes Hyunggu scowl.

Hwitaek drops into the seat on Hyojong's left. "Are you being mean to Hyunggu?" he asks. His voice is raspier than usual, a side effect of the cold that he's been dealing with all week. Somehow he still manages to be perky.

"I'm never mean to Hyunggu."

Hyunggu rolls his eyes. "You're always mean."

"You say mean," Hyojong says, leaning back in his chair. "I say character building."

The class is less where babies come from (though there are some anatomical diagrams that have everyone blushing) and more don't date. No, seriously, don't date anyone.

"We understand that you are young men," says the teacher, one of the assistants from marketing who must've drawn a short straw. "But you need to realize that the possible blow to your career isn't worth it. Even when you have a number one single under your belt, fans have been lost and careers damaged by less than a dating scandal."

The teacher sighs. "But despite being told this, there will inevitably be some of you who will ignore this advice and want to date anyway."

There's a fucking Powerpoint presentation with the rules for dating as an idol. Most of the rules are straightforward. No going to clubs, no dating apps, and, under no circumstances, no (bolded and underlined) dating, flirting, or DMing fans. "Quite honestly, we'd prefer you to date within the company. It's neater, for us and for you. Now let's have a discussion about protection."

By the end of class, Hyojong has mostly tuned everything out. He doesn't need someone to tell him how condoms work. He's working on a drawing of a rose in his notebook when something catches his attention.

"As far as same-sex relationships," the teacher begins, and Hyojong goes still, pencil bearing down against the paper. "I don't think we should have to warn you about this, but that is a scandal you will not recover from. Don't do anything you wouldn't want your mother to see on Dispatch."

The teacher doesn't dwell on the point, moving on to caution them about storing and sharing compromising images. Hyojong resolutely does not look to his left, even as the words you will not recover play on loop in his head like a terrible hook from a song. This is compartmentalizing.

"Does anyone else, like, not want to look at a girl for the foreseeable future right now?" Yeonsung asks as they file out of the room.

"Honestly," another trainee says under his breath. "Why am I becoming an idol if it means I can never get laid?"

Hyojong keeps his head down for the rest of the day. Dance practice is a blur of eight-counts and if he's off his game, no one mentions it. Hyojong doesn't remember tearing the drawing of the rose out of his notebook or throwing it away at the end of the class, but sometime later he sees it taped to the inside of Hwitaek's locker. He doesn't bring it up.







Go Shinwon and Jung Wooseok are the next to join the company. They're both models, freakishly long-legged with handsome faces and straight noses. If it wasn't obvious by the fact that they each stand a full head taller than Hyojong, their status as visuals is confirmed by the fact that they aren't really good at anything.

Wooseok gets lumped in with the remaining rappers. His voice is deeper than any teenager's has a right to be, a welcome contrast to Hyojong's nasally tone. Their teacher suggests he's the TOP to Hyojong's G-Dragon. Hyojong thinks that's a generous interpretation, but he has to admit that Wooseok learns fast.

He's the same age as Hyunggu, but he goes to school with the '98 kids instead. For a fleeting moment, Hyunggu is smug, thinking he's not the youngest anymore, until the director suggests they speak to each other informally.

Shinwon's lack of talent is almost as pronounced as his lack of shame. He thinks nothing of taking off his shirt before reaching the shower stall or draping his legs over Hwitaek's while Hwitaek shows him a tune on the keyboard. The first thing doesn't bother Hyojong, but the second bothers him a lot more than he'd like to admit. It's not like Hyojong has a territorial claim over Hwitaek's personal space and besides, Hwitaek is too physically affectionate by nature for Hyojong to really be jealous. But it's the ease with which Shinwon touches Hwitaek, while Hyojong has to overthink it, to wonder if each clasp on the shoulder or arm around Hwitaek's waist is revealing Hyojong's secrets, that annoys him.

Except being mad at Shinwon, who is scared of the dark and whose idea of fine dining is McDonald's, is like being mad at an overgrown child. Hyojong can't seem to hold a grudge.

In the summer, Jo Jinho shows up at Cube's doorstep, newly freed from the SM basement. It's a complete role reversal from Shinwon and Wooseok. Jinho is tiny, absurdly talented, and has more than six years of experience under his belt. Not just training either, but real stage performances. Hyojong has known Hwitaek long enough now to recognize his prickly discomfort.

"You're jealous," Hyojong teases after catching Hwitaek glaring at Jinho's back after their Chinese class.

"Am not," Hwitaek says.

Hyojong leans forward before he can catch himself, hands clasping Hwitaek's shoulders. "You're not used to having competition."

Hwitaek makes an affronted little pfft sound. "Changgu's really improving lately," Hwitaek says, which is true enough, but he can't suppress the sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm just. Getting used to Jinho, that's all."

"Ah, hyung," Hyojong says. If he's already here, touching Hwitaek, he might as well push his advantage. He tugs Hwitaek back until he's close enough for Hyojong to whisper in his ear. "If you want me to get rid of him, just say the word."

"I'm going to tell him you said that," Hwitaek says, rolling his eyes as Hyojong releases him.

Hyojong smiles his most innocent, wholesome smile.

Next comes Adachi Yuto. He's another deep-voiced, long-legged boy, and a JYP reject like Hyojong and Hwitaek. His Korean is still rough around the edges, but between Hyunggu's rudimentary Japanese and the phrases Wooseok has picked up from anime, he gets by, never showing any frustration even when he's reduced to pantomime. His Korean rapping is stunted and awkward, but when he raps in Japanese, his potential is obvious.

With each new addition, another trainee leaves. Before Hyojong came to Seoul, he'd thought that you audition for a company and if you're good, they take you and then, through practice and determination, you debut. He hadn't anticipated how incestuous the entertainment company scene would be, the way trainees flow through companies, leaving one for another until the right fit (or the one that'll debut you) comes along. Hyojong can't take that. Maybe he's not as old as Jinho, but he's not getting any younger and there are already kids Hyunggu's age out there performing.

The idea of having to start over again terrifies Hyojong. More auditions, another set of directors to fuss at him, and new strangers for Hyojong to deal with. Hyojong remembers the drunk toast they'd made months ago. Let's debut together! If he came this far and couldn't stand beside Hwitaek, it would all be a waste.







Despite the changes and despite the fact that Hyojong has been doing this for two years, the meeting called with all of the trainees in a practice room still feels like it's snuck up on him. Hyojong sits on the floor between Wooseok and Hyunggu. He doesn't have to look around; his eyes automatically find Hwitaek in the back of the room, seated next to Jinho.

"I'll get right into it," the director says. "After your next evaluation, we'll be picking members for the next project team."

A quiet murmur picks up throughout the room as the boys react to the news. Hyojong can feel Hyunggu tense up and he reaches out, placing a hand over Hyunggu's knee. Out of any of them, Hyunggu is as practically confirmed as Hwitaek, but Hyojong knows how sensitive he can be.

"You will need to show us your best side, so please take your preparation very seriously," the director adds.

Hyojong throws himself hard into practice. If he was running on limited sleep before, now he's a zombie, not leaving the company until well after midnight and waking up at dawn to get ready to go back again. On the subway and when he's walking, he's practicing the hand movements for the dance that he's choreographed with Hyunggu. He practices the gestures for his rap in the mirror when he brushes his teeth. The thought of making it through the next evaluation is the only thing occupying his brain—even thoughts of Hwitaek have been temporarily set aside.

In the end, it pays off. Hyojong makes it in. Hwitaek, Jinho, and Hyunggu are also selected, which comes as no surprise, and Changgu, Yuto, Wooseok, and Shinwon too. There are a few people that Hyojong is sad to see go, but the feelings of regret are overshadowed by full-body relief.

After the announcement, Hyojong pulls Shinwon, the first person he sees, into a bone-crushing hug. "Hyung, I can't breathe," Shinwon whines, but Hyojong doesn't let go until he's sure that he won't cry.







Going from his own room, small as it might have been, to a dorm packed full like sardines is not an easy transition. There are three bunk beds in each of their two rooms. Hyojong takes the bottom bed under Wooseok and spends the first night tossing and turning while listening to Changgu snore. Hwitaek, an incredibly light sleeper, has to buy a pair of earplugs the very next day.

Hyojong trips over Shinwon's suitcase while getting dressed at least three times that first week. Jinho gets an elbow to the face while Wooseok tries to reach for something on a high shelf in the kitchen, while in the next room a shouting match breaks out between Hyunggu and Hwitaek.

The bathroom is the worst part. Each morning finds the eight of them fighting for space at the bathroom mirror, passing toothpaste over Jinho's head while Changgu stretches up on his toes for an empty spot in the mirror to fix his hair. Showering, for the sake of time and hot water, becomes a pair activity.

Or, on one memorable occasion, a group activity. They don't talk about it again.

Hyojong and Hwitaek are the last to go one night, the rock-paper-scissors losers.

"Wash my hair," Hyojong demands. It's long now, longer than any of the other trainees, hanging in damp waves in front of his face when he sweats during practice and shielding his eyes when he wants to covertly watch Hwitaek dance.

