chapter 4: quickstep (9k)
chapters
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: ballroom dancing AU, 18+ smut
summary: Latin dancer Kim Hongjoong and Standard dancer Park Seonghwa are unexpectedly paired to practice for a 10-Dance competition.
warnings: eventual smut
tags: rivalry, ballroom dancing, latin dance, standard dance, eventual romance, tension, competitions.
a/n: i hope the technical aspects came across clearly. at this point, after so much research and way too many videos, i genuinely think my goal for 2026 might be to start ballroom myself.
speaking of 2026... a new year already. thank you so much for staying with me up to this point. i hope you’re having lovely celebrations today and welcoming the new year gently. wishing you all the best, and thank you for reading !!!
originally published on ao3
The constant buzz of Hongjoong’s phone pulled him from a shallow, restless sleep. He fumbled for it on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.
Yumi
Right. He promised that they would talk today. He had ended last night’s call with a rushed, “Let’s talk tomorrow,” after dropping the Korea Open bombshell, and she’d replied with a stern, “You better think it through properly. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He let the call go to voicemail, throwing an arm over his eyes. And it didn’t even pass five minutes when the distinct beep of the apartment’s door code sounded from the living room, followed by Yumi’s bright voice.
“Yunho! Good morning!”
“Yumi-noona! Hey,” Yunho’s voice, who was probably ready to go, filtered down the hall. “You’re here early.”
“Someone needs a reality check delivered in person,” she said, and Hongjoong could practically hear her smile. “Is Wooyoung up?”
A pause. “Probably still asleep.”
“Ah, okay. Tell him I said hi later.”
“Will do! I’m off to class. Try not to be too hard on him.”
“No promises!”
Hongjoong heard the front door close, followed by light footsteps approaching his room, and without knocking, his door creaked open.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”
Hongjoong peeked from under his arm and saw Yumi standing in the doorway, already in sleek running gear, her hair in a high ponytail. She looked annoyingly awake.
“It’s seven a.m.,” he grumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
“And the sun is up, and so should you be. Up. We’re going for a run.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Too bad,” she marched to his bed, grabbed the edge of his comforter, and yanked it off in one swift motion. Hongjoong hissed, curling into a ball in his thin t-shirt and shorts. “Come on! I have practice with Seunghee in an hour, so move your ass.”
With a long-suffering groan, Hongjoong dragged himself upright, and Yumi gave him a once-over with a big smirk on her lips.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he shuffled to his dresser for fresh clothes. “You’re a vision of compassion.”
“That’s me,” she chirped, waiting in the hallway as he changed.
Ten minutes later, they were outside, the early morning air cool and damp against their skin. They fell into their easy and familiar rhythm, their shoes hitting the pavement in a steady syncopation while the city was just waking up, the silence broken only by the distant sound of traffic and their own measured breathing.
“So…” After a few blocks, Yumi started. “The Korea Open. We’re entering Amateur Advanced again, right? Easy,” she said it with the confidence of proven champions. Winning the Amateur Latin Advanced division at a national-level competition like the Korea Open was their crowning achievement, the reason why they called them “best amateur couple” sometimes.
“No,” Hongjoong replied as he looked at the sky, preparing himself for her reaction. “We’re entering the Amateur Championship.”
Yumi’s stride hitched. For two full steps, her rhythm broke, then she stopped completely, planting her hands on her hips as she turned to face him, her breath making small clouds in the chilly air. Hongjoong slowed to a halt a few paces ahead and turned back.
“Championship?” she repeated, her voice stripped of its usual playful edge. “Hongjoong. That’s not ‘the next level.’ That’s a whole different world.”
She started walking again, at a slower pace now, forcing him to fall in beside her.
“Advanced is for the top couples like us who still have day jobs, who are clawing their way up. Championship…” she shook her head. “That’s for the full-time dancers. The ones with sponsors, with coaches for every style, who live in the studio. The ones who are literally one win away from turning Professional. They’re merciless, Hongjoong. We’d be starting at the very bottom of the food chain.”
“I know what it is,” Hongjoong said, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. He did know. He watched those couples from the sidelines, feeling a mix of awe and hunger churning in his gut. “And I know we have a month, and our Latin is covered in dust, but I think we can do it. You said that I should try something new, and this is something that I want to try, no, that we have to try.”
Yumi was silent for a long moment, processing everything.
“This is about him, isn’t it?” she finally asked, her tone softer now. “Seonghwa and Seunghee will be in the Amateur Championship for Standard. You want to be on the same floor and in the same category.”
Hongjoong didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. The image was burned into his mind: sharing the backstage area, the warm-up floor, the same tier of the results board. Not as a Latin novice dabbling in Standard, but as an equal contender in his own domain, foreshadowing that he could win in the 10-dance.
“He’ll be there,” he confirmed, his voice low. “And I will be too.”
“Is this about proving that we can?” Yumi sped up slightly. “Or is it about proving something to him?”
Hongjoong stumbled on a crack in the pavement, righting himself quickly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” she said, her breath coming in controlled, angry puffs now, “I’ve seen you get competitive and I’ve seen you get furious at rivals. Remember Lee Minhyuk? That guy from Busan who used to trash-talk us before every round? You’d just get this cold, focused look and dance him into the ground.”
Hongjoong remembered. Arrogant, slick-haired Minhyuk. He’d been all bark, no real bite. Defeating him had been a matter of clean, clinical pride.
“This is different,” Yumi continued, reading his silence. “You’re… it’s almost like you’re obsessed. You’re frustrated, yeah, but it’s a different kind. It doesn’t come from a place of ‘I’m better than you.’ It comes from a place of…” She searched for the word as they turned a corner into a deserted park. “…‘Why are you getting under my skin?’”
Hongjoong’s heart hammered against his ribs, and not just from the run. The emphasis on the you made it worse. “He’s just another dancer.”
“Is he?” Yumi glanced at him, her expression knowing and deeply concerned. “Because the way you two orbit each other… it’s different. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone, and we’ve faced way more detestable people than Park Seonghwa. And your sudden decision to enter Championship when there’s just one month left doesn’t make it better.”
Hongjoong fell silent for a few strides. Yumi’s words had struck a nerve, exposing a raw spot he’d been trying to ignore. He thought of their last fight in the private studio, remembering the way Seonghwa’s control had finally snapped, and he would have preferred that the man had shouted insults at him, but it was a cold, precise cruelty. The memory of Seonghwa’s hand coming up, fingers curling under his chin with a firm, unyielding grip to tilt his face up, flashed behind his eyes. It hadn’t been rough, but it had been commanding, a physical assertion of dominance that made Hongjoong feel suddenly, terribly small. The humiliation of it had burned hotter than any insult. He had swallowed his pride then, seething, but he couldn’t allow that feeling to linger. He refused to be someone who could be looked down on, literally or otherwise. He didn’t tell her about that. He couldn’t.
“It’s the way he looks at me,” Hongjoong finally said, the admission forced out, quieter than the sound of their running. “That’s what gets under my skin.”
Yumi slowed her pace just a fraction, listening.
“It’s not like he looks at anyone else,” he continued, frustration sharpening his tone. “With Seunghee, or other dancers, or even you during practice… his eyes are clear. He’s assessing, teaching, laughing. But with me…” He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory of those dark eyes fixed on him. “It’s a strange kind of indifference. But it’s not really indifference. It’s… intense, but hollow. Like he’s looking at a spot on the wall behind me, or through me entirely. I can’t read it. It’s there and then it’s gone, and it leaves me standing there feeling invisible, but also like I’ve done something wrong just by existing in his line of sight. And it wasn’t like that before.”
He took a sharp breath, the cool air burning his lungs. “I want him to look at me and actually see a rival. And if that means standing on the same Championship floor, forcing that look to mean something like respect, challenge, even annoyance, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Yumi didn’t push harder this time. She matched his pace, her earlier frustration melting into a somber understanding. The goal wasn’t just to compete at a higher level, but to force a reaction, to shatter that infuriating, opaque gaze and replace it with something, anything, real and directed at him.
“Obsessed,” she murmured again, but the word held no judgment now, only a heavy realization.
She didn’t wait for a reply, just pushed harder, surging forward with a burst of speed that was pure frustration, leaving him behind for several strides. It was a physical manifestation of the gap she saw opening up, not just between sensible champions and reckless contenders, but between understanding a simple rivalry and being dragged into the vortex of something far more personal and confusing. He scrambled to catch up, her words and his own confession echoing in the pounding of his feet.
Obsessed.
Their run ended at the studio entrance, where Yumi bent over, hands on her knees, before straightening up. She looked at him, really looked, her face serious.
“If we do this,” she said, wiping her forehead, “we have to go all in. We’ll live in the studio, and we’ll give up everything else for a month. And you have to promise me that this isn’t just some… twisted game you’re playing with him.”
Hongjoong met her gaze, the gravity of her terms settling on his shoulders. This was the cost.
“It’s not a game,” he said, and he meant it, even if he couldn’t fully define what it was. “We go all in.”
She studied him for another second, then gave a single, decisive nod. “Okay. Then I’ll see you after work. We start rebuilding our Latin from the ground up.”
He watched her disappear into the studio, the door swinging shut behind her with a finality that echoed in his chest. As he walked home, the reality of their commitment unfolded in his mind. The path to the Pro Latin circuit was a distant dream, but the Amateur Championship was its heavily guarded gate. Winning it, or even placing, required more than raw chemistry and will. It demanded a level of perfection they had only ever brushed against.
And as Hongjoong replayed the last few weeks, he understood Yumi’s fear. This was personal. It was dangerous. But the thought of standing on that floor, in that elite circle, and finally, finally having Park Seonghwa look at him as a genuine, formidable rival… that was a prize he was suddenly willing to risk everything for.
After spending the entire evening drilling Latin routines with Yumi until their feet ached and their minds were numb, the last thing Hongjoong wanted the next day was to face the reason for all his problems. The very thought of it made him feel a headache coming.
The following morning, he and Yumi arrived at the studio together and found Hyowon in the main hall, reviewing a student’s tape on a tablet, focused.
“Coach,” Yumi greeted.
Hyowon glanced up, her sharp eyes taking in their exhausted state. “You two look like you’ve been through a war. The good kind, I hope?”
“We’re entering the Korea Open,” Hongjoong stated, cutting to the chase. “In the Amateur Latin Championship category.”
Hyowon’s tablet slowly lowered. Her surprise was brief but noticeable, quickly replaced by an appraising stare.
“Championship,” she repeated. “You understand what you’re asking for? That’s not just a step up from Advanced; it’s a cliff.”
“We know,” Yumi said, her chin held high. “We’re prepared to do what it takes.”
“What it takes is more than extra hours,” Hyowon said, crossing her arms. “It’s a total commitment. Your jobs will suffer and your social lives will vanish. You’ll need a structured program, which I can provide.” She paused, her gaze shifting between them. “As for sponsorship, forget it, not at this stage. But if you place, and I mean place in the final, the studio might front your next entry fees or connect you with a dancewear brand. For now, the studio can handle the registration; it’s easier for bulk entries and gets you a minor discount. I’ll speak to the director.”
“Thank you, we really mean it,” Hongjoong smiled, already having that anticipated.
“But any advice on preparation… we’ll take it,” Yumi said, her expression already tired.
“My advice? Use your strength,” at least Hyowon’s tone was pragmatic, not discouraging. “Your chemistry is your biggest weapon. Polish it until it blinds the judges. And watch last year’s Championship finalists, study them like it’s an exam. Now,” she said, checking her watch, “you have group practice. Don’t be late.”
Grateful for her blunt support, they headed for the private room. As they entered, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The Standard couple were already there, stretching by the mirrored wall. Seunghee was saying something low, and Seonghwa let out a short laugh, but the moment their eyes landed on the newcomers, the laughter ceased. Seonghwa’s posture straightened into its familiar rigid line, his face smoothing into neutrality.
The air grew thick with unacknowledged tension.
“Morning, Seonghwa and Seunghee,” Hyowon clapped her hands, calling them to order. “Today, we assess your Foxtrot progress and adaptability. Start with your partners, then we’ll switch.”
Hongjoong took his position opposite Yumi. After their intense Latin practice the night before, there was a residual warmth in their connection that only they could understand. When the smooth jazz began, he led her into the basic Foxtrot pattern. It felt different than with Seonghwa, not better in the technical Standard sense, but clearer. He could focus on applying the principles Yeosang and Mr. Han had emphasized: a strong but responsive frame, initiating movement from his center. Yumi followed with her natural adaptability, her movements fluid where Seonghwa’s were precise. For a few moments, he could almost forget the cold presence watching from the other side of the floor.
“Switch!” Hyowon called.
As Hongjoong moved toward Seunghee, he couldn’t stop himself from watching Seonghwa guide Yumi to the starting position. His hand settled on her shoulder blade with confidence. Yumi was a very adaptable partner, so she softened into his frame seamlessly.
They began to dance.
And Hongjoong’s stomach twisted.
A sharp, hot spike of something ugly and familiar twisted in Hongjoong’s chest. Jealousy. He had always known that he was a jealous person. Territorial over his achievements, his space, his partnerships. It was why he and Yumi worked so well, because their bond was exclusive, only they knew how many hours they had struggled together. Seeing her dance with someone else had always been a minor and professional pinch he could brush off, since he had seen her with countless other leads during open practices or showcases, and felt nothing but analytical detachment or pride in her skill.
This was different.
He told himself, fiercely, that it was professional jealousy. It was normal seeing his partner of so many years sync so effortlessly with someone else and feel like this. And not just someone else, but his rival, the man that had been making his last week literal hell. That was the logical, acceptable reason for the heat coiling in his gut. But his gaze wasn’t on Yumi’s satisfied expression, the one he usually felt proud to inspire. It was mercilessly glued to the precise, sure placement of Seonghwa’s hand on the small of her back, to the slight, attentive tilt of Seonghwa’s head as he guided her through a turn.
“Your center is collapsing. You’re leading from your shoulders.”
Seunghee’s voice cut through his distraction, making him snap his attention back to her. She stood tall in his hold, her posture a masterclass in alignment. The woman was several centimeters taller than him, forcing his frame to adjust upward.
“It makes the movement top-heavy and inelegant,” she continued, her tone devoid of malice but equally devoid of warmth. It was a simple statement of fact. “And you’re anticipating the ‘quick.’ You must wait for my signal. You’re trying to lead a follow who already knows the steps. Don’t. It makes you look impatient.”
She was right. Technically, flawlessly right. And she delivered each correction with such clinical certainty that Hongjoong couldn’t even muster anger, only a simmering, frustrated shame. He adjusted his posture, forcing his mind back to the mechanics. Dancing with Seunghee was like partnering with a beautifully calibrated, supremely critical instrument: perfectly responsive but offering no warmth, no give. Every word from her was a reminder of a gap in his Standard technique.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seonghwa guide Yumi through a smooth promenade turn. Yumi’s head tilted back slightly in the finish, and she laughed, but the worst part was that the man smiled back at her.
The ugly feeling in Hongjoong’s chest tightened into a hard, cold knot.
He missed a step, his foot coming down with too much force. Seunghee didn’t falter, but her fingers pressed a silent warning into his hand.
“Focus,” she reminded him, her tone still even.
The rest of the practice passed in a blur. Every time he saw Seonghwa’s focused expression as he guided Yumi, and heard how gently he talked to her, the knot in Hongjoong’s stomach wound tighter.
When Hyowon finally called the four of them to the center, he broke away from Seunghee as if burned.
"Feedback from the rotations," she began, her gaze sweeping over them. "The purpose of switching partners isn't just to test adaptability, but to reveal blind spots too."
They nodded.
“Seonghwa,” She turned to the man first. "With Yumi, your lead was clear. Too clear, almost accommodating, and it lost some of your characteristic authority. Remember, a strong lead isn't about force, but about unwavering intent. Don't soften your edge just because the partner is unfamiliar."
Seonghwa absorbed the critique with a tight nod, his eyes briefly flicking to the floor.
"Seunghee," Hyowon continued. "Your technique is, as always, immaculate. But with Hongjoong, you became a critic, not a partner. You diagnosed problems but didn't facilitate solutions within the dance. A follow must also enable, even when leading is not their role."
Seunghee's expression didn't change, but a slight tightening around her eyes indicated she'd heard. "Understood."
"Yumi," Hyowon said, her tone warming a degree. "Your adaptability is your superpower. You read Seonghwa's lead beautifully and matched his Standard precision without losing your Latin flair. That is a rare skill. Nurture it."
Yumi smiled, making her relief and pride evident. "Thank you, coach."
"And you,” finally, Hyowon fixed her eyes on Hongjoong. “With Seunghee, you danced like you were being audited. Because you were," she added dryly. "You resisted her corrections physically, even if you accepted them verbally, which created a push and pull in the frame that killed all flow. You must learn to receive critique through movement, not against it."
The assessment was fair, and it stung precisely because it was fair. Hongjoong gave a short nod.
"Alright. Dismissed," Hyowon said, then added as they began to disperse, "Hongjoong, Yumi, come with me to the office. I have the preliminary schedule and program breakdown for the Korea Open. We need to map out your training blocks starting today.”
Hyowon then walked out.
At the mention of the competition, Seunghee, who was draping a towel over her shoulders, paused. She turned her head, her cool gaze landing on Yumi.
"You're entering the Korea Open?" she asked, her tone not quite curious, not quite challenging. Just a genuine question.
"We are!” Yumi replied, still happy for her feedback. “The Amateur Championship."
There was a faint, almost imperceptible arch of her perfectly shaped brow.
"Ambitious," Seunghee remarked, the word neutral. She gave a slow, considering nod. "Best of luck, then." With that, she turned and followed Seonghwa, who was already heading for the door without a backward glance.
Hongjoong watched them go, momentarily baffled. That was it? No sharp remark, no condescending smirk? Just a civil, almost professional exchange between the girls. It was somehow more disconcerting than open rivalry. Weren't they supposed to hate each other too?
Once the Standard couple had left the studio, Yumi grabbed her towel and bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Man, he’s good. I mean, I knew he was good, but following him is like… the cues are just there. So clear. And he’s surprisingly decent about it. Not all ‘you’re doing it wrong’ like with some people.”
She glanced pointedly at Hongjoong, who rolled his eyes. “Great. I’m thrilled for you.”
She bumped his shoulder as they walked into the hallway. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. What, you wanted to be the one swapped with him? Should I have traded partners with you? I wouldn’t have minded.” Her grin turned impish. “Did I accidentally steal your man?”
Hongjoong stopped walking and just stared at her, his face utterly flat.
Yumi blinked up at him with exaggerated innocence. “What?”
Without a word, Hongjoong lifted the damp end of his towel and snapped it against her arm.
Thwack.
“Yah!” she yelped, jumping back, but it was swallowed immediately by a burst of laughter. She rubbed her arm. “Okay, okay! Message received! Touchy subject!”
Still giggling, she led the way to Hyowon’s office. Inside, the coach had already spread documents across her desk: a dense schedule of dates, times for each round, and the list of five dances required in the Amateur Latin Championship category.
“The studio will handle the registration and entry fees,” Hyowon said without preamble, tapping the paper. “It’s standard for us to support couples entering at this level. I’ll speak to the director this afternoon. Consider it an investment.”
Hongjoong felt a wave of concrete relief. The logistics, the forms, the payment… it was one less monumental thing to worry about.
“Thank you, Coach. Seriously.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Hyowon said, her gaze stern. “This schedule is your bible for the next four weeks. Morning drills, evening stamina sessions, weekend full-round simulations. You will eat, sleep, and breathe this. Understood?”
“Understood,” they chorused.
As they left the office, the reality was now a tangible stack of papers in Yumi’s hand. The path was officially open, paid for, and lined with the most brutal training of their lives.
Back in the main hall, Hongjoong and Yumi pored over the printed schedule Hyowon had given them. It was a brutal grid of time blocks, detailing not just practices, but video analysis sessions, conditioning, and recovery. The Amateur Latin Championship at the Korea Open required the same five dances as 10-Dance, each had to be polished to a blinding shine.
"Paso is going to kill us," Yumi mused, tapping the page. "We haven't done serious Paso work in months. Our shaping is going to look like two confused flamingos."
"We'll drill it," Hongjoong said, his eyes scanning the stamina sessions. "Actually, it's the endurance that worries me more. Five dances back-to-back in a final round, after potentially three previous rounds in one day…" He trailed off, the physical reality of it settling in.
"I was thinking…” Yumi continued. “For the Jive, maybe we could modify that sequence from last year's nationals? And for the dress, I saw this fabric with this incredible red ombre—"
"Yumi," Hongjoong cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we focus on not dying on the floor before we pick out your ombre?"
She pouted but nodded. They decided to head to the Latin studio to start with basic walks and posture drills, but when they arrived, a janitor was mopping the floor with a pungent disinfectant. A sticky-looking purple sports drink stain spread across the center of the floor like a crime scene.
"Great," Hongjoong muttered.
"The General Hall should be free," Yumi suggested. "It's Saturday morning; so I think most of the privates are booked, but the open floor might be empty."
They were in luck. The vast General Hall, with its wall of mirrors and scuffed hardwood, was deserted. For the next hour, they lost themselves in the work. The rust was evident since their timing in the Cha-Cha was a fraction off, the hip action in the Samba not as sharp, but the muscle memory was there, buried under weeks of Standard restraint. They were starting to sweat through their shirts, the familiar burn of Latin exertion a welcome ache compared to the controlled tension of the Foxtrot.
They were in the middle of a tricky Rumba box step, Hongjoong focusing on the controlled, grounded movement of his hips, when a slow clap echoed through the hall.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
They froze, turning toward the sound.
Leaning against the doorframe were Wooyoung and Minseo. Wooyoung looked like he’d been dragged there against his will, but Minseo was beaming.
“Not bad for being out of the game,” Minseo called out, her voice bright and clear.
Hongjoong blinked in surprise. “Wooyoung?”
“I had to threaten to hide all his jewelry to get him here,” Minseo announced cheerfully, linking her arm through Wooyoung’s, who made a crying face.
Seeing them together like this sparked a memory for Hongjoong. Minseo had been painfully shy when she first joined the studio’s open practice sessions, so Yumi had nudged Hongjoong to ask her for a dance once. The sheer, grateful joy on her face had been unforgettable. Later, when Yumi was dancing with a then-equally-new Wooyoung, she suggested that they switch partners, and something just clicked between the two.
Wooyoung had told Hongjoong later, “I don’t know how to explain it, hyung. We just… move well together. We’re both new here, so there’s no pressure.”
That was over two years ago. And now, Minseo’s personality seemed to have absorbed Wooyoung’s contagious, bold energy.
“We’re entering the Korea Open,” Yumi announced proudly. “The Championship division.” She proceeded to show them a snippet of their newly revised Cha-Cha routine.
“Oh, shit,” Wooyoung said.
“The stamina you’ll need just for that opening sequence is a horror,” Minseo commented.
“Why don’t you guys enter?” Yumi then asked, and Minseo elbowed her partner, but Wooyoung just shrugged.
“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it,” he said, and his partner rolled her eyes.
Hongjoong saw an opening. Maybe Wooyoung needed a goal to make him feel better.
“You should,” he said, trying to sound casual. “You could try Beginner, it would be good for you.”
Wooyoung met his eyes briefly, and there was something unreadable passing through them.
“I’ll think about it,” he just said that.
The mood shifted as Minseo suggested that they should all practice together. For a while, the General Hall was filled with the sound of four sets of feet, laughter, and good-natured critiques. Eventually, Yumi and Minseo became engrossed in dissecting a Rumba walk, leaving Hongjoong and Wooyoung to slump against the mirrored wall, gulping water.
Their quiet recovery was interrupted by a bright, familiar voice. “Yuna!”
They all turned. Kang Yuna was hurrying across the hall, her face lit up with a genuine smile. Behind her, walking in a more measured pace, were Seonghwa and Jongho. Hongjoong’s stomach did an unpleasant flip.
Yuna and Minseo embraced, chatting animatedly. The Standard dancers acknowledged the group with polite nods. Seonghwa’s gaze swept over them, lingering on Hongjoong for a half-second before shifting away, as neutral and unreadable as ever. The two groups quickly separated, Yuna pulling Minseo and a curious Yumi toward the other end of the hall to talk, while Seonghwa and Jongho began their own warm-up.
Wooyoung nudged Hongjoong, a mischievous grin on his face. “Looks like your dance hubby brought a friend.”
Hongjoong just shot him a deadpan stare, which only made Wooyoung chuckle.
As the sounds of the others faded into a distant murmur, a heavy silence fell between the Latin dancers. Wooyoung was staring at his own reflection in the mirror, but he wasn’t really seeing himself.
“I’m going to quit dance,” he said quietly, making Hongjoong jolt, nearly chocking on his water.
“What? Why?”
Wooyoung didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the hollow version of himself in the glass.
“It just… doesn’t feel the same anymore. I don’t feel motivated.”
“Is this because of what’s happening at home?” Hongjoong asked gently, not wanting to push too hard.
Wooyoung gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. He didn’t elaborate, and Hongjoong knew better than to pry. He followed Wooyoung’s gaze, which wasn’t on his own reflection anymore, but angled toward the far end of the hall.
There, Seonghwa was demonstrating something to Jongho and Yuna. He was guiding her through a Standard frame, his hands adjusting her posture with a focused, professional touch. Jongho watched intently, nodding. Then Seonghwa took over the lead, showing Jongho the follow’s perspective in the movement. They were laughing about something, demonstrating a relaxed and easy dynamic between rivals that Hongjoong couldn’t comprehend.
Why is he like that with them? The thought making him feel angrier toward the man. Seonghwa, who met his every attempt with rigid control or cold silence, was here being a helpful, patient mentor to his direct competition.
He sighed, forcibly dragging his attention back to the real crisis beside him. Wooyoung was still staring blankly, looking more lost than Hongjoong had ever seen him.
“Just… think about the Korea Open, okay?” he suggested. “Before you make any big decisions, think about entering. Not for anyone else, but for you. See if the thought of being on that floor again sparks anything. Anything at all.”
Wooyoung was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he whispered, “I’ll think about it.”
Before anything more could be said, Minseo’s voice called across the hall.
“Wooyoung-ah! Come fix my promenade, you’re the only one who gets my weird pivot!”
With a final look at Hongjoong, Wooyoung pushed himself off the wall and walked away, leaving him alone with a deep worry for his friend that now felt heavier than any competition schedule.
After the other Latin couple had left, Hongjoong and Yumi pushed through an accelerated Paso Doble sequence until their legs burned and their lungs screamed for air. They were both slumped against the mirrored wall, utterly spent, when Yumi checked her phone and gasped.
“It’s six?” she wheezed, her eyes wide. “We’ve been here for almost nine hours.”
Hongjoong could believe it. His body felt like one giant, exhausted muscle. They were sure this was the longest, most brutal single practice streak they’d ever logged, feeling a strange, grim pride in the sheer physical cost of their decision. Wooyoung and Minseo had left hours ago, and as he packed his bag, Hongjoong realized with a jolt that he hadn’t even noticed when Seonghwa and his group had departed. He hadn’t given him a single glance for the latter half of the afternoon. It felt like a small, hard-won victory.
When he finally keyed in the code to the apartment, the warm, savory smell of kimchi jjigae hit him. Wooyoung was in the kitchen, stirring a pot, looking more present than he had in the studio.
“You’re cooking,” Hongjoong stated, dropping his bag by the door and collapsing into a chair at the small dining table.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t starve on your Championship death march,” Wooyoung replied without looking up. They chatted for a bit about the practice, about their dance partners and some studio gossip. Then, Wooyoung casually dropped the bomb, his tone conversational as he sprinkled green onions into the stew.
“By the way, Seonghwa’s really cool.”
Hongjoong, who had been taking a sip of water, froze. “What?”
“Yeah,” Wooyoung said, turning down the heat. “We ran into him and Choi Jongho in the hallway after you guys were drilling Paso like maniacs. We talked for a bit about the Korea Open, and he actually convinced us.”
“Convinced you of what?” Hongjoong asked, his voice carefully flat.
“To compete in Begginner,” Wooyoung clarified, finally looking at him. “He said it was a solid, respectable step back in. That the field would be challenging but not demoralizing. And it was a better way to… you know, see if the spark is still there.” He shrugged, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “He just has a way with words, you know? Like an older brother. It made sense, so Minseo and I are signing up.”
A confusing sensation washed over Hongjoong. He felt angry, but also a profound sense of unfairness. He hadn’t told anyone about the specific and suffocating tension between him and Seonghwa. It felt too humiliating to admit that someone, especially that someone, could make him feel so perpetually off-balance and infuriated. He assumed his reaction was justified since Park Seonghwa was just… like that. An arrogant, cold, control freak.
But Wooyoung’s words painted a different picture. A picture of a guy who was “like an older brother,” who gave good, thoughtful advice, who was apparently going around convincing people to follow their passion. Everyone seemed to have that impression of him. Yumi thought he was a clear and patient lead. Jongho seemed to have deep respect for the man. Even Hyowon’s critiques were about his technique, not his character.
So why? The question echoed in Hongjoong’s skull.
Why is he like that with everyone else? Why is he helpful, amiable, sensible with everyone, but with me…
With Hongjoong, it was nothing but rigid control, silent treatments, challenging glares, and a tension so thick it felt like a physical barrier. He almost had that good version of Seonghwa the first weeks, but after Hyowon’s comment, everything changed.
Was he imagining it? Was he the problem? The thought was so unsettling he almost rejected it outright. But the evidence was stacking up against his narrative, and it left him feeling strangely alone in his frustration.
Before he could spiral further, the front door opened and Yunho bustled in, shrugging off his jacket. The apartment seemed to inhale, the heavy air shifting with his arrival.
“Something smells amazing,” he said, his warm gaze landing first on Hongjoong slumped at the table, then on Wooyoung at the stove. His smile was genuine, but Hongjoong didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Wooyoung, checking him. “And you both look half-dead. Good practice?”
Wooyoung’s face brightened and turned off the stove with a decisive click. “We’re entering the Korea Open.”
Yunho’s entire face underwent a transformation. Pure, unfiltered joy erupted, smoothing away the subtle lines of worry.
“Wooyoung-ah, that’s amazing!” He didn’t just walk over; he practically bounded, wrapping Wooyoung in a tight, spinning hug that lifted him slightly off the ground. Wooyoung stiffened for a fraction of a second before his arms came up, hugging him back, a strained laugh escaping him. “Seriously! I’m so proud of you!” Yunho set him down, his hands lingering on Wooyoung’s shoulders a moment before he turned, and smiled at Hongjoong. “Our apartment is going to be a champion’s den! We need to celebrate!”
The initial burst of energy settled as they moved to sit at the small table, the steaming pot placed in the center. Yunho dished out generous portions.
“So, which category? Beginner? That’s a great place to start again,” he asked, looking between Wooyoung and Hongjoong. “Get your feet wet without all the pressure, right?”
Hongjoong shook his head, stirring his soup absently. “Wooyoung and Minseo are entering Beginner. Yumi and I… we’re entering Amateur Championship.”
“Championship?” Yunho paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait, I don’t really understand the difference from last year. I thought you won the big one.” He looked genuinely confused, his eyes flicking from Hongjoong’s tired face to Wooyoung’s. “Explain it to me?”
“Last year, we won the Amateur Latin Advanced division,” Hongjoong started. “That’s the top tier for serious competitors who still balance dance with other things. Beginner,” he said, nodding toward Wooyoung, “is for newer couples or those returning after a break. They have fewer dances and less intense competition. So, it’s a good and safe place to rebuild confidence.”
He pushed his food around his bowl. “Championship is… it’s the level above Advanced. It’s for the couples who are basically professionals without the license. They train full-time. It’s a different world. The judges expect perfection.”
He saw Yunho’s eyes widen slightly. “And you’re jumping straight into that? How many…?”
“A month,” Wooyoung replied. “They’re crazy.”
“Wow,” Yunho breathed out, sitting back. He looked at Hongjoong with a mix of awe and worry, then his expression softened into something more protective as he turned to Wooyoung. “And Beginner is perfect. I’m really glad you’re doing this.” He reached over and gave Wooyoung’s arm a gentle squeeze.
Wooyoung nodded, not meeting his eyes, focusing on the steam rising from his bowl. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just a start.” The words were small, but the fact that he said them at all seemed to ease something in Yunho’s posture.
“It’s a great start,” Yunho affirmed, his voice warm. “We’ll be there, loudest in the audience. I’ll make the most obnoxiously supportive signs for both of you.” He launched into a ridiculous plan for sequined banners and coordinated cheers, successfully pulling a chuckle from Wooyoung.
Hongjoong just sat there, surrounded by the warmth of the stew and his friends’ voices, feeling utterly, bizarrely disconnected. The mental image of Seonghwa talking calmly to Wooyoung in the hallway, was seared into his mind. It contradicted everything he felt, everything he believed about their dynamic. And it left him with a quiet, nagging, and deeply uncomfortable question that he had no idea how to answer: If Park Seonghwa wasn’t the villain he had constructed in his head, then what, and who, was this battle really about?
After spending nearly all of Sunday in the studio, grinding through their Latin routines until their bodies screamed, the prospect of Monday felt like a cruel joke. The only small mercy was that Hongjoong had managed to clear his major work deadlines last week, so the frantic scramble was over, at least for now. Yumi’s sacrifice of picking up extra shifts had finally afforded her some peace for these critical weeks.
But, the mere idea of having to dance with Seonghwa again twisted Hongjoong’s stomach into knots, but he wouldn’t back down. He was an adult. He had dealt with worse people. But just couldn’t pinpoint exactly why Seonghwa angered him so profoundly. It was the not-knowing that grated the most.
He arrived at the private room to find him already there, stretching his calves with a focused intensity. They didn’t speak. Hongjoong dropped his bag and began his own warm-up.
Mr. Han arrived shortly after.
“Good afternoon. Hyowon gave me her feedback from the cross-training, and it seems you’re all progressing well,” he said, glancing between them. “So, I don’t think we should linger on any style, right?”
“No, it’s fine,” Hongjoong replied.
“Good,” Mr. Han adjusted his glasses, consulting his notes. “She also mentioned you’re entering the Korea Open, Hongjoong. Congratulations. That’s a serious commitment.” He looked up, his expression thoughtful. “These Standard sessions are more of a help to Seonghwa, who is still actively competing in the style. For you, they could become a distraction from your Latin focus. Are you sure you want to continue? It could be too much.”
Hongjoong’s eyes instinctively flicked to the mirror, catching Seonghwa’s reflection. At the mention of his entry to the competition, a subtle tension had pulled at his shoulders. Good.
“There’s no problem,” he replied, turning his gaze back to the coach. “I want to continue.”
Mr. Han studied him for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Then today, we begin Quickstep.”
He launched into an explanation for Hongjoong’s benefit, mentioning the faster tempo, the emphasis on smooth, gliding movement across the floor, the “slow, quick, quick, slow” rhythm that was deceptively simple. Hongjoong listened, but internally he groaned. If Foxtrot was about flow, Quickstep was about controlled, high-speed flight. The stamina required was hellish.
“Let’s start with Seonghwa leading,” Mr. Han instructed.
They took their positions but the moment they made contact, it was all wrong. Seonghwa’s hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder felt like a brand he was reluctant to apply while Hongjoong’s frame was rigid, braced for control rather than inviting the guidance. They were avoiding each other like two magnets with the same polarity forced together.
Mr. Han started the music, and their first steps were jerky. Hongjoong, used to the grounded power of Latin, fought the lightness required, dragging against Seonghwa’s attempts to propel them. And Seonghwa’s lead was technically correct but utterly devoid of musicality or partnership. He was moving a mannequin, not a dancer.
“Stop,” Mr. Han called out after barely thirty seconds. He rubbed his chin with a deep frown on his face and looked at the Standard dancer. “Your lead is… correct. But it’s dead. There’s no pulse or invitation; you’re just placing him. Remember that in Quickstep, especially, the follow must want to move with you. And you’re giving him nothing to want.”
The critique landed like a physical blow, making the other man’s jaw tightened, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. The perfect Standard dancer, criticized for his lead. Hongjoong felt a dark surge of satisfaction.
“Here, watch.” Mr. Han stepped in, taking his position. “Hongjoong, observe the connection.” The coach’s lead was different, it had a vibrant, communicative energy. He didn’t push, but suggested the movements, and his own body moved with such infectious rhythm that following felt inevitable. Hongjoong took mental notes.
“Now,” Mr. Han said, stepping back. “Let Hongjoong lead you, Seonghwa. Sometimes, feeling the other side is the best lesson.”
The resistance from Seonghwa was noticeable. Stepping into the follow’s position seemed to shrink him, his pride visibly wounded. The humiliation in the set of his shoulders was a sweet, potent fuel for Hongjoong’s pride.
The Latin dancer took the frame, his grip assertive, and initiated the basic step, focusing on the clear, rhythmic cues he had just observed. To his surprise, they moved. It was awkward and far from graceful, but they were moving in sync.
For a few bars, it worked. Then Seonghwa’s voice cut through the music.
“Your right hand is too high. It’s breaking the line.”
Hongjoong adjusted, biting back a retort.
Three steps later. “You’re rushing the second ‘quick.’ The music is here.” A subtle, correcting pressure from Seonghwa’s body forced the timing.
Hongjoong corrected again, his jaw clenched.
They made it halfway across the room. “Your posture is collapsing forward. You’re chasing the tempo instead of carrying it.”
That was it. The dam broke. Hongjoong planted his feet and broke the hold with a sharp, backward step.
“Is there a single step I can take that you won’t dissect?” Hongjoong snapped, his voice echoing in the room. “Or is the only way to get a ‘perfect’ dance with you to become a goddamn puppet?”
Seonghwa’s composure, already frayed by the coach’s earlier criticism, finally snapped. “A puppet would at least listen. I’m giving you corrections so you don’t look like a frantic amateur on the floor.”
“You’re not giving corrections, you’re nitpicking every breath I take because you can’t stand not being in control!” Hongjoong shot back, stepping closer. “You really can’t handle following? Can’t handle not being the infallible Park Seonghwa for five minutes?”
“This has nothing to do with that, I already told you!” Seonghwa’s voice rose. “This has to do with you refusing to submit to the basics of the style! You fight the frame, you fight the timing, you fight me on every step! How is anyone supposed to lead that?”
“Maybe if your lead wasn’t so damn suffocating, I wouldn’t have to fight!” Hongjoong was in his space now, the heat of their anger radiating between them. “Last week with Yumi you were all ‘clear cues’ and ‘patience.’ What, do you save all your passive-aggressive, controlling bullshit just for me? What did I ever do to you besides exist in your studio?”
The air crackled. Mr. Han had been watching, silent, his expression growing more and more severe. Before Seonghwa could fire back another retort, the coach’s voice cut through, cold and final.
“Enough.”
They both fell silent, chests heaving, glaring at each other.
Mr. Han looked between them, obviously disappointed.
“This is a petty, childish feud. I don’t know what is going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t have the time or the desire to mediate it.” He picked up his clipboard, his movements stiff with displeasure. “You will fix whatever this is. You are dancers, not schoolboys. I will not waste this studio’s time, or mine, on this… this whatever it is. Practice is cancelled. Do not come back to me until you have resolved this.”
With a last, disapproving shake of his head, Mr. Han turned and left, the door clicking shut.
After a moment of shock, Hongjoong walked stiffly to his bag, pulled out his water bottle, and took a long sip. He didn’t look at Seonghwa, focusing on the cool liquid, just the simple, physical act of swallowing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man gathering his towel and bag.
The urge to let him walk out was strong, but the unfairness of it was a stone in Hongjoong’s throat. He couldn’t swallow it down this time.
“You know,” he started, his voice quiet but slicing through the quiet. “I talked to Wooyoung.”
Seonghwa paused, his back to Hongjoong, hand frozen on the zipper of his bag.
“He told me you convinced him to enter the Korea Open. That you gave him good advice, and you were like an older brother.” Hongjoong finally turned to look at him, his expression stripped of anger, leaving only confusion. “Yumi thinks you’re a patient lead. Your friends think highly of you. So… what is it? What’s the criteria?”
“The criteria,” the Latin dancer repeated, stepping closer, his voice gaining an edge, “for getting the human version of Park Seonghwa. The one who’s helpful, who is funny and charming. Because from where I’m standing, it seems like the only person who gets the stone wall, the controlling grip, the silent treatment, and the barely-veiled contempt… is me.”
That made Seonghwa turn. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were dark. “Maybe you’re the only one who requires it.”
The words were meant to cut, but they only deepened the confusion. “Requires what? What did I do? Just because Hyowon said we could reach you. Is really your ego really that fragile?”
A flicker of something like pain, maybe, or frustration, crossed Seonghwa’s features before being smoothed away. “I already told you, this has nothing to do with ego.”
“Then what?” Hongjoong demanded, throwing his hands up. He took another step, eliminating the safe distance. “Give me one reason. One logical, coherent reason why you can be a decent person to literally everyone else in this building, but the moment it’s me, it’s like I personally offended your entire bloodline.”
Seonghwa’s composure was fraying. Hongjoong could see it in the tight line of his shoulders, the way his breath hitched slightly.
“You don’t get it,” he said, the words strained.
“I know I don’t fucking get it!” Hongjoong exploded, the sound raw in the empty room. “That’s the whole point! I don’t get any of it! I don’t get why you looked at me like you wanted to set me on fire during the showcase. I don’t get why a simple practice feels like a power struggle. I don’t get why your hands are gentle with Yumi but they feel like shackles on me.”
Something in Seonghwa seemed to crack at that. The careful, neutral mask didn’t fall, but it splintered, revealing a glimpse of sheer, agonized conflict beneath. He looked away, his jaw working. When he spoke, his voice was so low Hongjoong had to strain to hear it.
"They feel like shackles because I can't afford to feel what I feel when I touch you."
The confession hung in the air, nonsensical. Hongjoong just stared, his anger momentarily derailed. “…What?”
Seonghwa didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he seemed to deflate, the rigid posture he always maintained softening into something weary and defeated. He ran a hand through his hair, and when he looked back at Hongjoong, the conflict in his eyes was raw and unguarded.
“You want a logical reason?” Seonghwa’s voice was still low, but it trembled now with a frustration that seemed directed inward. “There isn’t one, that’s the problem. With everyone else, there are rules. Steps to follow, techniques to apply, a clear line between the professional and personal. But with you…” He shook his head, a helpless, frustrated motion. “The line blurs. It disappears. I touch you to lead a basic step, and my mind goes blank on the next sequence. I see you watching me, and I forget my own choreography. It’s infuriating and unprofessional. It’s a weakness I can’t afford, not now, not ever.”
He took a step closer, and Hongjoong didn’t retreat.
“So yes, I’m cold. I’m controlling. I build a wall so high you can’t possibly climb it, because if I don’t, if I let you in even a crack, this…” He gestured wildly between them. “This thing that has no name and no place here… will ruin everything I’ve worked for. I’ll lose my focus, I’ll make a mistake, and I’ll lose. And I can’t afford to lose.”
Hongjoong listened, frustration simmering under his skin. He couldn’t fit the pieces together. What “thing”? What feeling was so catastrophic it required this fortress of ice? It sounded like an excuse, a poetic way to mask simple dislike.
“So I’m just… a distraction to be managed,” Hongjoong said, the words tasting bitter. “A flaw in your perfect system.”
“I don’t know what you are!” Seonghwa’s composure snapped again, his voice rising in desperation. “Do you think I enjoy this? Walking around feeling like there’s a live wire under my skin every time you’re in the room?”
As Hongjoong tried and failed to decipher the other man’s cryptic anguish, he saw the evidence of it: the dark circles under his eyes that makeup usually hid, the faint tremor in his clasped hands, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly. The perfect Standard dancer was coming apart at the seams, and Hongjoong was both the cause and the bewildered witness.
Seonghwa’s gaze dropped. It flickered down to Hongjoong’s mouth, a swift and hungry glance that was there and gone in a second. When his eyes lifted back to Hongjoong’s, they were darker, full of a conflict so deep it looked like drowning, the practiced neutrality completely burned away. His lips, usually set in a firm line, were slightly parted. He looked utterly lost, and beautiful, and furious.
Beautiful?
The tension coiled between them, thick and hot and impossible to ignore. It was a silent question hanging in the scant inches separating them.
Hongjoong, feeling his own heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, searched Seonghwa’s face. The confusion felt like a knot in his throat.
“I don’t understand you,” he whispered, the admission dragged out of him.
It was the truth. He didn’t understand the coded language of “weakness” and “live wires.” Yes, there had been something strange simmering between them those first two weeks and something shifted after Seonghwa asked him for help, after he placed his hands on his nude torso and they danced their strange tango. But Hongjoong had started to doubt it, thinking he imagined the tension. And maybe that was hurt the most: the possibility of a connection, however fragile, had been real, and Seonghwa had been the one to shatter it after Hyowon’s praise, retreating behind this maddening, incomprehensible wall.
“Park Seonghwa, I really don’t understand you.”
Seonghwa’s answer was not in words.
He moved. One hand came up to cup the back of Hongjoong’s neck, his fingers tangling in the short hair at his nape in a grip that was neither gentle nor cruel, but decisively possessive. His other hand splayed against the Latin dancer’s lower back, pulling him in until no space remained between them. There was no hesitation, only a desperate, final surrender.
He kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a furious, consuming collision. Seonghwa’s mouth was hot and demanding against his, lips sliding with a roughness that mirrored his pent-up fury. The kiss deepened almost instantly with a hot swipe of tongue against Hongjoong’s lower lip, seeking and gaining entry. The taste was overwhelmingly Seonghwa, tasting a bit of strawberry. Hongjoong froze for one stunned second, his mind a white blank of sensory overload, before his body reacted with a will of its own. His hands came up to fist in the front of Seonghwa’s tank top, the cotton straining under his grip, and kissed him back with equal fervor, his own tongue meeting the assault, the kiss transforming into a messy, hungry, silent battle for dominance, for air, for understanding. It was all heat and wet friction, a confusing tangle of anger and a shocking, undeniable pull.
Then, reality crashed back in.
Seonghwa was the one to break it. He pulled away as abruptly as he had begun, stumbling back a step and breathing raggedly. His lips swollen and glistening, his eyes wide with a horror that mirrored the shock roaring through Hongjoong’s own system. He looked at the Latin dancer as if he’d just set his whole world on fire.
Hongjoong couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The ghost of the kiss burned on his lips.
So, without a word, without looking at Seonghwa’s shattered expression a moment longer, Hongjoong turned. He bent, grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder before leaving the room.
chapter 3: foxtrot (12k)
chapters
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: ballroom dancing AU, 18+ smut
summary: Latin dancer Kim Hongjoong and Standard dancer Park Seonghwa are unexpectedly paired to practice for a 10-Dance competition.
warnings: eventual smut
tags: ballroom dancing, latin dance, standard dance, eventual romance, tension, competitions.
originally published on ao3
Yoon Seunghee and Park Seonghwa
Park Seonghwa Tango
Park Seonghwa practice
Since he woke up, all Hongjoong had been doing was watching videos of Seonghwa all Sunday morning. It had been easy to find them because the studio clearly favored the Standard pairing and uploaded videos of them constantly. After finishing one of their competitions, he moved on to a tango practice.
Seunghee appeared first in the video, moving toward Seonghwa, who had his back to the camera. She advanced slowly, sensually, with control, confidence in each movement. Her long black hair followed her motion like it was part of the choreography. She was captivating, and still, Hongjoong couldn’t stop his eyes from tracking Seonghwa.
After shaping the promenade, Seonghwa began to lead, his body guiding every step with a masculine grace that felt worlds apart from the sharp sensuality of his Latin. His dancing consisted of precise and controlled movements, restrained in a way that defined him. As Hongjoong kept watching, his mind kept drifting to the memory of how those hips had felt under his hands, the warmth of bare skin, and the muscle jumping beneath his touch as he guided him.