"You're useless," Hwitaek says, with no bite in his voice. His hand touches Hyojong's bare shoulder, gripping it as he leans down for the shampoo, and Hyojong shudders under the spray of the water. "Can't even wash your own hair."

Hwitaek's fingers are firm against Hyojong's scalp, a satisfying pressure as he lathers the shampoo through Hyojong's hair. He's humming softly, barely audible, but Hyojong swears he can feel the vibration of it against his own neck. Hyojong tries to relax into it, not to let on how tense he feels. He doesn't even know why he asked, but maybe he just wanted to see if Hwitaek would, as though Hwitaek has ever denied him anything.

"Close your eyes," Hwitaek tells him, and Hyojong obeys. Hwitaek guides Hyojong under the shower spray with a hand to the back of his neck. The water isn't as hot as Hyojong would like it, not after everyone else has had their turn in the bathroom. Still, if Hyojong wasn't willing himself not to pop a boner, he probably could fall asleep right here, with Hwitaek's hands massaging him clean.

When Hwitaek is finished, he pats Hyojong on the back. "All done."

Hyojong turns back around. When he opens his eyes, Hwitaek is looking at him. There is a moment where Hwitaek's eyes go a little wider, like he wasn't expecting to meet Hyojong's gaze and he swallows, adam's apple bobbing. They're standing close enough for their toes to touch, soapy water swirling around their feet. Hyojong opens his mouth, barely aware of what he might say, but it doesn't matter. Someone outside of the bathroom bangs on the door, shouting about needing to pee, and Hwitaek steps back, blinking away the odd expression.

"Salon quality?" he jokes.

Hyojong fakes a grimace. "The customer service was terrible."







By the middle of the year, they've rounded out to ten. First Yan An, an impossibly good-looking boy from Shanghai, and Yang Hongseok, Team B reject. They're opposites, in a way. Yan An's Korean is limited to the basics, which means he mostly interacts with Jinho and Hwitaek during his first month at Cube. Hongseok, meanwhile, can't stop talking. He wears the scars of rejection more obviously than any of them, cringing when anyone teases him about B.I. or YG. He wants to fit in; the first time Changgu asks if Hongseok wants to join him and Hyunggu at the movies, Hongseok beams like he's just been presented with a brand new car.

Hongseok is the first trainee who's the same age as Hyojong, but friendship doesn't come immediately. Hongseok is smart, able to fluently converse with Yan An and the Thai trainees, and he's put together. Next to Hongseok's locker, Hyojong's looks like a dumpster fire. Yan An is much more Hyojong's style. Kind in a sort of innocent, childlike way and, because of the language barrier, a bit of a ditz. When they're able to go out for dinner, Yan An shows him his favorite Chinese dishes and teaches Hyojong to pronounce their names correctly.

Once, Hyojong convinces Hongseok to blow off his usual gym time and come with them. Outside of the company, Hongseok is less serious, even funny sometimes with his dad jokes and references.

It doesn't take long, barely any time at all in the grand scheme of Hyojong's years training, for ten to feel comfortable. Hyojong could've never anticipated that nine other team members would make him feel supported instead of lost, or worse, smothered. That he would come to need them all like his own limbs—Jinho's maturity, Changgu's enthusiasm, and Wooseok's oversized affection, each of them filling gaps Hyojong didn't know existed.







Roll Deep is not the first time Hyojong has seen Hyuna up close. The building is too small to avoid anyone and sometimes a teacher will pull in an artist for their class, a reminder to the lowly trainees what they're striving for. It is, however, the first time Hyojong has directly interacted with her, which makes Hyojong's palms sweaty as they hang down at his side while he waits for their dance teacher to make introductions.

See, Hyojong spends the vast majority of his time in one building, surrounded by other dudes. All he'd seen of Hyuna when he recorded his part of Roll Deep was a flash of blonde hair leaving the studio. They eat with the female trainees in the cafeteria sometimes, but mingling is rare. Other than some of their teachers and a few female waitresses, Hyojong hasn't exactly been around many women in the last year. Watching Hyuna dance reminds Hyojong that yeah, girls are good too.

She bounds over to them as soon as the run-through of the song has ended, letting out a small, exhilarated shriek as she crosses the room. "Is this our replacement Ilhoon?" she asks.

"This is Kim Hyojong," the dance teacher says, and Hyojong gives a quick bow.

"Please take care of me," Hyojong adds.

Hyuna looks him carefully up and down, mouth quirking into a smile that's more devious than kind. Hyojong wipes his palms on his joggers. "Let's see what you can do!" she says.

Combined, Hyojong's two parts last less than a minute, an eight-count which he spends rapping or standing in place, but they still spend hours rehearsing it. Hyojong's cheeks flush the first time he's told to put his hands on the dancer's waist and she has to tell him, in an amused tone, "Just go for it." The next time, when Hyojong apparently does not go for it with enough gusto, she takes his hands herself and places them firmly on her hips. Behind them, another dancer laughs.

After the bridge, the choreographer has Hyojong coming back out to help Hyuna to her feet. Hyuna's hand is small in Hyojong's. Everything about her is slender and delicate, like a particularly strong gust of air might shatter her into pieces. But when she dances, she exudes a strength that has nothing to do with physical prowess. It's in her expressions. Even in her loose gym shorts and sweatshirt, the look she fixes on the mirror when the music starts up again each time is sharp and focused, conveying power to an imaginary audience.

By the end of the first night of practice, Hyojong feels bold enough to give Hyuna a hug. It's more of a side hug than an embrace, he's not insane, but it gets a surprised "Oh?" out of Hyuna.

She grins at him. "You're a weird one, aren't you?"

Back at the dorms, he's bombarded with no less than twenty questions about Hyuna, her backup dancers, and her—Shinwon widens his eyes and makes a vague hand gesture that Hyojong assumes is supposed to refer to her chest.

"I'm not answering that," Hyojong says.

Shinwon raises both hands defensively as Hyunggu wacks him across the arm. "I'm just curious!"

Hyojong watches the first few stages with Ilhoon closely, monitoring his expressions and the way he moves, effortlessly interacting with the backup dancers. The years of stage experience make him look more natural than Hyojong has ever managed to convey during practice. He spends twenty minutes in the bathroom that night quirking his eyebrow at the mirror until Changgu finally picks the lock and forces him out.

For his first stage at Music Core, they've styled him in a ridiculous, oversized Superman robe and a thick chain around his neck. Hyuna's hair has been temporarily streaked in shades of purple, blue, and green like in her music video. Everywhere she moves in the waiting room, Hyojong catches a flash of neon out of the corner of his eye, so he sees her coming over to sit down next to him. Hyojong is in the corner of the room, as far away from the dancers, stylists, and managers as he can get in the crowded space. Not exactly hiding, just getting in some introvert time.

"Don't be nervous," she says, touching him briefly on the arm. "Here, I'll distract you. Ask me anything you want."

Hyojong raises an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Within reason," Hyuna says, and takes a pointed sip from her iced coffee.

Hyojong thinks about it. "If you could go back and tell yourself something at the start of your career, what would you say?" he asks after a moment.

The first piece of advice comes easily, as though Hyuna has been waiting for someone to ask. "Number one, no matter what you do, there will be someone out there who doesn't like you. You could rescue a kitten from a burning building, and some commenter would accuse you of setting the fire."

This gets a laugh out of Hyojong, whose entire personal exposure to hateful comments thus far has been a few stray sneers at his face when they were backup dancers for G.NA.

"Number two, let's see. As an idol, there are so many things out of your control. Your songs, your hair, your clothes, sometimes even your whole personality." Hyuna pauses, running a fingernail, sharpened to a point like a talon and painted a different color on each hand, along the rim of her cup as she thinks. "I wish that I had taken some of that control back sooner. And I wish that I had paid more attention to the things I could've controlled. You know?"

"I think so," Hyojong says.

"And the last thing." She smiles at him. "Whoever it is that gives you strength, that makes you happy? Don't let them go. Rely on them. You'll need support."

The stage goes well enough. Hyojong doesn't trip or forget his lyrics, and he manages to find the cameras without missing any beats. He falls into a half-awake doze in the van on the way back to the dorm. His scalp is itchy with hairspray and the smudges of eyeliner from his waterline have migrated halfway down his cheek. He's less exhausted from performing and more from the release of nervous tension. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he has to shift in his seat to free it from his skinny jeans.

The members have all sent congratulatory messages to their group chat. Hyunggu with his hyung is so cool!! and Hongseok with a series of stickers that are cheering for him. The most recent message is from Hwitaek, who has shared a close-up of Hyojong and captioned it, Our Hyojongie ♥

Hyuna's words from earlier loop through his mind. Whoever makes you happy, don't let them go. He thinks of the nine other team members, thinks of Hwitaek's smile, and shuts his eyes.







Hyojong doesn't tell anyone when he gets his first tattoo. As the youngest child, he's used to asking for forgiveness, not permission. He goes alone to the shop in Hongdae, paying with cash he'd saved from his grandparents at new year. He'd read a dozen different accounts of what getting a tattoo feels like, from a series of bee stings to getting flicked with a rubber band, but Hyojong thinks it feels like exactly what it is—a needle dragging across his skin. The cross will turn out to to be one of his easiest tattoos, but as the first, it fucking hurts. His neck throbs throughout the bus ride to the dorm.