For some reason, memories of their last tango clung to him stubbornly the last few days, confusing him. He still felt the heat of Seonghwa’s back beneath his palm, how close they’d been, how his breath had hovered just shy of his own lips…
Hongjoong shoved the phone away, letting it fall face-down onto the bed, and pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.
The last week had felt like a fever dream.
He had known from the beginning that Seonghwa was a confusing man. Competitive, serious about dance, and everyone was to some extent, but Seonghwa had also been surprisingly sweet. He laughed more than Hongjoong expected and listened attentively when they did some chatting. Plus, whatever happened between them last Thursday. They had been getting somewhere. At least, until yesterday’s group practice.
Hongjoong hated to admit it, but learning how to follow had helped him lead Yumi better. He now understood what it was to be on the other side, which she noticed immediately. During group practice the improvement had been obvious. And, when both pairs danced at the same time, Hyowon praised the Latin couple even more.
Everything had been going well, better still when Hyowon called them over for feedback. She started with some technical explanations, which Yumi kept annotating on his notes. After a few minutes, she continued.
“Your footwork is still a bit rushed, but you’re doing great. The character is there, your intention is clear, and if you keep going like this,” she smiled, then glanced briefly at the Standard pair before looking back at them, “you could reach Seonghwa and Seunghee’s league soon.”
Pride immediately filled both of them, pulling triumphant grins from their faces. At last, it felt like all their frustration and days of feeling clumsy and out of place had crystallized into that moment of validation. They were getting somewhere.
After thanking the coach, Hongjoong’s eyes instinctively drifted to the edge of the mirror, where the Standard couple sat cooling down. Seunghee’s expression was neutral, and Hongjoong couldn't read exactly into it, but Seonghwa was clearly struggling to compose himself.
He felt the intensity of the other man’s gaze, and that look fueled him more than any praise he had ever received in his life. It felt like a real victory, a sweet one.
When it was their turn, he tried not to listen too closely to their feedback but still caught fragments: they needed to do something different, loosen control, make the dance more captivating. Yumi raised an eyebrow at him when she heard it, and he only shrugged.
When Hyowon dismissed them, Hongjoong followed Seonghwa with his eyes as he grabbed his bag in complete silence. When he looked up and their eyes met, Hongjoong couldn’t hide his smile.
But Seonghwa didn’t return it. He gave him a serious look instead, then left after Seunghee.
Whatever, Hongjoong thought.
It felt good to be praised after a million corrections. Maybe Hyowon had said that deliberately out loud to make the Standard couple more aware of their flaws, but Hongjoong didn’t care. His initial resentment toward Standard was gone now, and what remained was determination. He wanted to keep improving, feeling more motivated than ever.
He picked his phone back up and found another video, which the caption read as a Foxtrot showcase. It would probably be the next style they focused on. Sitting up, he rewound the clip and watched Seonghwa’s footwork carefully, the way his body carried the movement.
Hongjoong preferred learning by watching and mimicking, discovering the technique on his own because being explicitly told what to do made him feel frustrated for some reason. He replayed the video again, already mapping the movements onto his body, letting the music decide the rhythm, calculating effort and timing. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the door opening until a voice called out to him.
“Hyung?”
Yunho stood in the doorway, already dressed like he was heading out.
“Mm?” Hongjoong replied, lowering his phone, though the video kept playing.
Yunho walked in and sat on the bed, his gaze flicking briefly to the screen. When Hongjoong looked down, he realized the video had reached its end where Seonghwa was fully in focus now, smiling at the camera as he finished the showcase, so he turned his phone off. But his roommate didn’t comment, just smiled.
“Wooyoung and I want to go out to eat. Do you want to come?” he asked, absently playing with the bed sheets.
Hongjoong hesitated. It was a slow Sunday, and the obsessive part of him wanted nothing more than to stay right there and analyze every Park Seonghwa video that existed online. If he were alone, he could even push the coffee table aside and run through Foxtrot basics in the living room. But he hadn’t gone out properly with the two of them in a while. And if Wooyoung, who had been so out of sorts lately, wanted to go out, Hongjoong wanted to be there.
He sighed. “Where are we going?”
Yunho’s entire face brightened, like he had been waiting for him to agree. “We don’t know yet, but Wooyoung is craving fried chicken.”
Hongjoong nodded, already sliding off the bed to get ready. Yunho gave him a big smile and told him they would wait in the living room. When Hongjoong turned his phone on, the video continued playing, showing the Standard couple giving a short speech to the interviewer. He watched another second before finally turning it off, deciding he’d come back to it later.
Once he finished getting ready, he left his room, sliding his phone into his pocket before stepping into the living room. His roommates were already sitting on the couch, shoulders pressed together as they scrolled through restaurant options on Yunho’s phone.
When Wooyoung looked up, his eyes lit up. “Hyung! Can I invite Yeosang and Mingi?”
Hongjoong shrugged, pulling on a jacket. “I like them. No problem.”
Wooyoung looked at Yunho, who nodded and sent his friends a message. To their surprise, they replied quickly and suggested a chicken place with huge booths and strong beer. Hongjoong didn’t particularly like beer, but if Wooyoung wanted to drink, well, fine.
They agreed to meet there. And as Hongjoong drove, listening to Wooyoung chatting animatedly and laughing at Yunho’s jokes, the sound eased something tight in his chest.
At the entrance, they spotted the other two. Wooyoung called out to them, and Mingi immediately pulled Yunho into a casual side hug.
“Wait, you know each other?” Hongjoong asked, surprised.
“We met in the street dance scene,” his roommate explained, giving a few pats to Mingi’s shoulders. “This guy’s a menace in a cypher.”
The other man laughed, clearly pleased.
Hongjoong realized then how little he knew about his roommates’ lives outside the apartment. They had stories, friendships, worlds that didn’t always intersect with his. Maybe he should go out with them more.
They settled into a large corner booth, with Mingi and Hongjoong on one side, and the rest of them squeezed into the other. As the conversation picked up, the ballet dancer turned to Hongjoong.
“How have you been feeling with your Standard training?” he asked.
“Uh…” Hongjoong laughed softly. “We actually did great with tango this week. Really well. But I’m already scared of the next styles.” He sighed. “Quickstep is probably going to be hell. I’ve tried it before, and I don’t have good memories of it.”
“You shouldn’t worry too much,” Yeosang reassured him with a big smile. “From what I’ve seen, you have the foundation. You just need to adapt your mindset. Do you know what you’re focusing on next week?”
Hongjoong shook his head. “One of the faster dances, I think.”
“I’ll see you again on Thursday, so I can help if you’re struggling.”
“Thanks,” Hongjoong smiled. Yeosang’s calm, nonjudgmental help felt like a relief. “How do you know so much about ballroom, by the way?”
“I have a lot of students who practice it,” Yeosang replied. “I think Wooyoungie keeps sending them my way.”
He glanced at Wooyoung, who was joking loudly with Yunho, making Mingi laugh, and it made him smile. He was grateful Yeosang was helping him, especially for free. He had tried to discuss payment, but Yeosang insisted it was a favor for his friend. Still, Hongjoong planned to bring it up again later, since the ballet teacher had a different approach that made everything easier to understand.
They ordered food and beers, and their conversation flowed naturally. Hongjoong found himself enjoying the dynamic more than he expected. Yeosang told stories from his college days. Apparently, he and Wooyoung met in high school, and Mingi came into the picture later in college.
The friendship between the two fascinated Hongjoong. A serene ballet dancer and a tall, laid-back hip-hop dancer. It was an odd pairing, yet they seemed deeply comfortable with each other. There was something settled about them that Hongjoong quietly envied.
They were in the middle of debating the best chicken flavor when a bright, vaguely familiar voice pulled their attention away.
“Oh, Yeosangie!”
They all turned. At that moment, Hongjoong’s sip of beer went down the wrong pipe, and he had to press a fist to his mouth, coughing sharply as his eyes watered.
There, looking infuriatingly good and painfully out of place in the greasy ambiance, stood Seonghwa. He wore an oversized white shirt and simple black pants. His black hair, slightly damp at the ends, fell softly across his forehead, nearly brushing his eyes. The shirt’s wide neckline had slipped just enough to expose his collarbone, and Hongjoong had to forcibly stop his mind from remembering how the man smelled up close.
“Sannie—! ugh,” Yeosang was saying as he stood up, right as San, who was dressed similarly to Seonghwa but with a cap thrown on, pulled him into a tight hug and planted a loud kiss on his cheek.
Hongjoong tried to ignore Mingi’s reaction beside him, but it was impossible. The taller man’s previously relaxed posture had gone rigid, his expression sharpening as his eyes tracked San’s lingering kiss with an intensity that was hard to miss.
“What are you doing here?” Yeosang asked, shoving San lightly and rubbing his own cheek with his hand.
“I came to eat with my friend!” San replied cheerfully, gesturing beside him.
Seonghwa offered a formal bow toward their table.
“Hello,” His voice was quiet but clear. His gaze swept over the group, lingering briefly on Yunho, then Wooyoung but skimming past Hongjoong as if he were part of the booth’s upholstery, before settling somewhere near the wall behind them. It was really obvious that he was avoiding his gaze.
“Well, we won’t interrupt your feast!” San announced, waving enthusiastically at Yeosang and then the rest of the table. “Bye! Enjoy!”
As they moved toward a smaller table across the room, Hongjoong watched the two Standard dancers. Seonghwa’s expression shifted immediately when he turned to San, it was now softer, and Hongjoong didn’t know what to make of it. He looked more approachable and more distant all at once.
Of course, he hadn’t expected Seonghwa to talk to him after yesterday. But, seriously, not even a glance? Not even acknowledging him?
His thoughts were interrupted when Yeosang slid back into the booth and immediately got bombarded with questions.
“Do you know Choi San?” Wooyoung demanded, his eyes bright with curiosity.
“Yes,” Yeosang replied calmly, lifting his drink. “We trained in ballet together a few years ago, and we stayed in touch. We go together to the gym sometimes.”
Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Choi San practiced ballet? He doesn’t look like…” He glanced too obviously toward the other table, and Yunho patted his arm to stop him. “Well… actually, now that I really look at him, yeah. I see it.”
Yeosang laughed softly. “He looked different back then. He started going to the gym when he got serious about ballroom, but he’s the same guy.”
“Ohh…” Wooyoung nodded, sneaking another glance.
Then a deeper voice cut through the table.
“Why did he kiss you?”
Silence fell.
Mingi’s tone was serious, his gaze fixed intently on the ballet dancer, unblinking. Hongjoong glanced between them, unsure whether he was witnessing jealousy, curiosity, or something far more complicated.
“Sannie is just really affectionate,” Yeosang replied evenly, continuing to eat while pointedly avoiding Mingi’s eyes, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
His friend nodded slowly, took a long sip of his soda, and said nothing else.
Hongjoong looked to his roommates for some explanation, but they looked just as confused as he felt. So he let it go.
The quiet continued until Wooyoung launched into a disastrous college party story about Mingi that successfully derailed the tension. Their conversation resumed, laughing louder each time, and Hongjoong found himself contributing when he could, though he mostly listened, still very much aware of the two figures seated across the room.
A few minutes later, Wooyoung’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking the rhythm. After glancing at the screen, he frowned, then stood abruptly.
“Uh, one second,” he muttered, sliding out of the booth. “I need to take this.”
Hongjoong followed him with his eyes as he moved toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, feeling a bit uneasy. When his friend disappeared from sight, Hongjoong sighed and his gaze locked directly with Seonghwa’s, who immediately looked away.
The irritation that flared surprised him. Seonghwa ignored him after Hyowon’s comment, acted like he didn’t exist in public, so what was this? Is he gossiping about him? Hongjoong exhaled and forced himself back into the conversation.
A few moments later, Wooyoung returned, shoving his phone into his pocket with more force than necessary.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, worried.
“Yeah, all good,” his friend replied, forcing a smile. “But I gotta go. Something came up.”
Hongjoong frowned, but before he could answer, Yunho spoke first, concerned. “What happened?”
“Same thing as always,” Wooyoung said with a tired sigh. “No big deal.”
As he gathered his jacket and wallet, the taller man reached out, his long fingers gently circling Wooyoung’s wrist. “Let me give you a ride. It’s no trouble.”
Wooyoung paused, looking down at Yunho’s hand, then up at his face. For a moment, there was something vulnerable in his eyes. But then he shook his head, extracting his wrist and giving Yunho’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “No. I’ll get a cab. It’s fine, really.”
He tossed enough money onto the table to cover his share, then rounded the booth and planted a loud, dramatic kiss on Yeosang’s cheek, making the blonde flinch and wipe at it with a grimace.
“We should all go out again soon!” he said as he waved at them. “You guys are fun together. Enjoy the food!”
Then he was gone.
A subdued quiet settled over their table for a moment before they picked the conversation back up. Despite Wooyoung’s abrupt exit that made both of his roommates worry, Hongjoong found himself genuinely enjoying the rest of the evening. Mingi and Yeosang were a fascinating study in contrast, their banter a gentle push-and-pull that demonstrated their deep familiarity.
When the last bones were picked clean and the bill settled, they stepped out into the cool night air. As they lingered on the sidewalk, Yeosang nodded toward the window.
“Give me a second,” he said. “I’ll say goodbye to Sannie.”
Hongjoong heard a low sigh beside him, so he glanced at Mingi, whose jaw was tight, eyes fixed on Yeosang’s retreating back.
Through the glass, San sprang up immediately, pulling Yeosang into another hug, his whining audible even outside. Yeosang disentangled himself calmly, gesturing vaguely toward them. San’s eyes widened, flicking past Yeosang straight to Hongjoong, before he nodded enthusiastically, and they could hear San saying something like, “I’ll look for you then.”
“The one sitting with Yeosang’s friend,” Yunho murmured close to Hongjoong’s ear. “That’s your partner, right?”
“He’s not my partner,” Hongjoong replied automatically, and it came out really defensive. “We’re just paired up temporarily to teach each other styles.”
“He’s the one who came into the practice room the other day, right?” Mingi added, and Hongjoong replied with a nod. “Kind of intimidating.”
The Latin dancer sighed. He is.
Yeosang returned after that, unbothered. “All set.”
As they said their goodbyes, Hongjoong’s gaze drifted back inside one last time. San was saying something animatedly, but Seonghwa was looking out, though this time not at Hongjoong. There was an irritated expression on his face, but it wasn’t aimed at him, but at the taller figure next to him, Mingi.
Hongjoong stared, baffled. First avoiding him, then the staring, now this… pointed glare at the man? For what? For being part of the group? For being Yeosang’s friend? He didn’t want to get tangled in other people’s drama, but Seonghwa shouldn’t get into whatever competition was in between San and Mingi for Yeosang’s attention, or whatever was happening. He couldn’t think of another reason why Seonghwa would act like that with Mingi, who didn’t deserve it.
He didn’t understand him at all.
After their final goodbyes, Mingi and Yeosang headed off together since apparently, they were roommates too. Hongjoong drove Yunho home in silence, both still worried about his friend. Back at the apartment, the taller man kicked his shoes off with too much force and froze in the entryway.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” Yunho asked and Hongjoong studied him for a moment as he kept staring at the empty living room like he could summon Wooyoung by sheer will. Yunho was the human equivalent of a golden retriever, so seeing him this nervous was unnerving. He was usually the one calming them down.
“Yeah,” Hongjoong answered after a moment, then he walked to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water. “Do you know something about the call?”
Yunho finally moved, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s the problem. I don’t. He hasn’t told me anything specific in weeks. He just gets these calls from his dad and shuts down.” He accepted the glass Hongjoong offered. “He’s always been so open about everything. The fact that he won’t talk about this… it’s not like him. It frustrates the hell out of me because I can’t help.”
Hongjoong leaned against the counter, sipping his water. Yunho was right. Wooyoung always wore his heart on his sleeve, he knew that since they met when the youngest moved into the apartment four years ago, back when Hongjoong was looking for someone else to share it. So, seeing him like this was strange.
“He’ll talk when he’s ready,” Hongjoong said, the words feeling inadequate even as he said them.
“I know,” Yunho sighed, the anger bleeding out into pure worry. “I just hate seeing him like that.”
Nearly three hours later, they heard the beep from the door’s code. Both of them straightened as Wooyoung slipped inside. He looked drained. The vibrant energy from the restaurant was gone, replaced by a pale, hollowed-out version of himself.
“Hey,” Yunho said, instantly on his feet. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Hey. Yeah, I’m fine,” he smiled. “Just really tired.” He avoided their eyes, toeing off his shoes with clumsy movements. “I think I’m just gonna crash, okay?”
“Wooyoung…” Yunho started, taking a step forward, but Wooyoung shook his head.
“I’m fine, really. I just want to sleep,” he gave them both a small, apologetic nod, then shuffled past them and down the short hall to the spare room, closing the door with a soft but definitive click. Yunho stared at the closed door, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides before he forced them to relax. He looked utterly helpless.
Hongjoong knew Wooyoung. He’d hold everything in until he couldn’t, and then he’d explode, it was always like this. He would talk, eventually. But watching Yunho, the way his concern was an aching thing in the room, Hongjoong understood this was harder on him. He didn’t know what kind of relationship they had been building lately, but he knew it was different from the one he had with them.
“He’ll be okay,” Hongjoong said, though it sounded less like a reassurance and more like a hope. His roommate just nodded, not looking away from the door.
“Yeah,” he whispered, but he didn’t sound like he believed it. “I think I’m going to sleep too.”
Hongjoong smiled at him as he watched him go to his room, then looked at Wooyoung’s door again. He heated some of the leftovers from yesterday and messaged them on the group chat that if they wanted to eat dinner, it was there. Especifically to Wooyoung. He ate a bit in silence, then took a shower and went to bed.
On Monday, Hongjoong arrived at the studio earlier than usual and started practicing on his own. He wasn’t anywhere near a professional, so he knew better than to push himself recklessly, but he wanted to distract himself from what happened yesterday.
Lately, he hadn’t seen Yumi much. She practiced mornings with Seunghee, and on other days she picked up evening shifts. The absence made him realize how used he had gotten to her presence, practicing with her would have made everything easier.
When Hongjoong entered the private room, Seonghwa was already there, running drills across the floor. He didn’t acknowledge his arrival, so Hongjoong didn’t greet him either.
They waited in silence until Mr. Han arrived. Oblivious to the tension hanging thick between them, he greeted them both and got straight to the point.
“This week, we begin Slow Foxtrot,” he said. “Hongjoong, are you familiar with it?”
Hongjoong expected maybe Viennese Waltz before starting with the quicker styles, still he nodded.
“Yes. Less than tango, though.”
Mr. Han smiled. “That’s fine. Seonghwa will guide you through the fundamentals again and lead the initial exercises.”
Foxtrot involved more continuous movement than Waltz. You continually had to glide, swing, and uninterrupted flow across the floor. He had watched videos and carefully studied how dancers transitioned weight and created that illusion of floating without losing momentum. The dance moved forward constantly, demanding commitment. He was a bit scared of it since when he practiced it years ago, it seemed difficult, but he liked the challenge.
“Actually,” Hongjoong said, speaking up before he could second-guess himself. “I feel pretty confident with Foxtrot. I tried leading last week, and it went well.” He looked at Seonghwa for a moment, then continued. “Could I try leading today? Just to understand the mechanics from the other side.”
Mr. Han rubbed his chin, clearly considering. “Hmm. Switching roles can help clarify the movement and frame, and I haven’t analyzed your lead… Okay, Seonghwa--”
“No.”
The response was firm and absolute.
Both Hongjoong and Mr. Han turned toward him, surprised.
Seonghwa wasn’t looking at the coach; his dark eyes were fixed on Hongjoong. His expression was neutral, but there was something newly rigid in his posture, a tension at his jaw that hadn’t been there before.
“Sorry, I would prefer to continue leading,” Seonghwa said, trying to be formal to the coach but his tone left no room for debate.
Hongjoong felt a jolt of pure confusion, swiftly followed by irritation. What? Last week, after their disastrous practice, it had been Seonghwa who suggested, almost shyly, that Hongjoong lead for their tango so he would feel less frustrated. What was happening now? Hongjoong met his eyes, frowning. Mr. Han glanced between them, sensing the shift.
“You’re partners,” he said. “You should discuss it.”
Hongjoong held Seonghwa’s gaze, searching for a clue, but he found none. Just that infuriating, beautiful mask. To argue would waste precious coaching time, so, swallowing the lump of frustration, Hongjoong forced a tight nod.
“Fine,” he said. “He can lead.”
The victory, if it was one, didn’t soften Seonghwa’s expression. If anything, his jaw seemed to tighten further.
They took their positions.
As soon as Seonghwa’s right hand settled on Hongjoong’s shoulder, the difference was visceral. This wasn’t the precise, collaborative frame from their Waltz or even the electrically charged hold from their Tango. This was something else. His hand was like a brand, firm and unyielding. His left hand gripped Hongjoong’s right, claiming. He pulled Hongjoong into the hold, closing the space between them with a decisive pull that left no room for the careful, arched distance of Standard.
“The Foxtrot hold is closer than Waltz,” Seonghwa explained, his voice a low murmur by Hongjoong’s ear that felt less like instruction and more like a warning. Of course he was trying to pretend in front of Mr. Han. “We move as one unit.”
Sure, one unit.
It felt like he was mocking him.
Mr. Han started the music, which was a jazz song. The first three steps were a basic "slow, slow, quick, quick." But from the initial movement, Hongjoong felt trapped. Seonghwa’s lead was really controlling this time. He directed Hongjoong’s body with a newfound, almost aggressive authority, his own movements larger, more pronounced, dictating every shift of weight, and every turn of the head. He incorporated techniques Hongjoong had seen in the advanced videos. He, who was used to the dynamic play of Latin or even the tentative partnership of their earlier practices, felt his own agency being systematically erased. Seonghwa’s frame was a cage.
With every attempt to express the music and add his own slight rise or soften into the movement, he was met with immediate, corrective resistance from Seonghwa’s body. It was as if Seonghwa wasn’t just leading the dance, but dictating Hongjoong’s very breath within it. The message was clear:
You will move only as I allow you to move.
It felt nothing like the last time they danced, when they just felt the music, feeling themselves. Now, this was a demonstration of dominance.
“Hongjoong!” Mr. Han’s voice broke through his rising anger. “You’re dragging! Your feet are hesitant. You must commit to the movement. You look like you’re being pulled against your will!”
The unfairness burned hot in Hongjoong’s chest.
I am! he wanted to scream, but just clenched his teeth, forcing a nod.“Yes, sir.”
He tried to surrender completely, to become a passive doll in Seonghwa’s arms. But his body rebelled naturally. Maybe this is how Seonghwa danced with Seunghee, dictating everything, but Hongjoong couldn’t accept it. He was supposed to “teach” him, but what was he exactly teaching here?
When the music finally stopped, Hongjoong stepped back immediately, breaking the hold as if it burned. His breath came quicker than the moderate dance warranted. He avoided looking at Seonghwa, focusing instead on the cold disapproval in Mr. Han’s face.
“Your following has regressed, Hongjoong,” the coach said, shaking his head. “You’re fighting him on every step. In Foxtrot, resistance kills the flow. You must trust and move with him.”
Hongjoong just nodded again, his throat too tight to speak. He could feel Seonghwa’s gaze on him but didn’t trust himself to meet it. The warmth, the shyness, their mutual understanding was now buried under this new layer of control. He had no idea what he had done to cause it, but the effect was clear.
Dancing with Park Seonghwa now felt like a punishment.
That day, Hongjoong felt like he had learned nothing about Foxtrot. So, he stayed longer on Tuesday, practicing by himself again and again, focusing only on the glide and continuity. On rebuilding the dance without Seonghwa’s help. Even a girl he often saw practicing nearby noticed his frustration and offered to help, which he accepted gratefully.
But the tension that began on Sunday didn't dissipate; if anything, it crystallized, hardening into a cold, silent war by Wednesday.
Without Mr. Han’s presence as a buffer, the private studio felt vast and suffocating.
They warmed up on opposite sides of the mirrored room, the only sounds the rustle of clothing and the soft thud of stretching feet against the floor. The easy quiet they sometimes shared was gone, replaced by a thick and hostile silence.
Hongjoong watched him in the mirror, focusing on the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his jaw stayed locked even as he breathed. That focused intensity, usually magnetic, felt pointed now. At Hongjoong or to himself, he didn't know. They barely spoke. It felt like Seonghwa had decided something and refused to let Hongjoong in on it.
It shouldn’t have bothered him this much. But it did.
“Are we starting,” Hongjoong said at last, unable to stand it anymore, “or are you just going to stare at yourself all day?”
The words echoed too loudly in the room.
Seonghwa’s dark eyes lifted to meet his in the glass but didn’t answer. Just finished his stretch, rolled his shoulders once, and walked to the center of the floor.
Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the frame.
The moment Hongjoong stepped into his hold, he felt it. It was the same. Worse, even. Seonghwa’s grip was vice-like, his body a rigid wall of unyielding lead. The Foxtrot pattern, which should have been a smooth, gliding dream, became a jerky, oppressive march. Every hint of give-and-take, every possibility for Hongjoong to express the music within the follow, was stifled. Seonghwa moved with a brutal efficiency that left no space for anything but raw obedience.
They stumbled through the same basic sequence three times, each attempt more disastrous than the last. Hongjoong’s frustration, simmering since Sunday, reached a boiling point. On the fourth attempt, as Seonghwa forcefully initiated a turn that felt more like a shove, Hongjoong finally broke.
He planted his feet and shoved back, both hands hitting Seonghwa’s chest hard enough to break the frame and send them stumbling apart.
“Are you going to let me dance,” Hongjoong snapped, breath coming fast, “or not?”
Seonghwa stood frozen for a second, he looked shocked before it was quickly masked by a cold anger.
"Then dance well," he shot back, his voice low and dangerous.
Hongjoong let out a short, incredulous laugh. The fucking arrogance of it.
“What? How am I supposed to dance well,” he replied, stepping closer, “when you don’t even let me move?”
Seonghwa didn't say anything, and it was then that he remembered Hyowon’s comment, making the laugh bitter in his throat.
“Is this because Hyowon said we could reach you?” Hongjoong pressed. The pieces clicked into place with a satisfying, irritating thud. “Did it really bruise your ego that much, Park Seonghwa?”
He took a step forward, and the Standard dancer instead of backing down, stepped forward to meet him, looking down at Hongjoong. Their height difference should have felt intimidating, but it only fanned the defiance in Hongjoong’s chest.
“My ego has nothing to do with your inability to follow a simple lead,” Seonghwa retorted, his composure cracking to reveal the competitive fire beneath.
“Simple lead?” Hongjoong scoffed, crowding him further. “You’re not leading shit. Last week you asked me for help, then suggested that I lead the tango, but now you act like touching me is a chore. What the fuck is your problem?”
“It’s not a chore,” Seonghwa bit out. He brought a hand up, perhaps to push him back, but Hongjoong was faster. He caught Seonghwa's wrist mid-air, his fingers wrapping tightly around the lean bone, making Seonghwa’s breath hitch.
"Then what is it?" Hongjoong demanded, his voice dropping to a growl. He used his grip on Seonghwa's wrist to push him back, step by step, until Seonghwa's back met the cool surface of the mirror with a soft thud. They were chest to chest again, but this was nothing like their dance. This was a confrontation, pure and simple.
Seonghwa struggled for a moment, a futile test of strength that Hongjoong met effortlessly. He held fast, leaning in close, and could see the rapid flutter of Seonghwa's pulse in his throat, the faint sheen of sweat on his temples, the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed hard.
“Tell me,” Hongjoong said, his gaze locked on his. “Why are you acting like you can't stand me now?”
Seonghwa stopped struggling and stared back, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped. Of course, Hongjoong thought. Of course his ego was bigger. It didn’t matter what kind of relationship they had built over two weeks; they were competing against each other in the end. Just the suggestion that someone could reach his level made Seonghwa act like he’d already lost. Well, Hongjoong wouldn’t lose.
“You’re too easy to read, Park Seonghwa,” Hongjoong continued.
“You think that confidence of yours, walking around like you’ve already won, doesn’t get under my skin?” Seonghwa replied, defensive.
“If you feel like you already lost, it’s not my fault.” Hongjoong’s smile was all teeth. “Maybe you’re just not used to someone not being impressed.”
Seonghwa laughed, a low, harsh sound. He pushed forward, not to escape, but to press closer. “Be grateful that I’m making you better. If you can’t handle this little pressure, you won’t survive out there.”
“Is that what this is?” Hongjoong shot back, his voice dangerously quiet. “Are you teaching me a lesson or something? Because the only thing I'm getting is that I should act all childish when I don’t get attention.”
Seonghwa’s jaw locked. For a moment, neither moved. Hongjoong was painfully aware of every point of contact, the heat through their clothes, how easily the fight could tip into something else entirely.
“You’re scared,” Hongjoong continued, softer now, the realization dawning as he said it. “Because you’re losing control here, and you're not used to that.”
Seonghwa’s gaze flicked down to Hongjoong’s mouth, just a fraction of a second, before snapping back up, furious. “You don’t know anything,” he said, but the words lacked conviction now, stripped bare by that telling glance.
“Then tell me,” Hongjoong replied, voice low.
For a second, it looked like Seonghwa might. Instead, something shuttered behind his eyes. His hand came up fast, fingers curling under Hongjoong’s chin, tilting his face up. The grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm and commanding. It forced Hongjoong to meet his gaze. The height difference loomed again, and still, Hongjoong didn't flinch.
“If you keep acting like this,” Seonghwa said quietly, dangerously close, his lips almost touching Hongjoong's. “Letting your emotions lead instead of your discipline, you won’t win.” His thumb pressed briefly into Hongjoong’s lower lip, warning him. “And I'll be glad to watch you lose.”
Then he let go.
Seonghwa stepped back, breathing hard, his composure barely held together. He grabbed his bag and towel from the corner and didn’t look back as he left. The door hissed open, then slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty room.
Hongjoong stood alone, chest heaving, the ghost of Seonghwa’s grip still lingering on his skin.
What right? What fucking right did Park Seonghwa, the studio's golden boy, the naturally gifted favorite, have to say that? As if Hongjoong hadn't clawed his way up from nothing. As if he hadn't spent years being the underdog, because he didn't have the money and time to fully dedicate himself to ballroom, and being met with sneers and sidelong glances. What did Seonghwa know about the years of sacrifice? What did he know about the empty wallets, the missed social events, the bone-deep exhaustion? What did he know about the countless nights he’d practiced until his feet bled, until the world blurred, until Yumi had to physically drag him out of the studio, half-conscious and muttering nonsense, because he couldn't, wouldn't, be looked down upon by those who’d had a head start and more opportunities?
A hot, corrosive anger burned through the initial shock. He bit down on his lower lip so hard he tasted the coppery tang of blood, but the pain grounded him. No. He wouldn't let himself get this worked up over someone like that. Over a privileged favorite who couldn't handle a little competition.
With a jerky, furious motion, he grabbed his own bag. Even though he hadn't even broken a proper sweat since their "practice" had been too stifling for that, he headed towards the showers. He usually preferred to shower at home, but his skin felt too tight, buzzing with indignation and a restless, fiery energy. He needed the shock of cold water. He needed to wash the feeling of Seonghwa's grip and his words off his skin.
He avoided eye contact with the few other dancers lingering in the hallway, their laughter making him feel more frustrated somehow. He pushed into the men's locker room, the sterile smell of soap and damp concrete filling the room. It was mostly empty. He went straight to a locker at the far end, yanked it open, and shoved his bag inside with more force than necessary.
Under the spray of the shower, he tipped his head back, letting the water, initially cold enough to make him gasp, pelt his face. He focused on the physical sensation, trying to drown out the echo in his mind.
Letting your emotions lead instead of your discipline, you won’t win.
And I'll be glad to watch you lose
The water turned hot, steam rising around him, but the cold knot of resolve in his stomach only tightened.
Fine. If that's how Seonghwa wanted to play it. If he saw Hongjoong's progress as a threat to be neutralized with cruelty rather than a challenge to be met with respect, then so be it. Hongjoong wasn't going to let this break him.
He had to win. He had to stand on that first-place podium at the 10-dance competition. He needed to look down from that height and meet Seonghwa's eyes across the crowd.
He would make him watch. He would force that perfect, composed face to finally show something real, and he hoped it was the sharp, burning sting of envy.
During the whole week, the apartment had felt too heavy. After finishing tying up his shoes at the entrance, Hongjoong said goodbye to Wooyoung, who was making breakfast. He carried on like nothing had happened, but they could tell something was off.
Practice wasn’t something he was excited about today. His body felt heavy, his head worse, since the morning at work had felt like too much. He had too many unanswered emails and deadlines stacking up without mercy. And if he had to see Seonghwa today, it would only make him feel worse.
He arrived at the studio earlier than usual and, after changing into his practice clothes in the quiet locker room, headed toward the private rooms. As he turned a corner, a familiar figure caught his eye near the vending machines.
Yeosang was there, laughing softly at something said by a man beside him. The guy was dressed head to toe in a fitted black suit, hair slicked back so clean it almost gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Hongjoong wondered what he was doing there, since he looked like he had stepped straight out of a competition.
When Hongjoong got closer, Yeosang noticed him and said something quick to the guy, nodded politely, and stepped away.
“Hi!” Yeosang greeted, smiling. “You’re early.”
Hongjoong glanced back at the suited dancer, who gave him a brief nod before turning his attention back down the hall, as if expecting someone.
“Oh, hey,” Hongjoong said, gesturing vaguely. “You can keep talking with your friend while I warm up.”
“No, it’s no problem,” Yeosang waved a hand dismissively, falling into step beside him as they walked toward their usual room. “He’s not a friend, we were just chatting. He’s waiting for his partner, I think.”
Hongjoong nodded, throwing one last glance over his shoulder. The man stood just stood there, checking his slim wristwatch. Why was he dressed like that? Hongjoong hadn’t seen any announcements for a competition. Maybe a private event? He filed the curiosity away, too tired to dwell on it.
Inside the private studio, Yeosang began his own gentle stretches as Hongjoong warmed up.
“Shall we focus on the flow for the quicker styles today?” the ballet dancer started. “The posture is key, since it’s a faster and more dynamic version of the Standard frame.”
Hongjoong agreed and assumed the hold as he was being positioned.
“Think of a string pulling you up from the crown of your head,” Yeosang said, his hands light but precise on Hongjoong’s shoulders and back. “But unlike the static elegance of the Waltz, your core must be both strong and supple, ready to absorb and redirect momentum.”
Yeosang’s coaching was different from Mr. Han’s or Seonghwa’s. He focused more on the anatomical, almost meditative. He had Hongjoong practice the basic Foxtrot pattern slowly, focusing not on the steps first, but on the sensation of his spine lengthening, his lower abdomen engaged to control the bounce, his shoulders remaining down and relaxed even as his chest felt open.
“You have the strength from Latin,” Yeosang observed as they moved, “but you’re holding it in your limbs. For these quicker Standard dances, you must centralize it. The power comes from the center and flows out through the legs, not the other way around. It makes your movements quicker and lighter.”
They worked through the basic patterns. Yeosang allowed him to lead sometimes, then changed roles. His lead was firm but incredibly clear. It felt like he was suggesting the movements, which Hongjoong deeply appreciated after yesterday’s hell. Yet, after twenty minutes, Yeosang stopped the music and tilted his head.
“Your posture is improving,” he said, making Hongjoong turn to him. “But… is everything okay? You seem off today.”
Hongjoong paused, the direct question catching him off guard. He hadn’t noticed it himself, so he must have given away more than he thought. For a moment, he felt the temptation to vent and ask this calm, observant man for his read on the infuriating Park Seonghwa, but he bit it back. It felt like admitting that Seonghwa had gotten under his skin.
He forced a shrug, looking down as he adjusted his dance shoes. “No, nothing. Just a bad day at work. We have a lot of deadlines.”
Yeosang watched him for a second longer, but didn’t press, simply nodding.
“Alright, let’s channel it, then,” he continued. “Use the frustration as energy for the movement.”
They continued, and Hongjoong tried to follow the advice. He focused on the burn in his core, the precise placement of his feet, and the challenge of maintaining the poised frame at a quicker tempo. Surprisingly, it worked. The world narrowed to the mechanics of movement.
When their time was up, Hongjoong’s shirt was damp with sweat, and a different, cleaner fatigue had replaced the mental fog.
“Good work,” Yeosang said, gathering his bag. “We’ll refine it next week.” He offered a small, encouraging smile. “Try not to let the work stress follow you onto the floor. The dance deserves your full presence.”
“I will,” Hongjoong smiled. “Thanks, Yeosang.”
With a final nod, the ballet dancer left, the door sighing shut behind him.
Alone, the silence of the room expanded. The next hour was designated for practice with Seonghwa, making a tight knot form in his stomach. He genuinely did not want to be here for that, but leaving would feel like admitting defeat.
He waited, stretching idly, watching the clock on the wall. Five minutes past their start time, then ten. No Seonghwa. He started to feel annoyed. Of course, he would be late now, making Hongjoong wait on purpose, but then he felt a flicker of relief, hoping that he wouldn’t come at all.
The door opened just as the relief was solidifying, but it wasn’t Seonghwa. It was Mr. Han, looking mildly surprised to see Hongjoong alone.
“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Han said, surprised, his eyebrows lifting.
A prickle of unease traveled down Hongjoong’s spine. Did Seonghwa quit their practice?
“Tell me what?” he asked, nervously.
“He’s participating in a showcase today,” Mr. Han replied casually. “That’s why he isn’t coming to your practice session.”
Oh.
He remembered the other dancer in the suit, who had apparently been waiting for his partner. There was a showcase, and Seonghwa was there. Hongjoong’s first, irrational feeling was a sting of exclusion. He and Yumi weren’t invited. Worse, they hadn’t even been considered.
“Oh,” he said, his voice carefully flat. “I didn’t know.”
“It was a bit of a late decision,” Mr. Han explained, setting his clipboard down. “It’s a multi-studio showcase to attract new students. We have fewer Standard dancers, so we only sent our top two established couples.” He gave Hongjoong an appraising look, as if he knew exactly what the Latin dancer was thinking. “You and Yumi will be ready for the next one.”
The words were meant to be encouraging, but they felt like a consolation prize. Top two established couples.
“Well,” Mr. Han clapped his hands once. “Since we have the time and the room, let’s check your Foxtrot. I want to see your progress without your partner.”
Hongjoong nodded, pushing the thoughts aside. Maybe this was a better chance. He took the follower’s position, and Mr. Han started leading him. His lead was authoritative but professional, devoid of the personal tension he had with Seonghwa. Hongjoong focused, letting his body respond to the clear signals, remembering all the feedback and tips he had been receiving.
“Hm,” after a minute, Mr. Han stopped with a thoughtful frown on his face. “Interesting.”
“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, wiping his sweat.
“You’re not dragging this time, and your frame is responsive. You’re following very well,” Mr. Han studied him. “This is quite different from what I saw on Monday. Why is it that when you practice with Seonghwa, you seem so fraught? But here, with me, it’s smooth.”
Hongjoong looked at his own reflection in the mirror, avoiding the coach’s probing gaze.
Because there’s something weird going on between us and I can’t explain what it is, but everything he does makes me want to scream, and he seems like he can’t stand me now for some reason.
The truth sat on his tongue, but he swallowed it.
“I don’t know,” he said, the lie tasting bland. “Maybe we just don’t match well.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Han thought for a moment, his frown deepening, but he didn’t question him. “A partnership is a delicate thing… Well, let’s use this time productively.”
For the next two hours, they drilled Foxtrot, revisited Waltz, and even dabbled in the basics of Quickstep. The coach was thorough, his feedback precise and technical, and Hongjoong was thankful since finally, he felt like he had actually improved this week.
As they wrapped up, Mr. Han gave him an approving nod.
“You’re doing well, Hongjoong,” he said, and the comment made him feel good despite his exhaustion. “The technique is settling, especially considering you’ve focused on Latin for so long. You have a good feel for the music.”
He packed his things, then paused at the door. “You know, the showcase is at the Grand Hall on 5th. It’s open observation. You should consider going. It would be good for you to watch other Standard dancers and observe different techniques and pairings. There will be some Latin exhibitions too. They’re mostly amateur and intermediate, but I’m sure a few pros were invited as guest performers. Observation is a powerful teacher.”
“Yeah. Probably,” Hongjoong nodded, wiping his face with a towel. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”
“Good,” the coach offered him a final smile. “See you next week.”
Alone again, the silence returned, but it was different now. The productive fatigue from dancing with Mr. Han was overshadowed by a restless feeling. While stretching, he thought about the showcase.
Picturing the Grand Hall, he imagined Seonghwa there, under the lights, in a suit like the other dancer’s, all perfect and composed and untouchable, dancing seamlessly with Seunghee. The studio’s chosen representatives. The golden pair.
Yeah, no.
Hongjoong left the practice room and decided to take a shower at the studio again. He would spend less time in the tense apartment, and, fortunately, Seonghwa wasn’t there.
He headed toward the men’s locker room, but as he passed the open door of the larger Standard practice studio, he couldn’t help but glance in and was surprised to see Yeosang again, leaning against the barre. This time, he was talking to Choi San, who was dressed in black pants and a hoodie. He didn’t look like he was there to practice. San’s hands moved animatedly as they talked, then his gaze shifted from Yeosang to Hongjoong in the hallway. He smiled at him, making Yeosang turn too, following his line of sight.
When he saw him, Yeosang called him inside. Hongjoong honestly didn’t want to be drawn into another social vortex and hesitated for a moment. But Yeosang had just helped him for hours, so he couldn’t simply walk past. He stepped into the doorway. San didn’t seem to know about yesterday’s fight, at least.
“Hey,” San greeted him cheerfully. “Are you coming to watch the showcase later?”
The question was so casual that it confirmed Hongjoong’s suspicion, he was just curious.
“No,” Hongjoong said, shaking his head and forcing an apologetic smile. “I had a long day at work. I think I just want to sleep.”
San pouted playfully. “Ah, that’s a shame! It’s going to be fun.”
“Actually,” Yeosang interjected softly, looking at Hongjoong, “I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me. The other guy you saw me talking to invited me.”
San’s cheerful expression shifted, his eyebrows knitting together. “Who?”
Yeosang tilted his head, thinking. “I believe you know him. Choi Jongho?”
The change in San’s demeanor was instant; his relaxed posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Ah,” he said, his voice losing some of its melodic lilt. “Him. Yes, I know him,” He cleared his throat, his smile returning but now strained. “He’s participating too.”
Hongjoong felt the new, awkward tension settle between the two friends. So, to break it, he turned to Yeosang. “I thought you had left already.”
“I was about to,” Yeosang replied, seemingly unperturbed by San’s reaction. “I was going to change for the showcase, but I ran into Sannie and we got talking.”
San seized on the subject change, his energy returning to a more natural, if slightly forced, level.
“Right!” he said. “Seunghee noona asked me to grab her backup heels from her locker here. I’m heading to the showcase hall after. If you guys are going, we could all go together?”
Yeosang turned his serene gaze back to Hongjoong, silently asking him again.
He sighed internally. His escape route was being systematically blocked. They were expecting him to say yes, and they honestly didn’t know anything about the fight.
Okay, Seonghwa wasn’t the only one there, he will observe other dancers. Honestly, he was making it a bigger deal in his head than it needed to be.
“Okay,” he heard himself say, surrendering. “Yeah, I’ll go. I just need to take a quick shower first. I just finished with the coach.”
San’s face lit up again, genuine this time. “Great! I’ll head ahead then. I have to deliver these shoes before noona panics. Yeosangie, can I catch a ride with you?”
Yeosang nodded. “Of course.”
“We’ll wait for you there!” San said with a final wave before heading off, presumably toward the lockers.
Yeosang gave Hongjoong a small, knowing look that seemed to see right through his resigned expression. “We’ll wait for you there.”
Once they were both gone, Hongjoong was left alone again. It would be easy, so easy, to text Yeosang later and invent some excuse. But in the end, he had already said yes.
He sighed.
The Grand Hall on 5th was exactly what its name promised: a modern, spacious venue with a high, vaulted ceiling and discreet, professional lighting. As he entered through the large glass doors, the energy of the place hit Hongjoong immediately. Even though it was just a showcase, you could still feel the competition.
The large, gleaming dance floor was surrounded by rows of chairs, about half of them already filled. Clusters of people mingled, such as dancers in tracksuits layered over their costumes, coaches, proud families with cameras, and other observers like him. It smelled of floor polish, faint perfume, and coffee from a small concessions stand in the back. It was a world within a world.
After wandering a bit, he found Yeosang standing near the restrooms, holding two small bouquets.
“Hi, did you stop for flowers?” Hongjoong asked.
“Yes, I bought them for Jongho and his partner,” Yeosang said, glancing around and murmured. “I think Sannie doesn’t like Jongho too much.”
“You think?” Hongjoong laughed softly. “Where’s San, by the way?” he asked, looking around.
“He went to look for Seunghee,” Yeosang replied, and Hongjoong hummed.
After a moment of scanning the room, he wondered where Seonghwa was right now, what he might be doing.
“These showcases,” Yeosang interrupted his thoughts, his eyes still roaming the room. “They’re for recruitment, primarily? To demonstrate a studio’s style to potential students?”
“Yeah, this one is,” Hongjoong nodded, grateful for the neutral topic. “And for dancers to get performance experience without the full pressure of a competition.”
“Similar to ballet galas,” Yeosang nodded. “Though those are often more narrative. This is more like a technical exhibition, right?”
Before Hongjoong could respond, San reappeared.
“I finally found them!” he said, gesturing toward the chairs. “Come on, they saved us seats in the second row.”
Hongjoong’s heart sank. Not the second row. He had hoped for a shadowy spot in the back, where he could observe, analyze, and leave unnoticed. He bit his lower lip, the familiar sting from yesterday reminding him why he didn’t want to come in the first place. But he couldn’t say anything, so he simply followed San and Yeosang as they wound through the rows.
Their seats were, indeed, perilously close to the front, just off-center, with a clear, unimpeded view of the floor. A long table for the judges stood to their left where Hongjoong recognized some of them. He could see the scoring tablets, the pens, the glasses of water. He felt exposed. Even though this wasn’t a competition, the dancers were still being scored.
He sat next to Yeosang, helping him place the extra bouquets at his feet. At precisely 8 p.m., a smooth, professional voice echoed through the sound system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Fall Showcase.” The man gave a short speech while Hongjoong observed the room. Then he continued. “We begin our presentations tonight. Our first presentation, from Starline Studio. Couple 131, Kim Minjae and Lee Soojin.”
The opening chords of a classic Viennese Waltz filled the hall. Hongjoong didn’t know the name, but he had heard it countless times. The couple glided onto the floor, with him in traditional tails, and her in a flowing white gown with silver embroidery. Their Waltz was competent and precise, a textbook example of sweeping, rotational style. Hongjoong’s analytical mind kicked in, noting the width of their turns and the consistency of their rise and fall. They were good, safely so.
The music swelled to its conclusion. “And that is Couple 131, Kim Minjae and Lee Soojin, from Starline Dance Studio.” The audience applauded.
“Now, our second presentation. Couple 118, from Aurora Dance Academy. Park Jisoo and Han Yewon.”
This time, the applause was peppered with excited murmurs. The couple entered with a different energy. The woman was a vision in a fiery, fringed red dress, her blonde hair pulled into a slicked-back bun that highlighted her sharp cheekbones. She looked a lot like Yumi, or maybe he was just missing her.
The music that burst forth was pure, pulsating Samba. Their style was immediately different from what Hongjoong was used to at his studio; more acrobatic, with poses that bordered on gymnastics. They were from an academy, so of course their training was different. Still, as he watched, Hongjoong couldn’t help comparing their technique to his and Yumi’s. He didn’t find much difference. Even though they came from a studio, theirs was one of the best in Korea, if not the best. It held many dedicated dancers who competed toe-to-toe with academy-trained ones.