From his position standing at the kitchen counter, Shinwon is the first to see Hyojong. He sputters around a mouthful of ramen noodles, only half swallowed before he asks, "Hyung, what happened to your neck?"

Before Hyojong can answer, Hyunggu, en route to the bathroom, stops in his tracks. "That's a tattoo, isn't it?"

The tattoo is covered with a layer of plastic and gauze to protect it, but Hyojong supposes there's not much else a conspicuous injury to the back of his neck could be.

Hwitaek emerges from nowhere, as though his responsible hyung senses were tingling. "Tattoo?" he repeats, eyes bulging when Shinwon points at Hyojong's neck. Where Hyojong felt the thrill of rebellion before, he now feels a twinge of apprehension, waiting for Hwitaek's approval or rebuke.

But Hwitaek only asks, "Can I see it?"

It's been over an hour since the appointment and the tattoo artist had told Hyojong he could take it off when he got home, so Hyojong nods. Hwitaek reaches up, one hand holding Hyojong by the upper arm as the other peels off the bandage and tape. Hwitaek is careful but Hyojong hisses when the air hits it and then Hwitaek is drawing in a breath too, just loud enough for Hyojong to hear.

"It's simple," Hwitaek says. "I like it."

Wooseok's voice coming from the bedroom is loud, a cymbal crashing to break the quiet. "What is it? Let us see!"

After the cross comes the stag. It doesn't hold any strong meaning, but Hyojong had liked the design, the geometry and the careful shading, the art of it. It takes hours and Hyojong falls asleep for a few minutes halfway through. "Never seen anyone do that," the artist jokes, and Hyojong thinks he's probably never met anyone as tired as Hyojong.

After the first one, the Cube directors had said nothing, pursed lips serving as the only reprimand. After this one, Yongun shakes his head. "You've locked yourself into a concept, Hyojong."

Hyojong gives a tentative smile. "I can work with that."

He's not strong like Hongseok. The toughness that Hyojong cultivates can't come from muscles or chocolate abs; Hyojong has to craft it with ink, hair, and a dead-eyed gaze that he practices in every mirror he walks past. The stage name is another mask.

"I want a name that sounds good in raps," Hyojong complains before bed one night. "My name isn't special."

"Sure it is," says Jinho from his bunk, in a tone that sounds more like I'm not actually listening to you.

"Do you think anyone would remember Zico if he went by," Hyojong waves a hand in the air as he draws a blank. "Whatever?"

"Jiho," someone adds helpfully.

"Exactly. 'Zico' sounds good in raps and—"

A plush toy pig lands on Hyojong's bed, obviously aimed for his head but ending up near his stomach. "Go to bed," Hwitaek says. "You can come up with a stage name when it's not two in the morning."

It takes a long time for Hyojong to fall asleep. His brain cycles through a list of words and sounds, always ending up back at the same place, dawn. When he was younger, his mother had helped him to trace over the hanja for his name. "Hyo means dawn," she's said. "Jong means bell. You're the daybreak, the start of something new."

He tacks on an E for east, thinking of the sun rising, morning emerging after a long night, and the name seems to fit in his mouth, like finding the right word on the tip of his tongue.







Depending on which member you ask, the occasion is either Shinwon's belated birthday or Christmas. Hyojong personally doesn't care what they're celebrating, just that it's a long weekend and he gets to let loose without the prospect of having to go to practice tomorrow with a hangover.

The spread of fried chicken, pizza, and jjajangmyeon comes in three different deliveries and takes up their entire table. What open counter space they have left is used for the bottles of soju, fruit wine, and one bottle of daeipsul that Hyojong insisted on buying when he saw it in the store, recognizing the signature shape of the bottle as something distinctly home.

Shots are poured and distributed. "Our eldest should make a speech," Changgu says, clapping Jinho eagerly on the back.

Jinho groans. "I'm not good at speeches," he protests.

"Sing us a song, then," Hongseok teases.

"In 2016, I hope we can all fulfill our dreams," Jinho says finally, holding his shot glass in the air. "Let's keep working hard together, all ten of us together."

Hyojong lets out a shrill scream as he downs his shot of daeipsul, the taste of bitter herbs nearly making him gag in the process. From there, he drinks a glass of plum wine to drown out the medicinal taste and a few shots of soju, including one love shot with Jinho that has everyone cheering them on. He doesn't mean to get thoroughly drunk, but it's been ages since he's had anything to drink and his tolerance is weaker than it used to be.

On the plus side, he's not as bad off as Yan An, who slumped over on the floor after two shots and several sips of wine, a smear of spicy sauce from the fried chicken across his cheek.

Still, he's drunk enough to confess to trying on one of his mother's dresses as a child ("I was curious!") during a game of Never Have I Ever, and to join Hyunggu and Hongseok in an impassioned rendition of Roll Deep, with Hongseok taking Hyuna's role.

At some point, he'd lost his spot on the floor next to Yuto and, predictably, ended up beside Hwitaek, the two of them pressed together. Hwitaek's cheeks are pink and he smells like the raspberry wine that Jinho had picked out. When he laughs, his hand curls around the upper part of Hyojong's thigh, squeezing. His hands are small and Hyojong knows from experience how they feel in his own, their knuckles seeming to perfectly slot together. Hyojong leans his head down against Hwitaek's shoulder and breathes in, drowning out the ruckus of the other boys for a moment.

In the time it takes for the first members to tap out (Yan An, led to their room by Hongseok), Hyojong has had one more shot, just enough to finish off the last soju bottle with Changgu. He kind of regrets it as soon as he tilts the glass back, the sticky sweet flavor of grapefruit coating his teeth as he downs it. Hyojong lies down on the floor and waits for the room to stop spinning.

"Hyojong," Hwitaek says from above him, sometime later. Hyojong must've fallen asleep on the floor while everyone else was getting ready for bed, because it's just the two of them in the living area now, illuminated only by the light in the entryway. The fluorescent glow makes everything feel hazy, like Hyojong might still be asleep, but then Hwitaek is nudging Hyojong's chest with his toe and he feels it in his sternum, too real to be a dream.

Hwitaek extends his arm down. "Come on, time for bed," he says.

The momentum when Hwitaek pulls him up has Hyojong stumbling forward, his dead weight falling into Hwitaek's chest. Hwitaek trips backward against the wall and then down, a mess of limbs as they both end up on the floor. Hyojong, propelled by liquid courage, plants himself firmly in Hwitaek's lap, facing him.

"Hi," Hyojong says.

"Hello," Hwitaek says back. His hands have settled into their default position on Hyojong's thighs, warm even through the fabric of his sweatpants.

Hyojong is drunk and sleep-deprived and weirdly giddy. These are just three of the reasons he should be stopping himself from leaning forward, bumping his forehead against Hwitaek's, but his defenses are down and he's helpless to the orders of his heart. "Hyung," Hyojong says, "I like you so much."

He can feel the sharp intake of Hwitaek's breath, hear the subsequent dry swallow. Hyojong shuts his eyes. "We can't," says Hwitaek.

"But you want to?" Hyojong asks, something in his chest constricting, curling up and around his heart.

"I'm the leader," Hwitaek says. "I am supposed to do what's right for the group."

Hyojong leans in, his teeth closing around the tip of Hwitaek's nose. It's not a real bite, just a scrape of his teeth because he needs to do something with his mouth that isn't kissing Hwitaek, not until Hwitaek gives him the word. They are close enough for Hyojong to sense Hwitaek's lips part and the tremble that runs through his body.

"But what do you want?" Hyojong asks.

In this liminal space, just the two of them and a single, humming light bulb, time seems to stand still. Hwitaek's fingers dig into the flesh of Hyojong's thigh and it feels like he's clenching Hyojong's heart in his fist.

"You," Hwitaek says, finally, after Hyojong is sure he's held his breath long enough to go blue in the face. He doesn't so much hear Hwitaek as feels it, the shape of the word on Hwitaek's mouth, lips closing around the vowel.

There are things that Hyojong could say, wants to say, how Hwitaek's steadfast determination has kept him going for over two years or how much he adores the wrinkles at the corners of Hwitaek's eyes when he smiles, but Hyojong kisses him instead. Hwitaek's mouth is half-open and he's unprepared, so really, it's one of the worst kisses Hyojong's ever had.

But it's Hwitaek. That's what counts.

When they pull apart, Hyojong laughs, a short, hysterical trill.

"Why are you laughing?" Hwitaek whines. "I wasn't ready."

"Because I like you," Hyojong says.

This time, they're both ready when Hwitaek closes the distance. Hwitaek's mouth is warm and his lips are soft and his hands are moving up from Hyojong's thighs to cup the back of his head. With Hwitaek's hands guiding him, Hyojong tilts his head, mouth parting. He shivers when Hwitaek licks experimentally at his bottom lip, while his own hands are busy sliding under the hem of Hwitaek's shirt. The hot skin under Hyojong's fingers is another reminder that this Hwitaek is real and better than any fantasy that Hyojong has indulged in before.

Hwitaek eventually has to surface for air. His smile is so radiant that Hyojong can't stop himself from leaning back in immediately, kissing Hwitaek on his cheek, under his jaw, against his forehead. "You didn't say it back," he says into Hwitaek's hair.

"Haven't you noticed already?" Hwitaek asks. His hand finds one of Hyojong's, squeezing. "I've liked you since we met."

"You told me to get lost," Hyojong points out.

"Because I hate when people ask me that, seriously." His tone is cross but he can't hold his annoyed expression for long. Hyojong can feel Hwitaek's laugh rippling up from his stomach under his fingers.

"I should've gotten lost when I had the chance," Hyojong says, and Hwitaek wraps his arms around Hyojong's waist, pulling him in even closer and trapping him there.

"Too late," Hwitaek says. Hyojong kisses the smile off his face.

Hyojong doesn't know what time it is or how long they've been exchanging soft, open-mouthed kisses when Hwitaek pulls back. "We should stop," he says, a little breathless.

Stopping is, in Hyojong's opinion, a terrible idea, and he makes this known by pressing another kiss against Hwitaek's swollen lips. The quiet noise that Hwitaek makes is worth it, even if Hwitaek follows it up by jerking his head back and away.

"Hyojongie," Hwitaek says. It's only because of Hwitaek's serious expression that Hyojong climbs reluctantly off Hyojong's lap.

His knees ache when he stands after being folded up for so long. He extends a hand to help Hwitaek to his feet, and then they're both standing, looking at each other in the low light. There is a part of Hyojong that is convinced if he goes to bed now, when he wakes up tomorrow, it will all have been a dream. Or worse, it'll be real life, except Hwitaek will change his mind and they'll never talk about it again. It's not that Hwitaek is a dick (not often, at least), but maybe he'll lie awake thinking about all the ways two trainees without a confirmed debut in a relationship could go wrong.

If Hyojong had to make his own pro-con list, he could think of a dozen cons off the top of his head, but in the pro column, there would only be Lee Hwitaek and that would be enough for him. But Hwitaek has more sense than that. Hwitaek, who is responsible and leaderly, will be able to articulate just why it won't work.

"Hyojongie," Hwitaek says his name again, softly. "You're falling asleep standing up."

"No, I'm thinking."

"Thinking what?"

Thinking about how Hyojong is a plant on a windowsill and Hwitaek is his sun, or maybe he's just a bug on one of the plant's leaves, miniscule in comparison to Hwitaek's light. "I know we're drunk, but don't pretend like this didn't happen tomorrow."

Hwitaek reaches out, holds Hyojong's wrist in his hand. "I couldn't."

In the bathroom, Hyojong kisses Hwitaek again with minty fresh breath. Just a light peck, a goodnight kiss. One more for the road. They separate at their bedrooms. Someone shuffles in their sleep when the door closes behind Hyojong, but otherwise everything is still and quiet. Hyojong's thoughts are the loudest thing in the room.



Hyojong wakes up with a pounding headache at the base of his skull and the taste of something sour in the back of his throat. He groans into his pillow and hears someone laugh at him. Hyunggu is peering down at him from the top bunk with a puckish grin.

"I see you finally made it off the floor," he says, dodging the pillow that Hyojong throws up at him.

It's too loud outside the bedroom door to fall back asleep for long. When Hyojong reluctantly rolls out of bed, a wave of nausea hits him so forcefully that he has to stand perfectly still for a moment until the room stops spinning. He's more hungover than he's ever been in his life, but as hazy as his mind feels, the memory of last night is sharp, captured in focus by a snapshot of Hwitaek's mouth, their thighs pressed together, and Hwitaek's calloused fingers running over Hyojong's knuckles. At the door, Hyojong straightens his shoulders and tries to prepare himself for a world that's changed.

Which turns out to be anticlimactic, because Hwitaek isn't in the kitchen. Hyojong acknowledges Yan An and Wooseok at the table, surrounded by the remnants of bottles and trash. Hongseok is stirring something in a pot while Jinho cuts scallions, humming under his breath. Hyojong kicks Hyunggu out of the bathroom so he can piss and wash his face.

When he opens the bathroom door, he's not expecting to see Hwitaek on the other side. Neither is Hwitaek expecting him, if his surprised expression is any indication. The moment before Hwitaek moves seems to stretch on for an eternity, long enough for Hyojong to imagine two distinct possibilities. The first: Hwitaek says, "I think we have to talk about what happened" in a serious, remorseful tone, and Hyojong throws up stomach acid on his own feet. The second:

Hwitaek smiles. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he ducks his head shyly. He says, "Good morning."

Hyojong does not throw up. He does not kiss Hwitaek in the bathroom doorway because there are at least five other members in their immediate proximity, but he gives a relieved smile back. "Good morning to you, too."







Not all that much changes, at first. It's not like Hyojong and Hwitaek can go skipping through a field of daisies holding hands now—they're still wannabe idols surrounded other trainees, teachers, directors, and stylists for most of their waking hours. The only notable difference at first is that Hyojong can stare at Hwitaek long enough to catch his eye in the mirror during practice without having to look away.

Sometimes, they're able to catch each other in the bathroom or empty corridors with enough time to exchange sweet, easy kisses. There's no time and certainly no space for anything further than that. At least once, Hwitaek texts him empty practice room and Hyojong abandons his drink order in the cafe to spend five minutes making out until a door slams somewhere down the hall, forcing them apart. If the other boys have caught on, no one mentions it, kind of like how no one mentions Changgu's on-again-off-again relationship with a Thai trainee or the suspiciously romantic-sounding phone calls they've overheard from Yan An. Even in an environment where the concept of privacy doesn't exist, everyone is entitled to their secrets.

Really, as fine as things seemed to be, Hyojong thinks he should've anticipated a change in fortune. Gathered in one of the conference rooms after the new year holiday, they're first told that they'll be changing dorms. Two whole dorms with multiple bedrooms, an upgrade in preparation of debut. Then, just to bring down the lively mood, the directors tell them about the plans for Pentagon Maker. It's not a survival show, but the possibility of eliminations will depend on their performances, the casting director stresses.

"So if we work hard and do everything that's requested of us," Hwitaek says, rationalizing it, "then we'll all get to debut."

Hongseok lowers his head to the table and laughs, a pitiful sound. "Here we go again."

"Don't think like that," Changgu says as Yuto awkwardly pats the top of Hongseok's head. "Hwitaek hyung is right. We can all debut."

It feels like one step forward through a minefield. Hyojong is close, so close he can see debut on the horizon, but one wrong move could end it all. He'd like to think that having been onstage with Hyuna already gives him an advantage, but Hyojong has seen how these kinds of shows work, that there are no guarantees. Only emotional manipulation and evil editing.

Hyunggu pushes his chair back abruptly, the scrape of metal legs on the floor jarring Hyojong out of his mental spiral. "You guys being sad is making me sad," Hyunggu says. "Let's go do something else."

At least the new dorms are a good distraction from potential impending doom. They get a day off to pack up their things and move. Each apartment has three bedrooms, though one is barely large enough for a single bed, and a porch for washing and drying clothes. Honestly, Hyojong doesn't mind sharing a room. No matter what, one roommate is better than listening to four other people toss and turn, but sharing with Hwitaek would be, well, a welcome convenience. He doesn't say anything for fear of looking too obvious (or too undersexed), but fortunately he doesn't have to.

"Shouldn't Hwitaek hyung get one of the singles?" Shinwon asks. "Because he has trouble sleeping?"

"Yes, hyung should take it," Yuto agrees.

Hwitaek opens his mouth, most likely to dutifully protest and say he's fine without it, but he catches Hyojong's eye. "Actually, you know, that would be really helpful."

Hyojong pumps his fist under the table.







Hyojong nearly drops his cup ramen when Hwitaek approaches him in the kitchen and sheepishly tugs off his cap, revealing a new blonde dye job.

"Do you not like it?" Hwitaek asks.

"No, it's just," Hyojong says. The noodles are burning his hand so he sets the cup down on the counter, never looking away from Hwitaek. "It's just different." He reaches up, running his fingers through strands of Hwitaek's hair. It's still soft in a way that Hyojong's isn't anymore, not after all the bleaching. The color is brassier, a little darker than Hyojong's. It suits him. "Do you like it?"

Hwitaek hums thoughtfully. "I haven't decided yet. But we match now."

"Couple hair," Hyojong says, and smooths the stray wisps in front of Hwitaek's face.

He returns to his noodles then, mouth full when Hwitaek asks, "Where is everyone?"

Hyojong has to run through the checklist in his brain. Even though they're separated now, it isn't uncommon for the members to flow between the dorms, too used to the excessive company of all ten of them. "Uh, Jinho and Hongseok are at the clinic, Yuto's at the gym with Wooseok and Shinwon." He squints. "Yan An is. Wasn't he with you?"

"He and Hyunggu went to the company after the salon," Hwitaek says, making grabby hands at the noodles. Hyojong dutifully hands the cup over. "And Changgu?"

"He had his appointment with the counselor today," Hyojong says.

Hwitaek slowly lowers the cup. There's a stray flake of scallion clinging to the corner of his mouth, which makes Hyojong snort fondly. "Do you know what that means?"