As the dances progressed, he noticed the pattern from Standard, then Latin, alternating. Hongjoong’s initial anxiety faded, replaced by focused observation now. He watched the footwork, the frame, musicality; filing away notes, especially on a couple’s effortless flow in Foxtrot.
“We continue with Couple 231, from Polaris Dance Studio,” the announcer said, making Hongjoong tense since it was the name of their studio. “Choi Jongho and Kang Yuna.”
He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, though San straightened almost imperceptibly beside him.
Jongho appeared first, looking even more imposing under the stage lights in his impeccable black suit. He walked with solemn dignity, leading his partner onto the floor. Kang Yuna followed, being a vision of ethereal grace. Her long brown hair was coiled into a flawless chignon at her nape. Her gown was a simple, columnar white dress that flowed like liquid with her movement, its only adornment a delicate silver thread along the neckline. She looked gentle, her smile genuinely shy as she acknowledged the audience.
The first melancholic notes of a Waltz began, something classical and full of longing. From the very first step, Hongjoong was captivated. This wasn’t the sweeping, joyous whirl of the first couple, it felt like a story. Jongho’s lead was poetic, full of deep shaping cues that Yuna answered with intuitive responsiveness. They moved as one melancholic entity. Their rise and fall felt emotional rather than technical. Jongho’s expression held pained, restrained yearning, while Yuna’s was one of sweet, distant acceptance. It was a waltz of unrequited love.
Hongjoong found himself leaning forward. Realizing he was holding his breath, he slowly sank back into his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw San. The cheerful, animated man was gone. In his place sat a statue with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw set, gaze fixed on the couple with utter seriousness.
Hongjoong knew that, after Seonghwa, Choi San and Choi Jongho usually fought for second place in Standard. He wondered if San was upset because he hadn’t been chosen for the showcase, while Jongho had.
The music reached its conclusion with a series of slow, turning falls. Jongho and Yuna finished in a poignant pose, with his head bowing near her shoulder, and her face turned away, eyes closed. There was a moment of silence before the audience erupted into the warmest applause of the night so far.
San uncrossed his arms to clap, but his expression didn’t change.
A few more couples took the floor: an energetic Quickstep from an academy, then a passionate Rumba from a smaller studio. Rather than feeling bored, Hongjoong felt even more motivated. He thought that he should have invited Wooyoung because he remembered that the younger man once told him that he’d started ballroom simply because he loved watching it on TV. Maybe this would have motivated him too or at least distracted him for a while.
“That was Couple 284, from Stella Academia, with a beautiful Jive.”
Applause rippled through the hall. Then the man continued.
“Alright, our next presentation. Couple 341, from Polaris Dance Studio.”
Hongjoong’s heart gave a single, hard thump against his ribs. He knew before the names were even announced.
“Park Seonghwa and Yoon Seunghee.”
As a reflex he couldn’t really control, he straightened in his chair.
When you dance, you’re supposed to be so focused and consumed by the world you and your partner create that the audience becomes a blur. That was what Hongjoong hoped for now. He prayed for Seonghwa to be locked in that tunnel vision, never registering his presence in the second row.
From one side of the floor, Seunghee emerged. Her long black hair was swept into an elegant, intricate updo, revealing the graceful line of her neck. Her dress was a stunning deep amethyst purple, the fabric clinging and flowing in equal measure. The back plunged dramatically open, the dark fabric a stark canvas against her pale skin. She was the picture of sophisticated allure.
From the opposite side, Seonghwa entered.
His suit was classic black, perfectly tailored, making his narrow waist even more pronounced. The bow tie and discreet pocket square echoed the exact shade of Seunghee’s dress. His hair was slicked back, sharpening his already severe features, his expression carved into something focused and dangerous. On his feet were polished Standard shoes with a defined heel, higher than male dancers usually wore. It made the couple look the same height.
Hongjoong recognized the predatory, stalking energy of a Tango immediately.
From the first promenade, they were captivating. Their movement was a conversation of push and pull with sharp, staccato leg actions cutting through the floor, followed by slow, sensual stretches that seemed to suspend time. Seunghee was a master of control, every arch of her back, every tilt of her chin making her seem powerful.
But Hongjoong’s eyes, as always, were dragged to Seonghwa.
His lead was absolute, masculine, and dripping with sensuality. His body was a weapon of precision, every muscle engaged, his frame a fortress that both protected and possessed his partner. The slight lift of his heel as he drove forward, the grounded certainty of each step, made his presence impossible to ignore.
They moved across the floor with predatory grace, their path weaving until, several times, they passed perilously close to Hongjoong’s section, making his body tense again and again.
Then came a dramatic pause in the music.
The couple froze in a deep, intimate dip, their faces inches apart. Seonghwa’s gaze locked on Seunghee’s lips, the tension so thick it felt as if the entire hall were holding its breath. It looked like they were going to kiss.
Hongjoong was so focused on their mouths that he didn’t notice at first when Seonghwa’s eyes shifted, sliding away from his partner’s lips, crossing the short distance, and landing directly on him.
Hongjoong held his breath as Seonghwa’s dark eyes held his. In that suspended second, there was no surprise on his face, only a fierce, challenging intensity. It felt like an eternity, suspended in the midst of their performed intimacy.
Then the music crashed back in, and they were moving again.
The spell broke for everyone but Hongjoong. His skin prickled. Despite the surge of anger that rose uninvited, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. They were hypnotic, moving as a single, flawless entity, their connection so deep it felt almost private to witness.
He hated to admit it, but it was, without a doubt, the best performance he had seen all night.
They finished with a dramatic sequence: Seonghwa appearing to let Seunghee go, watching her walk slowly away before she spun and ran back to him, leaping into a powerful lift. He caught her easily, turning her in a sweeping arc before dipping her low, one of her legs extended high, their faces once again agonizingly close as they held the final, breathtaking pose.
The applause was thunderous.
Beside him, San leapt to his feet, clapping loudly. Hongjoong lifted his hands and clapped too, just to maintain appearances, but his palms felt numb.
“They are exceptionally good,” Yeosang murmured beside him.
Hongjoong nodded, his throat tight.
“Yeah,” he managed.
Unfortunately, they are.
“Well, that was from Polaris Studio, Couple 341, Park Seonghwa and Yoon Seunghee.”
As they took their bows and began to exit the floor, Seonghwa’s gaze swept the applauding crowd. And again, it found Hongjoong.
This time, it was only a fraction of a second, but he swore that he saw a smirk before Seonghwa turned, placing a hand on Seunghee’s back as they disappeared into the wings.
Hongjoong stared at the empty space they left behind. He couldn’t tell if the eye contact was something he’d imagined out of sheer, furious paranoia, or if Seonghwa was deliberately making sure he felt seen, and by extension, inferior.
The showcase continued with a few more couples, but the afterimage of Seonghwa and Seunghee refused to fade. By the end, Hongjoong was grateful that not all the pairings were required to return to the floor, only an invited international pro couple closed the night with a final exhibition.
Objectively, it was a very good showcase.
And he had never felt more like an outsider looking in.
When the lights were on again, San stood up.
“Alright!” he said. “Time for flower delivery.”
He scooped up two bouquets, which Hongjoong assumed were for Seonghwa and Seunghee.
“I’ll come with you,” Yeosang added, picking up the remaining flowers. “I should give these to Jongho and Yuna.” Then he turned his calm gaze to Hongjoong. “You should come too.”
Hongjoong offered a thin smile that felt more like a grimace. He didn’t want to. The idea of being in a closed room with a victorious, polished Seonghwa made his skin crawl. Still, he followed them, reasoning quietly with himself.
It’s not a big deal. You don’t have to talk to him. Just stand in the back, observe, and leave.
They wove through the thinning crowd toward the backstage area, which was a narrow hallway branching into several dressing and warm-up rooms. San made a quick call, asking where they were, and soon led them into one of the larger rooms.
In one corner, Jongho was helping Yuna out of her dance shoes, both of them looking calm, almost glowing in the aftermath of their performance. In another, Seonghwa and Seunghee were cooling down against the barre, stretching.
As they entered, Seonghwa straightened from a deep lunge. His gaze swept over San and Yeosang before landing on Hongjoong, who lingered near the doorway. He lifted one eyebrow, just slightly, before his expression smoothed back into neutrality.
Hongjoong stayed where he was.
“Hyung! Noona! You were amazing!” San handed over the bouquets as walked towards them. Seunghee accepted hers with a graceful smile, reaching out to pat San’s arm.
“Thank you for the shoes, really,” she said, her tone warmer and more casual than Hongjoong was used to hearing from her. She sounded genuinely fond. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with the other pair.”
Hongjoong watched as the three of them fell easily into conversation, like friends who’d known each other for years.
Meanwhile, Yeosang had already guided him toward Jongho and Yuna.
“You actually came,” Hongjoong heard Jongho say, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble. His brows drew together briefly as he looked from Yeosang to San, but the frown vanished when the ballet dancer offered the bouquets with a smile.
“You brought me flowers?” Jongho asked, clearly confused, but he took them anyway. “Thank you.”
Yuna accepted hers with a shy, delighted smile, lifting the roses to her nose.
“You were really good,” Yeosang said sincerely.
Then Yeosang turned and gently tugged Hongjoong into the circle by the elbow. “This is Kim Hongjoong. He’s a Latin dancer from your studio.”
Jongho’s eyes settled on him.
“Oh,” he said, recognizing him immediately. “You’re the guy who’s practicing with Seonghwa-hyung.”
Hongjoong felt his eye twitch, but he nodded and offered Yuna a polite bow. “Nice to meet you. Your Waltz was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she replied softly.
The conversation flowed more easily than Hongjoong had expected. They were all genuinely friendly, relaxed in a way that made him momentarily forget his own tension. Still, his gaze kept drifting back to the other Standard couple, who were laughing quietly now, Seonghwa animated in a way Hongjoong rarely saw directed at him now.
How does he manage to be that warm with everyone else?
“Are you participating too?” Jongho asked, pulling Hongjoong back into the moment.
“Sorry?” Hongjoong said, blinking. He had missed most of the question.
“We’re preparing for the upcoming Korea Open,” Jongho mentioned, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket. “Are you participating?”
The Korea Open. That was the competition he’d been considering even before the 10-Dance suggestion came up. It drew a large number of international dancers, which was usually a disadvantage for Korean professionals because foreign couples tended to dominate the podium. Amateurs, at least, didn’t feel that pressure as much.
Hongjoong hesitated. “I don’t know yet,” he said, unwilling to reveal that his focus had shifted toward 10-dance.
“Oh?” Jongho looked mildly surprised. “I thought you were. Seonghwa-hyung and San are both competing.”
Seonghwa too.
Of course he was. While carrying the weight of the 10-Dance, and making it look effortless, he still had the capacity and confidence to take on another major competition.
Maybe Hongjoong shouldn’t stay behind. If Seonghwa could handle it, then so could he.
Jongho and Yeosang drifted back into their conversation while Yuna was pulled away by another female dancer. Taking the opening, Hongjoong muttered a quick excuse and retreated to a small table littered with abandoned chairs. He dropped into one, pulling out his phone. His thumbs moved almost on their own, searching: Korea Open dates. Categories. Registration deadlines.
He was so absorbed he didn’t notice the presence beside him until a shadow fell across his screen and a familiar scent cut through the room’s mix of sweat and floral perfume.
He looked up.
Seonghwa stood there, setting his bouquet down carefully on the table. The dark performance makeup sharpened his features, making him look distant and even more untouchable.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” Seonghwa said in a flat tone.
Hongjoong just stared at him. Why? After yesterday’s fight, after everything, did he really expect some small talk? He thought about a dozen replies, but he said nothing, just hoping that the fury and confusion would sit plainly in his eyes.
Seonghwa held his gaze, and there was nothing there. No irritation, no challenge, and none of the warmth they had built over the first two weeks. Just a cool, detached curiosity, as if Hongjoong were a mildly unexpected exhibit.
When he didn’t respond, Seonghwa’s lips twitched in a faint, dismissive scoff.
“I hope you enjoyed the show,” he said. The words were polite enough, but the intent was unmistakable.
Then he turned away, rejoining San and Seunghee without another glance, leaving Hongjoong seated there, simmering.
He couldn’t stay another second. Hongjoong shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his jacket, and left. He would text Yeosang later, but right now, he couldn’t stand to share the same air.
The cool night outside the Grand Hall hit him like a slap, clearing his head just enough to leave space for a single, burning thought. He pulled out his phone, found Yumi’s contact, and hit call. She answered after a few rings.
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: ballroom dancing AU, 18+ smut
summary: Latin dancer Kim Hongjoong and Standard dancer Park Seonghwa are unexpectedly paired to practice for a 10-Dance competition.
warnings: eventual smut, masturbation
tags: ballroom dancing, latin dance, standard dance, eventual romance, tension, sexual tension
originally published on ao3
“She’s a bitch!” Yumi screamed, grabbing her own hair in desperation.
“Hey, vocabulary,” Hongjoong replied, not even looking up from his phone.
“I can’t stand her! It’s making me crazy.”
Yumi had been practicing with Seunghee the whole week, just like he’d been practicing with Seonghwa, and honestly, both pairs were barely holding it together. Aside from his own frustration at trying to comprehend an entirely new discipline after so many years dancing the same style, Seonghwa was just… really serious about dancing. He didn’t talk much, he didn’t joke, and the second they were done, he was out the door without so much as a proper goodbye. He clearly preferred training alone. The only real problem was that the two of them were simply too awkward to have any real chemistry yet, no matter how hard they tried.
Yumi, on the other hand, seemed to be having an even rougher time with Seunghee. Yumi was cheerful by nature, but she was just as competitive as Hongjoong when it came to dancing. He had learned, the hard way, that the thing she hated most in the world was being questioned about her work. Even the smallest bit of constructive feedback was enough to make her right eye twitch. And from what Yumi had been ranting all week, Seunghee was a perfectionist in the purest sense of the word, so everything had to be done her way, down to the last millimeter of frame, and it was driving Yumi insane.
They decided to stop for a coffee in a café near the studio before practice, just to catch up and breathe, and it genuinely seemed to help calm Yumi down at least a little.
Today was their four-person practice, and honestly, both of them were really nervous.
They left the café and walked the short distance to the studio with the cool air being enough to wake them up a little. The building was quieter than usual on weekends, and they could hear just the faint echo of music drifting from a distant room. It made everything feel more serious somehow.
They went straight to their assigned private room, dropped their bags in the corner, and started warming up while chatting.
“I swear,” Yumi said as she stretched, “if she makes me run that natural turn again…”
“You’re gonna survive,” he sighed.
“You don’t know that,” she said, frustrated.
“I do. You’re annoying but hard to kill,” he replied, which made her laugh and hit his arm lightly. That made the tension they felt a little at ease.
They kept talking about nothing in particular just to calm their nerves, until the door suddenly opened when Seunghee walked in first, and Hongjoong blinked in surprise. He’d only ever seen her in the hallways or on the studio’s social media, but up close she was stunning. Her long black hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she wore sleek, all-black practice clothes. She stood almost as tall as Seonghwa, who slipped in behind her, and both of them offered polite greetings.
“Good morning,” Seonghwa said with a small bow.
“Morning,” Seunghee added.
Hongjoong and Yumi returned the gesture, and then everyone quietly drifted into their own corners to warm up. The Latin couple exchanged a look when Seonghwa and Seunghee pulled out their earphones. Hongjoong wasn’t sure how to take it since he had hoped there would be at least a little talking to help them get to know each other, but then he remembered they were all competing in the end, so even if they had to work together, they weren’t necessarily meant to be close. A few minutes passed like that before the door opened for the third time, and Hyowon came in.
“Alright,” she said, clapping once. “Is everyone ready?”
They immediately formed a loose semicircle after bowing at her, attentive. Hongjoong felt his stomach tighten for no logical reason.
“I want to start with observation today,” Hyowon continued. “Hongjoong and Yumi, your focus this week has been technique, so we’ll have Seonghwa and Seunghee demonstrate their Waltz first. Please, don’t copy their style. I repeat, do not copy their style. They have their own dynamic, and I want you to develop yours. So, just watch for technique only.”
They both nodded, trying to look confident.
Hyowon connected his phone to the speakers, and the Standard couple stepped into position. Seonghwa offered his left hand, then Seunghee placed her right hand into it with confidence. Their frames lifted at the same time, with his right hand settling high on her shoulder blade, and her left arm curving around him. The first thing Hongjoong noticed was how close they stood. They were chest to chest, hip to hip, no space in between. It made his stomach tighten for some reason.
When he and Seonghwa practiced together, they usually kept some distance even though they shouldn't, because they knew that if they got closer, their bodies will keep brushing, and well… they didn’t need to complicate things even more.
The music started, and the Standard couple moved as if it was a routine they had done a thousand times. It was easy to tell since the steps were clean, polished, and almost annoyingly smooth. Hongjoong tried to focus on the technique since it was what Hyowon wanted them to notice, but he ended up caught by something else entirely.
Seunghee was stunning when she danced. Her body made a beautiful arch, and she lightly followed Seonghwa’s lead, as if she were floating. When Hyowon praised her, she grinned and kept moving with confidence.
But Hongjoong’s eyes kept drifting back to Seonghwa.
He told himself it was just because Seonghwa liked wearing tank tops to practice, and it was distracting. He liked men too, so it was perfectly normal to notice how defined his arms looked when he rotated, the muscles tightening and releasing with the rhythm. Or how his back moved beneath the thin fabric, each movement revealing a new shift of muscle. Hongjoong had learned to ignore all of this when they danced together, but watching from the outside was a different thing.
He forced himself to look at their feet, their rise and fall, anything helpful for his own dance. But then the couple lifted their heads into promenade and met each other’s eyes with such intensity that Hongjoong wondered if they were dating. He didn’t know why he couldn’t look away, not until they finally broke eye contact and Seonghwa’s gaze flicked directly to him for just a second, then the music ended.
Hyowon clapped, breaking the spell, and the Latin couple followed automatically. The Standard couple stepped apart, wiping sweat from their temples while the coach listed the details he wanted Hongjoong and Yumi to pay attention to, which were cleaner rotations, a stronger frame, and steadier timing through the turns. Hongjoong tried to absorb every word, feeling a bit dizzy.
“Your turn, guys,” Hyowon said as he turned to Hongjoong and Yumi. “Show me the same Waltz. Let’s see your progress.”
Hongjoong inhaled sharply, wiping his palms on his pants. Going after Seonghwa and Seunghee was a bit embarrassing, they knew they were just practicing but still. Then he caught Yumi shooting him a panicked look, and if they had been alone, he was sure he would’ve burst out laughing.
They stepped forward. Hongjoong took his position with Yumi, inhaled, and tried to settle into the frame the way Seonghwa had shown him earlier in the week. He placed his right hand firmly on Yumi’s shoulder blade, lifted his left arm, and felt her slide into her side of the hold with the ease of someone who had danced with him for years.
The music began.
They stepped into the slow rise of the Waltz, starting the first natural turn. Immediately, Hongjoong felt the discomfort of dancing Standard. He didn’t like the over-upright posture, the precise foot placements, or the need to move as one unit instead of individually. Leading was almost too easy; there was no challenge, and he preferred the rhythm of Latin music. It made him restless. He could tell Yumi felt it too from the slight tension in her left hand, and the way her energy kept trying to push forward faster than the music.
“Slow your rise,” Hyowon pointed immediately. “Hongjoong, close your feet properly on three. And Yumi, keep your shoulders down.”
They attempted to adjust mid-step, but the turn ended messy since their balance was slightly off. They continued anyway, pushing through the hesitation until Hyowon said, “Stop.”
Hongjoong exhaled, annoyed at himself. Standard really wasn’t his thing. He respected it, he got why it mattered, but God, it felt boring. He wanted rhythm, syncopation, sharp hips, the thrill of fast music. This felt like walking on eggshells.
Yumi leaned closer and whispered, “She’s on her phone.”
Hongjoong followed her gaze, and saw Seunghee sat against the mirror, scrolling casually through her phone. He didn’t really understand why that would bother Yumi; he was a lot more concerned about Seonghwa, who was sitting right beside her, but looking directly at him. When he looked back, Seonghwa pretended to shift his eyes to Seunghee, yet Hongjoong still caught the tail end of his stare. It wasn’t judgmental, but attentive, like he was studying him, and it made Hongjoong feel strangely exposed, as if Seonghwa had noticed every one of his mistakes.
“Again,” Hyowon ordered, startling Hongjoong. “But remember the basics I told you. Lower through the knees before rising. And let the music pull you, don’t run ahead of it. Your center controls everything. You two already know how to move together, so use that, okay?”
They both nodded and Yumi proceeded to squeeze his hand once before they reset their frame, and the music started again.
This time, they approached the first step with more intention. Hongjoong focused on the lowering, feeling the bend at the knees before letting the rise of the Waltz guide them upward. Their first natural turn landed smoother, and their rotation was cleaner. Yumi adjusted her head position, and they lengthened their stride, finally feeling like dancing.
Their chemistry kicked in naturally. During the first sidestep, Yumi met his eyes with a tiny grin, feeling proud that they had finally made this work out, and he couldn’t help but smile back.
They continued down the floor, swaying slightly through the second turn, their movement finally on beat. But every few seconds, Hongjoong felt Seonghwa’s gaze again. He told himself that Seonghwa had to look at him like that to judge his posture, or analyze his mistakes, or whatever rivals did to get an advantage. Maybe he was trying to distract him, though Seonghwa didn’t seem like the type to play mind games. But then, what other reason could he possibly have to look at him that way? There wasn’t one, or at least none that made sense to Hongjoong.
“Hongjoong,” Hyowon called out, “watch your footwork. Your left foot is crossing too early.”
He forced himself out of his thoughts and dragged his eyes downward, focusing solely on his step mechanics. Heel. Toe. Close. Rise. Fall. Repeat. Somehow, they made it to the end of the practice sequence without collapsing, and when the music ended, they lowered together.
“Better, much better,” Hyowon nodded slowly. “You’re still getting ahead of the beats, but that’s normal for Latin dancers adapting to Standard. The control feels slower, but it’s not. You just need to trust the timing.”
Yumi let out a breath, not convinced.
“Look,” she continued. “There’s a reason you two were chosen. You were our best Latin option, and I know that better than anyone. You’re very, very strong dancers. You’ll adapt.”
Hongjoong almost felt encouraged, until he caught Seunghee rolling her eyes. Yumi noticed too, so he kicked her ankle lightly in warning before she could say anything.
Hyowon moved on, giving more corrections as they all reset positions. The rest of the practice they repeated Waltz walks, rise and fall drills, and more timing corrections. But the whole time, Hongjoong couldn’t shake the mix of frustration and curiosity simmering in his chest. Standard was boring for him, but the Standard couple remained a complete mystery. They were hard to read, and even harder to ignore. Especially Seonghwa, who kept glancing at him like he was trying to figure him out, and Hongjoong had no idea what to make of that.
When Hyowon finally dismissed them, everyone bowed. The second the coach stepped out, Seunghee grabbed his bag and left first. Seonghwa followed right after with a quick, clipped “good work,” though he didn’t look at any of them when he said it.
Hongjoong and Yumi stayed behind for a moment, catching their breath.
“We should work on the list Mr. Han gave us,” Yumi said, stretching her neck.
“Yeah,” Hongjoong agreed, even if all he wanted was something different from Standard. “Latin room?”
“Latin room,” she replied.
They gathered their things and headed down the hall. The moment they stepped inside the familiar studio, Hongjoong felt his shoulders drop at the familiarity of it. Even if they weren’t practicing Latin today, this room was more comforting; it didn’t matter if the floor could affect their footwork.
Before he even bent down to set his bag, he noticed Yunho sitting on the floor, with his legs stretched out, leaning back against the wall while watching his phone.
“Yunho?” Hongjoong laughed, walking over. “Why are you here?”
“Hey,” Yunho lifted a hand in greeting. “Minseo called Wooyoung and said she was practicing here while we were watching a movie, so I practically had to drag him.”
Hongjoong sighed. “He didn’t want to practice again?”
Yunho shook his head, then jerked his chin to the right.
There, a few meters away, Wooyoung and Minseo were dancing a Rumba combination. Minseo’s movement had gotten so much more controlled lately, and her arms were expressive without losing precision. On the other hand, Wooyoung’s lead was clean, confident, and technically impressive for someone who constantly skipped practice. Even though they were juniors, Hongjoong knew they had a lot of potential. They could go far, internationally even. And that was exactly why he didn’t want Wooyoung to quit ballroom. Seeing him dance with a big smile on his face just confirmed it.
When the pair stopped for water, Minseo spotted them first.
“Oh! Sunbaenim!” she said, waving as she jogged over.
Wooyoung followed, wiping sweat from his face with his shirt. “Hyung? Since when are you here?”
“Just got here,” Hongjoong answered.
Before he could say anything else, Yumi grabbed Minseo by the wrist and whispered, “I’m dying with Seunghee, Minseo. You don’t understand.”
Minseo’s eyes widened in sympathy, and the two immediately dove into hushed gossip in the corner.
Wooyoung turned to Hongjoong. “So how was practice?”
“I hate Waltz,” Hongjoong sighed dramatically.
“No surprise there,” Wooyoung snorted. “Is Park Seonghwa that bad?”
“I don’t care about him,” Hongjoong added quickly, definitely lying. “It’s the dance. It’s too slow for me.”
“Wait,” Yunho raised a hand. “What’s Waltz even like? I’ve never seen it.”
That was all Wooyoung needed to grab Yunho’s wrist immediately and give him a big smile. “Come here.”
“What… hey, Wooyoung!”
Yunho let himself be dragged, stumbling as Wooyoung positioned him into a Standard frame.
“No, no, shoulders down,” the youngest said, laughing in frustration. “Stop moving like a tree, lift your elbows! Yunho, you’re too tall… stay still, oh my god.”
Hongjoong burst out laughing as Wooyoung tried to steer the much taller Yunho across the floor. Yunho was an incredible dancer too, but he was built for street style, not ballroom. Still, Wooyoung managed to lead him through a clumsy box step, both of them laughing and tripping into each other, which made Minseo and Yumi laugh too behind them.
But, just for a moment, when Wooyoung accommodated himself closer to Yunho with their bodies pressing together, Hongjoong noticed the faintest blush coloring the tips of Yunho’s ears, while he kept his eyes fixed on Wooyoung and never looked away, not even when he was almost tripping.
Oh, well…
When Wooyoung finally stepped back, he bowed dramatically.
“Thank you for your time.”
Yunho bowed too, laughing. “I hate you.”
After that demonstration, they all sat again to catch their breath.
“No, but seriously,” Wooyoung continued while drinking water. “Why can't ‘Mr. Best Amateur Latin Dancer in Korea’ do Standard?”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the nickname.
“My biggest problem is posture and control,” he admitted. “I’m too used to Latin, and Standard isn’t for me.”
“Wouldn’t ballet dancers help with that?” Wooyoung asked casually.
Hongjoong was confused. “Why ballet?”
“Because one of my friends is a ballet teacher,” he explained. “He’s very good, and you need the posture, control, balance, all that.”
Yumi leaned in. “Who?”
Before Wooyoung could answer, Minseo piped up, “Oh, Yeosangie?”
Wooyoung pointed at her. “Yeah.”
“Oh, he’ll help you for sure,” Minseo said confidently. “He was my ballet teacher years ago, he’s like the best teacher I’ve ever had.”
Hongjoong thought for a moment. He honestly didn’t want to practice with anyone else; dealing with Seonghwa and Seunghee was already enough, but if they really wanted to win the 10-dance competition, he needed help.
“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Let’s try it.”
“Great,” Wooyoung grinned. “I’ll message him later.”
After that, he and Yumi went through the coaches’ corrections. Annoyingly enough, practicing with the Standard couple was helping them, and they were getting better, at least in Waltz. They practiced for two hours, until Minseo suggested they all go to a nearby barbecue restaurant for dinner before heading home.
The next Monday, Hongjoong decided to leave work a little earlier and head straight to the studio. He had spent the whole morning editing a Latin pop track, and it made his whole body ache to dance something that actually made him move. So, he figured he could steal an hour of practice before his session with Seonghwa. They had agreed on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays at six, but since Seonghwa and San taught dance classes at the studio, Hongjoong ended up seeing him almost daily anyway.
When he arrived, he headed to the changing room and pulled out his clothes, only to groan when he noticed what he’d packed.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered.
Instead of the oversized shirt he usually relied on, he’d grabbed a sleeveless black one. He’d left the apartment in a rush in the morning and apparently didn’t bother checking. He really didn’t want to throw on a hoodie just to hide his shoulders since it was too damn hot outside. So he just dealt with it. At least it was loose enough to feel comfortable.
He made his way to the private room they now reserved, fully expecting to be alone, but when he opened the door, he saw Seonghwa already there practicing something in front of the mirror. He turned sharply when he saw Hongjoong’s reflection, pulling out his earphones with a startled blink.
“Hey,” Hongjoong said, dropping his bag and water bottle on the floor.
“Hi,” Seonghwa replied, his voice softer than usual. He kept staring at Hongjoong through the mirror for a long second, long enough that Hongjoong felt weirdly aware of his bare arms.
“Don’t you teach at this hour?” Hongjoong asked, trying not to make it awkward.
“Yeah, but we had to move it an hour earlier,” Seonghwa answered. “San had to leave sooner.”
“Oh,” Hongjoong nodded and started warming up. The silence felt a little tight again, the same as when it was just the two of them.
“Do you want to start practicing now?” Seonghwa asked, sounding almost shy.
“Oh, no. Don’t worry,” Hongjoong said. “I actually wanted to practice some Latin before we started. So go on.”
There was something different about him when they were alone, but Hongjoong couldn’t explain it. Around others, Seonghwa was polite, distant, and properly composed. But in private, he was… softer. Hesitant, sometimes. Like he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to behave and it was confusing.
Seonghwa looked at him again, longer this time, like he was debating something internally.
“Could you help me with something?” he asked finally after a while.
Hongjoong froze a little. Park Seonghwa, the annoyingly good at everything, impossibly disciplined Park Seonghwa, was asking him for help?
“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, trying to hide the surprise in his voice.
“I’m having trouble with moving my hips,” Seonghwa admitted. “I watched some of your competitions before, and you were… really good.” He shifted, embarrassed. “I think I'm too used to the posture for Standard, and this is kind of beating me.”
This time he couldn’t hide his surprise. He knew that Seonghwa was struggling with loosening his hips, but he didn't expect to be asked for help.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, nodding once. “Yeah, I can help.”
Hongjoong stepped closer behind Seonghwa, just enough to watch the way he shifted his weight.
“Okay,” Hongjoong started, trying to reassure himself more than anything. “Just loosen here… don't force the movement. Let it travel through your spine first, then your hips follow. Like that.”
Seonghwa tried. And honestly, he wasn’t bad. Not good, but not as stiff as the first week.
“See? You obviously don’t do Latin, but you’re getting the idea.”
Seonghwa huffed a tiny laugh under his breath, with his eyes fixed on his reflection. “It still feels wrong.”
“Your frame is good,” Hongjoong said. For some reason, he couldn't stop his eyes from tracing the line of Seonghwa’s shoulders. “But the isolation is off. Actually, do you mind if I… touch you? It’ll be easier to guide you like that.”
Seonghwa went perfectly still for a moment, then nodded slightly. “It’s okay.”
Hongjoong stepped closer, until the heat of Seonghwa’s body bled through the space between them. He lifted his hands, hesitating for a second before settling them on Seonghwa’s hips. The fabric of his practice shirt was soft, but underneath, he could feel the solid, dense muscle, and swallowed.
“Here,” he said in a rough voice as he applied gentle pressure, guiding Seonghwa’s pelvis forward. “Initiate the movement from this point. Not the leg. Here.” His thumbs pressed in slightly, and he felt the muscle jump beneath his touch. He guided the motion back, then to the side, a slow roll. “Yes, like that. Connect it. It’s one fluid circle.”
He saw in the mirror how Seonghwa’s movements were becoming less mechanical and more inherently sensual. He could feel a thin trail of sweat slipping down his neck and swallowed again.
“I can’t… see the line properly,” Seonghwa breathed out in frustration. Before Hongjoong could process it, Seonghwa’s hands were at the hem of his black fitted shirt. He pulled it up slowly, gathering it just above his pectorals, exposing the entirety of his torso to the cool, mirrored room.
Hongjoong’s breath hitched, his hands freezing on Seonghwa’s skin.
God.
He wasn't even completely shirtless, but the sight was devastating. The dramatic V of his waist cut into defined obliques, leading down to the pronounced lines of his hip bones. Every abdominal muscle was etched in perfect, tense detail, rising and falling with his quickened breaths. His back, now bare under Hongjoong’s palms, was a landscape of sculpted shoulders and lat muscles that flexed with the smallest movement. Hongjoong’s brain short-circuited. He shouldn’t be feeling this. He has seen many other men shirtless, so this shouldn't be a big deal, but why was it driving him quietly, completely insane?
His hands, almost of their own volition, slid higher, his fingers splaying to span more of that impossibly narrow waist, and his thumbs brushed the lower ridges of Seonghwa’s rib cage. A sharp but quiet gasp tore from Seonghwa’s lips, while his entire body went taut. In the mirror, Hongjoong saw Seonghwa’s eyes fly open, locking directly onto his own reflection.
The eye contact was a live wire, but Hongjoong couldn’t look away. He watched himself as his hands moved on the bare skin of Seonghwa’s waist, rolling his hips in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Seonghwa parted his lips, and Hongjoong could see the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks and the unreadable depth of his gaze.
He then felt one of Seonghwa's hands come down from holding his shirt to cover Hongjoong's hand where it gripped his waist, making him feel a sudden and overwhelming rush of heat, pulling low in his own abdomen. His body was reacting loudly and indiscreetly.
He had to stop. Now.
He carefully withdrew his hands, the cool air rushing in to replace the heat of Seonghwa’s skin, feeling like a loss, and took a step back.
“You’re… you’re getting it. That’s good,” he said, and his voice came out strained though he tried to keep it neutral. “Keep doing that isolation drill. The coach will be here soon. I’m, uh. I’m going to run through my Latin piece.”
Seonghwa didn’t speak. He seemed slightly dizzy, his chest still rising too fast. He lowered his shirt slowly. But as he did it, Hongjoong could have sworn he saw disappointment written all over his face.
He then practically fled to the other side of the room, fumbled with his earphones, jamming them into his ears and cranking the music until it pounded in his skull. He started warming up, attempting to burn the memory of whatever had just happened.
He was trying to focus so hard that he never even noticed the moment Seonghwa was gone. And when he was halfway through his Rumba walks, the studio door opened again.
The standard dancer walked in first, looking more composed, with his hair a little wet as if he splashed water on his face. Behind him came Mr. Han, who greeted him.
“This week,” Mr. Han started after checking in with the two, “we’ll focus on Tango.”
Hongjoong was glad. He hated practicing Waltz so much, but at least Tango was enjoyable. It's the only one of the Standard styles that he actually liked.
“Of the Standard styles,” Hongjoong straightened immediately. “I’m more familiar with Tango.”
“Good,” Mr. Han said, already moving toward the sound system. “Then it should be easier to correct.”
Hongjoong wasn’t entirely sure if that was encouraging or threatening. Mr. Han fixed the music but didn’t play it yet.
“First the basics,” he said. “I want clean walks, staccato timing, lower center, but no drifting and no swaying. Tango should be sharp and direct.”
He demonstrated a few actions, which Hongjoong recognized as tango walks, progressive link, and promenade pivots, as precise as he would expect from an experienced coach. Seonghwa followed instantly, of course, his body snapping into clean diagonals, his weight grounded, and precise steps. Tango seemed to be one of his strengths.
Hongjoong… did okay. Not great, or awful. Just okay. The muscle memory was there, but the shape, the hold, or the specific tango posture wasn’t natural yet.
“Good. Now,” Mr. Han said after a while, “Seonghwa will lead you again today.”
He kept a neutral face but sighed internally. Then just nodded and stepped into place.
They took their frame carefully, with Seonghwa adjusting his right hand to Hongjoong’s shoulder blade, and Hongjoong resting his left hand in Seonghwa’s. It felt familiar by this point. Great. Perfect.
“Remember,” Mr. Han said, circling them, “you’re not leading, Hongjoong, you respond to Seonghwa.”
“I know,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath.
“No, you don’t,” Seonghwa murmured.
It surprised him a bit that the other man replied, but still he ignored him.
Mr. Han put on a tango beat, and they took their first steps.
As expected, Hongjoong didn’t know how to follow yet. His body pushed forward when Seonghwa was supposed to shape the direction. He tried to initiate a pivot, and his feet were correct, but his upper body kept sending the wrong signals.
“Stop,” Mr. Han called out, not unkind, but definitely done with his nonsense. “Hongjoong, do you hear the music? Because your body is trying to lead it.”
“I’m trying,” Hongjoong said, his face heating with embarrassment. “My instincts just…”
“Yes. And they’re wrong.” Mr. Han crossed his arms. “I can tell that you’re too familiar with Tango, and that’s good. But right now you are following and need to trust Seonghwa’s lead.”
Hongjoong pressed his lips together. He hated being corrected, even though the coach was right. It felt like someone poking directly into his ego.
“Let’s change the combination,” Mr. Han said at last. Then he demonstrated a new sequence that was simpler in steps but required clean and differentiated roles: a closed promenade, a reverse turn, and basic walks.
“This one,” he added, “forces you not to fight each other when dancing.”
They nodded and reset their positions. Hongjoong inhaled slowly as they started. This time, as they stepped into the promenade position, something felt different. Seonghwa held him closer this time, just by a few centimeters, but it was obvious. The hand in his back was firmer, their centers were closer, and their thighs brushed as they took the first walk. This was the same way he led Seunghee before.
Hongjoong’s eyes flicked up in surprise, but Seonghwa wasn’t looking at him. His focus was off the side, as if this new closeness meant nothing.
He pulled his upper body back just slightly to maintain the correct arch, making sure he wasn’t flush against Seonghwa’s chest. His spine lifted, and his chin angled away. It was technically correct, but he definitely needed that distance.
They began to move. Sometimes, Hongjoong tried to lead by instinct, but he could feel the resistance in Seonghwa’s frame now. Their steps were precise, their legs slicing through the space between them in sharp ganchos and quick brushes that were meant to be clean, but somehow it felt like Seonghwa was invading him.
It was then, in the middle of a slow step, that he felt the brush of Seonghwa’s thigh against his crotch. It lasted for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make Hongjoong's breath hitch. The contact made him miss a step, and his foot stumbled for a brief moment before he forcibly recovered, feeling his heart beat faster.
No one else noticed.
Obviously, Seonghwa was used to dancing with a taller partner, and his partner was a woman so there shouldn't be an issue. But with them, the height difference was noticeable, and this was a coincidence.
He tried to pour his consciousness into the music and the placement of his feet, but his body was a traitor, hyper-aware now of every point of contact. The brush of their arms, the faint collision of their chests, the constant slide of their legs, and the heat of their sweat mixing every time their bodies met.
During a turn, his eyes flicked up and caught their reflection in the mirror. Seonghwa’s broad shoulders were curving over him, and his own body arched away in a taut line. The image was too intimate. But Tango wasn’t supposed to be this close, at least not this dance. So why was Seonghwa holding him there, in that suffocating, electric proximity?
“Seonghwa!” Mr. Han’s voice startled them both. “Keep your distance. You’re smothering him. Hongjoong can’t even move his center properly.”
Like a switch had been flipped, Seonghwa immediately retreated, and he felt strangely cold now, but sighed in relief.
“Sorry,” Seonghwa murmured.
When the music ended, they stood apart and avoided each other’s eyes for some reason.
“The core issue remains.” Mr. Han pointed, hands settling firmly on his hips. “You are two leaders, so I understand why you clash, but that doesn’t excuse it. Hongjoong, you must learn to follow. And Seonghwa,” he pointed at him, “you’re not giving Hongjoong enough resistance. Let him feel the lead. You’re the one leading this piece.”
They both nodded, then the coach handed them a sheet of drills.
“Work on this during the week. Build the connection, and find harmony instead of fighting for the lead, understood?”
Both dancers bowed deeply, murmuring their thanks. “Thank you, Mr. Han.”
When the coach left, they both exhaled at the same time, it felt like they’d been holding their breath through the whole session. Hongjoong pressed the heel of his hand against the back of his neck, while Seonghwa dragged a towel across his jaw, the fabric darkening as it absorbed the sweat. Then he grabbed his bottle and took a long drink, which made it impossible not to notice his throat working as he swallowed. To distract himself, he grabbed his own bottle and took a small sip.
“…I didn’t remember Tango being this hard,” he said after a moment, still catching his breath.
Seonghwa let out a quiet huff of laughter, wiping the sweat from his temple. “It’s not supposed to be. But yeah, it felt different.”
“Because of us?” The question slipped out of Hongjoong before he could stop it. He meant it technically because they didn’t work well together yet, but Seonghwa paused, and his gaze flicked toward him for a second that felt like a minute.
“Because of you,” he corrected softly.
It could have meant that Hongjoong wasn’t a good follower, or that he was making things harder, but he knew that Seonghwa didn’t say it like that. There was something else beneath it that Hongjoong couldn’t decipher. He nodded anyway and looked away, mostly to hide the heat crawling up his neck.
“Still…” Seonghwa draped the towel around his neck. “You did well. Better than last week.”
“Thanks,” Hongjoong said, though his throat felt dry in a way that water couldn’t fix.
“And…” Seonghwa hesitated, eyes lowering for half a second. “It’s been… interesting. Dancing with you.”
Hongjoong’s breath stuttered.
“Oh,” he managed. “Yeah. You too.”
They stood there, packing slower than necessary. Just as they were about to head out, Seonghwa paused at the door.
“I like your tattoo,” he said.
Hongjoong blinked, then instinctively glanced down at the ink along his upper arm. He had a tattoo that said “no1likeme,” since it was a phrase he liked for a long time.
“Oh, thanks,” Hongjoong replied. “I actually designed it myself.”
“Really?” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, impressed. “It looks good on you.”
The corner of Hongjoong’s mouth curled upward.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Seonghwa smiled back, and they stepped out into the hallway together.
Thursday came faster than he expected.
Hongjoong had been improving, slowly, but improving in Tango. Still, he knew he needed help, so when Wooyoung texted saying Yeosang could see him today since he had a two-hour break and could pass by the ballroom department, Hongjoong agreed instantly. After typing a quick thank you, he immediately decided to go earlier than usual to take advantage of the extra time.
He reached the studio a little before five. After changing into practice clothes, he stepped into the hallway and spotted Wooyoung talking to a blonde guy and another taller guy with short, dark hair. Hongjoong assumed one of them had to be Yeosang, so he walked toward them.
“Hyung!” Wooyoung waved him over when he spotted him, and Hongjoong smiled at him. It was good seeing him in the studio.
“This is Yeosang,” Wooyoung said, nodding toward the blonde, who gave a small, polite smile. “And that’s Mingi,” he then pointed at the taller guy.
“Hey,” Mingi gave a small nod, which Hongjoong returned.
“He’s a hip-hop dancer,” Wooyoung added, “but he’s Yeosang’s little helper sometimes.”
“‘Little helper’ is crazy,” Mingi said, which made them laugh.
“He’s useful,” Yeosang added.
Wooyoung snorted. “Sure. Anyway, I’m practicing right now, but I’ll see you guys later. Good luck, hyung!”
As Wooyoung got back into the Latin room, Hongjoong felt an immediate sense of relief just knowing that he didn’t skip practice today.
Yeosang turned to him and asked, “Can we go to a private room?”
“Yeah. I know one,” Hongjoong said, and led them to the same room he always used with Seonghwa. Since they usually reserved it at this time, it was empty. They dropped their bags, and while Hongjoong warmed up, they discussed what he wanted to improve.
“My main issue is posture for Standard,” he admitted. “Following too, but that’s a different issue.”
“Okay,” Yeosang nodded. “Please, show me how you usually get into Waltz frame.”
Hongjoong grimaced because he didn’t exactly miss Waltz, but he stood up anyway.
“Get in frame with Mingi,” Yeosang said.
“What?” Mingi said as he looked up from his phone, surprised. Yeosang ignored him and positioned him like a lead, adjusting his hands and stance. It made Hongjoong laugh softly since the guy just obeyed whatever instruction Yeosang gave him.
When the ballet dancer looked at Hongjoong, he stepped into the follow position, but he found himself feeling as uncertain as Mingi, which made Yeosang laugh.
“You’re not going to get electrocuted if you touch each other,” he said. “Relax.”
“You didn’t tell me that I was going to dance!” Mingi whined.
“Shut up and hold him properly,” Yeosang replied, amused.
They reset, and Yeosang began correcting everything, from their frame, the position of their hands, and to the smallest details. Hongjoong was surprised at how well Yeosang observed everything in detail.
“You haven’t been a follow before, right?” he asked, stepping back to look at them.
“No. My posture was even worse the first week,” Hongjoong confessed, laughing.
“Ballroom is so difficult,” Mingi muttered as Yeosang corrected him again.
The ballet dancer indicated that they could start, so they started moving through the basic box step. It was clumsy since Mingi was trying too hard to lead, and his face showed every single thought running through his head. When Hongjoong looked up at one point and saw him looking so painfully confused, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
That was exactly when the door opened, making them look and see Seonghwa standing there with a surprised look on his face.
Yeosang straightened and bowed. “Oh, hello.”
Mingi echoed the greeting and Seonghwa bowed back.
“Is it time for our practice?” Hongjoong asked, a bit breathless from the practice and all the laughing.
“No,” Seonghwa shook his head. “There’s still twenty minutes.” His voice was soft, but his expression didn’t change.
“If you want, we can move to the other side,” Hongjoong suggested. “So you can start warming up.”
But Seonghwa didn’t move; he didn’t even step inside properly. Something in his gaze was strange, or different. Yes, he was a serious person, but lately, they’ve grown more comfortable with each other. And now he was just looking at him like the first day. He seemed to look attentively at the way Mingi was still lightly holding onto him.
Hongjoong wanted to ease the tension, so he asked again, “Did you need the room?”
That finally snapped Seonghwa out of it.
“No,” he said. “Don’t worry. I didn’t come to practice.”
Hongjoong frowned. So, then what was he doing here?
“I’ll… go to the standard room,” Seonghwa hesitated. “I’ll come back later.”
His gaze flicked to Mingi one last time before he turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Both friends exchanged a look, then looked at Hongjoong, but nobody said anything. They resumed eventually.
Ten minutes later, Yeosang clapped his hands lightly. “Okay, that’s good for today. You’re improving, but you’re just not used to the role yet. I noticed that your frame is clear, that’s good.”
Hongjoong nodded. “Thank you.”
Even though they didn’t do much more than the basics, Yeosang explained the technical aspects clearer than the coaches, which made him understand a bit better.
They packed up, Yeosang said a quick goodbye, and Mingi followed behind him, leaving Hongjoong alone in the room. A few minutes passed before the door opened again and Mr. Han stepped in, wiping a hand on his slacks.
“Where’s Seonghwa?” the coach asked, looking around the empty room.
“I… don’t know,” Hongjoong admitted. “He said he’d come back.”
“He’s never late.” Mr. Han frowned lightly. “Not once. But well, let’s not waste time.” He clapped his hands together once. “We’ll start with some notes while we wait.”
Since Mr. Han only came on Mondays and Thursdays for an hour, Thursdays were the day to show progress. So Hongjoong stood there, absorbing every recommendation which were mostly about posture reminders, foot placement, and frame tension. Mr. Han adjusted the angle of his left elbow, then his chin, then tapped lightly at the center of his back.