"Changgu is going to be in a bad mood when he gets home?"

"Well yeah," Hwitaek says. "But we have the dorm to ourselves."

"Oh," Hyojong says, then, "Oh, okay."

Hwitaek kisses him right there in the kitchen, christening the room. His mouth tastes like spicy broth and it's kind of gross, like a weird aftertaste, but Hyojong doesn't mind. He pushes Hwitaek up against the counter and slips his fingers under Hwitaek's hoodie, touching smooth, taut skin. Hwitaek makes a soft noise as Hyojong rubs a thumb over the jut of his hip and Hyojong hasn't gotten hard this quickly since he was going through puberty.

"You know," Hwitaek says through heavy breaths, "there's a horizontal surface where we could do this."

Hyojong pretends to think, though he gets a little distracted when Hwitaek kisses him where his ear meets his neck. "The floor? Hyung, I didn't know you were like that." In response, Hwitaek bites at him, teeth lightly scraping over Hyojong's piercing. "Never mind, bed is good."

Hwitaek's bedroom is new territory for them. Of course, Hyojong has been in it, even managing to sneak in some early morning spooning, but with fewer members around to provide distractions, they've been cautious. Busy, too. Hyojong hesitates in the doorway, feeling at once like the shy, virginal loser he is. But then Hwitaek glances back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised expectantly, an unspoken, are you coming?, and Hyojong knows he'd follow him anywhere.

Hwitaek tugs off his hoodie before climbing onto his bed, motioning for Hyojong to join him. Instead of lying next to him, Hyojong climbs on top of Hwitaek, knees straddling his hips. When Hyojong leans in to kiss him, he can feel the rough texture of Hwitaek's jeans, the metal zipper and the hard bulge of Hwitaek's cock through his gym shorts. Horizontal was a great idea.

"Take this off," Hwitaek says, tugging at the hem of Hyojong's shirt. They're uneven then, Hwitaek in the threadbare shirt he was wearing under his hoodie and Hyojong with his chest bare.

Hyojong watches as Hwitaek reaches up with his hand. Hwitaek's fingertips trace over the lines radiating from the heart on his chest, each slow, careful motion sending a shiver down Hyojong's spine. "I always liked this one best," Hwitaek says.

"Yeah?"

"It's cute." Hwitaek lets his hand trail further downward, stopping to rub a thumb over Hyojong's nipple before gradually making his way to the waistband of his gym shorts. "Can I?"

"You too," Hyojong says, tugging at the hem of Hwitaek's shirt.

Hwitaek lifts up enough to help Hyojong get his shirt off. For the past two years, Hyojong hasn't allowed himself to look, chastely ignoring Hwitaek changing out of the corner of his eye or only passively taking in sharp lines and smooth curves when they showered together. Now, Hwitaek is half-naked in his bed, the muscles in his arms flexing as he leans back on his elbows. His shoulders are broad and tan and Hyojong tilts his head down to kiss him them, left then right.

"Now can I?" Hwitaek asks as he flicks Hyojong's waistband with his finger.

"Impatient," Hyojong says, like he is at all opposed to the idea of Hwitaek touching his dick.

Hwitaek uses his whole hand to cup Hyojong's cock through his shorts, squeezing lightly, and Hyojong bites down on his lip to keep from making a noise. He is entirely, thoroughly unopposed. Hyojong shucks his shorts and underwear in one go before turning his attention to help Hwitaek get out of his skinny jeans.

"Hi," Hyojong says.

"Was that directed at my dick?"

Hyojong shakes his head. "All of you." If half-naked was a lot to take in, then fully naked Hwitaek, with the lines of muscle across his abdomen and hard cock curving up against his stomach, is blowing Hyojong's mind. "Can I suck you off?" he asks, wetting his lips. Hwitaek nods before Hyojong has even finished his sentence.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Hyojong warns him as he scoots down the bed, placing his hands on Hwitaek's thighs.

"I mean, I don't know what you're supposed to do either," Hwitaek says, and Hyojong feels pleased, unexpected possessiveness creeping into his thoughts. He'll be the first person who's touched Hwitaek like this.

Hyojong leans his head down, taking the head of Hwitaek's cock into his mouth. The taste of precome is salty on his tongue, but not objectionable. Hwitaek inhales sharply and the noise urges Hyojong on because he wants to hear it again, wants to hear it more. He slides his mouth further down, lips wet against the length of Hwitaek's cock. He wraps his fist around the base where his mouth can't reach and jerks him off in rhythm with the movement of his lips.

Hwitaek's hips jerk up when Hyojong sucks harder and Hyojong nearly chokes as Hwitaek's cock hits the back of his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hwitaek quickly apologizes, running a gentle hand through Hyojong's hair, but Hyojong is fine, only needing to pull off for a second to catch his breath before he's back to sucking.

It doesn't take long until Hyojong feels Hwitaek's fingers tightening in his hair and Hwitaek is panting louder. "I'm going to—" Hwitaek says in a rush, "do you want to—"

Hyojong shakes his head. "You," he tries to say, but he can't speak with his mouth full. Hwitaek comes with a muffled moan, arm thrown over his face as his cock twitches, hot come filling Hyojong's throat.

Hwitaek wastes no time, tugging at Hyojong's shoulders until Hyojong moves up the bed, leaning over him. Hyojong is mildly surprised when Hwitaek tilts his head right up to kiss him, even considering that his dick was just in Hyojong's mouth. As Hwitaek kisses him, tongue tracing over his lips and teeth, Hyojong can't help but grind his hard cock down against Hwitaek's thigh.

"No, let me," Hwitaek says, pushing Hyojong's hand away. It takes just a few strokes of his wrist and a hand fisted in Hyojong's hair before Hyojong comes in messy streaks across Hwitaek's chest.

"That was nice," he says, giving Hwitaek a soft kiss on his cheek.

Hyojong is still breathing heavily, come drying on Hwitaek's chest, when he hears the faint sound of the key lock chime and the front door opening. Hwitaek's eyes grow wide, and then it's a scramble. Hyojong wipes Hwitaek's torso off with his own shirt and throws his clothes back on while Hwitaek nearly falls over trying to put on his jeans. Hyojong thinks they look presentable when Hwitaek opens the door, but the look Shinwon gives them is suspicious.

"What were you guys doing?" Shinwon asks.

"Working on music," Hyojong says at the same time that Hwitaek responds, "Watching a movie."

Shinwon looks between them, eyes narrowed. Hyojong's mouth still tastes like come and he didn't even get the chance to be happy that he finally, after years, got to touch Hwitaek's dick. The absurdity of it hits him and he laughs, which in turn makes Hwitaek laugh, and then Shinwon is looking at them with bafflement.

"You're weird," Shinwon announces. "I'm going to take a shower."

As soon as his back is turned, Hwitaek thwacks Hyojong across his chest. Hyojong laughs for a solid three minutes, until Hwitaek shuts him up with a kiss.







If Hyojong thought being evaluated by a team of teachers, managers, and directors once a month was bad, then public voting is a hundred times worse. The teasers, which they spend an entire day shooting in some barren field on the outskirts of Hwaseong, are so incomprehensible that Hyojong has no idea how they can be voted on by that alone. Still, he's not surprised when he's ranked middle of the pack.

Going into the first team mission, these numbers feel more like a target on their backs than a ranking. The members at the top have more to prove and further to fall, while those at the bottom have a steep climb ahead of them. Hwitaek and Hyunggu try to be diplomatic about picking team members, but it's no coincidence that Yuto and Yan An are the last to be picked.

Even though Hwitaek is no stranger to leading, Hyojong can tell he's feeling lost without Hyunggu's eye for choreography and formations. By the third day of practice, they've changed their song once already and now Hwitaek is clearly dissatisfied with the choreography, his expression growing more and more cloudy with each runthrough.

"There's not enough time to change it, hyung," Hyojong says.

"But with this stage," Hwitaek starts, then sighs, deep in his chest. "We can't win. We're trying to do too much."

"Isn't it better to do too much than too little?"

Hwitaek shakes his head. "I'd rather do too little and do it perfectly than too much that's sloppy."

The others have been quiet, but Changgu speaks up tentatively. "I agree with Hwitaek hyung."

"Okay," Hyojong says. "We'll change it."

It's not the first time he's disagreed with Hwitaek, not even the first time this week, but it's different when there are a half-dozen camera guys shooting the scene from multiple angles and Hyojong knows he'll be asked about it in his confessional later. How did it feel to argue with Hwitaek-ssi?

Hyojong is washing his hands when Hwitaek comes into the restroom. He catches Hwitaek's eye in the mirror and Hwitaek gives him a sheepish look.

"We good?" Hwitaek asks Hyojong's reflection.

"You know we're fine," Hyojong says.

It's not something they've discussed, but there's an unspoken understanding between them. While there are cameras around, when even the dorm no longer feels like a safe space, there has to be less touching. Hyojong gets it, but he misses Hwitaek all the same. When Hwitaek steps forward, presses a quick kiss against the exposed nape of Hyojong's neck, he's gone before Hyojong even has a chance to savor it.



They lose anyway. During the next mission, Hyojong is the one in charge and his team loses again. At the end of the results meeting, they are each given a report card showing their growth. Hyojong doesn't need to take his out of the envelope to know that he hasn't gained a single point over four weeks. In audience votes, he's never once made it to the top of the rankings. There's no comfort to be taken in the fact that Hwitaek is in the same boat—lost at sea, only drifting.

"Hwitaek, Hyojong. You are two of our best trainees," the manager says as a final note. "We expected more from you."

As soon as their manager leaves and the camera crew begins to pack up their equipment for the night, Hyojong flops down onto the floor. "I'm quitting," he announces.

"Hyung, don't say things like that," Hyunggu admonishes, kicking lightly at Hyojong's shin.

"I'm quitting," Hyojong says again. "I'm going to go sell phone cases in Myeongdong."

"You're not likeable enough to get audience votes," Hwitaek points out. "What makes you think you're likeable enough to sell anything?"

It's because it's Hwitaek, who is also failing and has no room to talk, that Hyojong laughs. Above him, Wooseok draws out an oooooh and says, "Hyung just got burnt."

"What?" Yan An asks. "I don't get it."

Hwitaek doesn't fight much when Hyojong pulls him into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles into Hwitaek's scalp until Hwitaek shouts, "Okay! Okay! I take it back!" If there weren't still camera operators and producers around, Hyojong might cling to Hwitaek a little longer, but as it is, he lets him go with a final shove to his shoulder.

"You're not quitting," Jinho speaks up. "And you'll both be fine. We're all debuting, don't be silly."







On any given night, there's an almost equal likelihood that Hyojong will be found sleeping in someone else's bed as his own. It's not that Hyojong doesn't like his own bed; Hongseok is a perfectly normal roommate who doesn't snore too loudly or talk in his sleep, so Hyojong has no trouble getting rest in their room. It's just that Hyojong has come to prefer sleeping with someone else. In the winter, he leeches off body heat, and when the months start to get warmer, he migrates toward the cooler rooms, even sleeping on Yan An and Changgu's floor. The added benefit is that it no longer seems suspicious when Hyojong spends the night in Hwitaek's room.

Most of the time it's just sleeping, but sleeping with Hwitaek, even though Hyojong would never admit it, is one of his favorite things. Hwitaek is a solid weight for Hyojong to hold onto, his steady breaths lulling Hyojong to sleep when his brain is occupied with thoughts of possible elimination. Hyojong wishes he could see Hwitaek in the morning more often—eyes blinking heavily, hair mussed, and pillow lines still creasing the skin of his cheeks.

Hwitaek is usually the first to wake. He has a knack for waking up twenty minutes before his alarm, which Hyojong would normally be opposed to because hey, every twenty minutes counts. But when Hwitaek wakes him up to fool around, Hyojong can't find it in himself to complain about Hwitaek's punctuality.

It reminds Hyojong of the first time they ever shared a bed, except now Hwitaek's hand doesn't just rest on Hyojong's stomach but nudges under the waistband of his boxers.

"You know what your mom told me?" Hwitaek asks as he curls his fist around Hyojong's morning wood, applying the smallest amount of pressure.

"Don't talk about my mom while you're jerking me off," Hyojong says, but his hips automatically jerk forward, looking for more.

Hwitaek says, "Stay still." His hand is moving slowly and he's teasing more than he is trying to get Hyojong off. "She said that you're a bit of a mess, but if we touch you, then you'll listen."

Hyojong shivers when Hwitaek speaks again next to his ear, the curve of his lips barely brushing against Hyojong's earring. "I'm touching you," Hwitaek says in a quiet, low voice. "Are you listening?"

And Hyojong isn't expecting the way his entire body reacts to this, a whimper bubbling up in the back of his throat and his cock twitching in Hwitaek's grasp. It's not like Hwitaek has been silent the other times they've hooked up, but it's always jokes or compliments or a little faster, yeah, like that, not this serious tone without a hint of Hwitaek's usual bashfulness. Hyojong likes it, he thinks, face flushing.

"I am," he says.

"Good," Hwitaek says. His movements speed up a little now and he's properly jerking Hyojong off, pumping his fist in time with the light kisses he presses to Hyojong's neck. Hyojong doesn't know what to do with his hands like this, so he bites down on his fingers, trying to hold back the noises he'd be making if there wasn't just a thin wall between them and three other members.

Hwitaek is still talking, his voice too muffled against Hyojong's skin to be decipherable, but Hyojong swears he can hear Hwitaek say, "You're doing good." Hyojong comes in Hwitaek's fist, hips hitching forward as Hwitaek jerks him through it.

"I'm sorry," Hwitaek says as he wipes Hyojong's stomach with a t-shirt, "I think the sleep deprivation is making me say weird things."

Hyojong rolls over and kisses Hwitaek before he can say anything else. He's not prepared yet to think about why he liked Hwitaek's commanding tone or being told to remain still. It doesn't take Hyojong long to jerk Hwitaek off in quick, efficient strokes. When they're finished, basking in the five minutes of afterglow the schedule has afforded them, Hwitaek doesn't bring it up again.







Until they're on the set of their first music video, it hasn't entirely sunk in for Hyojong that he's finally getting to debut. The product of three years of hard work, sweat, and tears culminating in so much hair spray matting his hair into dreads that Hyojong can hear it crunch every time he moves his head.

Hyojong has been awake for 48 hours, and he has cycled through cranky, delirious, and depressed, only to end up back at cranky. He's off to the side, watching Wooseok and Yuto playing around, somehow finding the energy to make funny faces at each other. When an assistant wanders over holding a camera, Hyojong sincerely wishes he could tell her to fuck off. But this is his job, so he dutifully fakes a smile.

He doesn't hear Hwitaek approach, but Hyojong can feel someone behind him. The same way he could tell the difference between the footsteps of his family members outside his bedroom door growing up, he knows each member just by the shadows they cast or the sound of their movements. Hwitaek stands close enough for Hyojong to feel the warmth of his breath.

"Dawnie is tired," Hwitaek tells the assistant.

"Our fans will give me energy," Hyojong says to the camera, with a look to the camera that's more a wince than a grin.

The assistant asks them what they're doing for their music video, and Hwitaek graciously takes over. As he speaks, his hands slide down Hyojong's forearms, pausing for a moment to trace over the knobbly bones of his wrists before continuing on. Hyojong expects Hwitaek to hold his hands, a familiar gesture, but instead Hwitaek pulls, tugging Hyojong's arms back until they're twisting around his back.

Hyojong stills. Hwitaek's grip around his wrists isn't painful but it's firm, secure enough to pin Hyojong in his place. At once, some of the fog clouding Hyojong's thoughts seems to fade, until all that's left is the press of Hwitaek's fingertips. Hyojong wonders if there are nerve endings on his skin specially reserved for Hwitaek, because no one else's touch seems to affect him like this.







Hyojong keeps having this one fantasy. In the last few moments before he comes as he's jerking himself off, when he's too close to direct his thoughts and his subconscious takes over, the images flow of their own accord. Hwitaek is on top of Hyojong, still wearing his clothes, while Hyojong is shirtless, exposed. He's pushing Hyojong's arms up over his head, smiling down with a calm, serious face.

In this scene, Hyojong tries to move, but Hwitaek's grip on his wrists is firm, and besides, Hyojong didn't really want to go anywhere. He just wanted to test the waters. Hwitaek says something, the exact line varying depending on the day, but always in the tone that he uses when he wants to command respect, his leader voice.

They're not even fucking in his fantasy, which almost seems more pathetic, but it makes Hyojong come every time, hips snapping up as he pumps his fist around his cock, shame burning in the back of his throat.







"What are you doing?"

Hyojong is lying on his back on the mat their managers have spread out on the floor, not enough couches to hold everyone in the waiting room. The back of his hair is going to be unfortunately smushed and the studs on his pants for today's outfit dig into Hyojong's spine, but he's become pretty good at sleeping in random places.

"Telepathically communicating with aliens," Hyojong tells Yan An.

Yan An thinks for a moment and, based on the curious expression he's peering down at Hyojong with, Hyojong is sure he has no idea what was said. "Can I join?"

"The more the merrier."

When Yan An lies down, his spindly limbs curl around Hyojong automatically. Yan An isn't the nicest among them (that designation would go to Changgu, who regularly stumbles upon grandmothers needing help to cross the street), but in a way Yan An is the softest. He calls his parents dutifully every day and looks to the older members like a lost duckling just trying to find his way. Hyojong would never say this for risk of making Hyunggu cry, but Yan An might be his favorite dongsaeng.

Hyojong doesn't expect to fall asleep, but the next thing he knows the scrape of a chair on the floor wakes him and he's blinking back into awareness, Yan An's elbow stabbing him in the armpit.

"Good morning," Hwitaek says from the chair he's pulled up next to the mat. He's eating shrimp crackers from a bag in his lap, and Hyojong makes grabby hands.

"My pillow," Yan An whines when Hyojong sits up, jostling him.