“You need to maintain that even when you move,” he said. “Your main issue is that you let the line collapse.”
“I’ll try,” Hongjoong replied, focusing hard.
While he was being corrected, the door opened again and Seonghwa walked in, slightly breathless.
Hongjoong could sense that something was off already with him today. After he left his things, the coach asked to see their progress for Tango, so they got into position.
This time though, Hongjoong felt something different in Seonghwa’s touch. It was different from the precise, stable frame he always had, now it felt like a beginner’s one, exactly like… like Mingi had held him earlier. This confused Hongjoong even more.
Mr. Han started the music, and they began. But Seonghwa’s steps were messy, misaligned. He sometimes pushed too early, then too late. It wasn’t like him at all. Hongjoong wanted to ask what the hell was going on, so he looked up but he could only see Seonghwa frowning deeply, while looking at his right side. As if something, or someone, was bothering him.
Hongjoong frowned too. Had Seonghwa given up on him already?
“No, no,” the coach noticed immediately. “Your lead is collapsing. Seonghwa, what are you doing? Reset.”
But when they went again, Seonghwa’s frustration seemed to only build, tightening the line of his jaw. When the song ended, Mr. Han exhaled loudly.
“Well,” he said, “surprisingly, Hongjoong was not the problem today.”
Hongjoong didn’t know what to say to that. Seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Mr. Han gave feedback, and this time it was specific corrections aimed entirely at Seonghwa. That his lead was unstable, his weight transfers were late, and his focus was off. They tried again, and again but it wasn’t right.
By the time Mr. Han left, he seemed frustrated. But since Hongjoong, for once, wasn’t the reason, he felt a bit relieved.
They sat against the wall with their water bottles in hand, in silence. Seonghwa looked tense while staring at himself in the mirror. His black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. And his breathing was tight.
Hongjoong really wanted, but he didn’t know what to say to make the air lighter. Eventually, he tried small talk.
“Um… have you been dancing for a long time?”
Seonghwa’s eyes flicked to him, surprised at the question. “Yes, but I stopped for a few years.”
Hongjoong nodded, unsure how to follow that. He really was terrible at small talk.
Seonghwa broke the silence this time, still looking at the mirror. “You really didn’t dance Standard before this?”
“No,” Hongjoong laughed quietly. “I have danced it before because I had to learn it for a certificate once, but I didn’t like it. The only style I actually liked was tango.”
Seonghwa nodded. “I could tell. You’re not that bad at it.”
“Not that bad?” Hongjoong said, lifting a brow, making the other man chuckle. At least, the tension in his shoulders loosened a bit.
“I even competed once,” Hongjoong added. “In tango, with Yumi. We danced to Besame Mucho. It’s one of my favorite songs.”
“I’ve danced to Besame Mucho often too,” Seonghwa said softly.
“Well, it’s one of the most popular ballroom picks,” Hongjoong replied.
“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, smiling faintly.
A minute passed in a comfortable silence now.
“Do you…” Seonghwa started, but when he felt Hongjoong’s eyes on him through the mirror, he hesitated for a moment. Then exhaled and looked directly at him now. “Do you want to dance some Tango before we leave? Just to feel better about the practice.”
Hongjoong was a bit surprised, but this could be normal since they were practicing together. After holding his gaze for a few seconds, he nodded.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Maybe we can do Besame Mucho,” Seonghwa said. “You already know a choreography for it.”
“Okay,” Hongjoong agreed and stood, brushing off his pants. He waited for Seonghwa to get into position, expecting him to step forward like always. But he hesitated and spoke quietly.
“Oh, I forgot to say… what if you lead this time? Since you’re more confident with it.”
Hongjoong froze and stared at him. “Me?”
Seonghwa nodded once.
The surprise shot through him so sharply that he had to swallow before responding. It shouldn’t be an issue, it was what Hongjoong had wanted these two weeks but he maybe got used to follow.
“Sure,” he said after a moment, his voice reflecting his own concern. “Yeah. I can lead.”
He stepped forward, taking the lead’s position for the first time with Seonghwa. The other man reached for the speaker and tapped on the playlist until the opening chords of Besame Mucho filled the room. It was a slow and warm version of the song.
Seonghwa walked toward him a bit careful, or unsure, but much closer than earlier.
Bésame… Bésame mucho…
“Ready?” Hongjoong asked quietly as his left hand found Seonghwa’s waist, the contact tentative through the damp fabric of his shirt. He guided it around to the small of Seonghwa’s back, his palm pressing flat against the firm muscle. In response, Seonghwa’s right hand slid from Hongjoong’s shoulder to settle in between. Their other hands joined, fingers lacing together, and they looked down at their joined hands for a brief moment.
Seonghwa looked up, eyes darker than before. “Yeah.”
Hongjoong took a breath and began to lead.
The moment he initiated the first slow step, the tension transformed. Hongjoong, in his element, guided with a newfound confidence that suited him much better.
He traced the seam of his spine, felt the shift of each vertebra as Seonghwa arched into a turn, his palm sliding to the dip of his waist to anchor him before pulling him close again.
Seonghwa followed with an intensity that was almost unnerving. His head tilted, and a soft, warm exhale ghosted over the sensitive skin of Hongjoong’s neck, making him feel goosebumps. And then, in the middle of a cruzada, the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh brushed against Hongjoong’s crotch again.
In response, he jerked back an inch, disrupting the flow. He didn’t know why his body was reacting with such raw sensitivity today. When he pulled away, he felt Seonghwa’s gaze on him, so he looked up.
He hadn’t paid proper attention before to Seonghwa’s eyes before. They were wide, dark, and the studio lights reflected stars on them, fixed directly on him. Hongjoong found himself unable to look away. They held that gaze, as their bodies continued the dance. His hand that was moving on Seonghwa’s back, found the fabric damp with sweat, but instead of repulsion, a strange thrill shot through him. The dark scent of Seonghwa’s cologne mixed with the heat of his skin became an intoxicating and overwhelming cloud that Hongjoong breathed in with every gasping breath.
They somehow got to the end of the song, and finished with chests heaving, and faces unbearably close. Hongjoong could see the faint sheen on Seonghwa’s upper lip, the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat. He noticed that they were only a few centimeters apart. If Hongjoong leaned in just a little, their lips would touch.
The silence after the music was even louder somehow. It had been a simple choreography, but Hongjoong felt unraveled by an intensity he couldn’t name.
Dazed, he slid his hand down Seonghwa’s back over the curve of his waist, then let his fingertips lower, brushing just above the waistband of Seonghwa’s pants, where the fabric was hot and damp.
A sharp gasp escaped Seonghwa’s lips. Just a small, breathy sound that went straight to Hongjoong’s core.
His eyes snapped back to Seonghwa’s, and this time, they didn’t look away. Seonghwa’s eyes were wide, pupils blown dark. His black hair was stuck to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and his lips…
His lips.
Hongjoong’s gaze lingered there without his permission, caught on the soft parting of them. For one second, he imagined leaning in. Imagined what it would feel like to press his mouth to Seonghwa’s, to close the tiny distance between them.
What was he thinking?
His breath hitched, and in that small moment of hesitation, something in his expression must have betrayed him because Seonghwa stepped back. He did it gently, almost reluctantly, but enough for the tension between them to break.
“We… danced well,” Hongjoong managed, voice rough and uneven.
Seonghwa nodded once, still breathless. “Yeah.”
As they separated, Hongjoong noticed that Seonghwa’s fingers lingered more than necessary on his, slipping apart with some reluctance. When they parted, the loss of contact felt shocking and cold.
“I should go,” Seonghwa said, not meeting his eyes again. Then turned, gathered his bag with uncharacteristic haste, and was out the door without another word.
Hongjoong stood alone in the center of the room, confused. It was only then, in the utter silence, that he became too aware of the persistent, throbbing ache in his own body, and looked down.
Fuck.
Half-hard, and completely, utterly obvious if anyone were to see him. He couldn’t leave now, not like this.
He waited while forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths, leaning against the cool mirror until the frantic hammering of his heart slowed. Only when he was sure he could walk without betraying himself did he finally move, grabbing his own bag and heading to the men’s bathroom down the hall.
He locked himself in a stall, leaning his forehead against the cold metal, trying to calm himself. When that failed, he went to the sink, turning the faucet on full blast, then cupped handful after handful of icy water, splashing it violently against his face, his neck, soaking his hairline. He gripped the edges of the porcelain basin with his head hanging, and some water dripped from his chin onto the stainless steel.
Finally, he straightened up and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were slightly parted as he tried to catch his breath. He looked wrecked.
What has Park Seonghwa done to me?
The cold water had done nothing but make him feel more sensitive. He realized, unfortunately, that the only way out of this was straight through it. He had to get home.
He practically stumbled through the front door of the apartment after a long ride that felt like hell. Relief washed over him when he found the apartment completely silent. Wooyoung was still practicing, and Yunho probably went out. He didn’t even bother with the lights, just kicked his shoes off before heading straight for the bathroom.
The sound of the shower roared to life, the steam quickly fogging the mirrors. He tore his clothes off and stepped under the near-scalding spray, then tipped his head back, letting the water pound against his closed eyelids and tense shoulders. He convinced himself that it was a completely normal reaction since he hadn’t had sex in moths, too consumed by dancing and work. It was just physical and meant nothing.
But as his hand slid down his stomach and his fingers wrapped around his half-hard cock, the lie shattered.
The moment he made contact, it wasn’t his own touch he felt. It was the memory of Seonghwa’s skin under his palm, hot and damp through his shirt. It was the phantom pressure of that solid waist under his guiding hands. A full-body shudder wracked him, and he was fully, painfully, hard in an instant.
Shit.
He didn’t want to think about him, so he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to summon anything or anyone else. But his treacherous mind replayed the afternoon in torturous detail. It replayed the way Seonghwa’s hips had rolled under his instruction, the sharp cut of his abs when he lifted his shirt, the dark gaze locked on his during the tango.
A low groan escaped him as his strokes grew faster, less controlled. He brought his free hand to his mouth, biting down to stifle the sounds fighting to get out, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure, mixing with the memory of Seonghwa’s fingers trailing up his shoulders.
Then the damning image of Seonghwa’s flushed and perfect face came to his mind, how his lips parted a mere breath from his own in the dying notes of the song.
That was it.
He came with a moan, his body buckling against the slick tile wall as the orgasm ripped through him, shockingly intense and embarrassingly fast. For a few seconds, there was only the white-noise rush of the water and the frantic hammering of his pulse in his ears.
After a minute, he felt the shame.
He slid down the wall, the water beating on his bowed head. His breathing was still ragged, his limbs loose and trembling.
In the hazy aftermath, the reality hit him. He had just gotten off to the thought of Park Seonghwa.
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: ballroom dancing AU, 18+ smut
summary: Latin dancer Kim Hongjoong and Standard dancer Park Seonghwa are unexpectedly paired to practice for a 10-Dance competition.
warnings: eventual smut
tags: ballroom dancing, latin dance, standard dance, eventual romance, tension, sexual tension
a/n: hi! this fic happened because the 10 Dance trailer flipped a switch in my brain and suddenly I needed Hongjoong and Seonghwa in a competitive ballroom setting.
quick disclaimer: I’m not an expert in ballroom dance. everything I know comes from years of obsessively watching the sport, not from actually practicing it. I researched a lot for this fic, but if an actual expert ever reads this… please forgive me, I tried my best.
hope you enjoy!!!
originally published on ao3
The studio lights were bright enough to wash the room in a soft white sheen, bouncing off the mirrors and the polished floor. Hongjoong and his dance partner, Yumi, stood in the center, already catching their breath after another run-through of the routine. Her bleached-blonde hair, almost white at the ends, was tied up in a loose bun that kept coming undone, strands sticking to her forehead with sweat. Hongjoong’s shirt clung to his back, and his messy brown hair fell over his eyes as he counted himself in.
They took their positions again.
Yumi’s left hand in his right, and her right hand on his shoulder. Hongjoong’s hand was firm at the back of her ribcage. Months of dancing together made this closeness comfortable, but even then, Hongjoong felt something off inside his own timing.
They waited until the previous song finished, and a new Latin melody started immediately. Their steps followed the syncopation: a sharp turn, then a controlled glide with Yumi’s hip settling into the movement with ease, feeling light in his arms and following every cue without resistance.
Hongjoong tried to match her. He rolled through the motion of a crossover break, but his weight distribution was wrong. He felt it a second before it happened.
“Sh-shit.”
His balance slipped when his foot landed at the wrong angle, and suddenly he was on the floor. His knee hit first, then his hip.
“Fuck!”
Yumi sprinted to the speaker and paused the music, then she came back and crouched beside him.
“Vocabulary!” she snapped, though her tone was more startled than angry.
Hongjoong lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with an expression filled with pure disappointment. He was glad that they could find a private room to practice. If other dancers saw his fall, he would change studios the same day.
Yumi extended a hand toward him, and he took it, groaning as she helped him up to sit.
“Are you okay? That fall sounded painful,” she said, brushing off the dust on his sleeve.
“I’m fine,” Hongjoong said, although he didn’t sound fine at all. His knee throbbed, but his pride hurt even more. “I just…” He let out a frustrated breath and ran both hands through his hair. “I keep messing up the same part.”
“I noticed,” Yumi replied gently. “Your footwork was fine five days ago. It hasn’t magically gotten worse.”
“It feels worse.”
He pushed himself off the ground and walked to the side, grabbing his water bottle, then sat down on the floor with his back against the mirrored wall. His reflection looked annoyed, and he felt even more annoyed when the sweat clung to his clothes.
Yumi dropped beside him and immediately grabbed her phone, scrolling without much intent. She didn’t ask anything or push him. They knew each other too well, and she knew she just had to wait.
Hongjoong took a long drink of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and let his head fall back. After a while, he sighed.
“…I’m getting frustrated,” he muttered.
Yumi paused mid-scroll. “Are you ready to talk?”
“I don’t know why I’m like that lately,” He exhaled through his nose, long and heavy.
Yumi locked her phone and set it on the floor next to her.
“Okay, then let’s break it down,” she replied. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because you’ve been snapping at yourself for two weeks.”
Hongjoong stared at the opposite wall as if it could answer for him. “I feel stuck.”
“In what way?”
“In every way.” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “We’re good, right? You and I. We’re clean and sharp. We connect well. But it’s like we hit a ceiling. We’ve been at the same level for months… And that's my fault.”
“You’re not doing something wrong,” she reassured, looking a bit worried.
“But it feels like it,” he said.
“Hongjoong,” she nudged his shoulder. “Maybe you need something new, or challenge yourself differently.”
That made him frown. “How?”
“Try a different training, approach, or a different partner,” she shrugged. “I don't know.”
“No,” Hongjoong replied quickly. “I don't need a different partner.”
“Too bad,” Yumi chuckled. “I wanted to find a handsome, tall man for next season.”
“Hey! I'm handsome.” He nudged Yumi when she rolled her eyes.
The last thing Hongjoong wanted was to look for another partner. They had been dancing together since they were sixteen, back when she joined the same school dance club and matched instantly. They moved well together from the very beginning, so well that everyone assumed they liked each other.
They even tried dating because of it, but it didn’t take long for them to realize they worked better as friends. They didn’t actually like each other in that way, and once they admitted it, everything between them felt easier, and their bond only got stronger.
Since then, they’ve improved side by side, always pushing the other forward. She’s his best friend, and Hongjoong wouldn’t change her for anything or anyone.
“I’m just saying you need something that shakes you up a little,” she continued. “You’re too creative to be doing the same thing forever.”
He didn’t respond, but she could tell he was thinking about it. After a moment, Yumi stood and dusted off her leggings.
“Let’s finish here for today. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep forcing it.”
Hongjoong pushed himself up. “Yeah, you’re right.”
They grabbed their things and walked out of the studio. The hallway was lined with glass windows, each showing different classes happening inside. As they passed one of the larger salons, Yumi slowed down.
“Aww, look at them,” she said.
Hongjoong looked inside and saw a group of kids, maybe eight to ten years old, who were practicing the basics of a simple Latin dance. After watching them for a few seconds, he could tell it was cha-cha. They looked really cute trying.
Then he looked at the teachers and was surprised to see Choi San and Park Seonghwa. Two of the strongest Standard dancers in the entire building. He’d seen them perform before, and they were really good, but they didn’t talk to anyone outside their division. They trained, competed with their partners, and existed in a bubble of two.
Why were they teaching Latin?
Hongjoong narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he watched them for a moment.
“You can tell they’re Standard dancers,” he muttered.
Yumi laughed under her breath but then nudged him. “Don’t be mean. They’re trying.”
“Yeah, well…”
He stopped talking.
Because Park Seonghwa looked up.
Right at him.
Their eyes met through the glass. The other man’s gaze wasn’t cold or angry, just intensely observant; it passed through skin and bone. Hongjoong froze for a second, startled, and looked away first.
“…Let’s go,” he said quietly.
Yumi couldn't hold her laughter. “Okay.”
They headed out of the building and into the parking lot. The sun was setting as they got into Hongjoong’s car, both exhaling at the same time as the air conditioning started up.
“So…” Yumi said as Hongjoong started the engine. “Park Seonghwa looked right at you.”
“I noticed.”
“It scared me!” she said dramatically. “Did it scare you?”
Hongjoong glared at her lightly. “No.”
“It intimidated you.”
“No.”
“Hongjoong.”
“Fine, a little,” he groaned, which made Yumi laugh.
He drove them toward her neighborhood. After a minute of silence, she glanced at him.
“So… about your frustration.”
Hongjoong sighed again, gripping his hand on the wheel.
“Forget it.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “But maybe you should really think about trying something different.”
Hongjoong didn’t respond right away, just continued driving. After a few minutes, they reached Yumi’s apartment complex. So, she gathered her things and opened the door.
“Text me when you get home,” she said.
“Yeah. Good night,” he smiled.
“Good night, Hongjoong,” she waved at him.
She closed the door, leaving Hongjoong alone in the quiet car. He made sure she got inside the building, then sat there for a moment, staring straight ahead.
“Something different,” he repeated under his breath.
The more he thought about it, the more his frustration multiplied. It was easy for someone else to say he needed to change, but what was he supposed to do differently? The routine kept him steady; if anything shifted too much, he knew it could throw him off completely.
By the time he reached his building, his thoughts were a tight knot sitting in his chest.
He typed in the door code, listening to the familiar beep before the lock clicked open. The moment he stepped inside, the smell of homemade food hit him. And for some reason, it made his throat tighten like he could cry, but he forced himself to focus on slipping off his shoes and walked in.
In the kitchen, both of his roommates, Wooyoung and Yunho, were standing side by side. Wooyoung was watching whatever was on the pot while Yunho was telling him something, then he noticed Hongjoong.
“Oh, you’re early today.”
Wooyoung turned, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, hey.”
“Why aren’t you practicing?” Hongjoong asked as he walked in. Wooyoung also competed in Latin, and even though he was still a junior, the competitive season was practically around the corner. “Time’s running out.”
“Let me rest a bit!” the youngest groaned immediately. “I practiced all past week. I’m not a pro or something.”
“That’s exactly why you should practice even more,” Hongjoong shot back, and it came out harsher than he intended.
Before Wooyoung could answer, Yunho stepped between them with that calm that always annoyed Hongjoong because it worked.
“Hey, hey,” Yunho said, placing a hand on both their shoulders. “Hyung, go change into something comfortable. You’re clearly frustrated today.” Then he looked at Wooyoung. “And he did practice a lot.”
Hongjoong let out a long sigh.
He retreated to his room, peeled off his damp practice clothes, and dumped them into the washing machine. A quick shower washed the day off him, and he pulled on shorts and an old hoodie. When he returned to the kitchen, Wooyoung was setting plates on the table like nothing had happened, humming some random melody.
Without even looking up, he said, “So I’m guessing practice didn’t go well.”
Hongjoong collapsed into the nearest chair.
“That obvious?” he asked.
“Painfully,” Wooyoung said, though there was a small smile tugging at his mouth.
“Sorry,” Hongjoong muttered, grabbing a bit of food. “I’m just worried about you.”
Wooyoung froze for a second, then he exhaled, almost shyly, and smiled as he scooped extra meat onto Hongjoong’s plate.
“Yeah, well… same,” he said quietly.
Hongjoong glanced at him, feeling the frustration in his chest loosening. Even if they bickered all the time, Wooyoung really was like a little brother to him. And as Hongjoong looked at him now, really looked, he noticed how tired Wooyoung seemed. The dark circles under his eyes were worse than last week, and his hair was growing long; he hadn’t bothered cutting it lately, something he used to obsess over. Whatever was happening at home, he didn’t talk about it, but it was clearly weighing on him.
At least dancing used to distract him. Whenever Hongjoong saw him at practice, it was like everything else disappeared, and that huge smile returned to his face. But lately, Wooyoung had been skipping rehearsals and choosing to stay home alone instead. Yunho had a more flexible job, so he managed to keep him company most afternoons, but Hongjoong only saw him at night or on weekends. So he tried to look out for him more than usual, even if he wasn’t doing a perfect job at it.
They talked lightly. Wooyoung was gossiping about his training group, while Yunho occasionally yelled from the hallway for them to save him side dishes while he showered. When Yunho finally came out of the bathroom and joined them, Hongjoong felt even more at peace. It wasn’t that his frustration disappeared, but it loosened enough for him to breathe again.
After dinner, he retreated to his room with a calmer mind and opened his laptop. He pulled up videos from his old competitions, hoping he would spot something he had missed. Maybe some flaw, a pattern, something. But the more he watched, the more the problem felt intangible. He wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t great, either. He was stuck exactly in the middle, and it was even worse.
Ballroom hadn’t even been a passion at first. He had signed up at fifteen because he needed extra credits, and unexpectedly, he liked it. He liked the Latin music, the discipline, and everyone told him he had potential if he kept going.
So he did. For nine years now.
But life didn’t let him go any further. Classes, jobs, financial stuff, responsibilities; everything chipped away at the time he could’ve dedicated to dancing. And even when people told him he was still young, that plenty of dancers peaked in their thirties or forties, it didn’t feel reassuring. It felt like watching his own ambitions float away down a river he couldn’t swim fast enough to catch.
He opened another folder and found videos from the studio where he practiced.
He had them in his drive because his director asked him if he could do a video to promote the studio some months ago. He passed through some of them but stopped when he saw Choi San. It was a showcase from a year ago, and Hongjoong recognized the Waltz immediately.
San’s posture was impeccable. He had his back stretched tall, neck elongated, arms held in perfect frame, steps gliding like his feet barely touched the floor. His lead was clean, confident without being overbearing. His rotations were smooth, especially his natural turns, and he made them look effortless.
He recognized his partner. Minji, one of the best dancers in the studio too. She was a petite dancer with sharp eyes and sleek black hair. They matched flawlessly. Every movement aligned, her extensions crisp, her lines elegant. Together, they looked almost unreal. Hongjoong had always thought they fit standard dancing like they were built for it.
He watched the video in silence, absorbing how San shaped every rise and fall with precise control.
Standard had never felt like that for him. He felt like it was too upright and contained. It had too many rules on where his hands should be, how his head should tilt, how much space he should keep, while he always preferred moving with more freedom, more rhythm, with music that made him feel something and not just count the beats. But then Yumi’s voice returned to him.
Do something different.
He sighed, closed the laptop, and lay back on the bed. His body ached, but his mind finally slowed down.
The next morning dragged more than it should have. At his job, Hongjoong stared at sound waves on his screen until they blurred. Normally, he liked this part, but he wasn’t feeling himself today. He worked part-time as an assistant producer at a small media company, and it was a job he genuinely enjoyed. Just… not today.
By late afternoon, he was barely paying attention to the last mix he had to export. When the clock finally hit the end of his shift, he shut everything down, grabbed his bag, and practically rushed out of the office.
The good thing was that the dance studio was only a couple of blocks away. Close enough that he could walk and clear his head a bit before practice, and he really needed that today.
When he arrived, he could hear the different styles of music coming from the rooms. He walked towards the Latin room and saw Yumi practicing spins while talking to one of the other female dancers, but stopped when she noticed her partner.
“Oh, Hongjoong! The director wants to talk to you.”
He froze mid-step.
“What? Why?” he asked, nervous.
“Nothing bad,” she waved him off. “Just go.”
That did nothing to reassure him. The director rarely talked directly to dancers unless something was very wrong or very important. Neither option felt comforting.
His stomach tightened as he walked down the hallway toward the office, and he was about to knock when he saw through the glass window that Park Seonghwa was inside.
He was standing near the desk, with his arms behind his back, and his posture straight. Even from the side, he looked strict. His nose and jawline were sharp, and he had high cheekbones. His expression didn’t move, not even when he bit his lower lip slightly in concentration while listening to the director. Hongjoong always saw him from afar and never paid much attention to his features. But now, he couldn’t look away.
He swallowed. Why would Park Seonghwa be here?
Barely two minutes passed before Seonghwa bowed to the director, then turned toward the door. When he stepped out and opened the door, he made brief eye contact with Hongjoong.
It lasted barely a second, but it felt like the hallway stretched and time slowed. Seonghwa’s gaze was steady, unreadable. Intense in a way that made Hongjoong’s stomach flip for some reason he didn’t want to examine. The Standard dancer bowed politely, and Hongjoong bowed back, confused and slightly dizzy from how sudden that felt. The door closed behind him, breaking the moment.
“Hongjoong?” the director’s voice called from inside. “You can come in.”
He stepped inside and bowed again. The director nodded for him to sit, so he did.
They started with small talk about how he was doing, how work was, how his last showcase went. Nothing alarming, which somehow made him even more nervous, until the director leaned forward slightly.
“You know competitive season is soon.”
Hongjoong nodded.
“I talked with the coaches,” the director continued, “and we want to send our best couples to the upcoming 10-Dance competition being held in the country.”
Hongjoong was shocked.
10-Dance?
The word alone made his stomach tighten. Most people didn’t realize how insane 10-Dance actually was. In ballroom, you usually pick between Latin or Standard and stick to it, but in 10-dance, you had to do everything. All five Standard dances: Waltz, Tango, Viennese, Foxtrot, Quickstep. And then all five Latin ones: Cha-Cha, Samba, Rumba, Paso Doble, Jive. Ten routines, ten completely different techniques, ten chances to mess up in front of judges who noticed every micro-movement your body made.
On the same fucking day.
He admired the dancers who did it… from afar. They trained for years specifically for that kind of competition, but he was sure that they didn’t have day jobs or limited hours like him or Yumi.
“And for that,” the director continued as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “we want to send you and Yumi.”
He waited.
“And Seonghwa and Seunghee.”
Hongjoong’s teeth pressed into his lower lip. Hearing those names together made something in his chest pull tight. He and Yumi were strong in Latin, sure, but Standard was a completely different world. And the Standard couple seemed more disciplined and polished. In a direct competition, they would crush them.
“Director Kim,” Hongjoong began carefully, “I really appreciate it. I’m grateful you even consider me one of your best dancers. But I’m not good at Standard.”
“But you know the basics, right?” The director raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Hongjoong admitted, “but not enough to compete.”
The director leaned back in his chair, hands folding calmly.
“I want you and Seonghwa to train together.”
Hongjoong blinked.
“…what?”
“You’ll teach each other your specialties,” the director explained. “You’re strong in Latin, and he’s excellent in Standard. I think a change would be good for both of you, don’t you?”
Hongjoong hated that he actually agreed, just a little. He needed that change, but the idea of training specifically with Park Seonghwa? He was not sure about that.
“If you don’t want to, it’s okay. I can speak to another Latin couple,” he continued. “But if you’re willing, I can register you two now. The Latin and Standard competitions are first, so you’ll have more time to prepare. And Seonghwa is a great teacher.”
Hongjoong let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands against his pants.
“What did Yumi say?” he asked.
“She liked the idea,” the director answered. “But she wants you to be sure.”
Of course she did. Yumi always pushed him to grow but never forced him. He stared at the floor for a moment, weighing everything while replaying yesterday’s conversation in his head.
The whole thing sounded exhausting. Hongjoong didn’t know Seonghwa well enough to judge, so it wasn’t even about him specifically, but he hated the thought of training with someone he wasn’t already comfortable with. Yumi would be fine since she was social and adaptable, unlike him.
But the more he thought about it, the more that stubborn part of him kicked in. He needed a change. And he was way too prideful to let an opportunity like this slip by just because it made him uncomfortable. Losing without even trying would eat him alive.
“…Okay. We’ll do it.”
The director smiled.
“Good. I’ll sign you two up. You can talk with Seonghwa and Seunghee to start training.”
“Thank you,” Hongjoong said, standing and bowing.
When Hongjoong walked back into the practice room, Yumi was on the floor stretching, one leg extended, reaching casually toward her toes while chatting with Wooyoung’s partner, Minseo. Hongjoong walked towards them and said hi. They made some small talk, and Minseo asked for Wooyoung. He could only say that he was trying. Then another dancer called Minseo, and Yumi turned to him.
“So?” she started. “What did you decide?”
Hongjoong let out a long breath.
“I agreed,” he replied.
“Really?” Yumi’s face lit up immediately. “That’s great!”
Her reaction eased something inside him. That was when he realized just how much tension she had been carrying for the last few weeks. Yumi always tried to stay positive, but she absorbed everything like a sponge, and he’d been dragging her down without meaning to. At least this made her genuinely happy.
“Well, I’m glad,” she stood and dusted her leggings off. “I really think this will be a great opportunity for both of us.”
“Yeah…” Hongjoong nodded. “Maybe.”
“I have to leave early today,” she said while grabbing her bag. “I’m covering the night shift at the store.”
“You’ve been covering a lot of shifts lately,” he frowned. “Why?”
“It’s better to do some favors now before the season,” she shrugged while stuffing her water bottle into her tote bag. “So later, when we need time off for competitions, they can return them.”
Hongjoong nodded slowly. That made sense.
“Oh, right,” she pointed a finger at him. “Can you ask Seonghwa or Seunghee about their schedule? We need to match practice times somehow.”
Hongjoong froze for a split second. He really didn’t want to ask, but he already agreed to participate.
“…yeah,” he sighed. “I’ll ask.”
“Thank you,” she said brightly.
When she finished packing, she slung her bag over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Get home safe.”
She walked to the group of their mutual friends, hugging them quickly, then waved goodbye before leaving the room. Hongjoong watched the door close behind her, then he sighed again, longer this time.
With no more excuses left to delay, he headed to the changing room, switching into practice clothes and pulled on a clean pair of dance shoes. The fluorescent bathroom lights buzzed faintly as he splashed water onto his face. Cold droplets dripped down his chin and onto his shirt while he stared at himself in the mirror.
He didn’t like the idea of training in a new style.
He didn’t like the idea of training with someone else.
He didn’t like that he would have to start from something close to zero.
But at the same time…
He knew he needed something different.
He had been polishing the same routines, movements, and patterns for years. But not growing. If anything, he’d been looping in place.
Maybe this 10-Dance competition wasn’t completely terrible, and it would push him somewhere new.
He took a slow breath, wiped his face with a towel, and straightened. Whether he liked it or not, he had agreed. The only thing left now was to find Seonghwa.
He walked out of the bathroom and started walking towards the Standard practice room.
In this studio, there were three rooms in the ballroom department: Standard, Latin, and the general hall. It mattered more than people thought. Standard needed a smoother, slightly springy surface so the dancers could glide and float without their joints taking the full impact. Latin, on the other hand, had a floor with just enough grip so sharp footwork, spins, and grounded movements didn’t slip out from under you. He had been in other studios before and could confirm that mixing both styles on the wrong floor always felt off.
The moment he stepped into the Standard room, he felt the difference. Several couples were practicing, while others sat on the floor stretching their calves and gulping water. But Seonghwa or his partner weren’t anywhere. He scanned the room again just to be sure.
“Excuse me,” a voice said behind him.
“Oh, sorry,” Hongjoong jolted, stepping aside.
The boy who had spoken wore a black sweater and shorts, dark hair sticking to his forehead. He looked young.
“Um, sorry.” Hongjoong hesitated, then asked. “Do you know Park Seonghwa?”
“Seonghwa-hyung?” The boy blinked, as if trying to understand some bad joke. “Of course. He’s the best dancer here.”
Of course he was.
“Do you know where I can find him?” he asked.
“He’s teaching right now.”
Ah, right. He saw him yesterday.
Hongjoong thanked the boy and headed to the small studio where the kids' classes were held.
When he got there, he saw San and Seonghwa watching the children as they were doing a move. Hongjoong knocked lightly, feeling bad about interrupting. San noticed first, said something quickly to the kids, and jogged toward the door.
Up close, Hongjoong felt… small. San’s size wasn’t surprising since he had seen him around, but standing directly in front of the man was another story. He had broad shoulders, was tall, and obviously younger than him. Great.
“Hi,” San said easily. “Can I help you with something?” He didn’t look even a little surprised to see Hongjoong there, which somehow made him feel more out of place.
“Yes, I’m looking for Park Seonghwa.”
“Oh. Let me call him.” San turned back and yelled, “Seonghwa-hyung!”
Seonghwa looked up from a group of kids he’d been talking to with a big smile on his face, but the moment he saw Hongjoong at the door, something shifted in his expression, and he couldn’t tell exactly what.
San returned to help the kids while Seonghwa walked toward the door. He was slightly taller than San when they stood close, wearing a black sweater and matching pants. His hair was black and short, and he was wiping the sweat off his forehead with a towel. As he came near, Hongjoong understood, viscerally, why everyone talked about him.
“Hi,” Seonghwa said in a lower voice level than the other man. “I assume the director talked to you, too.”
“Yes,” Hongjoong nodded. “My partner was asking when you and your partner were free, so we can start practicing.”
Seonghwa thought for a moment, glancing at the kids before answering.
“Seunghee is only available in the mornings.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t ideal. “I actually can’t in the morning since I work then. But my partner might be free some days.”
If Seonghwa was talking about anything before 8 a.m., absolutely not. Hongjoong wasn’t a morning person, not even on good days.
Seonghwa hesitated, then checked the time on his watch.
“Would you wait for me fifteen minutes?” he said, looking back at Hongjoong. “We can start practicing today, and Seunghee and your partner can work together in the mornings. Then the four of us can meet sometimes.”
That was actually reasonable.
“Sure,” Hongjoong replied.
Seonghwa nodded once and returned to the kids. Hongjoong stayed by the door, watching quietly as Seonghwa demonstrated with clear movements and an enormous, soft smile. He looked nothing like the cold man Hongjoong knew. It was confusing.
When Hongjoong realized he’d been staring way too long, he decided to pull out his phone and text Yumi.
Hongjoong:
you and seunghee will have to do mornings
only time she’s free
He didn’t expect a reply since she was probably working, but a minute later, she replied with a sad emoji that made Hongjoong snort. Right, she hated mornings too.
Yumi:
ask him for her kakao so we can organize schedules
Hongjoong:
ok
Some parents started walking in, greeting San and Seonghwa. A few minutes later, Seonghwa stepped into the hall, still talking with a couple of parents with a voice noticeably warmer than the professional tone he’d used with him. When they finally said their goodbyes, Seonghwa gave Hongjoong a small nod and started walking, and he followed.
It was awkward until Seonghwa suddenly said, “Do you want to practice in a private room?”
“Oh. Yes, if there’s one free,” he didn’t want anyone watching him fuck up the practice.
They tried three rooms, but all of them were occupied. They were about to give up when the last one at the end of the hallway turned out to be open.
They stepped inside and set their bags down. Still awkward. They really didn’t know each other, and Hongjoong was terrible at small talk, but he wanted that to change if they were going to practice together. So after sipping his water, he looked at Seonghwa, just as he was taking off his sweater.
Hongjoong almost choked on his own spit.
He was wearing a black tank top. Hongjoong’s eyes went straight to Seonghwa’s broad, honey-colored shoulders. What the fuck? He had a small waist, an unfairly small waist. Why was someone allowed to be good-looking, a good dancer and have a perfect body?
He realized he had been staring too much only when he looked up and met Seonghwa’s eyes, who was definitely aware.
“How should we start?” Hongjoong said, clearing his throat.
Seonghwa thought for a moment.
“Do you think we should call one of the assistant coaches?” he said as he started warming up. Hongjoong tried his best to keep his eyes on Seonghwa’s face. “We might need help figuring out where to begin.”
“Yeah. I’ll go look for someone,” he said immediately.
Seonghwa nodded, and Hongjoong didn’t wait. He stepped out, closing the studio door behind him and taking a quiet breath. He needed the air. He needed the space. What the fuck was that?
He walked toward the assistant coaches’ office, which was a narrow room between the Latin and general studios where the coaches rotated shifts. Two were there now: Mr. Han, who specialized in Standard, and Hyowon, a younger coach who handled both styles but preferred Latin. He already knew her, which was a relief.
“Excuse me,” Hongjoong called, making them both look up. “Sorry, do either of you have a moment?”
“Hey, Hongjoong,” Hyowon smiled. “How can I help you?”
“We, uh, Park Seonghwa and I are starting to work on 10-Dance,” he said, hating how awkward he sounded. “But we’re not really sure where to begin. Would one of you be able to help us figure out a starting point?”
Mr. Han exchanged a quick glance with Hyowon, then nodded.
“We’re both free right now,” he said. “If you don’t mind the two of us dropping in, we can take a look.”
“That would be great,” Hongjoong said, relief loosening his shoulders.
“Are you in a private room?” Hyowon asked, already standing.
“Yeah, the one at the end of the hall,” he replied.
“Perfect. Lead the way,” Mr. Han said, grabbing his notebook.
Hongjoong exhaled once, quietly, before turning and guiding them back.
Seonghwa was stretching his shoulders when the door opened again. He stood up immediately when the coaches entered and bowed. Mr. Han scanned the room, then the two of them.
“Actually,” Hongjoong was the first to talk. “Before we start, do you need to know our background with the other style? Just so you know what level we’re coming in with.”
“Good point.” Mr. Han replied. “Tell me your strengths.”
“I’m… well, mostly Latin,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I can handle basic Standard patterns, but I’ve never really trained them seriously. Just once many years ago for a certification.”
Hyowon nodded. “And you Seonghwa?”
Seonghwa cleared his throat softly before answering.
“My main style is Standard,” he said. “I do Latin too, but… I wouldn’t call myself strong in it.”
The coaches exchanged a quick, quiet look, already forming an assessment.
“Before we choose a first dance,” Hyowon continued, “is there anything else we should know about your training? Injuries, past partners, anything relevant?”
Seonghwa thought for a second. “I haven’t trained with a Latin-focused lead before.”
“And I haven’t trained seriously with a lead before,” Hongjoong admitted.
“Well,” Mr. Han said, “let’s start by seeing where you stand as a pair. Since Seonghwa is more experienced in both styles, we’ll start with something foundational in Standard, which is Waltz.”
Waltz…
It wasn’t complicated the way Tango or Quickstep were. Waltz was the “entry point” of Standard, and Hongjoong knew the basics since he had danced it plenty of times when his first studio forced everyone to learn all five Standard dances “for versatility” and had obtained a certification, but he’d dropped it as soon as Latin became his world. His knowledge now was muscle memory at best, dusted-over technique at worst. But he nodded anyway.
“Of course.”
The coaches gave them a few minutes to warm-up, while they discussed more about their techniques.
“Take your positions,” Mr. Han gestured after a while. “Just a simple natural turn into a reverse turn. I want to see how you connect.”
Hongjoong swallowed when he saw Seonghwa move first. He simply stepped closer and raised his left hand, while his right hand hovered at waist level. A leader’s frame.
Hongjoong froze.
He had danced with other men before, but it had never been like this, he just helped them check a step or fix their timing. Still, he had never taken the follow role. Not once.
In ballroom, the lead sets the direction, the timing, and the intention. Meanwhile, the follow reacts, shapes the movement, and completes the picture. Both roles are equally important, but Hongjoong had never been a follow.
He had led Yumi since they started dancing, and leading was instinct at this point. So stepping into the follow role felt strange and exposed. Maybe even a little humiliating in a way he knew he shouldn’t feel, but couldn’t fully shake.
Still, he stepped forward and placed his right hand in Seonghwa’s left. Seonghwa’s hands were a bit calloused, very different from Yumi’s light, smooth grip. Then Hongjoong lifted his left arm to match Seonghwa’s shoulder line, letting the other man guide his other hand to the back of his shoulder blade.
“Relax your left shoulder,” Seonghwa murmured.
Hongjoong tried, but it wasn’t working. Every part of him felt stiff. If he wasn’t going to be the one leading, he at least wanted to match Seonghwa’s height somehow, but the man was simply too tall. There was no way around it.
He made the mistake of looking up. Seonghwa was already watching him, with cool and focused eyes, analyzing every line of his posture. Hongjoong immediately looked down again, heat crawling up the back of his neck.
Mr. Han clapped. “Music, Hyowon.”
Hyowon tapped her phone, and slow, sweeping waltz music filled the room.
Hongjoong felt Seonghwa inhale, then started moving.
It was smooth, as if gravity didn’t apply to him. His frame tightened just enough to cue Hongjoong forward, almost imperceptibly, and Hongjoong stepped because his body followed the signal before his mind caught up.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
Seonghwa’s steps were large but soft, gliding across the floor, absorbing each impact so Hongjoong barely felt the ground shift. His heart hammered. His feet remembered the pattern but not the feeling.
“Breathe,” Seonghwa reminded him quietly, his voice almost lost in the music.
Hongjoong did. Sort of.
They did a natural turn, and he felt his own shape waver, his balance shifting too slowly, but Seonghwa adjusted for him. His hand on Hongjoong’s back pressed lightly, guiding him into axis again.
The room blurred in a strange way. When his head turned with the lead, his body surrendered to a flow that wasn’t fully commanding yet.
Mr. Han circled them, evaluating.
“The frame is uneven,” he called out. “Hongjoong, lift your elbows. Don’t curl inward. Trust his lead.”
Hongjoong forced his elbows up.
Seonghwa stepped backward into a smooth reverse turn, and Hongjoong followed, his steps smaller and a bit late but catching up. His chest felt tight.
He hated not being in control. He hated feeling like a dead weight in someone else’s arms.
And yet…
Something was grounding about the way Seonghwa led him. It wasn’t overpowering or showy, but attentive. Every cue was clean, and every shift of weight made space for him.
At one point, they drifted too close to the mirror, and Hongjoong’s foot almost clipped Seonghwa’s, making him flinch.
It wasn’t perfect, not even close. But somewhere near the end, Hongjoong felt something click. His body aligned with the rise of the music and with Seonghwa’s frame. Their steps matched, their sway matched, and for the first time, the movement felt smooth.
When the music stopped, they separated, and Hongjoong felt like he breathed again. He turned toward the mirror, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His reflection looked tense with flushed cheeks while catching his breath.
Then he noticed Seonghwa’s reflection behind him. He wasn’t looking at himself, but at Hongjoong. Their eyes met, and there was something indescribable in Seonghwa’s gaze.
Mr. Han’s voice cut through the moment.
“That’s a good starting point,” he said, tone surprisingly neutral. “The lead-follow connection is shaky, but not incompatible. With practice, you two will balance each other.”
Seonghwa nodded respectfully, while Hongjoong tried to hide his exhale.
“You both understand rhythm well. That helps.” Hyowon added. “But your frames don’t match yet. Hongjoong, you’re fighting the lead; remember that you’re not dancing with Yumi. And Seonghwa, you’re compensating too much.”
“Yes, I know,” Seonghwa bowed slightly.
Hongjoong bit his lip. He didn’t like feedback, even if it wasn’t bad.
“Do it again,” Mr. Han ordered. “This time, focus only on frame and footwork.”
Seonghwa reset his hold, and Hongjoong stepped into it again, letting the warmth of Seonghwa’s hand settle between his shoulder blades.
As the second song began, slower than the first, Hongjoong braced himself. The room felt somehow smaller the second time they took their positions. He lifted his arms slowly, trying to remember every correction at once: elbows up, chest open, don’t shrink, breathe.
Seonghwa’s expression stayed neutral in the mirror, but his hands moved with quiet precision as he adjusted their hold under Hongjoong’s shoulder blade and shifted one of their joined hands, just enough to redefine space.
“Breathe,” Seonghwa reminded him in almost a whisper.
Hongjoong inhaled.
And they moved.
This time, their first step landed more together. Seonghwa’s lead was firmer. He was now guiding rather than compensating. And Hongjoong, to his own surprise, matched it. His feet remembered the sequence, and his body followed faster.
But the tension wasn’t gone. If anything, it sharpened.
Every time Seonghwa stepped close, Hongjoong felt the proximity too much. He could feel the heat from his chest, his breath landing near his temple. It felt intense.
They turned through the natural turn again. This time Hongjoong didn’t collapse inward; his shoulders stayed more open. Their lines looked cleaner now.
“You’re anticipating,” Seonghwa murmured during a pivot.
“I know,” Hongjoong said through gritted teeth. “I’m not trying to—”
“Don’t try. Listen.”
If Hongjoong hated anything, it was to be interrupted. But unfortunately, what Seonghwa said helped.
He exhaled, let his body soften just a little, and suddenly he felt the lead. He could feel the subtle shift of Seonghwa’s torso, the pressure change in his hand, and the invitation of the step. For three counts, they moved in near-perfect unison.
Then Hongjoong’s foot caught a millimeter late, and the timing wobbled. But Seonghwa adjusted, absorbing the error with the kind of ease only someone born for Standard could manage.
Somehow, the tension kept building.
At one point, Seonghwa stepped into the closed position more assertively, and Hongjoong’s breath hitched, which made his spine straighten automatically from sheer instinct. Seonghwa noticed.
“Better,” he said quietly.
Hongjoong tried not to take it personally that his body behaved better for Park Seonghwa than it ever had for himself.
When the final measure approached, Seonghwa slowed them down just enough to make the ending smooth instead of abrupt. Their final step slid together in a gentle close, and the music faded.
Hongjoong was the one who broke their hold first.
They both started to wipe the sweat with their towels while catching their breaths. Both coaches discussed something for a moment.
“Well,” Hyowon said first.
“You improved fast,” Mr. Han said while crossing his arms. “Much faster than I expected.”
Hongjoong felt his ears heat.
“But,” he added, “there are issues. Your frame collapses under pressure. Both of you are used to leading, that’s why Hongjoong keeps trying to override the count and anticipate.”
Hongjoong nodded, embarrassed but unsurprised.
“Still, the chemistry is good,” Hyowon chimed in. “You respond well to each other. That’s rare for a first session.”
Hongjoong stiffened, and Seonghwa stared at the floor.
“The biggest problem,” Mr. Han continued, “is imbalance of experience. Seonghwa can compensate, but that means he’ll waste energy. If we want a real 10-dance result, Hongjoong, you need Standard basics drilled into your bones. Fast.”
Hongjoong exhaled shakily. “I know.”
“This pair can work.” Mr. Han pointed between them. “But only with structure.”
Mr. Han pulled his notebook and uncapped a pen that he pulled from his pocket, glancing between the two of them before he started writing.
“Alright,” he said, “let me explain what I think will work for you two. Stop me anytime if you have questions.”
Hongjoong and Seonghwa both nodded, still slightly out of breath.
Mr. Han drew a large number one.
“First: pair practices. Just the two of you.”
“These sessions will focus on switching roles,” he looked directly at Hongjoong.
“Switching as in…?” Hongjoong asked. “I follow and lead sometimes?”
“Yes,” Mr. Han confirmed. “Seonghwa will follow in Latin, too.”
“That’s fine.” Seonghwa didn’t look surprised.
“I mean… I’ll do it, but I don’t know if I’ll be any good at following,” Hongjoong replied.
“You won’t,” Mr. Han said bluntly. “That’s why you need to do it.”
Hyowon snorted a little under her breath, and Hongjoong glared at her.
“Understanding the other role will help you both later,” Mr. Han kept going. “Especially for 10-dance, where fluidity is everything.”