Hyojong eats the crackers Hwitaek offers him, the first food he's had since a convenience store gimbap set this morning at the salon. When he's finished, Hyojong leans forward, resting his chin on Hwitaek's thigh. He feels sleepy and affectionate. If he could, he'd kick Yan An off the mat and curl up with Hwitaek, but he settles for rubbing his cheek gently against the soft fabric of Hwitaek's pants.

Hwitaek's fingers brush over Hyojong's face to push a stray chunk of hair out of his face. His debut hair is too short to go behind his ear and Hwitaek pauses, thumb to Hyojong's temple, before leaning back in his chair and away from Hyojong. This is his own cue to flop back down on the mat, the quiet, intimate moment over.

Hyojong can still feel the lingering sensation of Hwitaek's fingers on his skin when he drifts off again.







In August, they fly to Japan for a week. Hyojong has lost track of how many times they've been out of the country now, for concerts and showcases, but it's the first time Pentagon has traveled abroad for such a long time. It's been a hell of a summer between their most recent comeback and planning for another, and Hyojong's mind is a constant loop of stock Japanese phrases and lyrics that need fine tuning. And through all that, there's this persistent itch under his skin, something that Hyojong is only just now figuring out how to name.

They arrive to a flurry of Japanese fans, shouting at them in words Hyojong doesn't understand. They're ushered to the concert hall for some last-minute rehearsals, and by the time they're in the van on the way to the hotel, Hyojong's exhaustion has given way to delirium and he spends most of the ride tapping out beats against Hyunggu's arm. He doesn't notice that Hwitaek has snagged a room card for the both of them until he's climbing out of the van and Hwitaek calls after him, "Let's go, roomie."

Hyojong takes the first shower, but he lingers in the bathroom after Hwitaek finishes washing up. The sink is on a long counter that extends across the entire wall, giving Hyojong a space to perch and watch Hwitaek remove his makeup. There's a pimple forming on the apple of his cheek that Hwitaek scrubs at, pouting.

Hyojong waits until Hwitaek is rinsing his face then says, so quietly that he's sure Hwitaek will barely hear him over the faucet running, "There's something I wanted to try."

Hwitaek looks up at him, face sudsy. "Like, try?" he asks, emphasizing the word. Hyojong nods. Hwitaek doesn't speak again until he's finished with his face, patting his cheeks dry with a fluffy towel. "Like, something scary? Needles?"

"What?" Hyojong scowls at Hwitaek. "Why is that the first thing you came up with?"

"You have, like, ten tattoos," Hwitaek rebuffs. "And you sound nervous."

Hyojong is nervous. He trusts Hwitaek implicitly, would jump off a building with him for real if Hwitaek asked him to without needing a reason, but Hyojong doesn't make a habit of exposing his vulnerabilities. He doesn't know if the things he's thought about will change the way Hwitaek looks at him or, worse, push Hwitaek away. It feels like he's opening up his mind to let Hwitaek peek inside, and he's not sure if Hwitaek will like what's inside.

"Not that weird," Hyojong says. He shifts, letting his feet dangle over the countertop, and Hwitaek takes the opportunity to move in, settling between Hyojong's legs. "I just. I like it when you tell me what to do. And—"

"And?"

"You don't always have to be nice to me."

Hyojong is looking down, anywhere but Hwitaek's face. He watches Hwitaek's fingers spread and draw back over Hyojong's thigh, not quite stroking or tickling, just a light, unconscious pressure. "Do you know what I mean?" Hyojong asks.

"I think so," Hwitaek says. He leans forward, his nose nudging Hyojong's face until Hyojong looks up and Hwitaek can kiss him softly on the mouth.

They don't have the time to do anything else tonight but make out like this, Hyojong's legs wrapped around Hwitaek's waist and his fingers curling into Hwitaek's hair, until sleep cannot be put off any longer.



Concert prep starts early the next day. Hyojong chugs instant coffee at the hotel and a latte provided by the venue when they arrive, but his limbs still feel heavy with fatigue. It's not until their final run-through of the setlist that Hyojong gets some of his energy back. The day seems to drag on, mostly waiting around while lighting is set up or mics are adjusted and eating cup noodles in the dressing room, until they're suddenly an hour out and everything becomes a frantic blur.

The Japanese crowd is fun. The fans go wild for their fanservice songs and some of them even try to sing along with the Korean lyrics. The feeling of being onstage, swaggering around for "Get That Drink" and hyping up the crowd, is what Hyojong thrives on. With Yan An back performing with them, filling in the tangible absence he'd left in the formations, the whole show feels special. It might be their best one yet.

Hyojong's limbs are buzzing down to his fingertips when they finally leave the stage. He wraps his arms around the back of the closest member, who turns out to be Hongseok, and squeezes. Hongseok is all muscle, solid underneath his grasp as Hyojong pulls him back against his chest. "Hug me back," Hyojong whines.

"You're behind me," Hongseok points out, but he awkwardly snakes an arm back and pats the top of Hyojong's sweaty head anyway.

In the dressing room, Hyojong catches Hwitaek's eye. There are two staff members trying to untangle the microphone from under his shirt while Hwitaek rubs at his face, smudging his eyeliner into a dark ring around his eyes. When he looks at Hyojong, his expression sends an anticipatory shiver down Hyojong's spine. It's not like they agreed to anything yet, no have kinky(?) sex penciled into their calendar, but there's something in the air. Hyojong's post-concert comedown makes him want to touch and be touched.

Hongseok floats the idea of going out after dinner, but after such a long day, no one else can muster up the energy. It works out, because now Hyojong doesn't have to make up an excuse to go back to the hotel room suspiciously early. Hwitaek falls asleep next to him in the van, but he stirs when they pull up to the lobby, shooting Hyojong a secretive smile as he stretches his arms up.

"I'm so tired," he says out loud, though Hyojong suspects it's directed more at the other members than him. "I think I'll just pass out in my room."

"I'll sleep here," Shinwon says through a yawn. "Just leave me here to die."

Once up in their hotel room, Hwitaek and Hyojong take turns in the shower. While he waits, Hyojong washes the grime from his face. It takes two cotton pads to remove the thick stage makeup and he's not sure if he hates this part or trying to clean remnants of hairspray from his scalp more. When he finally gets out of the shower, Hwitaek is sitting on one of the beds, wearing only a pair of soft pajama pants, the skin of his chest still faintly pink from the hot shower.

Hyojong lies down next to him, letting his head fall against Hwitaek's thigh. Hwitaek runs his fingers through Hyojong's hair, neatly parting the strands like Hyojong had been too lazy to do. The air conditioning in the room is a bit cooler than Hyojong would like, but Hwitaek is warm. Hyojong would be content to stay like this, could fall asleep right here with Hwitaek palming his hair, except the thrum of energy he'd felt earlier is still coursing through his blood, slightly dulled now but still there.

"Kiss me," he requests, pushing his lips out into an exaggerated pucker.

Hwitaek tugs him up to kiss him. The angle is awkward with Hyojong's neck craning up and their heads facing in the opposite direction, but it's too soft and gentle to matter much.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Hwitaek asks against Hyojong's mouth.

Hyojong shifts, tilting his head back until he can look Hwitaek in the eye. "Whatever you want," he admits. "I trust you."

There is a long moment where Hwitaek doesn't say anything, and Hyojong is briefly convinced that he's fucked everything up, or that he is fucked up, but Hwitaek finally cups a hand around Hyojong's cheek, thumb brushing along the curve of his eye socket. "I'm glad you trust me."

"Yeah, well," Hyojong says in a voice that's much more casual than he feels. "You're our leader."

"And you want me to lead you?" Hwitaek confirms.

Hyojong nods. "If you want to. If you're not, like, into it or whatever, we can just—"

"I do," Hwitaek says, cutting Hyojong off. Hyojong watches the movement of Hwitaek's throat as he swallows thickly, a familiar nervous gesture. At least it isn't just Hyojong who feels out of his depth. "I do. Not just because you want to."

"Okay." Hyojong sits up, looks Hwitaek directly in the eye. "Then what do you want me to do?"

Hwitaek swallows once more. When he speaks next, his voice has taken on a different tone. More serious, more leaderly, and the flutter of anticipation raises goosebumps on Hyojong's skin. "Get on your knees," he says, gesturing to the floor. "Take off your shirt but not your pants."

Wordlessly, Hyojong complies. He drops his shirt on the bed before sinking down to the floor, the plush hotel carpet cushioning his knees. Hwitaek follows after him, stands directly in front of Hyojong, the outline of his half-hard cock visible through his sweatpants. He places a hand on Hyojong's head, but this time, he's not gentle, tugging Hyojong forward by his hair. Hyojong's lips part as if on instinct, mouth watering slightly.

"Do you want to suck me off?" Hwitaek asks. His fingers are still tangled in Hyojong's hair, though his grip loosens when Hyojong looks up at him and nods.

Hwitaek uses his free hand to awkwardly undo his drawstring and Hyojong helps him to tug his pants down his thighs. He's not wearing any underwear and his cock is fully hard now, the head wet with precum. Hyojong wants to lean forward, taste it on his tongue, but it doesn't feel right, not when Hwitaek hasn't given him the cue. He waits, hands resting on the tops of his thighs, until Hwitaek nudges his hips forward, cock brushing against Hyojong's mouth, and says, "Go on."