He wrote slowly:
3 sessions per week
First half: Hongjoong learns Standard follow role
Second half: Seonghwa learns Latin follow role
“Three times a week…” Hongjoong repeated under his breath. “Okay.”
“That too much for you?” Mr. Han asked.
“No, it’s fine,” Hongjoong lied.
“I can adjust my schedule,” Seonghwa said. “As long as we stick to late afternoons or evenings.”
“That works,” Hongjoong replied quickly.
Mr. Han nodded and wrote a big two.
“Second point: technical drills. I’m not letting either of you skip these.”
He spoke slowly while writing each item.
Frame drills: 10 minutes
Rise and fall: 10 minutes
Waltz walks: entire length of the room
Rotation drills: natural and reverse
“Rotation?” Hongjoong asked, already tired of the idea.
“You need clean pivots,” Mr. Han said. “Your body keeps breaking line on turns. If you don’t fix that, even an elementary waltz will eat you alive.”
“I can help with that part.” Seonghwa nodded.
“And you,” Mr. Han pointed at him, “need to loosen your hip and rib mobility for Latin.”
Seonghwa’s face actually changed at that. It was just a subtle discomfort, but Hongjoong caught it.
Mr. Han added a three.
“Third: morning practices with your partners.”
He looked at Hongjoong.
“Seunghee told me that she and your partner could work together in the mornings. They need routine cohesion, which means less confusion later when the four of you put everything together.”
“Yumi can do mornings most days,” Hongjoong nodded.
“And you?” the coach asked.
“I can’t. I work mornings,” he answered.
“That’s fine,” Mr. Han said. “This is for the follows. You two…” he pointed between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, “will meet at least once a week with your partners.”
He wrote:
Followers morning practice
Weekly 4-person practice
“Questions?”
“Will the four-person practice be evenings?” Seonghwa asked.
“You can decide your schedules. Hyowon and I were here from 4 to 8. And mornings on weekends.”
Hongjoong already felt tired just thinking about schedules.
Mr. Han wrote four.
“Fourth: video reviews. These are mandatory.”
“You record one Standard practice every week,” he pointed his pen at Hongjoong. “Frame and posture only. I want to see your spine alignment.”
“So I get to watch myself struggle,” Hongjoong said.
“Yes,” Hyowon smiled. “It builds character.”
“You record your Latin drills.” Mr. Han continued, turning the pen toward Seonghwa. “I want your torso rhythm visible.”
Seonghwa nodded without argument.
“And lastly,” Mr. Han wrote a big bold five.
Twice-weekly check-ins with me
Once-weekly check-in with Hyowon
“This is the only way to make this viable on such short notice.”
He set the clipboard aside and looked at both of them.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
They both nodded.
“With his discipline…” Mr. Han pointed at Seonghwa, “and your adaptability…” he pointed at Hongjoong, “you two might surprise yourselves.”
Hongjoong didn’t know what to say to that.
“So,” Mr. Han clapped his hands once, finalizing the conversation. “Questions before we leave you two?”
“Just one,” Seonghwa hesitated. “Are you sure we’re strong enough to compete in both categories?”
Mr. Han softened unexpectedly.
“You’re already good enough,” he said. “But I want you to get better.”
Seonghwa nodded, and Hongjoong felt a little surprised at his doubt.
“Okay,” the Standard dancer said quietly. “We’ll do it.”
Hongjoong nodded beside him. “We will.”
Mr. Han smiled as if the answer had never been in doubt.
“Good. Then get to work.”
They both bowed as the coaches left, closing the door behind them. For a second, they just stood there, frozen, still recovering from the pressure of being watched so closely, then both exhaled loudly.
Their eyes met.
And they chuckled at the exact same time.
It was strangely human, and Hongjoong realized it was the first time he had ever heard Park Seonghwa chuckle. It was soft, barely there, like he wasn’t used to doing it in front of other people.
Hongjoong looked away quickly, grabbing his towel to hide whatever expression might have been on his face.
They started doing their cool-down stretches without talking. It wasn’t hostile silence, but it was definitely awkward. Hongjoong felt overly aware of every sound he made. The stretching mats squeaked under them, and the sound of their breathing seemed to echo in the quiet room.
They could feel the tension.
It wasn’t exactly a rivalry, but something close to mutual wariness. They were going to compete against each other in the same categories soon. Yet here they were, helping each other learn something that could make the other stronger. No wonder it felt strange.
After about ten minutes, when the silence started to feel too uncomfortable, Hongjoong cleared his throat.
“Um, hey,” he sat up, crossing his legs. “Can I have your partner’s Kakao? Yu- my partner asked me to get it so they can talk about schedules.”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa nodded. “Give me a second.”
He reached for his bag, rummaging past what looked like a stack of neatly folded practice shirts and a box of insoles.
Hongjoong waited, staring at his own socks like they were suddenly fascinating. Seonghwa finally pulled out his phone, then paused and looked up.
“You should give me your Kakao too. I’ll send Seunghee’s contact there,” his tone was professional again, which felt weird.
“Okay,” Hongjoong grabbed his own phone and opened the app. They exchanged QR codes, the phones beeping simultaneously when the add request went through.
Not even five seconds later, Seonghwa sent a message with Seunghee’s number.
“She usually answers fast,” he said.
“Got it, thanks,” Hongjoong replied.
“Alright,” Seonghwa stood up with his bag on his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah,” Hongjoong said as he got to his feet. “See you.”
They walked out of the room together but split directions in the hallway. Seonghwa toward the vending machine, and Hongjoong toward the lockers.
Once Seonghwa was out of sight, Hongjoong let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: ballroom dancing AU, 18+ smut
summary: Latin dancer Kim Hongjoong and Standard dancer Park Seonghwa are unexpectedly paired to practice for a 10-Dance competition.
warnings: masturbation, eventual smut
tags: rivalry, ballroom dancing, latin dance, standard dance, eventual romance, tension, sexual tension
chapter 7: fourth of july (10,4k)
chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 / 7
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, drinking, anal sex, blowjobs, blindfolding, anal fingering
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, miscommunication
a/n: thank you so much for your patience with this update!!
it took me longer than I expected, and it was honestly a bit tough to write, but I’m really happy with how it turned out.
hope you enjoy it as much as I loved working on it!
fourth of july
originally published on ao3
He could never forget the way Seonghwa made him feel.
The memories of that Fourth of July followed him like smoke, clinging to his skin no matter how much time passed. He didn’t know how many times he’d dreamed of that night, of the way his arms fit perfectly around Seonghwa’s waist from behind. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of his shampoo as Hongjoong buried his face between his shoulders. He could still see Seonghwa’s blissful expression with fireworks exploding in the sky behind him like a cruel metaphor. And worse, the way they stayed wrapped around each other after, their bodies still trembling and hearts slowing in sync. That was what Fourth of July was about: those haunting memories that refused to fade.
“You and I were, you and I were fire…”
As Jongho sang the opening lines, Hongjoong felt the weight of every word settle in his chest. He knew he had to make Seonghwa understand what this meant, what he meant.
It was the fourth of July
You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks
That went off too soon
And I miss you in the June gloom too
Hongjoong kept his eyes on Seonghwa’s silhouette. Even with the stage lights and the noise, he knew Seonghwa was watching him too. It was almost unbearable how much meaning could fit in a single glance.
I'll be as honest as you'll let me
I miss your early morning company
If you get me
You are my favorite what if
You are my best I’ll never know
As the verse went on, Hongjoong found himself wondering what would have happened if they had just talked, if one of them had stayed. Could they have avoided all this pain, or would they have ended up here anyway, standing on opposite sides of a stage pretending to be fine?
And I’m starting to forget
Just what summer ever meant to you
What did it ever mean to you?
He really meant these lyrics, he constantly thought about what summer had meant to Seonghwa. Had it ever meant the same thing it did to him?
Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean any of it
I just got too lonely, lonely
In between being young and being right
You were my Versailles at night
He adjusted the strap of his bass, trying to focus and stay grounded in the rhythm. The crowd was still alive, hands raised, lights flashing. But the rush that usually lifted him was gone; it was all static, numbness, and adrenaline tangled together.
My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars
Again and again 'til I'm stuck in your head
Had my doubts but I let them out
You are the drought
And I'm the holy water you have been without
He looked toward Seonghwa again. How many times had he tried to move on? How many times had he gone back to replay Seonghwa’s voice in his head?
And all my thoughts of you
They could heat or cool the room, and no
Don’t tell me you cried
Oh, honey, you don’t have to lie
After Seonghwa uploaded the video singing, Hongjoong had played it on loop for a long time. He’d asked himself over and over if Seonghwa was hurting too. If the tremor in his voice while singing meant something, or if it was just Hongjoong’s wishful thinking, turning everything into proof. Maybe that video was a message, or maybe it wasn’t. But it kept him awake for nights, wondering if Seonghwa was trying to tell him that he still cared.
The bridge came, and Hongjoong took the mic, moving closer to Jongho and, inevitably, closer to where Seonghwa was. His voice came out raw, it felt like bleeding onstage, opening every wound he’d tried to hide under the lights.
I wish I'd known how much you loved me
I wish I cared enough to know
I’m sorry every song’s about you
The torture of small talk with someone you used to love
His voice cracked. He wasn’t even sure if the mic picked it up, but he knew Seonghwa heard it. He could feel it in the way Seonghwa turned away, but Hongjoong stared back, desperate for him to understand how much it still hurt, yet how much he still hoped. But before he could even breathe again, Seonghwa pushed his chair back.
Hongjoong’s stomach dropped.
Seonghwa stood, looking away, and turned toward the aisle. Someone followed him immediately while he kept shaking his head and walking.
Walking out.
For a moment, Hongjoong just stood there, frozen, the sound around him fading. His hands had stopped moving, the bass hanging heavy against him. Mingi shot him a look from across the stage, nodding toward his instrument to tell him to keep playing, but by the time Hongjoong came back to himself, the song was already ending.
He blinked under the blinding lights, still trying to process what had just happened. After pouring everything out, after turning himself inside out in front of everyone, had it still meant nothing?
He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing until Yunho spoke, trying to continue the show.
“Alright! Let’s keep it going. This next one’s called Sugar, We’re Going Down!”
Cheers and applause.
And all Hongjoong could think was: He’s gone.
He swallowed hard, forcing his lips to move, fingers fumbling against the strings. His hands remembered what his mind didn’t, but every lyric felt wrong, and each chord too sharp. He could still see the back of Seonghwa’s head disappearing
When the final song ended, the others patted his shoulder, smiling for the cameras, shouting thank-yous to the fans. But Hongjoong’s gaze went straight to the spot where Seonghwa had been sitting, now empty.
After the concert, they were all backstage, sorting out the last few details for the remaining shows. By the time they finished, Hongjoong noticed Wooyoung and Yeosang approaching.
“Yo!” Wooyoung called out with his usual energy. “You guys fucking destroyed it out there.”
“We try,” Mingi replied while grinning, his voice still hoarse from screaming through the set.
“That last song sounded insane live,” Yeosang added, his voice softer, but then his eyes met Hongjoong, and suddenly everyone went silent. Everyone could feel how uncomfortable it felt. Mingi glanced between them, then at Hongjoong, like he wanted to break the tension but didn’t know how.
For the sake of peace, for himself and for them, he decided to excuse himself.
“I’ll just… hit the bathroom real quick,” he muttered, forcing a smile.
“Sure,” Yeosang replied too quickly and smiled back.
Hongjoong noticed Yunho raising a brow to him, but he just gave them both a small wave before walking off, his fake smile slipping the moment he turned away.
After a few minutes, Hongjoong finally found the staff-only bathroom. But just as he reached for the door, he caught voices from inside. It was a small space, usually empty, reserved for artists and staff. He was going to turn away to give them privacy, but what he heard made him freeze.
“But how am I supposed to forget him?! Everyone keeps telling me to move on, to get over it, but tell me how? How could I?!”
Hongjoong’s stomach twisted. He knew that voice. He knew it too well.
There was silence after that until he heard someone quietly sobbing. Hongjoong’s hand clenched around the doorframe.
“Sorry, I just feel like I ruined everything… again. I really tried to make it different this time, but I don’t know why I ended up running from it all. I’m sorry for dragging everyone into this… and dragging you too.”
A softer voice responded, gentle and comforting:
“You didn’t ruin anything, and you didn’t drag me. You’re my friend, Seonghwa. I care about you. Don’t try to handle everything on your own, please.”
Then silence again. Hongjoong didn’t hear anything more.
He pressed his back against the cool wall, his breath shallow. The impulse to push the door open, to step in, and say something, anything, was almost unbearable. But he stopped himself. Seonghwa needed privacy.
But most importantly, Hongjoong wasn’t ready to face it. He still felt a little hurt by Seonghwa for walking away, and he was scared he might say something he shouldn’t. So he just looked one last time at the door and walked away.
Three weeks passed.
Hongjoong finally made up his mind: he was going to talk to Seonghwa the first chance he got, whenever their schedules stopped spinning.
Between playing back-to-back shows in Busan and Daegu, and preparing for three last-minute U.S. dates that had been added after their surprisingly large American fanbase asked for it, Lost Signal barely had time to breathe. The chaos, though, was almost a relief.
For the first time in months, Hongjoong didn’t feel consumed by thoughts of Seonghwa. The desperation had eased, replaced by some kind of acceptance.
He even started going out more, which for him was strange. It was just simple things like dinner with his friends, short walks, and he even visited his family. It wasn’t anything special, but it grounded him. He felt like he was learning how to exist again without everything revolving around Seonghwa.
By the end of the third week, Hongjoong was certain of one thing: Seonghwa wasn’t going to be the one to reach out. He probably felt guilty about what had happened, the same way Hongjoong did. They were both caught in this endless loop of waiting for the other to make the first move.
They just needed to talk.
How hard could it be?
…
Apparently, very.
Because now, Hongjoong was sitting at his desk, staring at the piece of paper with Seonghwa’s number on it. It was the one he’d given him the first time they met. He’d found it tucked away in one of his drawers, and somehow, that gave him the push to try talking to him again.
His hands were shaking while his phone screen glowed with the call window open. Then he slumped back in his chair, completely defeated.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s hard.”
Across the room, Yunho was lying on his bed, eating popcorn out of a giant bowl while scrolling on his phone.
“Maybe I should just leave him a message,” Hongjoong said, rubbing his face.
“For stuff like this, it’s better to call,” Yunho replied without looking up.
Hongjoong groaned, letting his forehead drop onto the desk.
“The second I hear his voice, I’m gonna freeze.”
Yunho finally looked over at him. “Then maybe don’t do it tonight. You don’t have to force yourself.”
Hongjoong met his gaze, sighed, and stayed quiet for a moment.
Yunho looked at him for a long second, then grinned.
“Should I tell the others?” he asked.
Hongjoong nodded, already standing to grab his jacket. He didn’t care where they went, he just needed to get out of his head for a while. After a quick chat with the others, they decided to go to their usual bar, and Hongjoong offered to drive.
When they arrived, they took one of the corner tables. The good thing about tonight, and the main reason Hongjoong had picked this place, was that it was a Wednesday evening. The bar was quiet with only a handful of regulars scattered around.
“Alright, what do you guys want?” Hongjoong asked, standing up.
“Beer,” Mingi said immediately, raising a hand.
“Same,” Jongho replied.
“Soju,” Yunho added, leaning back in his chair.
Hongjoong nodded. “Two beers, two sojus. Got it.”
He made his way to the counter, ordered, and leaned against the bar. The bartender nodded and said, “Just a minute, I’ll grab some ice.”
“No rush,” Hongjoong replied.
He sighed, eyes wandering around the dim room, until he heard familiar laughter from near the entrance. When he turned, his stomach dropped.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Jihoon had just walked in with two friends.
Instinctively, Hongjoong tried to turn away, pretending to study the bottles behind the counter, but it was too late. Jihoon spotted him almost instantly. There weren’t many people in the bar, and Hongjoong, standing alone at the counter, was hard to miss.
He smiled and waved. Hongjoong forced a smile back and lifted a hand in return. He felt his ears burn, still feeling guilty. Jihoon said something to his friends and walked over, smiling, and Hongjoong straightened up.
“How have you been?” he asked when he was in front of Hongjoong.
“Better,” Hongjoong replied honestly. “You?”
“College is killing me,” Jihoon laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But, you know, good overall.”
They shared a small laugh, then silence. Hongjoong honestly wanted to run.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Jihoon asked, glancing at the bar.
“Yeah, just waiting for the bartender. He went to get ice.”
Almost on cue, the bartender came back with a tray of two beers, two bottles of soju, and a few glasses. Hongjoong reached for his wallet, but before he could try to balance everything, Jihoon stepped in.
“Here, let me help you carry those,” Jihoon offered.
“Thanks,” Hongjoong replied.
After paying, they reached the table, and Jongho was the first to talk.
“Hyung, what took you so long?” he started, then noticed Jihoon and froze mid-sentence. Mingi and Yunho exchanged looks with their eyebrows raised.
“The bartender went to get ice,” Hongjoong said quickly, setting down the drinks. He gestured toward Jihoon. “This is Jihoon.”
“Hey,” Jihoon said, giving them a small, polite smile.
The others nodded, returning his greeting, but Hongjoong could feel the stares, making him tense.
“Hey, Jihoon, wanna sit over there? It’s a bit quieter,” Hongjoong said, nodding toward one of the empty tables near the back.
He nodded easily, so Hongjoong grabbed his bottle of soju and two shot glasses. Jihoon followed, and Hongjoong exhaled quietly as they sat down. The younger man looked at him, waiting, in a kind of patient, soft look that made Hongjoong chuckle despite himself. He poured Jihoon a shot, then one for himself.
“Here,” he said, sliding the glass over.
Jihoon took it with a small nod, and they both drank.
“Listen… I wanted to apologize for last time.” When the warmth hit his chest, Hongjoong finally spoke. “You’re a really good guy, and I actually had fun with you. You make people feel comfortable, you know? It’s just… things got complicated, and I hate that you got caught up in it. I’ve felt guilty ever since.”
Jihoon looked surprised for a moment, then waved his hands quickly.
“Oh, no, don’t feel bad. Really. I don’t hold it against you at all,” He replied. “It was weird, sure, but I wasn’t upset or anything.”
“Really?” Hongjoong asked, still doubtful.
“Really,” Jihoon said firmly.
“Still,” Hongjoong smiled faintly, holding out his hand, “let me apologize anyway. Properly.”
Jihoon laughed and took it. “Apology accepted.”
They shook hands, both of them laughing quietly after. Hongjoong poured them another round.
“Hey, is it okay if I get your number?” Jihoon asked after a moment, taking out his phone. “I’d like to stay in touch. You’re cool, and I’d like to hang out with you.”
“Yeah, of course,” Hongjoong replied, a little surprised. They exchanged numbers, clinking their glasses once more before Jihoon got up to rejoin his friends.
Hongjoong watched him go, then turned back toward his own table and froze when he saw three other people sitting there. After a deep breath, Hongjoong walked toward them and recognized Yeosang, Wooyoung, and San. His friends exchanged glances as he approached.
“Hey,” he greeted, forcing a small smile. They all returned it, but they also seemed nervous.
“It’s been a while since we were all together,” Hongjoong said, laughing lightly to ease the tension. The others chuckled under their breath, but it did little to loosen the air. He could feel the quiet discomfort threading between them.
“I think…” Yeosang started. “Seonghwa-hyung wants to talk to you.”
Ah, Hongjoong knew it. Of course this was coming.
He turned to his friends, his eyes narrowing slightly as if asking did you know about this? Yunho just met his gaze and subtly nodded toward the door. For a moment, Hongjoong wondered if they’d all planned this.
“…Where is he?” he asked finally.
“Outside. He went for a smoke,” Wooyoung replied, trying to give him a comforting smile.
“Thanks,” Hongjoong said while nodding, then turned and started walking toward the exit.
Fuck.
The way to the door suddenly felt way too long. Every step made his stomach twist tighter, but he’d already decided that he was going to talk to him. Whatever happened next, he’d face it.
When he pushed the door open, the night air rushed over him. He looked around and there he was.
Seonghwa sat near the corner of the building on the ground, his head resting against his knees. A cigarette burned weakly between his fingers while his other hand tangled in his hair like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong called softly as he approached.
Seonghwa’s head lifted at the sound of his voice, startled. The dim streetlight caught the side of his face and Hongjoong froze when he saw his red eyes, he obviously cried.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The smoke curled up between them, disappearing into the cold air.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said again, more quietly this time, stepping closer.
Seonghwa blinked up at him, as if he wasn’t sure whether Hongjoong was real. His cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers before he flicked it aside, and the ember died on the pavement.
“You asked for me,” Hongjoong replied, crouching slightly so their eyes met. “Of course I did.”
A long silence followed. Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, then he looked away, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he was holding back words.
“Why were you with him?” he said suddenly.
Hongjoong frowned. “What?”
“That guy.” Seonghwa’s gaze finally met his again, burning. “I saw you with him the last time too.”
Ah. So that’s what this was.
Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“It wasn’t like that,” he replied.
Seonghwa laughed under his breath. “Sure looked like it.”
“Seonghwa—”
“Forget it,” he cut in, resting his head on his knees again. “Just… go with him if that’s what you want.”
Hongjoong froze. He didn’t know whether to argue or walk away. His heart clenched hard, and he hated that this was the way their first real conversation after weeks was going.
He stared at Seonghwa for a moment longer and realized they weren’t going to get anywhere like this. Seonghwa’s walls were up, his tone brittle, his body tense. If they tried to talk now, it would only end up hurting them more.
So, a bit frustrated, he exhaled and turned as if to leave, took one step, but then he felt trembling fingers curl around his wrist.
Hongjoong turned back slowly to find Seonghwa’s hand clutching his arm like it was the only thing holding him together.
“Please,” Seonghwa whispered, head still buried between his knees. His shoulders shook, and Hongjoong swore he heard him sob. He hesitated, then knelt down beside him.
“No, don’t cry,” he said softly. “I’m not leaving.”
He sat down on the ground next to him, close enough for their knees to touch. For a while, the only sound was Seonghwa’s quiet sobs and the faint buzz of the city around them. His hand never left Hongjoong’s.
When Seonghwa finally lifted his head, his eyes were glassy and red, and Hongjoong felt the urge to hug him.
“Jihoon and I… we’re not anything,” he started, quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was nothing. You don’t have to worry about it.”
Seonghwa swallowed hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
They fell into silence again, waiting for the other to talk. Hongjoong decided it was the moment to confess everything.
“I was just… scared,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “That’s what really happened. I ruined it because I was too insecure. I kept thinking you didn’t feel the same way. And instead of talking to you about it, I started acting like I didn’t care. I thought if I pretended it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t get hurt. But I just…”
He let out a shaky breath before continuing.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this,” he confessed. “And in trying to protect myself, I ended up ruining the one thing I didn’t want to lose.”
Seonghwa looked at him for a long time, the faintest flicker of sadness softening his features.
“I get it,” he said quietly. “You’re not the only one who felt that way.”
He rested his head back against the wall, eyes distant.
“When everything happened between us, I’d just quit my job at the school. It was getting too hard to balance with the band. And… I thought I’d feel free, but…” he sighed. “I don’t know. Every time I stop doing something I’ve done for a long time, it hits me hard, you know? I get stuck in my head. And I kind of… get depressed.”
He smiled at Hongjoong then exhaled.
“And then losing what he had after that just made it worse. I couldn’t even get out of bed for days.” he chucked softly. “It got to a point where my friends dragged me to another country, can you believe that?”
Hongjoong felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest.
“I didn’t know that,” he replied softly. “And I’m sorry. I just made it worse for you, didn’t I?”
“No. Don’t apologize.” Seonghwa shook his head immediately. “If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I wasn’t honest from the beginning. I should’ve told you what I wanted instead of assuming you’d figure it out.”
Then he laughed, embarrassed.
“If I’m being honest… I didn’t plan for anything serious at first,” he confessed. “But that changed faster than I expected. That night when you came to my apartment, sat there and actually listened to my lyrics, and you helped me fix that one verse instead of going straight to sleep with me… I don’t know.”
He started playing with one cigarette in his hand, now avoiding Hongjoong's gaze.
“Something about that moment just… stuck,” he continued. “And then when we went to the park together…” he smiled faintly, “that was it. There was no going back for me after that. I kept telling myself not to feel too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I should’ve said something.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened, his heart beating fast. Then he huffed a small, helpless laugh.
“We’re idiots,” he said finally.
Seonghwa laughed too, and kept playing with the cigarette, still avoiding Hongjoong's eyes.
“So… what now?” Seonghwa asked after a while.
“We can start over,” Hongjoong replied. “If you still want to, and you’re still interested in me.”
Seonghwa looked at him surprised, then let out a small laugh that came from deep in his chest.
“You really think I’m not?” he said, smiling. “For your information, in my twenty-four years of life, this is the first time I’ve ever suffered over someone like this.”
Hongjoong was surprised. He looked at Seonghwa for a moment before shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable,” he said, making Seonghwa laugh again.
Then he reached for his pack of cigarettes, sliding one between his fingers and lighting it with a small flick of his lighter. The flame briefly illuminated his face, and Hongjoong admired him while he took a slow drag, the tip glowing faintly in the dark. Seonghwa then turned to Hongjoong and offered him one, holding it out between two fingers before bringing his own back to his mouth.
Hongjoong didn’t take it. He just looked at the way Seonghwa’s lips curved around the cigarette, at the smoke that slipped past them, curling lazily into the cool air. He leaned a little closer, drawn in before he even realized it. And, without warning, he reached out and plucked the cigarette from Seonghwa’s mouth.
“Hey!” Seonghwa was startled.
But Hongjoong only laughed quietly, his voice low, and set the cigarette between his own lips. He took a slow inhale, exhaling just enough to let the smoke hover between them. Seonghwa’s eyes flicked instantly to his mouth, his throat moving as he swallowed.
They were silent for a moment. The world around them seemed to shrink. Hongjoong took another drag, slower this time. He held the smoke in his mouth and reached out, his fingers finding Seonghwa’s cheek.
Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his hand twitching as if to reach back, and when Hongjoong leaned in closer, until their noses almost touched. Seonghwa met him halfway.
Their lips brushed, a small contact, and Hongjoong exhaled, the smoke slipping from his mouth into Seonghwa’s, who inhaled it. The air between them turned hazy and warm, and the smell of cigarettes and cologne surrounded them.
When they pulled back slightly, both of them laughed softly, breathless. Seonghwa’s eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, the corner of his mouth lifting as he looked at Hongjoong like he was something fragile and familiar all at once.
Then, Seonghwa leaned in again, closing the space between them completely now. Their kiss deepened quickly, slow at first, then more sure, desperate. Hongjoong could taste the faint bitterness of smoke and soju on Seonghwa’s lips.
When they broke apart, still catching their breath, Hongjoong let out a small, dazed laugh.
“Fuck,” he murmured in a barely audible voice. “I missed this.”
Seonghwa smiled faintly, brushing his thumb over Hongjoong’s cheek.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.”
He leaned in again for a short kiss, almost shy this time. After separating, Hongjoong leaned his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, feeling like he couldn't contain his sudden happiness. Neither of them spoke, just watched the distant glow of the city lights in silence while Seonghwa smoked the rest of his cigarette, the faint smell of tobacco mixing with the night air.
“I’ll go to the States for two weeks,” Hongjoong said, his a little insecure.
Seonghwa nodded slowly.
“Maybe we can use that time to think about what we really want,” Hongjoong continued. “And by the time I’m back, my schedule will calm down. And we can start again… properly this time.”
Seonghwa looked at him, with an expression so soft that made Hongjoong's heart ache.
“That sounds good to me,” he replied quietly.
When the cigarette burned down to the filter, Seonghwa dropped it, crushing it under his shoe. Then turned to Hongjoong with a small, content smile.
“Should we go back in?” he asked.
Hongjoong met his gaze and nodded.
“Yeah.”
When they walked back inside, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Everyone’s eyes flicked toward them at once. Wooyoung was the first to talk, leaning forward with a grin that was far too knowing.
“So…”
Seonghwa set his jacket on the back of a chair, looking composed but with the faintest redness still around his eyes.
“We talked,” he simply said.
That didn’t seem to be enough for anyone. The table stayed quiet, their eyes darting between the two until Hongjoong rolled his eyes and muttered, “We’re good.”
A collective sigh of relief spread across both groups. Jongho clapped once, as if a great tension had finally broken. Wooyoung leaned back with an exaggerated groan.
“You have no idea how much he cried over you,” he said, pointing at Seonghwa, who immediately gasped.
“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa warned.
“I’m just saying!” Wooyoung raised his hands in defense. “We were this close to calling a therapist.”
Hongjoong glanced at Seonghwa while everyone laughed, his embarrassment only making him look softer.
“At least you didn’t have to sing his own heartbreak songs,” Jongho added, which caught Hongjoong off guard.
Yunho snorted into his drink. “Oh, but you know those were the best tracks on the album,” he said. “We were all suffering, but at least it was worth it.”
“To our suffering!” San said while raising his glass dramatically.
Everyone echoed the toast, laughter bubbling up as their soju bottles clinked. The teasing continued, crossing between both bands now, and Seonghwa kept laughing at Hongjoong since his face was all red. But he had to admit that he honestly missed all of this: the teasing, laughs, his friends.
The following week, Lost Signal flew out for their three shows in the U.S. The flight was long, but the adrenaline of performing abroad again made it worth it. The audience there was different, even more eager than they’d expected. From the first chord, Hongjoong could feel the energy wrapping around him.
The shows went by fast. For the first time in months, he felt completely himself onstage, he could pour all his energy into the performances now. Between shows, he found himself looking out over the unfamiliar skylines and thinking how far they’d come. Something deep inside him said that their career was only beginning to rise, and that quiet certainty filled him with pride, for all of them.
After the concerts, the band spent a few days exploring the city. Hongjoong and Seonghwa texted every day, keeping things light with casual messages, some songs, and pictures of the city. They both knew the real conversation would happen once they were home.
And true to his word, the first thing Hongjoong did when he landed back in Seoul was text Seonghwa and ask him out for coffee.
He took extra care getting dressed that day: a gray button-up, navy pants, and a jacket that made him look put together without trying too hard. The others noticed right away.
“So you’re going on a date this soon, huh?” Mingi teased, leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s just coffee,” Hongjoong replied, rolling his eyes.
“I can smell your cologne from my room!” Yunho shouted from down the hall.
He ignored them, though a faint smile tugged at his lips as he grabbed his keys. He had to admit that he’d missed the teasing a little.
When he arrived outside Seonghwa’s apartment, he sent a quick text. A moment later, Seonghwa appeared, dressed in black as always. The fitted shirt hugged his frame, and the matching pants sat perfectly at his waist. A soft sweater was thrown over his shoulders, making him look effortlessly elegant.
Hongjoong stepped out of the car and opened the passenger door for him.
“You look good,” he said before he could stop himself.
“So do you,” Seonghwa replied, a smile flickering on his lips as his eyes swept over him. “Gray suits you.”
Hongjoong smiled back.
As they drove, Seonghwa connected his phone to the car and played his playlist. The music filled the silence between them, which still felt familiar and comforting in a way. Strangely, even though months had passed, it felt like nothing had changed between them.
At the café, they found a small table by the window, then ordered two lattes and a slice of strawberry shortcake to share.
“So,” Seonghwa started once they sat down, stirring his coffee absentmindedly, “how was America? Did you like it?”
“Yeah, actually.” Hongjoong smiled. “It was different, but I really liked it. I think we're doing well.”
“That’s good,” Seonghwa said softly, smiling back. “You deserve it.”
They ate quietly for a while, sharing some stories about those months when they didn’t talk, until the silence settled comfortably again. Then Hongjoong leaned back slightly, glancing at Seonghwa.
“Did you think about it?” he asked.
Seonghwa set his coffee down, fingers lingering on the cup before he nodded.
“I did.” He took a breath, making eye contact with Hongjoong before sighing. “If I’m being honest, I’m a bit scared of commitment. I had… a relationship once that really messed with my head. I fell hard for someone, and it ended badly… humiliatingly, actually. Since then, I’ve been afraid of letting myself fall like that again. I always end up running before things get serious.”
He paused, looking down at his hands. “But with you, I couldn’t stop it. I really did fall for you, Hongjoong. And I know it’s not fair to carry my old fears into something new, but I thought you should know.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened, the honesty in Seonghwa’s voice both painful and tender.
“I want to try, though. With you,” Seonghwa continued, his expression softening. “I don’t think there’s a way back from this, honestly,” he said with a small laugh.
Hongjoong smiled, the tension easing.
“What about you?” Seonghwa asked.
“What about me?” Hongjoong echoed, amused. “Well, as you might’ve noticed, I’ve got my own share of insecurities.”
Seonghwa huffed a small laugh, nodding.
“But,” Hongjoong continued, “for you, I want to work on them. I thought I was over that part of myself, but then… well, this was the first time I’d felt that kind of connection again. It made every fear I’ve ever had come crawling back. Still…” he looked at him directly, “I want to try, too.”
A small silence stretched between them before Seonghwa chuckled quietly.
“Wow. Our exes really fucked us up, huh?” he said.
“Yeah, they did,” Hongjoong replied while laughing.
They both smiled, their conversation drifting to small, random things again. After finishing their coffees, they decided to take a short walk before heading back. The air outside had cooled in that tender way it did before sunset, and the sky was streaked with soft pink and amber, casting a gentle light over everything.
They walked side by side in comfortable silence. Hongjoong kept his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, thinking that the silence between them shouldn’t be this peaceful after everything they’d been through, but it did.
As they turned a corner and passed into a small park, something stirred in Hongjoong’s chest. Maybe it was the nostalgia of walking next to Seonghwa again, or maybe it was realizing that just being here with him was what he’d missed the most.
He glanced sideways. Seonghwa was looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets, his profile catching the golden light.
Hongjoong’s heart began to race. The words formed somewhere deep in his chest before he even knew what he wanted to say. He exhaled, stopped walking, and turned to face him. Seonghwa was a little confused as Hongjoong reached out and took his hands.
“Can I be your boyfriend?” Hongjoong asked, feeling his face burn.
For a second, Seonghwa just stared at him. Then, to Hongjoong’s complete disbelief, he started laughing so hard that he had to cover his mouth. His jaw dropped.
“I-I just confessed, and you laugh?”
“I, no, no, I’m sorry!” Seonghwa said between laughs, wiping the corner of his eyes. “It’s just… It’s awkward!”
“Are you saying I’m awkward?” Hongjoong frowned, crossing his arms.
Seonghwa tried to compose himself, still chuckling.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” He took a deep breath, finally calming down, and smiled at him, his eyes still bright from laughter. “Yes. Yes, I’d love that. If you still want to be my boyfriend.”
“No,” Hongjoong squinted at him dramatically. “You laughed at my confession.”
“Nooo,” Seonghwa groaned, leaning in and taking Hongjoong’s cheeks gently between his hands. Hongjoong tried to pout, but Seonghwa only smiled wider, his thumbs brushing his skin softly.
After glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, Seonghwa leaned in and kissed him softly. When he pulled back, he whispered against Hongjoong’s lips, “My boyfriend…”
Hongjoong could feel his ears go red.
“Yeah, that sounds weird,” he muttered, making Seonghwa laugh again.
They continued laughing as they walked.
“So,” Hongjoong said after a while, glancing at him, “where do you want to go now?”
Seonghwa thought for a moment. “Do you want to come over to my place? We can order dinner.”
“Is Yeosang not home?” Hongjoong asked.
“No, he’s with Wooyoung and San,” Seonghwa replied.
“Uh-huh. Why do I feel like you tell him to leave every time I come over? Poor Yeosang.”
Seonghwa gasped dramatically. “No, I’d never do that to him.”
“Sure you wouldn’t,” Hongjoong teased, bumping his shoulder playfully.
They both laughed again, walking back toward the car together.
When they got to Seonghwa’s apartment, everything felt too familiar for Hongjoong. They sat on the couch and, after ordering a pizza, they decided to put on a movie while they waited.
“This time, I’m picking,” Hongjoong said as he scrolled through the options.
“You?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “I feel like you’ll put on something like one of those black and white indie films where no one talks for fifteen minutes.”
“What concept do you have of me?” Hongjoong asked and clicked on La La Land.
“Really?” Seonghwa tilted his head, a little surprised. “I didn’t expect you liked romance movies.”
“I figured you’d like it,” Hongjoong shrugged, settling next to him. “And it’s one of my favorites.”
“I do like it,” Seonghwa admitted quietly, his lips curving into a small smile before standing up. “Wait here, I’ll grab some water.”
As Seonghwa disappeared into the kitchen, Hongjoong leaned back against the couch and let his eyes wander around the room. It looked almost the same as before, too tidy for Hongjoong’s liking. But then, his gaze stopped.
On the shelf by the TV, sitting side by side, were the teddy bear he’d bought for Seonghwa months ago and the unopened Tom Nook’s Cranny LEGO set. Something in his chest tugged. He’d honestly thought Seonghwa would’ve gotten rid of them, or at least shoved them into some forgotten box. But they were still there, out in the open.
When Seonghwa came back with two glasses of water, Hongjoong nodded toward the shelf. “You kept those.”
Seonghwa followed his gaze, then smiled softly. “Of course I did. They’re valuable to me.”
“Valuable?”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, setting the glasses down. “Even if we had never talked again, I wouldn’t have thrown them away. They remind me of you.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, no one outside my friends ever gave me stuff like that. So I really appreciate it.”
“Did you ever build the Lego?” Hongjoong asked, feeling some kind of warmth and ache in his chest.
“Obviously not.” Seonghwa let out a small laugh. “I promised I’d build it with you.”
For a moment, Hongjoong couldn’t find words, just staring at the LEGO box.
“Then…” he started, “why don’t we build it now?”
“Really?” Seonghwa’s face lit up immediately. Hongjoong nodded. “Okay, wait here.”
He got up and returned holding the box, holding it as if it were fragile. Hongjoong sat on the floor while Seonghwa cleared some space on the coffee table. Then he took out the packages of pieces and placed them on the table.
“I’ve never done this before,” Hongjoong looked down at the chaotic pile of tiny colored pieces and frowned. “You’re gonna have to be patient with me.”
“I am always patient with you,” Seonghwa said, beginning to analyze the packages.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Hongjoong murmured, squinting at the instruction booklet like it was written in another language.
They started working, sorting out pieces, and following the tiny diagrams. Within minutes, Hongjoong was scowling.
“This makes no sense!” he muttered, trying to attach two pieces that clearly didn’t fit. “Who makes this stuff? Evil people?”
Seonghwa laughed.
“You just have to find the right piece! Look, this one goes here.” He leaned closer, guiding Hongjoong’s hand. Their fingers brushed, and Hongjoong pretended not to notice how his heartbeat jumped.
Minutes passed, the soundtrack of the movie blending with their voices, laughter, and the click of Lego pieces snapping together.
After a while, Hongjoong sighed. “You’re starting to get frustrated, right?”
“No,” Seonghwa said easily, not looking up from the structure.
“Liar,” Hongjoong teased. “You have that tiny wrinkle between your brows.”
“I’m focused,” Seonghwa replied in a comforting voice. “I’m fine, really. You’re doing great.”
They were halfway through when the doorbell rang. Seonghwa stood up to grab the pizza while Hongjoong stayed there, studying the half-built model with an exaggerated level of concentration. A minute later, Seonghwa came back, balancing the box and two cans of soda.
“Dinner’s here,” he said, setting it down on the table.
The smell of melted cheese filled the room, and they ate as they continued building, alternating between bites and small chat. By the time the Lego set finally started taking shape, the movie had finished. They finally placed the last brick, the tiny store standing perfectly in front of them.
Seonghwa held up the Tom Nook figure, smiling.
“Aww, look at him,” he said, his voice soft with amusement as he set it in front of Hongjoong, who rolled his eyes and pretended to look anywhere else. But he truly loved this side of Seonghwa.
Seonghwa snapped a quick photo of the finished set before Hongjoong helped him move it to the shelf, where Seonghwa carefully made space among his other models. They stood there for a moment, admiring it side by side.
When they finally sat back down, Hongjoong stretched his arms above his head.
“That was harder than I expected,” he said with a small groan.
Seonghwa chuckled, turning slightly to face him, one arm resting on the back of the couch.
“But it was worth it, wasn’t it?” his other hand found Hongjoong’s. “Spending time with your boyfriend.” He said in a teasing tone.
Hongjoong froze. His ears went hot immediately, the word boyfriend echoing in his head once more. Fuck, he felt like a teenager again.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered while covering his face.
Seonghwa laughed immediately at Hongjoong’s reaction, so Hongjoong leaned forward and grabbed Seonghwa by the collar, pulling him in before that laugh could turn into another teasing comment, and their lips met halfway. Seonghwa’s surprise melted quickly, his hand finding the side of Hongjoong’s neck as he smiled into the kiss.
The kiss was sloppy at first, all the pent-up tension making it clumsy. But as the seconds stretched, the desperation began to morph, shifting into a deep, languid sensuality. The frantic pace slowed, and the kisses grew deeper. Hongjoong’s tongue traced the seam of Seonghwa’s lips, and when they parted for him, the world narrowed to the slick, hot slide of their mouths, a slow, intoxicating dance.
When they broke apart to gasp for a breath, their foreheads rested together.
“Come here,” Hongjoong ordered. His hands slid from Seonghwa’s jaw to his shoulders, applying gentle but firm pressure. Seonghwa understood, and with a fluid movement, he shifted, straddling Hongjoong’s lap and settling his weight onto him. The new position was impossibly closer, the heat of their bodies searing through their clothes.
Seonghwa’s arms circled Hongjoong’s shoulders as they dove back into the kiss, now with a new, thrilling intensity. Their hands began to wander, mapping the familiar territory with a fresh, desperate hunger. His palms slid down the strong plane of Seonghwa’s back, feeling the shift and flex of muscle beneath his fitted shirt. Seonghwa, in turn, roamed over Hongjoong’s shoulders and arms, his touch both possessive and reverent.
Driven by a need to feel more, Hongjoong slipped his hands beneath the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt. His fingertips encountered the smooth skin of his lower back, and Seonghwa arched into the touch, gasping. Hongjoong’s hands slid upward, splaying across the taut muscles of Seonghwa’s stomach and back.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a wet, burning path down the column of Seonghwa’s throat. Seonghwa groaned, his head falling back to give him more space. Hongjoong nipped and licked at the sensitive skin, his hands still moving under the shirt.
“Off,” Hongjoong breathed against his damp skin, his fingers hooking into the fabric. “This needs to come off.”
Seonghwa didn’t hesitate, pulling back just enough to grab the hem and pull the shirt over his head in one swift motion. He tossed it aside, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The sight stole the air from Hongjoong’s lungs. In the dim light, Seonghwa’s torso was a masterpiece of sculpted muscle: the sharp cut of his collarbones, the firm swell of his pecs, the tight, defined lines of his abdomen. Hongjoong’s gaze was pure, unadulterated worship.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands returning to their exploration, now on bare skin. He palmed the hard muscles of Seonghwa’s chest, his thumbs brushing over his nipples, which tightened instantly under the touch. Leaning in, he sealed his mouth over one, and Seonghwa cried out, his fingers clenching in Hongjoong’s hair. Hongjoong lavished attention on the left one, then the other, with his tongue and teeth, painting blooming roses onto his honey skin before returning to his neck and shoulders to leave more possessive marks.
Overwhelmed by the sensation, Seonghwa sought Hongjoong’s mouth again, capturing his lips in a deep, searing kiss.
Even through layers of fabric, the friction of their bodies was a delicious torment. Then Seonghwa shifted his hips. A deliberate, slow, grinding roll that pressed the hard line of his own erection against Hongjoong’s.
A sharp, punched-out moan escaped Hongjoong’s lips, his head falling back against the cushions. Seonghwa’s lips curved into a smile against the skin of Hongjoong’s neck. He did it again, this time with more pressure, his hand sliding down from his shoulder to palm him firmly through his pants.
“Seonghwa…” Hongjoong gasped, his hips bucking up involuntarily.
“Shh,” Seonghwa soothed. Hongjoong could feel his gaze as his own face contorted in pleasure, his eyelids fluttering. Seonghwa applied pressure again, rubbing his palm in a slow, maddening circle, feeling the hard length of him twitch in response.
Seonghwa’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze dark and utterly focused. He was drinking in every single one of Hongjoong’s reactions, which made him feel more exposed.
Seonghwa truly had spoiled and ruined him for anyone else. The last person he’d been with like this, the last person who had touched him, known him this much, was Seonghwa. It felt like a lifetime ago, turning the simple touches into something overwhelming.
Without a word, Seonghwa slid off his lap, sinking to his knees on the floor between his legs. His eyes never left Hongjoong’s as his fingers worked open the button and zipper of his pants with practiced ease. He tugged them down just enough, along with his underwear, freeing Hongjoong’s aching erection.
The cool air was a shock, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Seonghwa’s gaze. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over the slick head, making Hongjoong shudder.
Then, Seonghwa took him in, and the world dissolved.
It was sloppy from the first second, gloriously so. Seonghwa’s obvious goal was to overwhelm Hongjoong. He swallowed him down deep, his throat working around the head before pulling back with a lewd, slick sound. Spit slicked his length, dripping down onto his shirt. Seeing the mess on the fabric, Hongjoong’s hands went to his own hem.
"Let me, ah, take this off," he murmured, "so I don't ruin it."
But before he could lift it, Seonghwa’s hand shot out, capturing his. He pulled Hongjoong’s hand away from the shirt.
"No," he said after pulling out, his voice rough. "Don't take it off. I like how it looks on you."
Hongjoong raised his eyebrow, then a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Okay," he conceded. With one hand he lifted his shirt, and the other came up to cradle Seonghwa’s jaw, his thumb stroking the flushed skin of his cheekbone before he gently guided him back down to his cock.
When he continued, his tongue was everywhere: flattening against the underside, tracing the prominent vein, circling the tip before diving back down.
Hongjoong’s free hand flew to Seonghwa’s hair, tangling in the dark strands. His hips stuttered, trying and failing to stay still.
"F-fuck, Seonghwa... just like that," he choked out. He was seeing stars with every skillful swipe of Seonghwa’s tongue, and every deep, throaty hum that vibrated through his very core.
Seonghwa was relentless, bobbing his head with a rhythm that was both punishing and reverent. He’d pull off almost completely, only the tip in his mouth, his tongue playing there, before plunging again, taking him to the hilt, his nose buried in the hair at the base. The sounds of wet gulps, choked gasps, and the slick, rhythmic slide of lips on his erection were filthy.
And Hongjoong could only take it, his release feeling both impossibly distant and terrifyingly close. Seonghwa had ruined him for anyone else, and at this moment, on his knees, he was claiming him all over again. The coil in Hongjoong’s gut tightened unbearably.
"Seonghwa… I'm—" he tried to gasp, but the words were strangled.
Desperate to warn him, Hongjoong’s hands fisted in Seonghwa's dark hair, a sharp tug meant to pull him away. But instead of retreating, Seonghwa groaned and drove himself down further, taking Hongjoong impossibly deeper. Hongjoong could feel the head of his cock nudge the back of Seonghwa’s throat, and the sensation shattered his last shred of control.
"Seonghwa...!" he cried.
His world exploded into blinding white, his body arching off the couch. Through the haze, he was dimly aware of Seonghwa swallowing around him, refusing to let a single drop escape. He didn't stop until Hongjoong was completely spent, sensitive and trembling, before finally pulling away with a final, wet pop.
Then he stood up and captured Hongjoong’s lips in a deep, slow kiss, allowing him to taste himself on Seonghwa's tongue.
"Wait," Seonghwa murmured when they parted for air. He disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Hongjoong sprawled on the couch, trying to reclaim his breath and his sanity.
And when he returned, in his hands was a small box of condoms and a bottle of lubricant. Without a word, Seonghwa shed his trousers and underwear, his erection springing free. Hongjoong felt his mouth water at the sight, his eyes drinking in the elegant length of him.
Seonghwa positioned himself over Hongjoong again, straddling his hips. Hongjoong’s hands instinctively rose to Seonghwa’s chest, mapping the warm skin. Seonghwa took one of his hands, lacing their fingers together for a moment, a surprisingly tender gesture. Then, he moved, reached for the lubricant, and poured a generous amount over Hongjoong’s fingers, making them slick and cool, before guiding that hand down between his own legs.
"Go on," Seonghwa breathed, his eyes locked with Hongjoong's.
Hongjoong groaned as his fingertip pressed against his entrance. Seonghwa hissed at the sensation, his body tensing for a second before relaxing into the touch. He guided Hongjoong’s finger inside, the first knuckle, then deeper, until he was fully adjusted.
Only then did Seonghwa guide a second finger beside the first, a sharp moan escaping his lips. This time, Hongjoong took the lead. He began to move, scissoring his fingers. Hongjoong watched, utterly captivated, as he worked to open him up, each push earning a soft, ragged sigh. The tight heat around his fingers was overwhelming, and he focused on the way Seonghwa’s body yielded for him, becoming pliant and receptive.
When he was sure Seonghwa was ready, Hongjoong pressed forward with a third finger, and the effect was immediate. A broken, throaty moan was torn from Seonghwa’s lips, his back arching off as he was filled completely. It was then, watching Seonghwa come undone under the stretch of three fingers, that Hongjoong started to truly admire him. He was mesmerized by the flutter of his eyelashes against his flushed skin, his lips parting around silent gasps, the elegant line of his throat as his head fell back in a low, pleased sigh. He realized, with a sudden clarity, that he had never truly admired how perfectly the black hair framed Seonghwa's expressive face.
His detailed observation was interrupted when Seonghwa let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the intense atmosphere.
"Sorry," Seonghwa murmured, a little breathless. "It's just... it's been a long time since someone looked at me like that."
Hongjoong didn't stop his intense gaze; if anything, he doubled down, watching with satisfaction as Seonghwa’s blush deepened.
Flustered, Seonghwa suddenly asked, "Can I try something?"
"What is it?" Hongjoong’s voice was rough.
Seonghwa shifted, pulling Hongjoong’s fingers out and drawing a whimper from him. He leaned over to the side table, and when he turned back, he was holding a simple black blindfold. Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, questioning him.
"It's not for what you think,” he smiled. “We use them for one of our shows."
He hesitated, his own confidence wavering for a second.
"Can I put it on you? You can say no."
Hongjoong considered it. He’d never tried anything like it, but he found he wasn't closed off to the new experience.
"Okay," he agreed.
Seonghwa leaned in and carefully placed the blindfold over Hongjoong's eyes, not tying it too tightly. Hongjoong felt a bit anxious at the sudden loss of sight, but it was instantly quelled when Seonghwa’s lips found his in a soft, reassuring kiss.
"Just feel," Seonghwa whispered against his mouth, and Hongjoong surrendered to the sensation.
The world dissolved into a symphony of touch and sound. A slick, lubed hand closed around his cock, stroking, and Hongjoong jolted. He realized that, deprived of sight, the sensation was magnified tenfold.
"You look so hot like this," Seonghwa's voice was a low thrum, vibrating through the darkness, and Hongjoong could only gasp in response, his head falling back against the couch. "I'm gonna put it in."
Hongjoong managed a jerky nod, his breath hitching. He heard the rustle of foil, the soft snap of the condom being rolled on, and then the cool shock of more lubricant being poured onto him.
"We should get tested soon,” Seonghwa spoke again. “Now that we're exclusive... I really want to feel that cock inside me completely."
A guttural groan was ripped from Hongjoong’s throat. He felt the couch dip as Seonghwa positioned himself over him, his hands guiding Hongjoong’s erection. Then, he felt the most exquisite, maddening pressure at his tip, followed by the slow, breathtaking slide as Seonghwa began to sink down.
A shared moan filled the air, and Hongjoong couldn't tell where his ended and Seonghwa's began. It was a tight, wet, impossible heat, sheathing him completely. His hands flew to Seonghwa’s waist, gripping the sharp bones of his hips.
Seonghwa began to move, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips that made Hongjoong shut his eyes. But then the pace quickened, building into a rhythm that had Hongjoong gasping for air, his head thrown back against the cushions. As he adjusted his own position slightly on the couch, a sharp, broken whimper tore from Seonghwa’s lips, and Hongjoong felt him clench hard around him. He’d found the spot.
His grip on Seonghwa’s hips tightened, his fingers pressing into the honey skin as he began to thrust upward, aiming for that exact, sensitive place again and again, faster now. A string of high-pitched, desperate moans fell from Seonghwa’s lips, each one climbing higher in pitch and volume than the last. Hongjoong could hear the slick, frantic sounds of Seonghwa touching himself.
They continued like that for a while, until Hongjoong felt Seonghwa’s entire body tense. The tightness around him became almost unbearable a second before Seonghwa let out a gasp, his legs trembling violently and clamping tightly around Hongjoong’s thighs as he fell apart. Only then did Hongjoong still his movements, slowing as Seonghwa rode out the last waves of his climax.
He sought Seonghwa’s face with his clean hand, cupping his jaw, and pulling him down into a deep, messy kiss. When they parted, breathless, Hongjoong’s voice was raw.
"Let me... I'll take care of it," he panted, suggesting Seonghwa get off so he could finish himself since he didn’t feel close.
But Seonghwa only rose up almost completely, only to sink back down with a devastatingly deep thrust. A soft, breathy moan escaped directly into Hongjoong’s ear. Seonghwa’s forehead came to rest on his shoulder, his entire body going pliant and heavy. The sensation forced a ragged groan from Hongjoong, who let his own head fall back against the couch cushions as Seonghwa began to move again.
Hongjoong was lost in the rhythm, in the feeling of being so deeply connected, when Seonghwa’s voice broke the silence.
"Mine."
The word, so possessive and sure, shocked Hongjoong into a momentary stillness. Before he could process it, Seonghwa whispered again, his lips brushing the shell of Hongjoong’s ear, "All of this... it's only ever been you, Hongjoong. It will only ever be you."
Then, a bit insecure, Seonghwa added, "I love you."
The words, so simple and profound, slammed into Hongjoong with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. The combination of the overwhelming physical sensation and this raw, final confession shattered something deep within him. A hot, silent tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek and getting caught in the fabric of the blindfold. Then another. Seonghwa stilled instantly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
Hongjoong’s only answer was a sharp, upward thrust of his hips, burying himself to the hilt and wrenching a loud, surprised cry from Seonghwa. That was all the confirmation he needed. Hongjoong began to move in earnest, fucking up into that tight heat, the tears now falling freely. This was his problem; once he started crying, he couldn't stop.
He was only vaguely aware of the tears, his entire being focused on the sounds Seonghwa was making. In the moans that grew louder, higher in pitch, the way his nails dug into Hongjoong’s shoulders, the way his body tightened around him, pulling him deeper. He was close, so close.
Suddenly, he heard a sharp, choked cry from Seonghwa and felt him clench violently around him, his legs trembling violently against Hongjoong’s sides. It was too much. Hongjoong came with a groan, his head throwing back so hard the blindfold shifted, slipping down just enough for his blurred vision to capture the sight of Seonghwa above him, his expression utterly fucked-out, beautiful and ruined.
Seonghwa collapsed forward, his head finding its place on Hongjoong’s shoulder again as they both fought for air, their hearts hammering against each other in the quiet room.
After a few minutes, Hongjoong reached up and pulled the blindfold the rest of the way off. He cupped Seonghwa’s face, kissing him deeply, before carefully maneuvering them so Seonghwa was lying spent on the couch. When they parted, Seonghwa looked dazed.
"I came untouched," he murmured, his voice wonderstruck.
"What?" Hongjoong was surprised.
"I don't know, it's never happened to me before.” Seonghwa hid his face in his hands, a blush creeping up his neck. “It felt weird, but your tears... when I saw you like that, I don't know what came over me. I couldn't help it."
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow.
"You're a freak," he said while smiling,
Seonghwa peeked through his fingers. "You are too!"
Hongjoong laughed and leaned in to kiss him once more before pushing himself up to fetch a damp towel from the bathroom and throw the condom. He returned and gently cleaned them both. As he did, Seonghwa’s eyes fell on Hongjoong’s shirt.
"Nooo," he whined softly. "It got a little stained."
Hongjoong followed his gaze to the small, drying mark on the fabric.
"If you like how I look in this shirt, I can always buy more." He shrugged and laughed softly when Seonghwa nodded instantly.
“Stay here,” Hongjoong said after he finished cleaning Seonghwa, and disappeared down the hallway. He returned a minute later with a blanket from his room, shaking it out before draping it over them both as they sank back onto the couch. Seonghwa leaned against the armrest, and Hongjoong settled beside him, resting his head against Seonghwa’s chest. The steady rhythm of Seonghwa’s heartbeat under his ear felt grounding.
They stayed like that for a while. Seonghwa’s fingers moved slowly through Hongjoong’s hair, making him sleepy.
After a few minutes, Hongjoong spoke, his voice muffled against Seonghwa’s chest.
“Did you ever listen to the songs I wrote about you?”
Seonghwa’s hand stilled for a second. Then he let out a small laugh.
“Yeah… I did. Honestly, they made my stomach turn the first time.”
Hongjoong chuckled. “Good.”
“But,” Seonghwa continued, his voice gentler now, “after that, I couldn’t stop listening. It was like having you close again. I kept trying to figure out what every lyric meant, maybe they would tell me something you never said out loud.”
Hongjoong tilted his head up to look at him, his gaze soft. “Did you figure it out?”
“Not really,” Seonghwa said, smiling faintly. “But I think I got close.”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Those two… Fourth of July and Bang the Doldrums, were those the only ones about me?” he asked.
Hongjoong thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“When I was editing the album, I realized I’d put a bit of you in everything,” he laughed. “But yeah. I wrote those two about you.”
Seonghwa hummed, resuming his slow strokes through Hongjoong’s hair.
“I’m glad you decided to talk to me again,” he said quietly. “I’m terrible at taking the first step… but I’m really happy we found our way back.”
Hongjoong turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss against Seonghwa’s chest, right where his heartbeat was strongest.
“Me too,” he whispered.
The room fell into a peaceful silence again. Hongjoong could feel Seonghwa’s warmth and smell the faint trace of his cologne. His mind drifted, thoughts blurring at the edges as his body relaxed completely. For the first time in months, he felt like things were where they were supposed to be.
As sleep began to pull him under, Seonghwa’s hand kept moving gently through his hair. The world outside went on, but for Hongjoong, everything he needed was right there.
....
honestly, deciding on the ending was really hard, mostly because I didn’t want to end it, haha. so there’s a big chance I’ll turn this into a little series and post a few one-shots, because I just can’t say goodbye to this au yet.
if you’d like to see them in different situations, let me know so I can write them in the future!
thank you for accompanying this fic, and for staying with hj through all his endless overthinking. your comments truly mean the world to me!
Matz love languages are insane to me cuz what do you mean Seonghwa is so straight forward with his words & expressing his love for Hongjoong: "You're prettier than this city...My baby angel...My baby superstar, Kim Hongjoong comes first." Meanwhile Hongjoong is absolutely unfazed, as if he hardly even listened to the praise, but he will spill the most poetic,soul-shattering & romantic lines for breakfast: "Seonghwa is beautiful like a peacock, Seonghwa you look like the moon" and/or write a whole ass song for him, and/or buy him his favorite legos as a gift, making Seonghwa cry and fluster.
Seonghwa is the one seemingly okay with physical touch but one can hardly find any clips of Seonghwa initiating contact with Hongjoong. It's always Hongjoong touching him (or at least trying to/according to his diamonds).
Acts of service have been for years & years Seonghwa's thing, but Hongjoong planned their getaway to lake Como, did literally everything, even struggled to cut their food while Seonghwa was holding his sleeve.
As for quality time, Seonghwa recently was about to fly back to Korea before Hongjoong insisted he stayed with him for some fancy, well deserved vacation.
Yall this is real life and we don't all speak love the same way but real love learns the dialect.
What matters is the effort to meet each other halfway.
chapter 7: fourth of july (10,4k)
chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 / 7
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, drinking, anal sex, blowjobs, blindfolding, anal fingering
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, miscommunication
a/n: thank you so much for your patience with this update!!
it took me longer than I expected, and it was honestly a bit tough to write, but I’m really happy with how it turned out.
hope you enjoy it as much as I loved working on it!
fourth of july
originally published on ao3
He could never forget the way Seonghwa made him feel.
The memories of that Fourth of July followed him like smoke, clinging to his skin no matter how much time passed. He didn’t know how many times he’d dreamed of that night, of the way his arms fit perfectly around Seonghwa’s waist from behind. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of his shampoo as Hongjoong buried his face between his shoulders. He could still see Seonghwa’s blissful expression with fireworks exploding in the sky behind him like a cruel metaphor. And worse, the way they stayed wrapped around each other after, their bodies still trembling and hearts slowing in sync. That was what Fourth of July was about: those haunting memories that refused to fade.
“You and I were, you and I were fire…”
As Jongho sang the opening lines, Hongjoong felt the weight of every word settle in his chest. He knew he had to make Seonghwa understand what this meant, what he meant.
It was the fourth of July
You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks
That went off too soon
And I miss you in the June gloom too
Hongjoong kept his eyes on Seonghwa’s silhouette. Even with the stage lights and the noise, he knew Seonghwa was watching him too. It was almost unbearable how much meaning could fit in a single glance.
I'll be as honest as you'll let me
I miss your early morning company
If you get me
You are my favorite what if
You are my best I’ll never know
As the verse went on, Hongjoong found himself wondering what would have happened if they had just talked, if one of them had stayed. Could they have avoided all this pain, or would they have ended up here anyway, standing on opposite sides of a stage pretending to be fine?
And I’m starting to forget
Just what summer ever meant to you
What did it ever mean to you?
He really meant these lyrics, he constantly thought about what summer had meant to Seonghwa. Had it ever meant the same thing it did to him?
Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean any of it
I just got too lonely, lonely
In between being young and being right
You were my Versailles at night
He adjusted the strap of his bass, trying to focus and stay grounded in the rhythm. The crowd was still alive, hands raised, lights flashing. But the rush that usually lifted him was gone; it was all static, numbness, and adrenaline tangled together.
My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars
Again and again 'til I'm stuck in your head
Had my doubts but I let them out
You are the drought
And I'm the holy water you have been without
He looked toward Seonghwa again. How many times had he tried to move on? How many times had he gone back to replay Seonghwa’s voice in his head?
And all my thoughts of you
They could heat or cool the room, and no
Don’t tell me you cried
Oh, honey, you don’t have to lie
After Seonghwa uploaded the video singing, Hongjoong had played it on loop for a long time. He’d asked himself over and over if Seonghwa was hurting too. If the tremor in his voice while singing meant something, or if it was just Hongjoong’s wishful thinking, turning everything into proof. Maybe that video was a message, or maybe it wasn’t. But it kept him awake for nights, wondering if Seonghwa was trying to tell him that he still cared.
The bridge came, and Hongjoong took the mic, moving closer to Jongho and, inevitably, closer to where Seonghwa was. His voice came out raw, it felt like bleeding onstage, opening every wound he’d tried to hide under the lights.
I wish I'd known how much you loved me
I wish I cared enough to know
I’m sorry every song’s about you
The torture of small talk with someone you used to love
His voice cracked. He wasn’t even sure if the mic picked it up, but he knew Seonghwa heard it. He could feel it in the way Seonghwa turned away, but Hongjoong stared back, desperate for him to understand how much it still hurt, yet how much he still hoped. But before he could even breathe again, Seonghwa pushed his chair back.
Hongjoong’s stomach dropped.
Seonghwa stood, looking away, and turned toward the aisle. Someone followed him immediately while he kept shaking his head and walking.
Walking out.
For a moment, Hongjoong just stood there, frozen, the sound around him fading. His hands had stopped moving, the bass hanging heavy against him. Mingi shot him a look from across the stage, nodding toward his instrument to tell him to keep playing, but by the time Hongjoong came back to himself, the song was already ending.
He blinked under the blinding lights, still trying to process what had just happened. After pouring everything out, after turning himself inside out in front of everyone, had it still meant nothing?
He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing until Yunho spoke, trying to continue the show.
“Alright! Let’s keep it going. This next one’s called Sugar, We’re Going Down!”
Cheers and applause.
And all Hongjoong could think was: He’s gone.
He swallowed hard, forcing his lips to move, fingers fumbling against the strings. His hands remembered what his mind didn’t, but every lyric felt wrong, and each chord too sharp. He could still see the back of Seonghwa’s head disappearing
When the final song ended, the others patted his shoulder, smiling for the cameras, shouting thank-yous to the fans. But Hongjoong’s gaze went straight to the spot where Seonghwa had been sitting, now empty.
After the concert, they were all backstage, sorting out the last few details for the remaining shows. By the time they finished, Hongjoong noticed Wooyoung and Yeosang approaching.
“Yo!” Wooyoung called out with his usual energy. “You guys fucking destroyed it out there.”
“We try,” Mingi replied while grinning, his voice still hoarse from screaming through the set.
“That last song sounded insane live,” Yeosang added, his voice softer, but then his eyes met Hongjoong, and suddenly everyone went silent. Everyone could feel how uncomfortable it felt. Mingi glanced between them, then at Hongjoong, like he wanted to break the tension but didn’t know how.
For the sake of peace, for himself and for them, he decided to excuse himself.
“I’ll just… hit the bathroom real quick,” he muttered, forcing a smile.
“Sure,” Yeosang replied too quickly and smiled back.
Hongjoong noticed Yunho raising a brow to him, but he just gave them both a small wave before walking off, his fake smile slipping the moment he turned away.
After a few minutes, Hongjoong finally found the staff-only bathroom. But just as he reached for the door, he caught voices from inside. It was a small space, usually empty, reserved for artists and staff. He was going to turn away to give them privacy, but what he heard made him freeze.
“But how am I supposed to forget him?! Everyone keeps telling me to move on, to get over it, but tell me how? How could I?!”
Hongjoong’s stomach twisted. He knew that voice. He knew it too well.
There was silence after that until he heard someone quietly sobbing. Hongjoong’s hand clenched around the doorframe.
“Sorry, I just feel like I ruined everything… again. I really tried to make it different this time, but I don’t know why I ended up running from it all. I’m sorry for dragging everyone into this… and dragging you too.”
A softer voice responded, gentle and comforting:
“You didn’t ruin anything, and you didn’t drag me. You’re my friend, Seonghwa. I care about you. Don’t try to handle everything on your own, please.”
Then silence again. Hongjoong didn’t hear anything more.
He pressed his back against the cool wall, his breath shallow. The impulse to push the door open, to step in, and say something, anything, was almost unbearable. But he stopped himself. Seonghwa needed privacy.
But most importantly, Hongjoong wasn’t ready to face it. He still felt a little hurt by Seonghwa for walking away, and he was scared he might say something he shouldn’t. So he just looked one last time at the door and walked away.
Three weeks passed.
Hongjoong finally made up his mind: he was going to talk to Seonghwa the first chance he got, whenever their schedules stopped spinning.
Between playing back-to-back shows in Busan and Daegu, and preparing for three last-minute U.S. dates that had been added after their surprisingly large American fanbase asked for it, Lost Signal barely had time to breathe. The chaos, though, was almost a relief.
For the first time in months, Hongjoong didn’t feel consumed by thoughts of Seonghwa. The desperation had eased, replaced by some kind of acceptance.
He even started going out more, which for him was strange. It was just simple things like dinner with his friends, short walks, and he even visited his family. It wasn’t anything special, but it grounded him. He felt like he was learning how to exist again without everything revolving around Seonghwa.
By the end of the third week, Hongjoong was certain of one thing: Seonghwa wasn’t going to be the one to reach out. He probably felt guilty about what had happened, the same way Hongjoong did. They were both caught in this endless loop of waiting for the other to make the first move.
They just needed to talk.
How hard could it be?
…
Apparently, very.
Because now, Hongjoong was sitting at his desk, staring at the piece of paper with Seonghwa’s number on it. It was the one he’d given him the first time they met. He’d found it tucked away in one of his drawers, and somehow, that gave him the push to try talking to him again.
His hands were shaking while his phone screen glowed with the call window open. Then he slumped back in his chair, completely defeated.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s hard.”
Across the room, Yunho was lying on his bed, eating popcorn out of a giant bowl while scrolling on his phone.
“Maybe I should just leave him a message,” Hongjoong said, rubbing his face.
“For stuff like this, it’s better to call,” Yunho replied without looking up.
Hongjoong groaned, letting his forehead drop onto the desk.
“The second I hear his voice, I’m gonna freeze.”
Yunho finally looked over at him. “Then maybe don’t do it tonight. You don’t have to force yourself.”
Hongjoong met his gaze, sighed, and stayed quiet for a moment.
Yunho looked at him for a long second, then grinned.
“Should I tell the others?” he asked.
Hongjoong nodded, already standing to grab his jacket. He didn’t care where they went, he just needed to get out of his head for a while. After a quick chat with the others, they decided to go to their usual bar, and Hongjoong offered to drive.
When they arrived, they took one of the corner tables. The good thing about tonight, and the main reason Hongjoong had picked this place, was that it was a Wednesday evening. The bar was quiet with only a handful of regulars scattered around.
“Alright, what do you guys want?” Hongjoong asked, standing up.
“Beer,” Mingi said immediately, raising a hand.
“Same,” Jongho replied.
“Soju,” Yunho added, leaning back in his chair.
Hongjoong nodded. “Two beers, two sojus. Got it.”
He made his way to the counter, ordered, and leaned against the bar. The bartender nodded and said, “Just a minute, I’ll grab some ice.”
“No rush,” Hongjoong replied.
He sighed, eyes wandering around the dim room, until he heard familiar laughter from near the entrance. When he turned, his stomach dropped.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Jihoon had just walked in with two friends.
Instinctively, Hongjoong tried to turn away, pretending to study the bottles behind the counter, but it was too late. Jihoon spotted him almost instantly. There weren’t many people in the bar, and Hongjoong, standing alone at the counter, was hard to miss.
He smiled and waved. Hongjoong forced a smile back and lifted a hand in return. He felt his ears burn, still feeling guilty. Jihoon said something to his friends and walked over, smiling, and Hongjoong straightened up.
“How have you been?” he asked when he was in front of Hongjoong.
“Better,” Hongjoong replied honestly. “You?”
“College is killing me,” Jihoon laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But, you know, good overall.”
They shared a small laugh, then silence. Hongjoong honestly wanted to run.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Jihoon asked, glancing at the bar.
“Yeah, just waiting for the bartender. He went to get ice.”
Almost on cue, the bartender came back with a tray of two beers, two bottles of soju, and a few glasses. Hongjoong reached for his wallet, but before he could try to balance everything, Jihoon stepped in.
“Here, let me help you carry those,” Jihoon offered.
“Thanks,” Hongjoong replied.
After paying, they reached the table, and Jongho was the first to talk.
“Hyung, what took you so long?” he started, then noticed Jihoon and froze mid-sentence. Mingi and Yunho exchanged looks with their eyebrows raised.
“The bartender went to get ice,” Hongjoong said quickly, setting down the drinks. He gestured toward Jihoon. “This is Jihoon.”
“Hey,” Jihoon said, giving them a small, polite smile.
The others nodded, returning his greeting, but Hongjoong could feel the stares, making him tense.
“Hey, Jihoon, wanna sit over there? It’s a bit quieter,” Hongjoong said, nodding toward one of the empty tables near the back.
He nodded easily, so Hongjoong grabbed his bottle of soju and two shot glasses. Jihoon followed, and Hongjoong exhaled quietly as they sat down. The younger man looked at him, waiting, in a kind of patient, soft look that made Hongjoong chuckle despite himself. He poured Jihoon a shot, then one for himself.
“Here,” he said, sliding the glass over.
Jihoon took it with a small nod, and they both drank.
“Listen… I wanted to apologize for last time.” When the warmth hit his chest, Hongjoong finally spoke. “You’re a really good guy, and I actually had fun with you. You make people feel comfortable, you know? It’s just… things got complicated, and I hate that you got caught up in it. I’ve felt guilty ever since.”
Jihoon looked surprised for a moment, then waved his hands quickly.
“Oh, no, don’t feel bad. Really. I don’t hold it against you at all,” He replied. “It was weird, sure, but I wasn’t upset or anything.”
“Really?” Hongjoong asked, still doubtful.
“Really,” Jihoon said firmly.
“Still,” Hongjoong smiled faintly, holding out his hand, “let me apologize anyway. Properly.”
Jihoon laughed and took it. “Apology accepted.”
They shook hands, both of them laughing quietly after. Hongjoong poured them another round.
“Hey, is it okay if I get your number?” Jihoon asked after a moment, taking out his phone. “I’d like to stay in touch. You’re cool, and I’d like to hang out with you.”
“Yeah, of course,” Hongjoong replied, a little surprised. They exchanged numbers, clinking their glasses once more before Jihoon got up to rejoin his friends.
Hongjoong watched him go, then turned back toward his own table and froze when he saw three other people sitting there. After a deep breath, Hongjoong walked toward them and recognized Yeosang, Wooyoung, and San. His friends exchanged glances as he approached.
“Hey,” he greeted, forcing a small smile. They all returned it, but they also seemed nervous.
“It’s been a while since we were all together,” Hongjoong said, laughing lightly to ease the tension. The others chuckled under their breath, but it did little to loosen the air. He could feel the quiet discomfort threading between them.
“I think…” Yeosang started. “Seonghwa-hyung wants to talk to you.”
Ah, Hongjoong knew it. Of course this was coming.
He turned to his friends, his eyes narrowing slightly as if asking did you know about this? Yunho just met his gaze and subtly nodded toward the door. For a moment, Hongjoong wondered if they’d all planned this.
“…Where is he?” he asked finally.
“Outside. He went for a smoke,” Wooyoung replied, trying to give him a comforting smile.
“Thanks,” Hongjoong said while nodding, then turned and started walking toward the exit.
Fuck.
The way to the door suddenly felt way too long. Every step made his stomach twist tighter, but he’d already decided that he was going to talk to him. Whatever happened next, he’d face it.
When he pushed the door open, the night air rushed over him. He looked around and there he was.
Seonghwa sat near the corner of the building on the ground, his head resting against his knees. A cigarette burned weakly between his fingers while his other hand tangled in his hair like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong called softly as he approached.
Seonghwa’s head lifted at the sound of his voice, startled. The dim streetlight caught the side of his face and Hongjoong froze when he saw his red eyes, he obviously cried.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The smoke curled up between them, disappearing into the cold air.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said again, more quietly this time, stepping closer.
Seonghwa blinked up at him, as if he wasn’t sure whether Hongjoong was real. His cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers before he flicked it aside, and the ember died on the pavement.
“You asked for me,” Hongjoong replied, crouching slightly so their eyes met. “Of course I did.”
A long silence followed. Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, then he looked away, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he was holding back words.
“Why were you with him?” he said suddenly.
Hongjoong frowned. “What?”
“That guy.” Seonghwa’s gaze finally met his again, burning. “I saw you with him the last time too.”
Ah. So that’s what this was.
Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“It wasn’t like that,” he replied.
Seonghwa laughed under his breath. “Sure looked like it.”
“Seonghwa—”
“Forget it,” he cut in, resting his head on his knees again. “Just… go with him if that’s what you want.”
Hongjoong froze. He didn’t know whether to argue or walk away. His heart clenched hard, and he hated that this was the way their first real conversation after weeks was going.
He stared at Seonghwa for a moment longer and realized they weren’t going to get anywhere like this. Seonghwa’s walls were up, his tone brittle, his body tense. If they tried to talk now, it would only end up hurting them more.
So, a bit frustrated, he exhaled and turned as if to leave, took one step, but then he felt trembling fingers curl around his wrist.
Hongjoong turned back slowly to find Seonghwa’s hand clutching his arm like it was the only thing holding him together.
“Please,” Seonghwa whispered, head still buried between his knees. His shoulders shook, and Hongjoong swore he heard him sob. He hesitated, then knelt down beside him.
“No, don’t cry,” he said softly. “I’m not leaving.”
He sat down on the ground next to him, close enough for their knees to touch. For a while, the only sound was Seonghwa’s quiet sobs and the faint buzz of the city around them. His hand never left Hongjoong’s.
When Seonghwa finally lifted his head, his eyes were glassy and red, and Hongjoong felt the urge to hug him.
“Jihoon and I… we’re not anything,” he started, quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was nothing. You don’t have to worry about it.”
Seonghwa swallowed hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
They fell into silence again, waiting for the other to talk. Hongjoong decided it was the moment to confess everything.
“I was just… scared,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “That’s what really happened. I ruined it because I was too insecure. I kept thinking you didn’t feel the same way. And instead of talking to you about it, I started acting like I didn’t care. I thought if I pretended it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t get hurt. But I just…”
He let out a shaky breath before continuing.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this,” he confessed. “And in trying to protect myself, I ended up ruining the one thing I didn’t want to lose.”
Seonghwa looked at him for a long time, the faintest flicker of sadness softening his features.
“I get it,” he said quietly. “You’re not the only one who felt that way.”
He rested his head back against the wall, eyes distant.
“When everything happened between us, I’d just quit my job at the school. It was getting too hard to balance with the band. And… I thought I’d feel free, but…” he sighed. “I don’t know. Every time I stop doing something I’ve done for a long time, it hits me hard, you know? I get stuck in my head. And I kind of… get depressed.”
He smiled at Hongjoong then exhaled.
“And then losing what he had after that just made it worse. I couldn’t even get out of bed for days.” he chucked softly. “It got to a point where my friends dragged me to another country, can you believe that?”
Hongjoong felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest.
“I didn’t know that,” he replied softly. “And I’m sorry. I just made it worse for you, didn’t I?”
“No. Don’t apologize.” Seonghwa shook his head immediately. “If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I wasn’t honest from the beginning. I should’ve told you what I wanted instead of assuming you’d figure it out.”
Then he laughed, embarrassed.
“If I’m being honest… I didn’t plan for anything serious at first,” he confessed. “But that changed faster than I expected. That night when you came to my apartment, sat there and actually listened to my lyrics, and you helped me fix that one verse instead of going straight to sleep with me… I don’t know.”
He started playing with one cigarette in his hand, now avoiding Hongjoong's gaze.
“Something about that moment just… stuck,” he continued. “And then when we went to the park together…” he smiled faintly, “that was it. There was no going back for me after that. I kept telling myself not to feel too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I should’ve said something.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened, his heart beating fast. Then he huffed a small, helpless laugh.
“We’re idiots,” he said finally.
Seonghwa laughed too, and kept playing with the cigarette, still avoiding Hongjoong's eyes.
“So… what now?” Seonghwa asked after a while.
“We can start over,” Hongjoong replied. “If you still want to, and you’re still interested in me.”
Seonghwa looked at him surprised, then let out a small laugh that came from deep in his chest.
“You really think I’m not?” he said, smiling. “For your information, in my twenty-four years of life, this is the first time I’ve ever suffered over someone like this.”
Hongjoong was surprised. He looked at Seonghwa for a moment before shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable,” he said, making Seonghwa laugh again.
Then he reached for his pack of cigarettes, sliding one between his fingers and lighting it with a small flick of his lighter. The flame briefly illuminated his face, and Hongjoong admired him while he took a slow drag, the tip glowing faintly in the dark. Seonghwa then turned to Hongjoong and offered him one, holding it out between two fingers before bringing his own back to his mouth.
Hongjoong didn’t take it. He just looked at the way Seonghwa’s lips curved around the cigarette, at the smoke that slipped past them, curling lazily into the cool air. He leaned a little closer, drawn in before he even realized it. And, without warning, he reached out and plucked the cigarette from Seonghwa’s mouth.
“Hey!” Seonghwa was startled.
But Hongjoong only laughed quietly, his voice low, and set the cigarette between his own lips. He took a slow inhale, exhaling just enough to let the smoke hover between them. Seonghwa’s eyes flicked instantly to his mouth, his throat moving as he swallowed.
They were silent for a moment. The world around them seemed to shrink. Hongjoong took another drag, slower this time. He held the smoke in his mouth and reached out, his fingers finding Seonghwa’s cheek.
Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his hand twitching as if to reach back, and when Hongjoong leaned in closer, until their noses almost touched. Seonghwa met him halfway.
Their lips brushed, a small contact, and Hongjoong exhaled, the smoke slipping from his mouth into Seonghwa’s, who inhaled it. The air between them turned hazy and warm, and the smell of cigarettes and cologne surrounded them.
When they pulled back slightly, both of them laughed softly, breathless. Seonghwa’s eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, the corner of his mouth lifting as he looked at Hongjoong like he was something fragile and familiar all at once.
Then, Seonghwa leaned in again, closing the space between them completely now. Their kiss deepened quickly, slow at first, then more sure, desperate. Hongjoong could taste the faint bitterness of smoke and soju on Seonghwa’s lips.
When they broke apart, still catching their breath, Hongjoong let out a small, dazed laugh.
“Fuck,” he murmured in a barely audible voice. “I missed this.”
Seonghwa smiled faintly, brushing his thumb over Hongjoong’s cheek.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.”
He leaned in again for a short kiss, almost shy this time. After separating, Hongjoong leaned his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, feeling like he couldn't contain his sudden happiness. Neither of them spoke, just watched the distant glow of the city lights in silence while Seonghwa smoked the rest of his cigarette, the faint smell of tobacco mixing with the night air.
“I’ll go to the States for two weeks,” Hongjoong said, his a little insecure.
Seonghwa nodded slowly.
“Maybe we can use that time to think about what we really want,” Hongjoong continued. “And by the time I’m back, my schedule will calm down. And we can start again… properly this time.”
Seonghwa looked at him, with an expression so soft that made Hongjoong's heart ache.
“That sounds good to me,” he replied quietly.
When the cigarette burned down to the filter, Seonghwa dropped it, crushing it under his shoe. Then turned to Hongjoong with a small, content smile.
“Should we go back in?” he asked.
Hongjoong met his gaze and nodded.
“Yeah.”
When they walked back inside, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Everyone’s eyes flicked toward them at once. Wooyoung was the first to talk, leaning forward with a grin that was far too knowing.
“So…”
Seonghwa set his jacket on the back of a chair, looking composed but with the faintest redness still around his eyes.
“We talked,” he simply said.
That didn’t seem to be enough for anyone. The table stayed quiet, their eyes darting between the two until Hongjoong rolled his eyes and muttered, “We’re good.”
A collective sigh of relief spread across both groups. Jongho clapped once, as if a great tension had finally broken. Wooyoung leaned back with an exaggerated groan.
“You have no idea how much he cried over you,” he said, pointing at Seonghwa, who immediately gasped.
“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa warned.
“I’m just saying!” Wooyoung raised his hands in defense. “We were this close to calling a therapist.”
Hongjoong glanced at Seonghwa while everyone laughed, his embarrassment only making him look softer.
“At least you didn’t have to sing his own heartbreak songs,” Jongho added, which caught Hongjoong off guard.
Yunho snorted into his drink. “Oh, but you know those were the best tracks on the album,” he said. “We were all suffering, but at least it was worth it.”
“To our suffering!” San said while raising his glass dramatically.
Everyone echoed the toast, laughter bubbling up as their soju bottles clinked. The teasing continued, crossing between both bands now, and Seonghwa kept laughing at Hongjoong since his face was all red. But he had to admit that he honestly missed all of this: the teasing, laughs, his friends.
The following week, Lost Signal flew out for their three shows in the U.S. The flight was long, but the adrenaline of performing abroad again made it worth it. The audience there was different, even more eager than they’d expected. From the first chord, Hongjoong could feel the energy wrapping around him.
The shows went by fast. For the first time in months, he felt completely himself onstage, he could pour all his energy into the performances now. Between shows, he found himself looking out over the unfamiliar skylines and thinking how far they’d come. Something deep inside him said that their career was only beginning to rise, and that quiet certainty filled him with pride, for all of them.
After the concerts, the band spent a few days exploring the city. Hongjoong and Seonghwa texted every day, keeping things light with casual messages, some songs, and pictures of the city. They both knew the real conversation would happen once they were home.
And true to his word, the first thing Hongjoong did when he landed back in Seoul was text Seonghwa and ask him out for coffee.
He took extra care getting dressed that day: a gray button-up, navy pants, and a jacket that made him look put together without trying too hard. The others noticed right away.
“So you’re going on a date this soon, huh?” Mingi teased, leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s just coffee,” Hongjoong replied, rolling his eyes.
“I can smell your cologne from my room!” Yunho shouted from down the hall.
He ignored them, though a faint smile tugged at his lips as he grabbed his keys. He had to admit that he’d missed the teasing a little.
When he arrived outside Seonghwa’s apartment, he sent a quick text. A moment later, Seonghwa appeared, dressed in black as always. The fitted shirt hugged his frame, and the matching pants sat perfectly at his waist. A soft sweater was thrown over his shoulders, making him look effortlessly elegant.
Hongjoong stepped out of the car and opened the passenger door for him.
“You look good,” he said before he could stop himself.
“So do you,” Seonghwa replied, a smile flickering on his lips as his eyes swept over him. “Gray suits you.”
Hongjoong smiled back.
As they drove, Seonghwa connected his phone to the car and played his playlist. The music filled the silence between them, which still felt familiar and comforting in a way. Strangely, even though months had passed, it felt like nothing had changed between them.
At the café, they found a small table by the window, then ordered two lattes and a slice of strawberry shortcake to share.
“So,” Seonghwa started once they sat down, stirring his coffee absentmindedly, “how was America? Did you like it?”
“Yeah, actually.” Hongjoong smiled. “It was different, but I really liked it. I think we're doing well.”
“That’s good,” Seonghwa said softly, smiling back. “You deserve it.”
They ate quietly for a while, sharing some stories about those months when they didn’t talk, until the silence settled comfortably again. Then Hongjoong leaned back slightly, glancing at Seonghwa.
“Did you think about it?” he asked.
Seonghwa set his coffee down, fingers lingering on the cup before he nodded.
“I did.” He took a breath, making eye contact with Hongjoong before sighing. “If I’m being honest, I’m a bit scared of commitment. I had… a relationship once that really messed with my head. I fell hard for someone, and it ended badly… humiliatingly, actually. Since then, I’ve been afraid of letting myself fall like that again. I always end up running before things get serious.”
He paused, looking down at his hands. “But with you, I couldn’t stop it. I really did fall for you, Hongjoong. And I know it’s not fair to carry my old fears into something new, but I thought you should know.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened, the honesty in Seonghwa’s voice both painful and tender.
“I want to try, though. With you,” Seonghwa continued, his expression softening. “I don’t think there’s a way back from this, honestly,” he said with a small laugh.
Hongjoong smiled, the tension easing.
“What about you?” Seonghwa asked.
“What about me?” Hongjoong echoed, amused. “Well, as you might’ve noticed, I’ve got my own share of insecurities.”
Seonghwa huffed a small laugh, nodding.
“But,” Hongjoong continued, “for you, I want to work on them. I thought I was over that part of myself, but then… well, this was the first time I’d felt that kind of connection again. It made every fear I’ve ever had come crawling back. Still…” he looked at him directly, “I want to try, too.”
A small silence stretched between them before Seonghwa chuckled quietly.
“Wow. Our exes really fucked us up, huh?” he said.
“Yeah, they did,” Hongjoong replied while laughing.
They both smiled, their conversation drifting to small, random things again. After finishing their coffees, they decided to take a short walk before heading back. The air outside had cooled in that tender way it did before sunset, and the sky was streaked with soft pink and amber, casting a gentle light over everything.
They walked side by side in comfortable silence. Hongjoong kept his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, thinking that the silence between them shouldn’t be this peaceful after everything they’d been through, but it did.
As they turned a corner and passed into a small park, something stirred in Hongjoong’s chest. Maybe it was the nostalgia of walking next to Seonghwa again, or maybe it was realizing that just being here with him was what he’d missed the most.
He glanced sideways. Seonghwa was looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets, his profile catching the golden light.
Hongjoong’s heart began to race. The words formed somewhere deep in his chest before he even knew what he wanted to say. He exhaled, stopped walking, and turned to face him. Seonghwa was a little confused as Hongjoong reached out and took his hands.
“Can I be your boyfriend?” Hongjoong asked, feeling his face burn.
For a second, Seonghwa just stared at him. Then, to Hongjoong’s complete disbelief, he started laughing so hard that he had to cover his mouth. His jaw dropped.
“I-I just confessed, and you laugh?”
“I, no, no, I’m sorry!” Seonghwa said between laughs, wiping the corner of his eyes. “It’s just… It’s awkward!”
“Are you saying I’m awkward?” Hongjoong frowned, crossing his arms.
Seonghwa tried to compose himself, still chuckling.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” He took a deep breath, finally calming down, and smiled at him, his eyes still bright from laughter. “Yes. Yes, I’d love that. If you still want to be my boyfriend.”
“No,” Hongjoong squinted at him dramatically. “You laughed at my confession.”
“Nooo,” Seonghwa groaned, leaning in and taking Hongjoong’s cheeks gently between his hands. Hongjoong tried to pout, but Seonghwa only smiled wider, his thumbs brushing his skin softly.
After glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, Seonghwa leaned in and kissed him softly. When he pulled back, he whispered against Hongjoong’s lips, “My boyfriend…”
Hongjoong could feel his ears go red.
“Yeah, that sounds weird,” he muttered, making Seonghwa laugh again.
They continued laughing as they walked.
“So,” Hongjoong said after a while, glancing at him, “where do you want to go now?”
Seonghwa thought for a moment. “Do you want to come over to my place? We can order dinner.”
“Is Yeosang not home?” Hongjoong asked.
“No, he’s with Wooyoung and San,” Seonghwa replied.
“Uh-huh. Why do I feel like you tell him to leave every time I come over? Poor Yeosang.”
Seonghwa gasped dramatically. “No, I’d never do that to him.”
“Sure you wouldn’t,” Hongjoong teased, bumping his shoulder playfully.
They both laughed again, walking back toward the car together.
When they got to Seonghwa’s apartment, everything felt too familiar for Hongjoong. They sat on the couch and, after ordering a pizza, they decided to put on a movie while they waited.
“This time, I’m picking,” Hongjoong said as he scrolled through the options.
“You?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “I feel like you’ll put on something like one of those black and white indie films where no one talks for fifteen minutes.”
“What concept do you have of me?” Hongjoong asked and clicked on La La Land.
“Really?” Seonghwa tilted his head, a little surprised. “I didn’t expect you liked romance movies.”
“I figured you’d like it,” Hongjoong shrugged, settling next to him. “And it’s one of my favorites.”
“I do like it,” Seonghwa admitted quietly, his lips curving into a small smile before standing up. “Wait here, I’ll grab some water.”
As Seonghwa disappeared into the kitchen, Hongjoong leaned back against the couch and let his eyes wander around the room. It looked almost the same as before, too tidy for Hongjoong’s liking. But then, his gaze stopped.
On the shelf by the TV, sitting side by side, were the teddy bear he’d bought for Seonghwa months ago and the unopened Tom Nook’s Cranny LEGO set. Something in his chest tugged. He’d honestly thought Seonghwa would’ve gotten rid of them, or at least shoved them into some forgotten box. But they were still there, out in the open.
When Seonghwa came back with two glasses of water, Hongjoong nodded toward the shelf. “You kept those.”
Seonghwa followed his gaze, then smiled softly. “Of course I did. They’re valuable to me.”
“Valuable?”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, setting the glasses down. “Even if we had never talked again, I wouldn’t have thrown them away. They remind me of you.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, no one outside my friends ever gave me stuff like that. So I really appreciate it.”
“Did you ever build the Lego?” Hongjoong asked, feeling some kind of warmth and ache in his chest.
“Obviously not.” Seonghwa let out a small laugh. “I promised I’d build it with you.”
For a moment, Hongjoong couldn’t find words, just staring at the LEGO box.
“Then…” he started, “why don’t we build it now?”
“Really?” Seonghwa’s face lit up immediately. Hongjoong nodded. “Okay, wait here.”
He got up and returned holding the box, holding it as if it were fragile. Hongjoong sat on the floor while Seonghwa cleared some space on the coffee table. Then he took out the packages of pieces and placed them on the table.
“I’ve never done this before,” Hongjoong looked down at the chaotic pile of tiny colored pieces and frowned. “You’re gonna have to be patient with me.”
“I am always patient with you,” Seonghwa said, beginning to analyze the packages.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Hongjoong murmured, squinting at the instruction booklet like it was written in another language.
They started working, sorting out pieces, and following the tiny diagrams. Within minutes, Hongjoong was scowling.
“This makes no sense!” he muttered, trying to attach two pieces that clearly didn’t fit. “Who makes this stuff? Evil people?”
Seonghwa laughed.
“You just have to find the right piece! Look, this one goes here.” He leaned closer, guiding Hongjoong’s hand. Their fingers brushed, and Hongjoong pretended not to notice how his heartbeat jumped.
Minutes passed, the soundtrack of the movie blending with their voices, laughter, and the click of Lego pieces snapping together.
After a while, Hongjoong sighed. “You’re starting to get frustrated, right?”
“No,” Seonghwa said easily, not looking up from the structure.
“Liar,” Hongjoong teased. “You have that tiny wrinkle between your brows.”
“I’m focused,” Seonghwa replied in a comforting voice. “I’m fine, really. You’re doing great.”
They were halfway through when the doorbell rang. Seonghwa stood up to grab the pizza while Hongjoong stayed there, studying the half-built model with an exaggerated level of concentration. A minute later, Seonghwa came back, balancing the box and two cans of soda.
“Dinner’s here,” he said, setting it down on the table.
The smell of melted cheese filled the room, and they ate as they continued building, alternating between bites and small chat. By the time the Lego set finally started taking shape, the movie had finished. They finally placed the last brick, the tiny store standing perfectly in front of them.
Seonghwa held up the Tom Nook figure, smiling.
“Aww, look at him,” he said, his voice soft with amusement as he set it in front of Hongjoong, who rolled his eyes and pretended to look anywhere else. But he truly loved this side of Seonghwa.
Seonghwa snapped a quick photo of the finished set before Hongjoong helped him move it to the shelf, where Seonghwa carefully made space among his other models. They stood there for a moment, admiring it side by side.
When they finally sat back down, Hongjoong stretched his arms above his head.
“That was harder than I expected,” he said with a small groan.
Seonghwa chuckled, turning slightly to face him, one arm resting on the back of the couch.
“But it was worth it, wasn’t it?” his other hand found Hongjoong’s. “Spending time with your boyfriend.” He said in a teasing tone.
Hongjoong froze. His ears went hot immediately, the word boyfriend echoing in his head once more. Fuck, he felt like a teenager again.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered while covering his face.
Seonghwa laughed immediately at Hongjoong’s reaction, so Hongjoong leaned forward and grabbed Seonghwa by the collar, pulling him in before that laugh could turn into another teasing comment, and their lips met halfway. Seonghwa’s surprise melted quickly, his hand finding the side of Hongjoong’s neck as he smiled into the kiss.
The kiss was sloppy at first, all the pent-up tension making it clumsy. But as the seconds stretched, the desperation began to morph, shifting into a deep, languid sensuality. The frantic pace slowed, and the kisses grew deeper. Hongjoong’s tongue traced the seam of Seonghwa’s lips, and when they parted for him, the world narrowed to the slick, hot slide of their mouths, a slow, intoxicating dance.
When they broke apart to gasp for a breath, their foreheads rested together.