Hyojong leans in, wraps his lips around the head of Hwitaek's cock. He can hear Hwitaek suck in a breath and feel his thighs tensing where Hyojong's cheek is resting against them. It's not often that they have the privacy to make noise, but when they do, Hwitaek is full of little gasps and moans that spur Hyojong on, that make him want to see what else he can do to get Hwitaek to make those sounds again. Hwitaek wraps a hand around the base of his cock, guiding his cock further into Hyojong's wet mouth. With the other hand on the back of Hyojong's head holding him in place, there's no space for Hyojong to adjust or pull off for some air, but this is what he likes. The feeling just on the edge of choking, the way everything in the world has narrowed down to just these sensations.

"You're doing good," Hwitaek tells him, letting go of Hyojong's hair briefly to swipe a thumb over his brow, a kind gesture that contrasts with the way he pushes his cock further into Hyojong's throat.

Hyojong has to take a measured breath through his nose, closing his eyes in concentration. He's faintly aware of the spit dirtying his chin, mixing with Hwitaek's precum as he fucks into Hyojong's mouth. It's messier than usual, but Hyojong doesn't mind it. "Look at you," Hwitaek says. "You're so hard just from sucking me off." His tone is halfway between mocking and admiring and it makes Hyojong whimper around Hwitaek's dick. Hyojong hadn't even really noticed his own arousal, just the pleasant buzz humming through his entire body.

Hwitaek's thrusts have, up until now, been controlled, carefully measured as not to push Hyojong too far before he's ready, but he must be getting close because his pace gets erratic. His other hand finds its way to Hyojong's hair and he pulls, using the leverage to force Hyojong's mouth further down his cock until Hyojong feels so full that he can't breathe and his eyes begin to water. Maybe Hwitaek can feel that it's bordering on too much, or maybe he just wanted to see how far he could push Hyojong, how far Hyojong would let himself be pushed, because just as soon as Hyojong feels like he might die sucking Hwitaek's dick, Hwitaek pulls back, letting his cock slip out of Hyojong's mouth with an embarrassing, wet sound.

"You okay?" Hwitaek asks and Hyojong nods immediately.

"I'm good," he tells Hwitaek, looking up at him with a small smile.

As Hyojong leans forward again, Hwitaek lets the tip of his cock brush against Hyojong's cheek, further smearing the mess on his face. Hyojong must look desperate like this, parting his mouth, turning his head to seek out Hwitaek's cock, but he can't bring himself to care. He runs his lips down the length of it and Hwitaek makes a gasping noise, nails scratching against Hyojong's scalp.

When Hyojong lowers his mouth down onto Hwitaek's cock again, it doesn't take Hwitaek long to find a rhythm, fucking Hyojong's face in short thrusts. Hyojong can feel Hwitaek tensing and hear the way his breathing picks up a few moments before Hwitaek pulls back, just enough to give Hyojong room for air as he comes, half in Hyojong's mouth and the rest sliding down Hyojong's chin in warm streaks. The taste is salty and bitter in his throat, but Hyojong swallows it down, sucking on the tip of Hwitaek's cock until Hwitaek steps back.

"Jesus Christ," Hwitaek says through panting breaths. "Stay here, okay?"

As though Hyojong could go anywhere else. He can hear Hwitaek in the bathroom running the faucet and a moment later, Hwitaek returns holding a wet washcloth. He kneels down in front of Hyojong and it's a little weird, looking Hwitaek in the eye again after having to look up to him, but Hyojong is happy that Hwitaek is here with him. He gives Hwitaek a smile. Hwitaek reaches out with his hand, running his thumb over Hyojong's bottom lip and Hyojong parts his lips automatically, letting Hwitaek push his thumb, wet with come, into his mouth. It's a hesitant touch, brief and exploratory. Maybe Hwitaek hasn't yet realized that, in this moment, Hyojong would let him do just about anything.

Hwitaek carefully wipes the come and spit from Hyojong's face before leaning in, kissing him softly. "Do you want me to get you off?" he asks against Hyojong's mouth.

"Yes, please," Hyojong says. His voice is hoarse, his throat raw. He feels a flash of guilt because maybe they should've waited until after all the concerts, but he's distracted from this line of thinking by Hwitaek helping him to his feet, then pushing him down on one of the beds.

Hyojong ends up on his back, head leaning against a stack of pillows while Hwitaek leans over him, kissing his neck. Hwitaek's hands reach for the drawstring on Hyojong's pajama pants, fumbling to yank them down over Hyojong's hips, which makes Hyojong laugh, affection bubbling up in his chest and spilling over.

"What?" Hwitaek asks, and Hyojong can feel the vibrations against his pulse point.

"You're cute," Hyojong says.

Hwitaek gets a hand around his cock and Hyojong can't help the way his hips immediately jerk up into Hwitaek's grasp. He hadn't realized how much he was aching, how close to the edge he was until Hwitaek touched him. Hyojong tries to cover his face with his arm to hide his whimper, but Hwitaek tugs it back down.

"No," Hwitaek says, firmly. "I want to hear you."

He jerks Hyojong off slowly, rubbing his thumb over the head of Hyojong's cock as Hyojong fidgets helplessly. Hyojong could come like this, just from Hwitaek's hand, but Hwitaek stops as soon as Hyojong is close to the edge. He tilts his head back to look at Hyojong while his fingers dip lower, brushing past Hyojong's balls until the tip of his index finger is touching Hyojong's hole. It's a question in the form of a touch, and Hyojong gasps.

Hwitaek pulls away to rifle through his bag, next to the bed. When he leans up again, he's holding a small bottle in his hand. He brought it with him, Hyojong thinks, he wanted this. The thought makes him feel impossibly warm all over.

"Just fingers," Hwitaek says, blushing too. "I just. Wanted to try it. If you want."

Hyojong nods, afraid of how eager he might sound if he opens his mouth. The first press of Hwitaek's finger against his entrance is gentle, wet with lube, and Hyojong tries not to tense up. He's thought about this, watched it in porn a few times (before he met Hwitaek, before the images he could conjure up in his mind, however tame, were better than what he could find on the internet), but Hyojong has never done it to himself. It's weird and the angle of his hips isn't quite right, but it feels good. He can feel Hwitaek pushing past his knuckle, finger crooking, and Hyojong hears himself whine, a noise he can't control.

"More," Hyojong requests. "I can take it." You don't always have to be nice, he'd told Hwitaek, and he meant it.

The second finger stretches him, just shy of painful but Hwitaek wraps his other hand around Hyojong's cock, stroking him in time with the movement of his fingers and Hyojong can't decide whether he wants to grind down against Hwitaek's fingers or up into his fist. "Hyung," he gasps. Hwitaek's fingers work faster, the slide of it easier now that Hyojong is relaxed and more turned on than he can ever recall being. When the tip of Hwitaek's ring finger presses against him, just barely pushing in alongside his other fingers, Hyojong's toes curl. His orgasm takes him by surprise, the force of it jerking his hips off the bed, and he forgets to breathe for a moment as Hwitaek pumps his cock through it.

Hwitaek curls his fingers up again, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches Hyojong squirm because it's too much, too soon. "Hyung," Hyojong mumbles, kicking his leg at Hwitaek. "Too much."

"Okay, okay," Hwitaek says, drawing his fingers out with a grin. "Good, though?"

"Good," Hyojong confirms, eyes slipping shut as he nods. There is come drying on his belly and it's gross, weirdly cold in the air-conditioned room, but he could fall asleep like this. He feels tired, fucked out.

Hwitaek fetches the washcloth he'd used earlier, wiping Hyojong's stomach and tossing it on the floor where it will lay in a gross pile until morning, because neither of them are getting out of bed again tonight. Hyojong tugs him back down immediately. "Come here," he says, even though Hwitaek is pressed up against him, head tucked into the space between Hyojong's neck and shoulder. He couldn't get any closer unless he physically possessed Hyojong's body, but maybe that's what Hyojong wants right now.



Hyojong falls asleep like that and wakes up about an hour later, the overhead light still on and his limbs sticking uncomfortably to Hwitaek's. One of his feet has made it under the blanket. Hwitaek might be drooling on him.

"Don't go," Hwitaek whines when Hyojong peels away. Hwitaek's arms reach for the pillow, like he can't not be cuddling something at this moment and Hyojong stands still, watches him with an aching chest because he loves this boy. He really does.

"I'm just going to turn off the light," Hyojong says after a long while, when he's half-sure Hwitaek has fallen back asleep, but Hwitaek gives a muffled grunt of understanding.

When Hyojong makes it back to the bed (stubbing his toe along the way, fucking hell), Hwitaek abandons the pillow to wrap his arms back around Hyojong. "Did you set an alarm?" Hwitaek asks.

Hyojong squints, thinking back to the minutes before he passed out earlier. "I don't think so."

"Fuck it," Hwitaek says, burrowing closer. "Let them wake us up."

They will regret this in the morning when Jinho, followed by a much-too-energetic Hyunggu come knocking on their door because they're going to be late for breakfast, and they have to get dressed and come up with an excuse in five minutes, but Hyojong can't bring himself to care. He's already drifting off again.