“Come here,” Hongjoong ordered. His hands slid from Seonghwa’s jaw to his shoulders, applying gentle but firm pressure. Seonghwa understood, and with a fluid movement, he shifted, straddling Hongjoong’s lap and settling his weight onto him. The new position was impossibly closer, the heat of their bodies searing through their clothes.
Seonghwa’s arms circled Hongjoong’s shoulders as they dove back into the kiss, now with a new, thrilling intensity. Their hands began to wander, mapping the familiar territory with a fresh, desperate hunger. His palms slid down the strong plane of Seonghwa’s back, feeling the shift and flex of muscle beneath his fitted shirt. Seonghwa, in turn, roamed over Hongjoong’s shoulders and arms, his touch both possessive and reverent.
Driven by a need to feel more, Hongjoong slipped his hands beneath the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt. His fingertips encountered the smooth skin of his lower back, and Seonghwa arched into the touch, gasping. Hongjoong’s hands slid upward, splaying across the taut muscles of Seonghwa’s stomach and back.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a wet, burning path down the column of Seonghwa’s throat. Seonghwa groaned, his head falling back to give him more space. Hongjoong nipped and licked at the sensitive skin, his hands still moving under the shirt.
“Off,” Hongjoong breathed against his damp skin, his fingers hooking into the fabric. “This needs to come off.”
Seonghwa didn’t hesitate, pulling back just enough to grab the hem and pull the shirt over his head in one swift motion. He tossed it aside, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The sight stole the air from Hongjoong’s lungs. In the dim light, Seonghwa’s torso was a masterpiece of sculpted muscle: the sharp cut of his collarbones, the firm swell of his pecs, the tight, defined lines of his abdomen. Hongjoong’s gaze was pure, unadulterated worship.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands returning to their exploration, now on bare skin. He palmed the hard muscles of Seonghwa’s chest, his thumbs brushing over his nipples, which tightened instantly under the touch. Leaning in, he sealed his mouth over one, and Seonghwa cried out, his fingers clenching in Hongjoong’s hair. Hongjoong lavished attention on the left one, then the other, with his tongue and teeth, painting blooming roses onto his honey skin before returning to his neck and shoulders to leave more possessive marks.
Overwhelmed by the sensation, Seonghwa sought Hongjoong’s mouth again, capturing his lips in a deep, searing kiss.
Even through layers of fabric, the friction of their bodies was a delicious torment. Then Seonghwa shifted his hips. A deliberate, slow, grinding roll that pressed the hard line of his own erection against Hongjoong’s.
A sharp, punched-out moan escaped Hongjoong’s lips, his head falling back against the cushions. Seonghwa’s lips curved into a smile against the skin of Hongjoong’s neck. He did it again, this time with more pressure, his hand sliding down from his shoulder to palm him firmly through his pants.
“Seonghwa…” Hongjoong gasped, his hips bucking up involuntarily.
“Shh,” Seonghwa soothed. Hongjoong could feel his gaze as his own face contorted in pleasure, his eyelids fluttering. Seonghwa applied pressure again, rubbing his palm in a slow, maddening circle, feeling the hard length of him twitch in response.
Seonghwa’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze dark and utterly focused. He was drinking in every single one of Hongjoong’s reactions, which made him feel more exposed.
Seonghwa truly had spoiled and ruined him for anyone else. The last person he’d been with like this, the last person who had touched him, known him this much, was Seonghwa. It felt like a lifetime ago, turning the simple touches into something overwhelming.
Without a word, Seonghwa slid off his lap, sinking to his knees on the floor between his legs. His eyes never left Hongjoong’s as his fingers worked open the button and zipper of his pants with practiced ease. He tugged them down just enough, along with his underwear, freeing Hongjoong’s aching erection.
The cool air was a shock, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Seonghwa’s gaze. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over the slick head, making Hongjoong shudder.
Then, Seonghwa took him in, and the world dissolved.
It was sloppy from the first second, gloriously so. Seonghwa’s obvious goal was to overwhelm Hongjoong. He swallowed him down deep, his throat working around the head before pulling back with a lewd, slick sound. Spit slicked his length, dripping down onto his shirt. Seeing the mess on the fabric, Hongjoong’s hands went to his own hem.
"Let me, ah, take this off," he murmured, "so I don't ruin it."
But before he could lift it, Seonghwa’s hand shot out, capturing his. He pulled Hongjoong’s hand away from the shirt.
"No," he said after pulling out, his voice rough. "Don't take it off. I like how it looks on you."
Hongjoong raised his eyebrow, then a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Okay," he conceded. With one hand he lifted his shirt, and the other came up to cradle Seonghwa’s jaw, his thumb stroking the flushed skin of his cheekbone before he gently guided him back down to his cock.
When he continued, his tongue was everywhere: flattening against the underside, tracing the prominent vein, circling the tip before diving back down.
Hongjoong’s free hand flew to Seonghwa’s hair, tangling in the dark strands. His hips stuttered, trying and failing to stay still.
"F-fuck, Seonghwa... just like that," he choked out. He was seeing stars with every skillful swipe of Seonghwa’s tongue, and every deep, throaty hum that vibrated through his very core.
Seonghwa was relentless, bobbing his head with a rhythm that was both punishing and reverent. He’d pull off almost completely, only the tip in his mouth, his tongue playing there, before plunging again, taking him to the hilt, his nose buried in the hair at the base. The sounds of wet gulps, choked gasps, and the slick, rhythmic slide of lips on his erection were filthy.
And Hongjoong could only take it, his release feeling both impossibly distant and terrifyingly close. Seonghwa had ruined him for anyone else, and at this moment, on his knees, he was claiming him all over again. The coil in Hongjoong’s gut tightened unbearably.
"Seonghwa… I'm—" he tried to gasp, but the words were strangled.
Desperate to warn him, Hongjoong’s hands fisted in Seonghwa's dark hair, a sharp tug meant to pull him away. But instead of retreating, Seonghwa groaned and drove himself down further, taking Hongjoong impossibly deeper. Hongjoong could feel the head of his cock nudge the back of Seonghwa’s throat, and the sensation shattered his last shred of control.
"Seonghwa...!" he cried.
His world exploded into blinding white, his body arching off the couch. Through the haze, he was dimly aware of Seonghwa swallowing around him, refusing to let a single drop escape. He didn't stop until Hongjoong was completely spent, sensitive and trembling, before finally pulling away with a final, wet pop.
Then he stood up and captured Hongjoong’s lips in a deep, slow kiss, allowing him to taste himself on Seonghwa's tongue.
"Wait," Seonghwa murmured when they parted for air. He disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Hongjoong sprawled on the couch, trying to reclaim his breath and his sanity.
And when he returned, in his hands was a small box of condoms and a bottle of lubricant. Without a word, Seonghwa shed his trousers and underwear, his erection springing free. Hongjoong felt his mouth water at the sight, his eyes drinking in the elegant length of him.
Seonghwa positioned himself over Hongjoong again, straddling his hips. Hongjoong’s hands instinctively rose to Seonghwa’s chest, mapping the warm skin. Seonghwa took one of his hands, lacing their fingers together for a moment, a surprisingly tender gesture. Then, he moved, reached for the lubricant, and poured a generous amount over Hongjoong’s fingers, making them slick and cool, before guiding that hand down between his own legs.
"Go on," Seonghwa breathed, his eyes locked with Hongjoong's.
Hongjoong groaned as his fingertip pressed against his entrance. Seonghwa hissed at the sensation, his body tensing for a second before relaxing into the touch. He guided Hongjoong’s finger inside, the first knuckle, then deeper, until he was fully adjusted.
Only then did Seonghwa guide a second finger beside the first, a sharp moan escaping his lips. This time, Hongjoong took the lead. He began to move, scissoring his fingers. Hongjoong watched, utterly captivated, as he worked to open him up, each push earning a soft, ragged sigh. The tight heat around his fingers was overwhelming, and he focused on the way Seonghwa’s body yielded for him, becoming pliant and receptive.
When he was sure Seonghwa was ready, Hongjoong pressed forward with a third finger, and the effect was immediate. A broken, throaty moan was torn from Seonghwa’s lips, his back arching off as he was filled completely. It was then, watching Seonghwa come undone under the stretch of three fingers, that Hongjoong started to truly admire him. He was mesmerized by the flutter of his eyelashes against his flushed skin, his lips parting around silent gasps, the elegant line of his throat as his head fell back in a low, pleased sigh. He realized, with a sudden clarity, that he had never truly admired how perfectly the black hair framed Seonghwa's expressive face.
His detailed observation was interrupted when Seonghwa let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the intense atmosphere.
"Sorry," Seonghwa murmured, a little breathless. "It's just... it's been a long time since someone looked at me like that."
Hongjoong didn't stop his intense gaze; if anything, he doubled down, watching with satisfaction as Seonghwa’s blush deepened.
Flustered, Seonghwa suddenly asked, "Can I try something?"
"What is it?" Hongjoong’s voice was rough.
Seonghwa shifted, pulling Hongjoong’s fingers out and drawing a whimper from him. He leaned over to the side table, and when he turned back, he was holding a simple black blindfold. Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, questioning him.
"It's not for what you think,” he smiled. “We use them for one of our shows."
He hesitated, his own confidence wavering for a second.
"Can I put it on you? You can say no."
Hongjoong considered it. He’d never tried anything like it, but he found he wasn't closed off to the new experience.
"Okay," he agreed.
Seonghwa leaned in and carefully placed the blindfold over Hongjoong's eyes, not tying it too tightly. Hongjoong felt a bit anxious at the sudden loss of sight, but it was instantly quelled when Seonghwa’s lips found his in a soft, reassuring kiss.
"Just feel," Seonghwa whispered against his mouth, and Hongjoong surrendered to the sensation.
The world dissolved into a symphony of touch and sound. A slick, lubed hand closed around his cock, stroking, and Hongjoong jolted. He realized that, deprived of sight, the sensation was magnified tenfold.
"You look so hot like this," Seonghwa's voice was a low thrum, vibrating through the darkness, and Hongjoong could only gasp in response, his head falling back against the couch. "I'm gonna put it in."
Hongjoong managed a jerky nod, his breath hitching. He heard the rustle of foil, the soft snap of the condom being rolled on, and then the cool shock of more lubricant being poured onto him.
"We should get tested soon,” Seonghwa spoke again. “Now that we're exclusive... I really want to feel that cock inside me completely."
A guttural groan was ripped from Hongjoong’s throat. He felt the couch dip as Seonghwa positioned himself over him, his hands guiding Hongjoong’s erection. Then, he felt the most exquisite, maddening pressure at his tip, followed by the slow, breathtaking slide as Seonghwa began to sink down.
A shared moan filled the air, and Hongjoong couldn't tell where his ended and Seonghwa's began. It was a tight, wet, impossible heat, sheathing him completely. His hands flew to Seonghwa’s waist, gripping the sharp bones of his hips.
Seonghwa began to move, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips that made Hongjoong shut his eyes. But then the pace quickened, building into a rhythm that had Hongjoong gasping for air, his head thrown back against the cushions. As he adjusted his own position slightly on the couch, a sharp, broken whimper tore from Seonghwa’s lips, and Hongjoong felt him clench hard around him. He’d found the spot.
His grip on Seonghwa’s hips tightened, his fingers pressing into the honey skin as he began to thrust upward, aiming for that exact, sensitive place again and again, faster now. A string of high-pitched, desperate moans fell from Seonghwa’s lips, each one climbing higher in pitch and volume than the last. Hongjoong could hear the slick, frantic sounds of Seonghwa touching himself.
They continued like that for a while, until Hongjoong felt Seonghwa’s entire body tense. The tightness around him became almost unbearable a second before Seonghwa let out a gasp, his legs trembling violently and clamping tightly around Hongjoong’s thighs as he fell apart. Only then did Hongjoong still his movements, slowing as Seonghwa rode out the last waves of his climax.
He sought Seonghwa’s face with his clean hand, cupping his jaw, and pulling him down into a deep, messy kiss. When they parted, breathless, Hongjoong’s voice was raw.
"Let me... I'll take care of it," he panted, suggesting Seonghwa get off so he could finish himself since he didn’t feel close.
But Seonghwa only rose up almost completely, only to sink back down with a devastatingly deep thrust. A soft, breathy moan escaped directly into Hongjoong’s ear. Seonghwa’s forehead came to rest on his shoulder, his entire body going pliant and heavy. The sensation forced a ragged groan from Hongjoong, who let his own head fall back against the couch cushions as Seonghwa began to move again.
Hongjoong was lost in the rhythm, in the feeling of being so deeply connected, when Seonghwa’s voice broke the silence.
"Mine."
The word, so possessive and sure, shocked Hongjoong into a momentary stillness. Before he could process it, Seonghwa whispered again, his lips brushing the shell of Hongjoong’s ear, "All of this... it's only ever been you, Hongjoong. It will only ever be you."
Then, a bit insecure, Seonghwa added, "I love you."
The words, so simple and profound, slammed into Hongjoong with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. The combination of the overwhelming physical sensation and this raw, final confession shattered something deep within him. A hot, silent tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek and getting caught in the fabric of the blindfold. Then another. Seonghwa stilled instantly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
Hongjoong’s only answer was a sharp, upward thrust of his hips, burying himself to the hilt and wrenching a loud, surprised cry from Seonghwa. That was all the confirmation he needed. Hongjoong began to move in earnest, fucking up into that tight heat, the tears now falling freely. This was his problem; once he started crying, he couldn't stop.
He was only vaguely aware of the tears, his entire being focused on the sounds Seonghwa was making. In the moans that grew louder, higher in pitch, the way his nails dug into Hongjoong’s shoulders, the way his body tightened around him, pulling him deeper. He was close, so close.
Suddenly, he heard a sharp, choked cry from Seonghwa and felt him clench violently around him, his legs trembling violently against Hongjoong’s sides. It was too much. Hongjoong came with a groan, his head throwing back so hard the blindfold shifted, slipping down just enough for his blurred vision to capture the sight of Seonghwa above him, his expression utterly fucked-out, beautiful and ruined.
Seonghwa collapsed forward, his head finding its place on Hongjoong’s shoulder again as they both fought for air, their hearts hammering against each other in the quiet room.
After a few minutes, Hongjoong reached up and pulled the blindfold the rest of the way off. He cupped Seonghwa’s face, kissing him deeply, before carefully maneuvering them so Seonghwa was lying spent on the couch. When they parted, Seonghwa looked dazed.
"I came untouched," he murmured, his voice wonderstruck.
"What?" Hongjoong was surprised.
"I don't know, it's never happened to me before.” Seonghwa hid his face in his hands, a blush creeping up his neck. “It felt weird, but your tears... when I saw you like that, I don't know what came over me. I couldn't help it."
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow.
"You're a freak," he said while smiling,
Seonghwa peeked through his fingers. "You are too!"
Hongjoong laughed and leaned in to kiss him once more before pushing himself up to fetch a damp towel from the bathroom and throw the condom. He returned and gently cleaned them both. As he did, Seonghwa’s eyes fell on Hongjoong’s shirt.
"Nooo," he whined softly. "It got a little stained."
Hongjoong followed his gaze to the small, drying mark on the fabric.
"If you like how I look in this shirt, I can always buy more." He shrugged and laughed softly when Seonghwa nodded instantly.
“Stay here,” Hongjoong said after he finished cleaning Seonghwa, and disappeared down the hallway. He returned a minute later with a blanket from his room, shaking it out before draping it over them both as they sank back onto the couch. Seonghwa leaned against the armrest, and Hongjoong settled beside him, resting his head against Seonghwa’s chest. The steady rhythm of Seonghwa’s heartbeat under his ear felt grounding.
They stayed like that for a while. Seonghwa’s fingers moved slowly through Hongjoong’s hair, making him sleepy.
After a few minutes, Hongjoong spoke, his voice muffled against Seonghwa’s chest.
“Did you ever listen to the songs I wrote about you?”
Seonghwa’s hand stilled for a second. Then he let out a small laugh.
“Yeah… I did. Honestly, they made my stomach turn the first time.”
Hongjoong chuckled. “Good.”
“But,” Seonghwa continued, his voice gentler now, “after that, I couldn’t stop listening. It was like having you close again. I kept trying to figure out what every lyric meant, maybe they would tell me something you never said out loud.”
Hongjoong tilted his head up to look at him, his gaze soft. “Did you figure it out?”
“Not really,” Seonghwa said, smiling faintly. “But I think I got close.”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Those two… Fourth of July and Bang the Doldrums, were those the only ones about me?” he asked.
Hongjoong thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“When I was editing the album, I realized I’d put a bit of you in everything,” he laughed. “But yeah. I wrote those two about you.”
Seonghwa hummed, resuming his slow strokes through Hongjoong’s hair.
“I’m glad you decided to talk to me again,” he said quietly. “I’m terrible at taking the first step… but I’m really happy we found our way back.”
Hongjoong turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss against Seonghwa’s chest, right where his heartbeat was strongest.
“Me too,” he whispered.
The room fell into a peaceful silence again. Hongjoong could feel Seonghwa’s warmth and smell the faint trace of his cologne. His mind drifted, thoughts blurring at the edges as his body relaxed completely. For the first time in months, he felt like things were where they were supposed to be.
As sleep began to pull him under, Seonghwa’s hand kept moving gently through his hair. The world outside went on, but for Hongjoong, everything he needed was right there.
....
honestly, deciding on the ending was really hard, mostly because I didn’t want to end it, haha. so there’s a big chance I’ll turn this into a little series and post a few one-shots, because I just can’t say goodbye to this au yet.
if you’d like to see them in different situations, let me know so I can write them in the future!
thank you for accompanying this fic, and for staying with hj through all his endless overthinking. your comments truly mean the world to me!
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, hwa!bottom)
explicit
wc: 16,3k
summary:
Hongjoong had started to notice it: Seonghwa was thinking about marriage.
Or, the one where they buy promise rings in Milan and get married.
genre: canon compliant, established relationship, 18+smut, 'wedding' ceremony, a lot of fluff
tags: marriage, fluff, insecurity, promise rings, anal sex, anal fingering, thigh riding, porn with (a lot of) plot, lingerie, butt plug, mirror sex
a/n: I know I should be finishing the last chapter of my other fic, but this idea completely took over my brain. I hope you enjoy it!
originally published on ao3
Hongjoong had started to notice it about a month ago.
Seonghwa had always been a little sentimental, even if he didn’t always want to admit it. He liked to watch romance movies and listen to love songs on repeat, which was normal for him. But lately, it felt… different.
The first time Hongjoong realized something was off was when they were curled up on the couch after a long, exhausting schedule. Hongjoong usually lets Seonghwa pick what to watch since he knows he’d probably fall asleep halfway through anyway. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just that his body gave out before the movie ever did. He’d drift off against Seonghwa’s shoulder, comforted by the steady rhythm of his breathing.
That night was no different, except that when he woke up near the end of the film, there was a wedding scene playing. The couple was exchanging vows, with the girl crying and everything; it was the kind of scene that made all the girls sigh. Hongjoong, still groggy, was never much for romance movies.
But then he felt Seonghwa shift, so he turned his head and noticed that Seonghwa’s eyes were glassy, shimmering like he was about to cry. As soon as he noticed Hongjoong was awake, he smiled, as if nothing had happened.
“You’re up,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to Hongjoong’s forehead. Hongjoong studied his face for a moment, but Seonghwa’s attention was back to the movie.
The second incident occurred a few days later, when they were walking through a busy commercial district after a shoot, slipping away from the rest of the members for a brief moment. Hongjoong had wanted to check out a new clothing store that had just opened, and Seonghwa tagged along.
They chatted with the managers as they walked, wearing their masks and caps to blend into the crowd. But when they reached a boutique on the corner, Hongjoong felt the subtle tug as Seonghwa slowed beside him.
It was a bridal shop; the window was lined with beautiful and elegant gowns. Seonghwa’s gaze stayed there for a few seconds until Hongjoong squeezed his hand gently, reminding him to keep moving.
“You’ll make people wonder if you keep staring,” he murmured, looking around.
Seonghwa was slightly startled, then looked at Hongjoong before he let out a soft laugh.
“Sorry,” he whispered, though the tone in his voice said he wasn’t all that sorry. He glanced again at the window before turning back to Hongjoong. “They’re just beautiful.”
Hongjoong looked at him for a moment and only managed a quiet hum in response, tugging Seonghwa forward, who followed him easily. But the look in his eyes, his quiet longing, haunted Hongjoong for days.
And finally, what really gave it away, the moment Hongjoong couldn’t ignore the signs anymore, was when he gifted the members the team rings.
He had worked for weeks designing them, wanting to give the members something to show his appreciation. When he handed them out, he was proud, nervous, and excited to see their reactions. The others reacted just as he hoped, with surprise, laughing, and thanking Hongjoong. They slid the bands onto their fingers immediately, showing them off to one another.
But Seonghwa’s reaction was a bit different.
He held the ring in his hand a little longer, his expression unreadable at first. There was surprise, yes, and affection too, but beneath it was something deeper. Something too vulnerable, as though the simple silver band carried a meaning heavier than anyone else realized. He turned it over carefully, slipped it onto his finger, and then couldn’t seem to stop staring at it.
Later, they were alone, sprawled across Seonghwa’s bed. Hongjoong lay on his back, scrolling through his phone, while Seonghwa rested beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Hongjoong noticed Seonghwa raising his hand, holding it toward the light, still admiring the ring.
“Do you like it that much?” Hongjoong asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though there was a trace of nervousness beneath it.
“Yeah,” Seonghwa nodded, with his eyes still fixed on the silver band. Then, after a pause, he lowered his hand and glanced at Hongjoong. “Can I ask you something?”
Hongjoong locked his phone and turned his head. “What?”
“Ignore me if it’s weird, but… what do you think about marriage?” Seonghwa’s tone was hesitant.
Hongjoong was caught off guard. “Marriage? Why?” he asked.
Seonghwa looked at him for a moment, then let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“It’s nothing. One of my friends got married recently, and it made me think about it for a second. Don’t mind me,” he waved it off and smiled at Hongjoong to reassure him.
Hongjoong blinked in confusion, then opened his mouth, but all that came out was a quiet, “Oh.”
Seonghwa chuckled under his breath, leaning closer and kissing Hongjoong gently.
“Thank you for the ring,” he whispered against his lips.
And in that moment, Hongjoong understood.
The signs now were undeniable.
The realization should have made him feel a little excited, but instead, it left him anxious.
They had been together, officially, for four years now. He remembered clearly the night Seonghwa had confessed that he’d been drawn to Hongjoong from the very first moment they met. Hongjoong had been surprised. Back then, he thought Seonghwa seemed a little cold, distant even. Still, he couldn’t deny how strikingly handsome he was; it was the kind of beauty that caught your eye, whether you wanted it to or not.
Eventually, things between them began to shift. Being roommates made it hard not to grow attached, especially with the intimacy of sharing a space together. But between the endless pressure Hongjoong carried as leader, the constant demand for perfection, to stand out, the packed schedules, events, and practices, there was barely any time to process what they were feeling.
It got to a point where, one night after too much drinking, one thing led to another. What started as a kiss escalated quickly, until they crossed a line neither of them had talked about before. By morning, no one mentioned it. They went about their day pretending nothing had happened, though Hongjoong avoided Seonghwa as much as he could.
It wasn’t until Seonghwa, being the brave one, cornered Hongjoong one evening and asked outright what was happening between them. He had his reasons even before hooking up, obviously. Both of them enjoyed a little fanservice now and then, especially since it seemed to make their fans happy. But even for Hongjoong, who had always been careful about drawing lines, it had started to blur. Especially when mixed with feelings he had been burying for years.
So they decided to give it a name, to call it a ‘relationship’ and see where it would go. And honestly, not much changed. They were still the same, just added a few more kisses, touches, and, on the nights they weren’t too tired, sex. Even the other members asked what the hell they had been before, since they already looked like a couple.
Their story was messy; it always had been, and the thought of marriage only tangled things further. Not because Hongjoong didn’t want it; if he was being honest, the idea had lived quietly in him for years. He dreamed of the permanence and the vow that said Seonghwa was his in ways the world couldn’t question. But realistically? Marriage was impossible for them.
All the members valued their fans deeply, and while there was no strict dating ban, they all understood what a dating scandal could do. Add to that the fact that they weren’t just any couple: they were both men, both idols, both members of the same group, and the risk multiplied. Hongjoong didn’t fear the fans’ reactions so much as the industry’s: the backlash from the media, the judgment from the public, the way it could endanger everything they’d worked for. Hongjoong didn’t care much for their opinions, but if any of it hurt the members, and especially Seonghwa, then it wasn’t a risk he could take.
And then there was the simple truth: in South Korea, marriage between two men wasn’t even legal.
What unsettled him most wasn’t just the impossibility, but the fear it bred inside him. The part of him that whispered in the night, when he couldn’t stop overthinking: What if Seonghwa gets tired? What if he wanted more than what Hongjoong could give? What if he left in search of someone who could offer him the wedding, the family, the future he seemed to dream about?
The idea of Seonghwa marrying a woman and starting a conventional life gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. Rationally, he knew better. Seonghwa had always dated men; he’d even introduced Hongjoong, reluctantly, to a few exes long ago, and each meeting was enough to twist Hongjoong’s stomach with jealousy he hadn’t understood at the time.
Still, he was a bit insecure. In the rare moments when Hongjoong voiced his fears before, Seonghwa had reassured him. Seonghwa always knew how to steady him and quiet his thoughts. Hongjoong trusted him, he always had, and yet…
With a heavy sigh, Hongjoong dropped his forehead onto the desk in his studio. His notebook lay open in front of him, and his computer was playing a demo he was trying to work on, but his thoughts kept circling, refusing to give him peace.
Marriage…
Just as Hongjoong was lost in thought, the door slid open.
“Hyung, have you seen Mingi?” Yunho said as he stepped inside, but when Hongjoong looked up, he froze mid-step and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Hongjoong said, trying not to worry Yunho, but he didn’t look convinced.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because earlier, when I saw Seonghwa hyung, he seemed kind of… off. I don’t know.”
Hongjoong’s brow furrowed, and he sat up a little straighter, tucking his hands into his lap. “Distant? What do you mean? Is he… not okay?”
Yunho exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just… did you two fight or something?”
Hongjoong shook his head, letting out a quiet sigh.
“No, it’s not that,” Hongjoong replied. “It’s just… there’s something that’s been stressing me out lately, and…” He trailed off, unsure.
Yunho waited, but when Hongjoong didn’t continue, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hongjoong hesitated. Usually, the only person he confided in was Seonghwa. He could tell him everything, and Seonghwa would always reassure him and calm him down. But this time, Seonghwa couldn’t help since he was a big part of the stress itself.
He swallowed, staring down at his hands. Yunho took a small step closer, and that gentle movement was all it took for Hongjoong to finally make a decision.
“…I guess I should tell you,” he said softly. “It’s been weighing on me for a while, and I need your perspective.”
He began to speak, carefully at first, and then with more honesty as he continued. He told Yunho everything, and he listened quietly, nodding constantly, letting Hongjoong speak uninterrupted. When he finally finished, Yunho leaned back slightly.
“…That’s it?” he said.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Hongjoong replied, and it came out a bit defensive.
Yunho chuckled, shaking his head softly. “Sorry, hyung. But honestly… seeing you two like I did, genuinely, I thought you’d had a big fight. I was starting to get worried.”
Hongjoong let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just me overthinking, I guess.”
Yunho exhaled, leaning against the doorframe, his tone more serious now. “Look… this is something you need to talk to Seonghwa hyung about. I mean, not necessarily right this minute, but… this is something important,” he looked directly at Hongjoong. “You don’t seem to hate the idea of marriage, but you need to decide if it’s something you really want, and see if Seonghwa hyung is serious about it.”
Hongjoong nodded slowly, and seriously considered it when Yunho left. He glanced at the calendar on the wall, seeing the upcoming dates for tour preparations and schedules. A sigh escaped him. He wasn’t ready to deal with this fully just yet. The thought would have to wait.
Honestly, after the North America leg of the tour, the stress of the final months of the year, and the pressure of starting a new one, it was easy to forget about everything else. When Hongjoong and Seonghwa had time, they simply collapsed into bed together, slept, and then got up to continue with their routines. That was normal when they were busy; nothing unusual, nothing to worry about.
Until the Europe tour.
In Italy, after their concert, Hongjoong saw his chance. They had a little more time before they had to leave for Fashion Week in France, and he decided to use it. He planned a small surprise trip so they could spend some time together. They said goodbye to the other members, who were heading off to the next stop in Switzerland, while Hongjoong and Seonghwa stayed behind.
Their managers didn’t mind and even suggested they film some of their time in Milan for a vlog before giving them the night off. Hongjoong didn’t care much about the cameras; he actually liked recording content, and besides, he really enjoyed being around the managers too. Seonghwa did as well.
They spent the morning wandering, having breakfast, and buying train tickets. The hours slipped away between filming, talking, and improvising their way through the day. By the time the sun began to set, the managers told them they had the night free, as long as they were back early to catch their ride to France in the morning.
They agreed easily, choosing to stroll through Milan’s streets before heading back. At Hongjoong’s suggestion, they went to a restaurant they’d been to once before, tucked into a corner table, and ordered some light dinner with a bottle of wine to share.
“It still feels surreal,” Seonghwa said after the waitress brought the wine, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Everything we did last year. Sometimes I wonder if it really happened at all.”
Hongjoong watched him with a small smile. “Yeah, I can’t believe it either,” he said, looking at the window, watching the city. “I hope this year will be kinder to us.”
Seonghwa smiled softly and raised his glass. “To us. To our members.”
They clinked glasses lightly.
After a moment, Hongjoong let his chin rest on his hand, watching the way Seonghwa’s expression turned thoughtful under the soft lights. The words slipped out before he could think.
“I’m really happy I get to start another year with our members… and with you.”
Seonghwa stilled the glass halfway to his lips, and then set it down carefully. He studied Hongjoong across the table and smiled. “You’re sentimental tonight.”
“It’s the wine,” Hongjoong replied, swirling his own glass, but he couldn’t hold his smile.
Seonghwa laughed. “I don’t think that’s the only reason.”
Hongjoong chuckled softly, a little embarrassed, and turned his gaze toward the window. But Seonghwa leaned forward with his eyes fixed on him, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, his hand brushing against Hongjoong’s cheek. “I like it when you’re like this.”
The wine made everything worse. Hongjoong dropped his gaze to the rim of his glass, trying to hide how quickly his heart was racing, though his ears burned red. Even after all this time Seonghwa still made him nervous.
“You’re the one being sentimental,” he muttered, his tone shy.
Seonghwa laughed softly, fondly, and Hongjoong found himself staring at him with admiration. He wanted to kiss him so badly, but they were still in public. So instead, he slipped his hand into Seonghwa’s under the table and changed the subject.
The meal stretched late into the evening, and when they finally left the restaurant, the air outside was cool, and the streets glowed with warm light that made everything feel a little more intimate. They walked side by side, close enough that their hands brushed with every step.
And then, by sheer coincidence, they passed by a jewelry store.
The window was lined with elegant displays of rings and necklaces. Seonghwa slowed when something caught his eye. A pair of rings. They weren’t exactly like the ones Hongjoong had designed for the group, but there was something about them that reminded him. He leaned closer to the glass, raised the hand where he had his ring, and smiled.
“It’s almost like we’re married, you know?” Seonghwa said while comparing them.
Hongjoong froze. It had been a while since Seonghwa had mentioned marriage, and now all those thoughts came rushing back. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just the moment, but before he could think, the words tumbled out.
“Would you marry me?”
Seonghwa’s head whipped around in surprise, his eyes wide. “W-what?”
“I mean, sorry.” Hongjoong’s face flushed instantly, and he stumbled over his words. “That came out weird. It’s just… a few months ago, you seemed so interested in marriage.”
Seonghwa’s gaze softened as he turned back to the display. For a moment, he was quiet.
“I dreamed about it for a while,” he said softly, almost sad. “I’ve always liked the idea of marriage. I know it’s impossible for us, but still… I let myself imagine it, just for a moment.”
That tugged at something in Hongjoong’s chest. He wanted to give Seonghwa everything he wanted, and it hurt knowing this felt so far out of reach.
“In different circumstances, would you?” he asked, his voice smaller than before. Then, a little more insecurely: “With me?”
Seonghwa turned to look at him again, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Why are you putting so much emphasis on the ‘with me’?”
Hongjoong shrugged nervously, letting out a small laugh as he rubbed at his neck. “I don’t know. Just wondering.”
Seonghwa studied him for a long moment, then smiled and reached for his hand.
“Hongjoong, you are the only one,” he said quietly. “You’ll always be the only one. If I could choose, I’d spend this life and every other with you.” His thumb brushed over Hongjoong’s knuckles, then searched for his eyes and smiled.
“Of course I would marry you,” He finished, looking directly at Hongjoong.
Hongjoong felt the words settle deep in his chest, so raw and so full of certainty that they left him momentarily breathless. He felt his face burn, so he looked away, searching for anything to distract himself.
And when Hongjoong finally looked back, his eyes caught again on the jewelry store. His heart hammered in his chest, and he didn’t know where the courage came from, maybe from the wine, but the words tumbled out anyway.
“What would you think if, right now, I told you we should go in and buy rings?”
Seonghwa was startled. “What?”
“We should buy rings,” Hongjoong repeated, his voice steadier this time. “For you and me. If we can’t have anything more, at least… at least we’d have something that symbolizes our love… or whatever.”
Seonghwa glanced back at the display, then at Hongjoong again with wide eyes. The sight of Hongjoong’s face all red made him burst into laughter until Hongjoong nudged him in protest. Seonghwa’s eyes were still shining when he reached for Hongjoong’s arm, his touch gentle.
“Let’s go, then,” he murmured, tugging him toward the door, and Hongjoong’s heart nearly burst from the simple, devastating sweetness of it.
The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside the jewelry store. The light was warm, golden, reflecting off glass cases lined with rings that sparkled. It seemed luxurious. Hongjoong swallowed, suddenly feeling really nervous but determined, so he walked up to the counter.
“Good evening,” he said. “Could you show us some engagement rings?” he asked carefully, in his best English.
The young woman behind the counter smiled and nodded, laying out a selection on a velvet tray. Seonghwa got close, watching them attentively as Hongjoong asked question after question, about sizes, about designs, about durability, and some recommendations.
They tried on a few, but some were too plain, others too heavy. Honestly, the men's options weren't that great. But then Hongjoong spotted it: a band of white gold, sleek and elegant, with a small star set in the center of a single diamond. He didn't know how to describe it, but it was just too Seonghwa. The card read: 18ct White Gold Single Star Diamond Set Wedding Ring. 6mm Wide. Something about it caught his breath.
“Do you like this one?” Hongjoong asked Seonghwa in Korean.
He turned the ring between his fingers, and analyzed it for a moment, then smiled at Hongjoong.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
Hongjoong made a mental note that later, when he had time, he’d design something more unique, something only Seonghwa could have. But for now, this felt perfect.
When the rings were chosen and fitted, Hongjoong hesitated before asking, “Um… could we engrave them inside now?” He glanced apologetically at the clerk. “We have to leave tomorrow morning.”
The woman glanced at the clock, biting her lip. “Normally, it takes longer. But…” She looked at the two of them, and gave them a soft smile. “We can make an exception. What do you want to engrave?”
Hongjoong’s heart leapt. “Just our initials.”
She nodded and gave them a paper to write them. They watched as the rings disappeared briefly, only to return with the faintest etching inside: KJH & PSH. Seonghwa held the small box carefully, like it was fragile.
After thanking the clerk profusely, they left the shop and wandered through the streets of Milan, feeling a bit awkward, the night air cool against their cheeks. Hongjoong was admiring the view, when he noticed the cathedral in the distance, and he had an idea.
“Come,” Hongjoong said suddenly, tugging Seonghwa’s arm, and together they walked toward it.
They found a quieter spot around the back, where only a few passersby drifted through. They were lucky it was a Tuesday since there were less tourists.
After settling in silence, they opened the small box. Seonghwa was the first to move, he grabbed the ring with his initials and slid the ring onto Hongjoong’s finger. Then Hongjoong did the same with the other ring, his throat tightening as the cool metal met Seonghwa’s skin.
For a moment, they just stood there, looking down at their hands, then back at each other. Hongjoong saw Seonghwa’s eyes glistening, and it broke him in the gentlest way.
“I’ll design you something better later,” Hongjoong said to ease the tension a bit.
Seonghwa shook his head, and Hongjoong noticed some tears on the corner of his eye. “I love this one.”
Something inside Hongjoong ached with the need to close the space between them. He glanced around. When he confirmed they were alone, he reached up, cupped Seonghwa’s cheek, and guided him down just enough to press his lips to his.
Seonghwa laughed softly against his mouth when their glasses got in their way, so they took them off and kissed again. But when they pulled apart, some tears spilled down Seonghwa's cheeks.
“No, no, don’t cry,” Hongjoong whispered, feeling panic and affection colliding as he brushed Seonghwa’s face with his trembling fingers.
“I can’t help it,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… I’m so thankful, Hongjoong. For you. For the way you always take care of me, even when you don’t realize you’re doing it. For the way you see me. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you in my life.”
Hongjoong’s eyes burned instantly, and he felt his throat closing. “Stop, now you’re making me cry.”
Seonghwa laughed again, and pulled Hongjoong into a tight embrace, and stayed like that. Two men pressed close under the shadow of the cathedral, both wiping at their faces and laughing, Hongjoong thought about how ridiculous they must look to anyone passing by, but didn't care.
When they finally stopped crying, they walked back toward the hotel. Their hands brushed until Seonghwa laced their fingers together, and admired their rings.
The moment they stepped into the apartment, Seonghwa closed the door behind them and captured Hongjoong’s lips in a kiss. They spent the whole day with stolen glances, light touches, and the urge to kiss that had now built up too much to hold back any longer.
Hongjoong’s hands found Seonghwa’s waist, pulling him closer as they kissed, soft at first, then with more urgency, trying to make up for all the moments they had restrained themselves. Gently, he guided Seonghwa toward the bed, slipping off their jackets as they walked.
Halfway there, Hongjoong nearly tripped over the pair of shoes he had left on the floor that morning. They stumbled together and laughed into the kiss, then Hongjoong steadied them both, his hands firm on Seonghwa’s hips, and rested his forehead against the taller man’s as they stopped laughing.
After a moment, Hongjoong guided Seonghwa the final few steps to the bed, letting him sink back into the soft duvet. He followed him down, bracing himself on his arms above him, and simply looked.
The moonlight from the window spilled over Seonghwa, carving his elegant form from the shadows. His silver hair making his honey skin stand out. Hongjoong’s heart swelled as he felt a wave of overwhelming affection that stole his breath. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, feeling Seonghwa’s smile.
He began his descent. His hands found the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt, and as he pushed it up, Seonghwa arched his back to help, the fabric slipping away to reveal the smooth plane of his chest. Hongjoong’s lips followed the path his hands had made. He pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, then his tongue darted out to taste his skin before he moved to a nipple, circling it slowly, while his fingers gave attention to the other, earning a soft moan from Seonghwa.
He continued his worship, mapping the defined muscles of Seonghwa’s stomach with his lips and the tip of his nose, inhaling his clean, familiar scent. God, he drives me crazy, Hongjoong thought. He was obsessed with Seonghwa's abs.
Then a hand gently cupped his jaw, stopping him. Seonghwa drew him back up, and captured his lips in a deep kiss.
“Take your shirt off,” Seonghwa said when they parted, tugging at his shirt.
Hongjoong complied, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. But before he could reclaim Seonghwa’s lips, he rolled them over, reversing their positions. Hongjoong looked up and he saw Seonghwa smirking as he settled his weight over Hongjoong’s hips.
His hands went to Hongjoong’s pants, making quick work of the button and zipper. He tugged them down, just enough to free him. Hongjoong was already half-hard, feeling the anticipation coiling in his stomach. Seonghwa bent his head, and Hongjoong gasped as he felt the hot, wet press of Seonghwa’s tongue through the thin cotton of his boxers, tracing his length.
“Seonghwa,” he breathed, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.
Seonghwa just smiled, and began to palm him slowly over the fabric, teasing him. He scattered kisses along Hongjoong’s inner thighs, making him shudder. It was maddening.
“Stop teasing me,” Hongjoong pleaded, his voice strained as he threw an arm over his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation and the intensity of Seonghwa’s focus.
He felt the bed dip as Seonghwa moved over him, and wrapped his fingers gently around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face.
Seonghwa leaned close, and murmured to Hongjoong's ear, “Don’t hide, baby.”
The pet name sent an immediate, electric jolt through Hongjoong. Ever since Seonghwa had developed an obsession with the song ‘Angel Baby,’ he had started to call Hongjoong like that in private, and it never failed to make his heart clench.
Seonghwa kept hold of Hongjoong’s hand, his thumb stroking over the silver ring on his finger. He brought Hongjoong’s knuckles to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there, his eyes locked with Hongjoong’s. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that Hongjoong held his breath.
Then, Seonghwa guided Hongjoong’s index and middle fingers to his own mouth. He didn't stop the eye contact as he first licked them slowly, then took them into the warm, wet heat of his mouth, sucking gently.
“Fuck,” Hongjoong choked out, his mind short-circuiting. He really knew how to undo Hongjoong completely.
Seonghwa continued, his tongue swirling until Hongjoong was squirming, his cock fully hard now. He could take no more.
“Baby,” Hongjoong managed to use the same nickname, but his voice was rough. “Bring the lube. It’s in my bag, front pocket.”
Seonghwa gave his fingers one last, slow suck before releasing them with a soft pop, and there was a satisfied smile on his lips. He leaned in, kissed Hongjoong, and whispered, “Okay.”
Without another word, he slipped off the bed to retrieve it, the moonlight tracing the elegant lines of his back as he moved, leaving Hongjoong breathless.
He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, and when Seonghwa returned with the small bottle in his hand, Hongjoong reached for him. His hands found Seonghwa's waist, pulling him close, and he gently rested his head against Seonghwa's stomach, to avoid his gaze when he couldn't stop his words.
"I love you," Hongjoong whispered into the quiet room.
Seonghwa stilled for a moment, surprised. Hongjoong rarely said it aloud. Seonghwa smiled softly as he straightened up, his hand coming up to brush gently Hongjoong's disheveled hair.
"I love you too," Seonghwa murmured making Hongjoong smile in relief before he pulled away. He shifted, pushing his pants the rest of the way down his legs and kicking them off, then settled back against the mattress, guiding Seonghwa to straddle his thighs.
Seonghwa leaned in, capturing Hongjoong's mouth in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. It was a slow, exploring kiss, his tongue tracing Hongjoong's lips before slipping inside, the rhythm lazy and intoxicating. As they kissed, Hongjoong felt some pressure against his thigh. It was a subtle, rocking friction, and that’s when he realized that Seonghwa was rubbing himself against his leg.
Hongjoong broke the kiss with a soft, startled sound, his eyes flying open to look at Seonghwa in surprise.
"Why did you stop?" Seonghwa asked, his voice filled with need.
"Keep going," Hongjoong ordered in a rough voice. "Do that again."
Seonghwa looked confused for a second before his eyes drifted down to where their bodies were connected, and a faint blush colored his cheeks.
"Oh, that," he said, a little flustered, and resumed the movement, this time slower, more conscious. The deliberate, sensual roll of his hips made Hongjoong's breath catch. While he was looking, he realized that it must feel a bit uncomfortable.
"Wait," he said, grabbing the lube from where Seonghwa had dropped it beside them. He poured a generous amount into his palm, warming it for a moment before his slick hand circled Seonghwa's length, making Seonghwa hiss at the contact.
"Hongjoong—" he said as he grabbed Hongjoong’s shoulders to support himself, while biting his lips.
"Just keep going," Hongjoong replied, his gaze dark and intense. He loved watching Seonghwa like this.
Seonghwa, as always, didn't question him. He simply obeyed, his movements becoming smoother, more fluid as he rocked into Hongjoong's tigh. When his eyes met Hongjoong's stare, he laughed softly, feeling a bit self-conscious.
"It's a little embarrassing," he admitted, his cheeks flushed.
"No," Hongjoong replied while brushing some of the hair off his face. "It's so fucking hot, baby."
Embarassed, Seonghwa leaned down to kiss him again, a messy, open-mouthed kiss as he continued to move. Hongjoong's free hand, the one without the ring, found the bottle again. He coated his fingers, and while Seonghwa was lost in the rhythm of their kiss and his own pleasure, Hongjoong's slick fingers found their way down, circling Seonghwa's rim, and applied some pressure.
Seonghwa gasped into his mouth, a sharp, loud moan escaping before he could stop it. He immediately clapped a hand over his own lips after he realized they were still at the hotel. The walls looked thin.
Hongjoong only smirked, "Don't stop," he commanded softly.
The new contact made Seonghwa shudder, his movements becoming more erratic. When he rocked back, the tip of Hongjoong's finger slipped inside, making them both gasp. Hongjoong didn't hesitate; he worked the finger in deeper, then added a second, scissoring and stretching him open. Seonghwa bit down on his own lip, hard, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out, but the ragged pace of his breathing told Hongjoong everything he needed to know.
So, Hongjoong searched inside him until he brushed over that specific bundle of nerves. Seonghwa cried out, and buried his face in the crook of Hongjoong's neck, his teeth sinking into the skin of his shoulder to muffle another loud moan.
Hongjoong continued the relentless, gentle pressure, crooking his fingers just so. Then he added a third, stretching him more and that was all it took. Seonghwa came apart against him with a broken sob, spilling over Hongjoong's stomach and his own. Hongjoong held him through it, his fingers moving slowly inside him until the last of the aftershocks had passed, leaving Seonghwa boneless and trembling against him.
Hongjoong carefully withdrew his fingers, drawing a whimper from Seonghwa. He then gently maneuvered the man, laying him back against the pillows. Hongjoong covered his body with his own, capturing his mouth in a series of deep kisses, swallowing his shaky breaths until he felt Seonghwa's heart begin to steady under his palm. Seonghwa broke the kiss, pressing a soft peck to Hongjoong's cheek.
"Continue," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Hongjoong nodded and leaned in for one more kiss before reaching for the lube bottle again. He poured a fresh pool into his own palm, slicking himself with a few strokes. He settled between Seonghwa's parted thighs, the head of his cock against him. He teased for a moment, just a gentle, persistent pressure, watching Seonghwa’s frustrated expression.
"Hongjoong," Seonghwa called, his hips involuntarily arching. "Move."
Hongjoong smiled, then pushed in, slowly, burying himself until he was fully sheathed. He paused, letting them both adjust, his forehead dropping to Seonghwa's as he fought for control. When Seonghwa patted his back, he started to move.
What followed was a rhythm that was both hot and profoundly intimate. It wasn't frantic but deep, a perfect synchronization of their bodies. Hongjoong's hand, the one bearing his ring, was braced on the pillow beside Seonghwa's head. He looked at the glint of metal against the pale sheets, then back at Seonghwa's blissful face. Overwhelmed by a wave of tenderness, he laced their fingers together, pressing their joined hands into the mattress.
Seonghwa's eyes drifted down to their linked hands, and a beautiful and dazed smile spread across his lips just as he moaned softly. The sight and the feel of it were almost too much for Hongjoong. He could feel his own climax coiling tight in his gut.
"I'm close," he warned, and moved a hand to stroke Seonghwa in time with his thrusts, wanting to bring him over the edge too.
As Hongjoong's movements became more urgent, he started to pull out, but Seonghwa's reaction was immediate. His legs, which were wrapped around Hongjoong's waist, locked tightly, holding him in place.
"Inside," he pleaded insistently. "Please, ah, come inside."
The raw desire in Seonghwa's voice shattered the last of Hongjoong's control. With a guttural groan, he spilled deep inside him, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release. He hid his face in the damp skin of Seonghwa's neck, his hips making tiny, involuntary jerks as he rode out the last waves of his pleasure. But his hand never stopped moving on Seonghwa, stroking him faster, and it only took a few more seconds for Seonghwa to come, his body arching off the bed before collapsing back, spent and trembling.
They lay like that for a long while, simply trying to remember how to breathe. The air was filled with the scent of sex and their mingled sweat.
Finally, Hongjoong softened and carefully slipped out, eliciting a soft whine from both of them. He brushed the hair back from Seonghwa's forehead.
"Let's take a shower," he said.
Seonghwa made a noise of complaint, too comfortable and boneless to move, but then he shifted and felt the stickiness of the bed, so he sighed.
"Help me up," he said as he lifted his weak arm towards Hongjoong.
Hongjoong smiled and pulled him up, supporting most of his weight as they made their way to the bathroom and showered.
After the shower, they returned to the bedroom, and settled back onto the bed after getting rid of the duvet. Seonghwa curled around Hongjoong, his chest against his back. The rhythm of their breathing synced, and for a moment, nothing else existed.
Then Seonghwa reached for Hongjoong’s hand, intertwining their fingers again, and admired the silver rings glinting in the soft light. They stayed like that, just looking until Seonghwa spoke.
“What would you think if we had a ceremony?” he suggested, insecure.
Hongjoong turned slightly and looked at him. “A ceremony?”
Seonghwa nodded. “Yeah, just a private ceremony. We only invite our friends and those close to us. We could do it outside Korea to make it safer.”
Hongjoong stayed quiet for a moment, thinking about it. Seonghwa squeezed his hand gently.
“If you aren’t sure, we don’t have to,” he reassured Hongjoong. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just thought it could be nice. Not that we need a ceremony or rings to show our love, but…” He glanced down at their fingers, and his voice softened. “I think it would be beautiful.”
Hongjoong followed his gaze to the silver bands. The idea wasn’t bad at all, far from it. In fact, he liked it.
“Let’s do it,” he murmured after a few seconds. “We have time to plan it.”
Seonghwa’s face lit up instantly, his eyes shining with a brightness that made Hongjoong’s chest tighten. Overwhelmed, Seonghwa hid his face against Hongjoong’s chest, letting out a quiet, almost inaudible “Thanks.”
I’m the one that’s grateful to have you in my life, Hongjoong thought, as he tightened his arms around him, holding him close and letting the quiet happiness wash over them.
They decided to keep their ceremony a secret, at least until they had more details. Sometimes they wore their rings; other times they didn’t. Hongjoong especially only wore his on special occasions; partly because he was terrified of losing it, and partly because it felt too intimate to wear in public all the time.
One evening, after filming an episode, all the members went out for dinner together. It had been a while since they’d done something so simple like going to a restaurant together without filming it. Hongjoong was listening to Jongho talking about a place he visited recently when something caught his attention.
“Wait,” he heard Wooyoung say, grabbing Seonghwa’s hand before he could reach for his drink. “Is this your birthday MD ring?”
Hongjoong froze where he sat across from them, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.
Seonghwa looked down at their joined hands, then laughed softly. “No, it’s not,” he said, pulling his hand back gently and turning toward San, who was talking with him before.
Hongjoong exhaled in relief, then continued listening to Jongho. They went on for a few minutes in peace before there was a sharp gasp from Wooyoung’s side of the table, followed by a strangled sound that made everyone stop talking.
“WHAT?!”
The entire restaurant went silent for a second, and even the staff glanced over. Wooyoung was staring at Seonghwa in surprise, with his mouth hanging open. Then he turned toward Hongjoong and pointed dramatically.
“Y-you…”
“Don’t point at me,” Hongjoong said quickly, already on edge.
But Wooyoung wasn’t listening. He held something up in his hand: the ring.
“When did you even slip it off?!” Seonghwa hissed, trying to grab it back.
“Their initials are carved in it!” Wooyoung said, showing the ring to the other members, who leaned forward.
There they were, clear as day, carved neatly on the inside: KJH & PSH.
Yunho examined the ring, then he seemed to remember something and looked at Hongjoong with wide eyes.
“Wait… is this just a normal ring or…?” he asked.
The panic in Hongjoong’s eyes must have said everything, because suddenly the whole table gasped in unison.
“Shut up!” Jongho whispered. “There are people around!”
Nobody said anything for a few seconds, but every member was staring between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, waiting for one of them to speak.
Seonghwa sighed and turned to Hongjoong, his eyes quietly asking if they should just tell them. Hongjoong exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He glanced around the restaurant and noticed that their managers were already alert, scanning for cameras or some curious onlookers. When one of them gave a subtle nod to indicate that it was safe, he sighed again and pulled out his phone.
He scrolled for a moment, then found the picture he’d taken the day after they bought the rings, where Seonghwa’s hand was resting in his, and both rings glowed under the light. He showed it to the others, covering part of his face with his free hand as if that could somehow shield him from the attention.
The photo was beautiful, and seeing it now made his chest warm, but being this exposed so suddenly, when he hadn’t even been ready, felt like too much. The others gasped as the phone made its way around the table, each of them reacting with varying degrees of disbelief and delight.
“And you weren’t even planning to tell us?” Wooyoung said in a whisper that still somehow everyone heard, his tone halfway between offended and shocked.
“It’s not like that,” Seonghwa said quickly. “We were going to tell you, just when we were ready.” He put extra emphasis on the last word.
All of them muttered an “oh” in perfect unison, looking a little sheepish.
“Sorry,” Wooyoung replied after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s fine,” Hongjoong sighed. “At least now we don’t have to plan another dinner just to tell you.”
“But is it like a wedd—” Mingi started before Yeosang immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.
“They’ll tell us in private,” Yeosang said quickly, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard.
The rest of the dinner felt awkward. Everyone clearly wanted to ask more, but none of them dared while they were still in public. When the waiter came back a few minutes later, Yunho ordered a bottle of wine, and by the time it arrived, the tension had softened.
“To… whatever this is,” Yunho said, raising his glass while laughing. “To our hyungs.”
They all echoed the toast, also laughing as their glasses clinked together.
Hongjoong felt his face burn with embarrassment and ducked his head, but in front of him, Seonghwa was smiling so widely his eyes nearly disappeared. And, in that moment, he realized that if Seonghwa could be this happy forever, nothing else mattered.
Later that night, they all decided to head to Seonghwa and San’s dorm to keep talking. Lately, it had become their usual meeting spot, especially for Hongjoong, who seemed to find any excuse to drop by whenever he could.
They gathered in the small living room; the others sat down on the couch, with Seonghwa and Hongjoong standing at the front. Hongjoong felt like when he was in trouble with his parents for a moment. He sighed, rubbing at his ear before speaking.
“So,” he began carefully, “we’re not getting married.”
“But,” Hongjoong continued, “we were thinking about a small ceremony, in private. Just for our close ones, and maybe abroad.”
“And…?” San asked.
“That’s all we have for now. We’ll tell you the details later,” Hongjoong replied.
The members looked at each other before Yunho congratulated them, and they all followed, hugging them, teasing them, demanding details. Eventually, they pulled the couple down to sit on the couch, peppering them with questions about when, where, and how long they’d been planning it, all the way until midnight.
San was the first to yawn and mutter that he was too sleepy, which made everyone laugh. They all left after that, but Hongjoong decided to spend the night again. As Seonghwa fell asleep beside him, Hongjoong thought about how they would need their own place soon.
Planning the ceremony was harder than they thought. Their schedules were impossibly packed. And, even after more than seven years in the industry, both of them still struggled to draw the line between work and personal life. They slipped into their idol routines too easily, always rehearsing, recording, or traveling.
After hours of frustration scrolling through venues and endless emails, they decided to take a break and put on a movie. If finding places in their own country was already too complicated, looking abroad, where they didn’t even know the right contacts, felt impossible.
Hongjoong was lying against Seonghwa’s shoulder, absentmindedly watching videos of wedding locations on his phone while Seonghwa did yet another Star Wars rewatch while eating a cake San bought for him.
“Baby,” Seonghwa called, and Hongjoong hummed in response. “Do you remember the lake we went to in Italy?”
Hongjoong frowned a little, thinking, then smiled as the name came to him. “Lake Como.”
Seonghwa nodded, glancing back at the TV. “Look, it’s the same one!”
Hongjoong looked up from his phone, blinking in surprise when he saw the scene on screen. If he remembered correctly, it was Padmé and Anakin’s wedding; he remembered their names from too many rewatches with Seonghwa. The scenery was breathtaking, but Hongjoong couldn’t believe it was the same lake.
“Wait, that’s Lake Como?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Seonghwa said with a small laugh. “I was going to ask if we could go that day, remember? But I think it was closed.”
Hongjoong hummed and continued looking for venues, he was getting a bit frustrated since he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.
A few minutes later, Seonghwa spoke again. “Do you like it?”
“What?” Hongjoong looked back at him. “Lake Como?”
Seonghwa nodded.
“Yeah,” Hongjoong replied. “Why?”
Seonghwa only shrugged, looking back at the screen. “Just wondering.”
Hongjoong smiled faintly and returned his attention to his phone. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that the realization hit him. Of course, that’s why Seonghwa was asking.
He turned abruptly. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You want to have the ceremony at Lake Como, don’t you?”
Seonghwa froze, caught off guard, then laughed. “It took you long enough.”
“You could’ve just said so,” Hongjoong groaned.
“I wanted to be sure you liked it too,” Seonghwa replied, still smiling. “I didn’t want to decide for both of us.”
Hongjoong shook his head. “Anywhere you choose is fine with me.”
That made Seonghwa’s smile soften, and he kissed Hongjoong’s forehead before turning back to the movie.
Hongjoong was now determined to start looking up more about Lake Como, while Seonghwa peeked over his shoulder occasionally. When they came across videos of weddings held at Villa del Balbianello, which Hongjoong discovered was the same location as the movie, they both agreed that it was perfect. They exchanged a look, and without needing to say it out loud, they knew that would be the place.
The problem was that, between rehearsals, recordings, and flights, the idea of planning a ceremony started to feel more like a distant dream.
Seonghwa and Hongjoong tried to keep up with the logistics at first, but eventually they realized it wasn’t sustainable. They barely had time to rest, let alone plan something as detailed as a ‘wedding’ ceremony abroad. So, feeling a bit guilty, Hongjoong decided to ask for help.
He and Seonghwa brought it up to the manager they trusted most, and at first, Hongjoong felt awkward explaining what they needed, fumbling with his words, but the manager only smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
He was surprisingly calm about the whole thing and promised to reach out to some international contacts and handle the initial communication, so they could focus on their activities.
But something that made Hongjoong even more nervous than the ceremony itself was the thought of telling their parents. They had decided to rent and invite them to a restaurant to share the news. Their families wouldn’t suspect, since they often went out together, and it felt like the perfect moment to finally tell them.
They were getting ready in Seonghwa’s room, fixing their suits in front of the mirror. Then Seonghwa turned, brushing a few strands of Hongjoong’s orange hair into place before cupping his cheeks gently.
“Don’t be nervous, baby,” he said softly while his thumb traced Hongjoong’s jaw.
Hongjoong looked up at him, his cheeks already warming. He covered Seonghwa’s hands with his own and sighed.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s just… I know our parents have always been supportive, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s dumb, but I’m still scared.”
Seonghwa smiled in that same way that always managed to steady him and took Hongjoong’s hand, pressing it against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath his palm.
“It’s okay, I’m nervous too,” he leaned forward just enough for their foreheads to touch. “But everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Then, he kissed him, and Hongjoong felt his heartbeat start to settle.
They left the apartment soon after, saying goodbye to San, who hugged them both tightly and wished them good luck.
Hongjoong drove them to the restaurant, but the traffic was heavier than usual, the slow movement of cars only making him more nervous. He had to admit, the reason he was this tense wasn’t just because of the news, it was because he’d been preparing a speech for days. He memorized every word, rehearsed, and rewrote it in his head a hundred times.
The ride was quiet, and normally, the silence between them was comfortable, but this time it felt different. Hongjoong kept his focus on the road, reciting his speech in his mind while Seonghwa watched the city lights flash across the window, his expression calm, though Hongjoong could tell he was nervous too.
They arrived earlier than expected and, after confirming that everything was ready, they were led to the private room they’d reserved. It was warm and softly lit, tucked away from the main area. They sat side by side, and Hongjoong could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
Seonghwa’s family arrived first; his mother, father, and brother all smiled brightly as they hugged the two of them. Not long after, Hongjoong’s parents and brother appeared and immediately started chatting. Their families had known each other for a while now, and ever since they started dating, their mothers had become almost inseparable. After ordering, Hongjoong’s mother leaned toward Seonghwa with a fond smile.
“You’ve been well, right, Seonghwa-ssi? You look so handsome tonight.”
Seonghwa chuckled softly. “I’ve been doing fine, thank you.”
“You’ve been glowing lately,” she teased, glancing between them. “I hope my son’s treating you well.”
“Mom…” Hongjoong groaned, his ears turning bright red as Seonghwa laughed quietly beside him.
Dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface. Hongjoong tried to join in on the conversation, but the knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen. His leg bounced restlessly beneath the table until Seonghwa rested a hand on his thigh, rubbing gentle circles until he finally stilled.
It wasn’t until they ordered dessert that Seonghwa turned toward him with a small nod. That was the moment. Hongjoong exhaled deeply and nodded back, his palms slightly damp as he intertwined his fingers with Seonghwa’s.
“We have something to tell you,” Seonghwa began, his voice a little shaky. Every face turned toward them, and Hongjoong could feel him stiffen, so he squeezed his hand before clearing his throat.
“I’ve been trying to find the right words for this,” Hongjoong said softly. “And honestly, I don’t think there’s a perfect way. So I’ll just say it the way it feels right.”
He hesitated, glancing down before smiling faintly.
“I, uh… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for weeks. I wrote it down once, deleted it, rewrote it again, then thought it sounded too dramatic which, I guess, is very me.”
A few quiet laughs broke the tension, and that gave him the courage to look up again. Seonghwa looked a little confused, so he reassured him with a soft smile.
“I know this might sound sudden, but it’s not. It’s something we’ve felt for a long time. We’re planning to hold a ceremony for ourselves.”
Everyone looked shocked, so he took a slow breath, his voice steadying.
“When I met Seonghwa, I didn’t know how much he’d change me. I was scared to start this path… honestly, I still am sometimes. I know I’ve made mistakes, that I might’ve hurt him or the members with my actions. But through everything, he’s been there. Always.”
He glanced at his parents and saw the tears already forming in his mother’s eyes.
“Sometimes he doesn’t even need to say a word, just one look, and I know everything’s going to be okay. You don’t get that kind of person often, or that kind of love.” His voice cracked slightly, and he looked directly at Seonghwa’s eye before saying, “He’s like… he’s really my soulmate.”
Seonghwa seemed confused, surprised, and on the verge of tears at the same time. So Hongjoong started to rub small circles on his hand before continuing.
“I know we choose a difficult path in life. I know people talk, and I know sometimes things aren’t fair. That’s why what we’re planning will be private, just a small ceremony abroad with no cameras, just us, and the people who love us.”
He paused to catch his breath, his voice trembling but more convinced now.
“I’m not asking for permission, because love doesn’t really need it. But I am asking for your blessing. I want to start this next part of my life with him, knowing that both our families are behind us. That you’ll still see us as your sons, and accept us.”
He smiled nervously, blinking back tears.
“I can’t promise we’ll have a perfect life. I can’t promise we won’t fight or mess up or struggle with the weight of what we do. But I can promise I’ll love him through all of it. I’ll take care of him when the world feels heavy. I’ll make sure he never forgets how incredible he is, not just the idol Seonghwa, but Park Seonghwa. The one who acts childish sometimes, who worries too much, who works himself too hard for the things he loves. That’s the man I fell in love with. That’s the man I want to grow old with.”
He turned to Seonghwa, who was now crying, his voice barely above a whisper now.
“You make me want to be a better person. You make everything worth it.”
Then, looking back at everyone, he exhaled shakily.
“I know it might sound crazy, but even if all we can have is this, it’s still enough for me. Because I’d rather have one quiet forever with him than a lifetime of anything else.”
The room fell completely silent. For a few seconds, the only sound was the soft clink of a glass being set down and Seonghwa’s thumb brushing over Hongjoong’s hand. Then Hongjoong let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry.
“So… that’s what I wanted to say,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “That I love him. That I really, really do. And even if we can’t have a real wedding, we still want to treat our ceremony like one.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Seonghwa’s mother let out a quiet sob.
“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, covering her mouth with trembling fingers. Seonghwa’s father reached over to hold her hand.
Seonghwa turned to him and whispered, “You didn’t tell me you were going to say all that.”
Hongjoong laughed softly, wiping his cheek. “If I told you, I wouldn’t have been able to get through it.”
The sight of both their families crying was too much. Even his father and brother were tearing up, something he’d never seen before. Seonghwa’s mother reached across the table and took both their hands in hers.
“You don’t need our blessing,” she said gently. “Because you already have it. From the first moment I saw how you looked at each other, I knew.” Her voice broke. “Just promise me you’ll take care of each other. That’s all any of us could want.”
Hongjoong nodded quickly, unable to speak, so Seonghwa squeezed his hand and whispered, “We will.”
“And Seonghwa-ssi,” Hongjoong’s mother said, smiling through her tears. “Thank you for loving my son and taking care of him. We feel at peace knowing there’s someone out there who loves him as much as we do.”
That was it. Hongjoong broke completely, tears spilling freely down his face as Seonghwa reached over to wipe them away. The pressure from all week seemed to ease right there.
“Hey,” Seonghwa murmured with a shaky smile, “you did so good.”
When Hongjoong finally looked up again, both families were smiling through their own tears, and he felt relieved. Suddenly, the waiter opened the door to bring in the dessert, but froze mid-step at the sight of everyone crying. Seonghwa’s older brother laughed, wiping his eyes.
“Let’s get a bottle to celebrate,” he said, and the waiter relaxed, nodding quickly.
The rest of the night unfolded softly. Their parents began exchanging ideas for the ceremony, while they celebrated with wine. And through it all, Seonghwa never once let go of Hongjoong’s hand.
A few days later, the manager called them with news: he had found an Italian wedding planner who specialized in queer weddings, and she had experience in planning private ceremonies for couples like them. She was a woman their age; she seemed kind, soft-spoken, and immediately made them feel comfortable.
Because of the time difference, their meetings had to happen whenever both sides were awake, which sometimes were in the middle of the night after a concert, and other times, it was in the early morning before a flight. Seonghwa was sitting beside Hongjoong with his hair still messy, both of them trying not to yawn while discussing the floral arrangements and lighting options. But despite how exhausting it could be, those calls became something they quietly looked forward to.
The reservation at Villa del Balbianello had already been confirmed for March 25th, 2026. The venue only allowed private rentals on days it was closed to the public, which meant their ceremony would have to be on a weekday. It wasn’t ideal, but they didn’t care. It was enough that they had a date. They had exactly ten months to prepare and clear their schedule.
After every show, when they were packing up or traveling to the next city, Hongjoong would open his sketchbook. He had visited several stores in different countries while touring, wandering through the aisles of designer suits, touching fabrics, and taking mental notes. But none of them felt right. None of them felt like them.
So one night, in their hotel room in Japan, he told Seonghwa, “I think I want to design our suits myself.”
Seonghwa looked up from his phone, surprised.
“Are you sure about it?” he asked. “You’re designing the rings too.”
Hongjoong smiled. “You’d wear something I made, right?”
“Of course,” Seonghwa said immediately, with a big smile. “I’d be honored to.”
From that point on, Hongjoong started sketching more seriously. In every city, he’d find inspiration and start building the designs. Seonghwa had told him that he preferred a white suit, while Hongjoong preferred a black one, and it was easy from there.
The rings, however, were a bit harder to design. He and Seonghwa discussed ideas constantly, but nothing seemed to appeal to both of them. They even ended up asking for suggestions in the group chat with the members, who immediately started brainstorming. Mingi sent a reel full of wedding ring ideas, but they wanted something more original, yet subtle enough that it wouldn’t be obvious it was a wedding ring.
Then Wooyoung suggested, “Seonghwa-hyung likes stars, right, so why not design some constellation rings?”
They paused at that, considering it. After looking through a few references, they liked the idea. It wasn’t too obvious, and they could always say that they were like friendship rings, but still carry a piece of each other.
After consulting with an expert to guide him through the details, Hongjoong started sketching them. When he finally showed the finished design to Seonghwa, the older man was in awe. The rings would be crafted in silver, one engraved with Scorpio’s constellation and the other with Aries’, their names inscribed beneath. It was simple, but deeply intimate.
Seonghwa, meanwhile, handled the more practical side. He coordinated with their planner about flowers, lighting, and decor, making sure the theme stayed simple. They both agreed that they didn’t want the ceremony to feel like a spectacle. Whenever they had breaks, they’d sit together and scroll through venue photos or color palettes, discussing them quietly.
And slowly, as the months went by, what once felt like a faraway dream started to take shape.
The villa was quiet that morning, making Hongjoong’s heart race faster than anything ever had. Outside, the air smelled faintly of spring rain and lavender, and through the open windows came the hum of staff preparing for the evening. The stylists unpacked garment bags, the coordinators moved around, and somewhere down the hall, he could see Yeosang and Wooyoung looking at the lake.
It felt like a calm day, but of course, no one was calm. Hongjoong sat on the couch, fixing the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t even supposed to get dressed yet; the ceremony was still hours away, but he couldn’t sit still. Every few minutes, he’d glance toward the window, expecting to see Seonghwa outside, walking across the garden.
He wanted to see him so badly.
But Seonghwa had insisted earlier that morning that it would be special only until the ceremony. Hongjoong had pouted for a good five minutes before giving in when Seonghwa had just laughed and kissed his cheek.
Hongjoong was almost ready when he heard a soft knock on the door. He turned, and before he could open it, his parents and brother stepped in. His mom immediately pulled him into a tight hug, and his dad followed right after, both of them squeezing him so hard that he was sure he saw stars for a moment.
“Oh, god,” his mom said, her voice already trembling a little. “You look so handsome.”
His father nodded with a small smile. “Since we arrived yesterday, we’ve been walking around the area. You couldn’t have found a place more beautiful than this.”
“It really is beautiful,” Hongjoong nodded while smiling, glancing toward the window where the sunlight spilled through, painting the walls gold. His brother patted him on the back, then hugged him too.
His mom looked at him for a long moment, starting to brush his hair and help him with the final touches while his father and brother took in the view from the window. After a moment of silence, she spoke again.
“To be honest, when you told me you’d become an idol, I realized that maybe I wouldn’t see my son get married soon. And when you told me you were gay, well… I lost all hope.” They laughed at that. “I just hoped that you could find someone who loved you as much as we do. We know you tend to isolate yourself, and asking for help is even more difficult for you, so I prayed every day that you could find someone who could support you, and make you happy. I’m glad my prayers were heard.”
Hongjoong suddenly felt the lump in his throat rise before he could stop it, and he could feel a few tears spilling before he could even try to hide them. His mom laughed gently and wiped his face before hugging him again.
“Okay, okay,” she whispered, comforting him softly. “I’ll give you a minute… Oh, sounds like your members are here.”
Hongjoong heard their voices outside, then a knock on the door. His mom looked at him, and he nodded, so his brother went to open the door, surprising his friends. They all peeked in, greeting them politely. His family hugged Hongjoong one last time, then headed out, but his mom smiled at them before saying, “Take care of him for me, okay?”
They all nodded and chorused a cheerful “Of course!” before stepping inside. But as soon as they saw Hongjoong’s tear-stained face, they started laughing.
“Shut up,” Hongjoong said while covering his face, waving them off.
That only made them laugh harder, and soon enough, he was pulled into a group hug that Hongjoong couldn’t pretend to hate. When he finally looked up, he noticed all of them dressed in matching black suits, each tailored with a bit of their individual flair.
“You all look good,” Hongjoong said, brushing his eyes quickly.
“So do you,” Yeosang replied. “Seriously, you designed this?”
Hongjoong nodded, smoothing his jacket with pride. His blonde hair was a contrast to his all black suit. He designed it with flared pants and a structured blazer with subtle detailing, made from the best fabric he could find. He wanted something simple for today, yet something that felt very him.
They all complimented it, making him a bit shy.
“We saw Seonghwa hyung before, by the way,” Mingi said after a while, making Hongjoong turn to him quickly.
“You did? How is he?” he asked.
“He’s been ready for a while now,” Yunho answered, laughing. “He’s with his mom right now, but he looked calm. Like... really calm.”
Hongjoong was a bit caught off guard. If he was being honest, he was one second away from throwing up from anxiety. He wondered if Seonghwa was just in that same mode he got into before performing, where he prepared himself with so much anticipation that he looked perfectly composed.
They chatted for a bit longer, and Hongjoong honestly appreciated it. Spending time with his members seemed to ease the tension he felt. But it wasn’t until one of the coordinators knocked to let them know it was almost time that Hongjoong took one last deep breath, fixed his jacket, and followed them out.
Downstairs, the small team of staff they trusted was putting together the final touches; arranging the flowers, adjusting the lights, and making sure the chairs aligned perfectly. There were barely ten people, but they were people they trusted completely.
As Hongjoong stepped closer to the venue, he caught sight of the view. The lake shimmering beneath the late afternoon sun, the soft breeze carrying the scent of fresh water and flowers. He stopped for a moment, just taking it in.
Even though he and Seonghwa had visited a month earlier to check everything, seeing it now decorated with tables, floral arrangements, and all, felt unreal. The beautiful arches of the ancient loggia framed the scene perfectly, their stone covered in soft cascades of white and blush flowers that intertwined with ivy. It was more beautiful than he remembered, and somehow, knowing that Seonghwa was just beyond that aisle, waiting for him, made it feel like the most perfect place in the world.
The ceremony officially started at six p.m. The staff were doing the last arrangements, while the hum of string instruments echoed through the garden. Hongjoong had spent the past hour greeting guests with the members by his side, but he honestly didn’t know if he was fully conscious. He just smiled and bowed automatically, feeling like he was in a dream. His parents stood near the entrance, greeting everyone as well, and every time Hongjoong looked at them, his mother’s eyes shone with so much affection that it made his chest tighten.
Seonghwa’s family arrived not long after, and Hongjoong’s heart softened at the sight of Seonghwa’s mother hugging him tightly, congratulating him. Then both his mother and father took his hands.
“Take care of each other,” she said, her eyes teary. “And thank you for making my Seonghwa so happy.”
Hongjoong could only nod, suddenly unable to speak.
Everything was set minutes later. The lake reflected the golden sky, and the venue looked like something out of a dream: the chairs lined in two rows on the grass, petals scattered along the aisle, and between the trees hung strings of warm lights shaped like flowers. A soft melody played from the violins and piano, drifting through the evening air. Despite the serenity of it all, Hongjoong’s heart was racing.
He hadn’t wanted a traditional ceremony at first since he thought they didn’t need all of that. But one night, Seonghwa had confessed that he’d always dreamed of walking down an aisle. He said he knew it might sound silly, especially coming from a man, but he didn’t know why the idea of walking arm in arm with his mother had always seemed so beautiful to him. So, of course, Hongjoong made it happen.
Now, standing at the altar while waiting, he could barely breathe. The officiant smiled kindly at him, and his family and friends filled the front rows, chatting quietly. When he made eye contact with his members, they tried, and failed, to hold back their laughter at seeing Hongjoong this nervous. He had to bite his tongue to keep from shutting them off.
Suddenly, the music began, startling them.
The soft melody of Across the Stars, from the Star Wars soundtrack, rose through while everyone turned toward the aisle. Hongjoong felt his chest constrict when he saw Seonghwa appear at the end of it, arm in arm with his mother.
To be honest, he had spent far less time on his own suit than he had on Seonghwa’s. Hongjoong had spent weeks thinking about what Seonghwa could wear, because he believed it had to be something new and unique, something no one else could pull off. He finally came up with a white tailored suit with an extended coat that draped behind him almost like a cape. The bow at his neck was made of ivory silk, and their initials were embroidered on the cuffs, just like on Hongjoong’s own suit. His long black hair was styled perfectly, with a few strands framing his face.
The fabric shimmered under the sunlight, catching every small movement, and the scene felt so surreal that Hongjoong was sure he had died right then and there, because he was staring at an angel. Unreal. Like someone had pulled him out of one of his dreams.
When Seonghwa reached the middle of the aisle, their eyes met. Hongjoong’s breath caught, and a tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. He felt frustrated at how easily he was crying today, but there was nothing he could do. Seonghwa laughed quietly before his mother gave his hand a final squeeze and let him go, then he stepped closer, reaching up to brush Hongjoong’s cheek and wipe the tear away with his thumb.
“You’re going to ruin your makeup,” he said softly. It was the first thing he’d said to him all day, and Hongjoong didn’t know whether to laugh or cry again.
“You look beautiful,” Hongjoong whispered, unable to look away; first at his suit, then at his face, which made Seonghwa’s smile bigger.
“And you look really good,” he replied.
The officiant cleared his throat gently, beginning the ceremony. The sound of the lake, the faint rustle of leaves, the soft music, and the low hum of the guests faded somewhere in the background when Seonghwa looked at him. It wasn’t until they were asked to exchange vows that Hongjoong truly came back to himself. He was handed the microphone, and with slightly trembling hands, he exhaled.
He glanced at Seonghwa, only for a second, before looking away, his gaze darting to the flowers, the guests, the water, anywhere else. He thought it was funny that even after all this time, he still couldn’t look Seonghwa in the eyes for too long. There was just something about his gaze that felt like too much all at once.
“When I think about our past,” he started, “I think it’s funny how everyone used to assume we were more than friends. And, of course, we were, but it wasn’t just romantic. It was something I can’t describe exactly, but it was different.”
He paused for a moment.
“There were times when I felt like I was too much, or not enough. Times when I let the pressure eat away at me until I forgot who I was. But when I’m with you, I never have to fix or shrink myself. I just get to be me, Kim Hongjoong. And I think that’s the rarest thing anyone can give another person.”
He smiled a little, shaking his head.
“It’s funny, isn’t it? We used to deny everything and pretend we weren’t as close as people said. But the truth is… we’ve always been each other’s safe place. Even before we started our relationship.”
He let out a soft laugh when he saw his mom already crying.
“You’ve seen every version of me, the ones I’m proud of and the ones I’d rather forget, and somehow, you’ve stayed. You’ve never tried to change me, only to remind me of who I already am. And if I ever start to forget again, I know you’ll be there to remind me.”
When he finally met Seonghwa’s eyes again, his chest tightened at the sight of him crying. The words slipped before he could think of them.
“I love you,” he said simply. “And I’ll keep on loving you, in private or in public, in the chaos or peace, in all the ways that make sense, and even in the ones that don’t. You’re my home. You always have been.”
Seonghwa smiled at him with his eyes glossy, and Hongjoong grabbed his hand before saying, “Thank you for being on my side.”
Seonghwa wiped the corners of his eyes before Hongjoong handed him the microphone. He laughed after calming himself.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to follow that,” he said with a shaky voice, making everyone laugh. He exhaled, preparing himself, his expression softening.
“I’ll start from the beginning; from the moment I realized I was in love with you.”
He paused, looking at him.
“As most of you know, Hongjoong joined the company before me. When I came in, I was terrified, afraid that I wouldn’t be good enough, and maybe I wouldn’t make it. The principal told me there was another trainee my age, someone who worked harder than anyone else. And honestly,” he chuckled, “that scared me even more. I thought, great, I already have competition.”
A few people laughed, and Seonghwa shook his head while smiling.
“But then I met this boy… and for some reason, every feeling of competition disappeared. Instead, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I didn’t want to beat him; I just wanted him to be proud of me. Somehow, that mattered more than anything at that moment.”
He exhaled, and Hongjoong truly seemed mesmerized by him.
“One night, after an especially long practice, I was exhausted. I remember looking at myself in the mirror, drenched in sweat, thinking I couldn’t do it anymore. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder, a small pat, and heard, ‘You did good, Seonghwa hyung.’”
“When I turned around and realized it was Hongjoong, I think my brain just stopped working. Because hearing it from him… it was so strange. Can you believe that?” he said, glancing at Hongjoong with a grin. “That’s all it took for me to fall for him!”
Everyone laughed, Hongjoong included, though he shook his head.
“I spent the whole week thinking about it,” Seonghwa went on, his voice gentler now. “Wondering why one small phrase could lift me up like that. And then one night, I saw you in your studio, working late like always… and I just thought, oh.”
His voice was, impossibly, softer.
“I’m in love with him.”
Everything was silent for a moment.
“But of course, I thought it was impossible. We were in the same group, both idols; it wasn’t supposed to happen. So, I ignored it. And when everyone teased us, calling us the mom and dad of the group, or saying we looked like a couple, I just laughed. It felt like a good joke, I didn’t believe that someone like you could look at me the same way.”
He smiled at the memory, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.
“Until one night… after we’d both been too drunk, you kissed me. I thought it was a mistake. I even wondered if you’d confused me for someone else.”
That earned a few laughs, and Hongjoong covered his face, embarrassed.
“And the next day you ignored me,” Seonghwa said, pointing lightly at him as the crowd laughed harder. “So I spent the whole day overthinking it. But then we actually talked, and I realized you felt the same way... I still can’t describe what that moment was like. To know that the person who had inspired me, frustrated me, comforted me, also loved me back.”
His tone softened completely then, his voice trembling just slightly.
“Maybe it’s fate, or maybe we just kept finding our way back to each other until it started to feel inevitable. If there’s such a thing as other lives, I hope we find each other in every single one. And if it takes time, then… please wait for me. Because no matter how long it takes, I promise, I’ll always make it worth the wait.”
He stopped for a second, visibly swallowing the emotion building in his throat.
“And if there’s ever a day when you can’t find your light, you can always turn to me.”
He smiled through his tears and reached out to take Hongjoong’s hand, caressing it.
“Because I hope that you know that the light you see in me is the one you put there.”
By then, both of them were crying. The officiant smiled, giving them a moment.
“With these words, may your love continue to be your home,” he said.
When they exchanged rings, their hands trembled. The silver bands glinted softly in the light. They looked at the engraved constellations and couldn’t help but smile. It looked beautiful on Seonghwa’s hand, like it had always belonged there.
“You may kiss,” the officiant said after a moment.
Seonghwa leaned down, his palm finding Hongjoong’s cheek, and Hongjoong’s hand instinctively moved to his waist. Their lips met in a soft, unhurried kiss while the guests clapped. Behind them, the lake shimmered under the golden sky, making it all seem dreamlike.
For a moment, Hongjoong thought that this must be what forever feels like.
After the ceremony, the guests were guided indoors for dinner. The reception hall was softly lit, decorated with candles glowing atop round tables draped in ivory linen. Plates of filet mignon, roasted vegetables, and truffle risotto were being served, along with glasses of champagne and white wine.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa sat for a moment at their table, and it felt a little strange being apart from everyone, but soon the guests began to approach them one by one to offer congratulations. Hongjoong kept an arm around Seonghwa’s waist as they moved around the salon, exchanging hugs, smiles, and thanking the guests for coming.
When they reached the table where the members sat, they were immediately met with a chorus of cheers.
“Those vows were insane,” San said first. “Like, what do you mean by ‘I’ll always make it worth the wait’? Are you trying to make us all cry?”
Wooyoung wiped an imaginary tear. “I was holding it together until that part,” he said. “Then I looked at Yunho, and he was already gone.”
“I wasn’t crying!” Yunho protested.
“Bro, you were sobbing,” Mingi replied.
“You’re all so dramatic,” Hongjoong shook his head, and everyone looked at him.
“Look who’s talking,” Yeosang replied, making them laugh.
They stayed at their table for a while, talking and joking, remembering some of their past stories. After a while, Seonghwa excused himself to the restroom, and when he returned a minute later, a familiar melody started playing through the speakers, which Hongjoong immediately recognized; it was Angel Baby. He looked around in surprise before realizing Seonghwa was standing in front of him with his hand extended.
“Dance with me?” he asked.
Normally, Hongjoong would’ve refused right away, especially with everyone watching. In his defense, Seonghwa always asked just to tease him. And they hadn’t planned any kind of ‘wedding dance’, but after considering it for a moment, he nodded, surprising the older man.
As soon as he stood, the members started cheering and clapping, and Seonghwa took his hand, pulling him toward the center of the room. They began to move together, with Seonghwa guiding him gently.
Up close, Hongjoong couldn’t stop admiring how beautiful he looked; the warm lights caught the shimmer of Seonghwa’s makeup, making his sharp features stand out more.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” Hongjoong asked quietly, and Seonghwa only smiled, not even pretending to deny it, his eyes glinting mischievously.
“I just wanna live in this moment forever,” he began to hum the song, then he sang it dramatically just to get a reaction from Hongjoong. He obviously was a bit drunk. “’Cause I’m afraid that livin’ couldn’t get any better.”
Hongjoong groaned and buried his face against Seonghwa’s shoulder, trying to muffle his laughter.
“Started givin’ up on the word forever, until you gave up heaven so we could be together,” he continued.
“Stop,” Hongjoong muttered, his voice muffled against Seonghwa’s suit. He was sure his face was completely red now, but Seonghwa only laughed softly. The teasing faded when he started singing the chorus.
“You’re my angel, angel baby.”
They swayed slowly, completely in sync, the world around them fading for a moment. When the song ended, the guests burst into applause, and both of them laughed, embarrassed, as they returned to their table.
Later, when the energy finally began to die down, some of the guests started heading to the nearby villa they’d rented for everyone. Staff, friends, and family said their goodbyes, promising to meet again for breakfast the next morning.
Seonghwa had been talking with his brother when he found Hongjoong again, standing quietly near the edge of the terrace.
“Everyone’s heading out,” he said, sliding his hand into Hongjoong’s. “Should we go too?”
“Let’s stay for a bit,” Hongjoong replied.
They walked down the narrow path toward the dock, where the water lapped gently against the wooden boards. Seonghwa stopped near the end, turning toward the lake with a nostalgic sigh.
“It’s weird standing here again,” he said. “It feels like we went in circles just to end up back at this exact place.”
“Yeah,” Hongjoong murmured. “It doesn’t feel like much has changed in a year.”
Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder at him.
“So… are you finally going to do the Titanic pose with me?”
“We’re not even on a boat,” Hongjoong groaned.
“Doesn’t matter,” Seonghwa said, spreading his arms dramatically. “C’mon, Jack.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but stepped forward anyway, sliding his arms around Seonghwa from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbled.
“And you love it,” Seonghwa replied.
Well, he did. God, he did. He felt it in the way Seonghwa’s laughter vibrated against his chest, in the quiet sigh that escaped when Seonghwa leaned back into him. The world seemed suspended. Moonlight danced on the water, the warmth of Seonghwa against the cool night air, and everything slowed down. He looked out over the same lake they had visited a year ago, and marveled at how he still couldn’t believe they were here now. Even without a full ceremony, with just a few witnesses, Hongjoong felt as if something had truly shifted today.
“I love you,” he whispered after a moment.
Seonghwa stayed quiet for a long minute. The wind brushed gently across their faces, carrying the faint sound of water lapping against the dock.
“I’m so happy, Hongjoongie,” he said softly. “I didn’t think I could ever have something like this. You don’t know how grateful I am to have you in my life, and I would be so happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He surprised Hongjoong, leaving with in shock for a moment, then he felt his throat tightening.
“You didn’t say I love you back,” he said when he didn’t find any other words, keeping his voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall.
Seonghwa laughed and turned in his arms, his hands finding Hongjoong’s face. He smiled, that same infuriatingly soft, grounding smile that always undid him.
“I love you,” he said. “More than anything in my life.”
Then he kissed him, slow and deep, letting the world fade around them. Hongjoong’s hands rested lightly on Seonghwa’s waist, while Seonghwa’s fingers tangled gently in his hair. The lake shimmered behind them, reflecting the soft silver of the moonlight, and their silhouettes merged into one against its glow. For a long moment, nothing existed except them.
When they were back at the villa, Hongjoong was sure he would fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, his social battery utterly drained. After they returned, he showered on autopilot and emerged from the bathroom in a robe, towel-drying his hair, expecting to find Seonghwa already in bed, probably asleep.
Instead, the sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs and banished all thoughts of sleep.
Seonghwa was on the bed, but he was not dressed for sleep. He was draped in white lace, a bridal-inspired body suit that clung to his every curve, sheer and delicate. A matching, translucent robe was tied loosely around his waist, doing little to hide the intricate patterns beneath. And on his thigh, the final, devastating touch: a white lace garter, stark against his honey-toned skin, which seemed to glow in the warm light of the bedroom.
Hongjoong stood frozen, the towel forgotten in his hand. His mind went blank.
"Hongjoong?" Seonghwa's voice was small, uncertain. "Do you like it?"
He loved it. Hongjoong had never seen Seonghwa in lingerie, not even conceptualized it. But in that moment, he swore he would take him to every boutique in the city and buy him every silk, lace, and satin piece they could find, just to see him like this over and over again. He managed a jerky nod.
A relieved laugh bubbled from Seonghwa’s lips. He rose from the bed, the sheer robe flowing around him, and closed the distance between them. He cupped Hongjoong’s face gently.
"Then what are you waiting for?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over Hongjoong's lips before he closed the final inch to kiss him.
It was nothing like the soft kiss by the lake. Hongjoong’s hands came up to grip Seonghwa’s waist, his fingers digging into the lace. He groaned at the sensation; the contrast of the delicate, textured lace against Seonghwa’s warm, solid body. He broke the kiss, panting, just to look at him.
"God, you're...," Hongjoong breathed out, his eyes dark with want. He walked Seonghwa back until his shoulders met the wall, his mouth finding the column of his throat. He started with soft, open-mouthed kisses, feeling the frantic pulse beneath his lips. Then, slowly, he escalated, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, determined to leave his mark.
"Now everyone will know," Hongjoong murmured against his skin. "They'll see you and know you're mine. Just like I'm yours."
"Yours," Seonghwa gasped, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thud. "Always yours."
Driven by a possessive need, Hongjoong sank to his knees. He looked up, meeting Seonghwa’s heavy-lidded gaze as he gently lifted his leg, placing Seonghwa’s foot on his own bent knee. His hands slid up the toned calf, his thumbs stroking the skin until he reached the delicate lace of the garter. He leaned in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh, just above the band.
Then, he took the top edge of the garter between his teeth.
"Mine," he growled, the word vibrating against Seonghwa’s skin as he slowly pulled it down his thigh with his teeth. Once it was past his knee, he used his hands to slide it the rest of the way off, tossing it aside before kissing the newly exposed strip of skin.
He kissed and nipped his way up Seonghwa’s inner thigh until his face was level with the lace panties of the bodysuit. The delicate fabric was strained, already damp with the evidence of Seonghwa’s arousal.
"Fuck," Hongjoong cursed softly, his breath hot against him. "Look at you. You're so perfect like this." He nuzzled the covered length, feeling it twitch under his attention. He began to palm Seonghwa through the lace, and when he felt him grow half-hard, then fully so, Hongjoong hooked his fingers into the waistband. He looked up, holding Seonghwa’s heated gaze as he pulled the panties down, freeing his erection. It stood flushed and heavy before him, a contrast to the white lace still framing his hips.
Hongjoong wasn't always the biggest fan of giving blowjobs, but the sight of Seonghwa coming completely undone just for him was a potent aphrodisiac. It was all the motivation he needed.
He started with a slow, flat lick from base to tip, savoring the taste and the sharp intake of breath from above. Then he took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slit, collecting the bitter-salt precome. He worked his way down, taking more of him, his hand stroking what his mouth couldn't yet reach. He set a relentless, deep rhythm, while his other hand gripped Seonghwa’s hip to steady him. The sounds were obscene; wet, sucking noises and Seonghwa’s broken moans and pleas.
"Hongjoong, I'm… ah, close," Seonghwa choked out, his fingers tangling in Hongjoong's damp hair.
Hongjoong pulled off with a wet pop and wrapped his hand around the base of Seonghwa’s cock, stroking him fast and firm.
"Come for me, baby," he commanded, his voice rough. He stuck out his tongue, keeping his eyes locked on Seonghwa’s. "Mark me. Let me taste it."
That was all it took. With a cry, Seonghwa came, stripes of white painting Hongjoong's tongue and chin. Hongjoong swallowed what he could before using his hand to milk him through the last waves of his climax.
He stayed on his knees for a moment, catching his breath, looking up at the utterly wrecked and beautiful man above him. The white lace was rumpled, his skin was flushed, and his eyes were unfocused. Hongjoong smiled, a slow, possessive, and deeply satisfied smile.
Then he rose from his knees, his own legs slightly unsteady, and fetched some tissues from the nearby nightstand. He first tenderly cleaned Seonghwa before wiping his own chin and mouth. They both caught their breath until Seonghwa spoke.
"Did you… really like the lingerie?" he asked. "When I ordered it online, I looked at so many options, but I felt so insecure about trying something like this."
Hongjoong's heart swelled. He cupped Seonghwa's cheek, his thumb stroking the flushed skin.
"I love it," he reassured him. "You look so fucking good."
He suddenly had an idea as he glanced at the large, full-body mirror in the room.
"Here, let me show you."
He guided a pliant Seonghwa by the waist, positioning him directly in front of the mirror.
"Look," Hongjoong said. "Look at yourself. You have no idea what you do to me."
His hands slid from Seonghwa's waist up his torso, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive nipples through the delicate lace. Seonghwa’s head fell back against Hongjoong's shoulder with a sharp gasp, a low moan escaping his lips. He turned his head, capturing Hongjoong's mouth in a deep, desperate kiss.
After a few moments of Hongjoong playing with his nipples, teasing them through the fabric as they kissed, Hongjoong broke away to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down Seonghwa's neck, nipping at the juncture of his shoulder.
"Baby, please," Seonghwa begged, his voice strained. "Just fuck me. I can't take any more."
Hongjoong smiled against his skin, licking his earlobe. "Where's the lube?"
Seonghwa bent forward, his black hair cascading down as he braced one hand on the cool surface of the mirror and used the other to push the robe completely out of the way. Hongjoong took a step back to take in the view and groaned at the sight of Seonghwa presenting himself so perfectly.
"I'm ready," Seonghwa panted, glancing over his shoulder. "Just like this." He revealed the base of a plug nestled between his cheeks.
"Fuck, Seonghwa," Hongjoong growled, his composure snapping. "You make me so fucking crazy." He gripped the base of the plug and began to work it slowly in and out.
"Did you just put this in?" he asked.
Seonghwa could only nod, his knuckles white where he pressed against the mirror. Hongjoong continued the torturous movement, pulling the plug almost all the way out before pushing it back in, until Seonghwa was writhing and pleading.
"Please, just put it in, please."
Hongjoong chuckled darkly and finally pulled the plug out, the silicone glistening.
"You sure?" he asked, aligning himself.
"Yes!" Seonghwa nodded desperately.
Hongjoong gave himself a few slick strokes and pressed the head of his cock against Seonghwa's entrance. He pushed in just the tip and immediately groaned at the incredible, tight heat.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he breathed, giving Seonghwa a moment to adjust. "Breathe for me, baby."
As Seonghwa exhaled shakily, Hongjoong pushed in further, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed. They both moaned at the overwhelming sensation. He stayed still for a moment, letting Seonghwa get used to the feeling before he began to move with slow, deep thrusts.
Seonghwa placed both hands on the mirror as Hongjoong's pace began to quicken, the rhythm building from a steady beat to a frantic, pounding pace. Hongjoong admired the view, the way Seonghwa's back arched beautifully under the delicate lace straps. He had always been obsessed with Seonghwa's back, and seeing it framed by the lingerie was driving him wild.
He took hold of Seonghwa's chin, forcing his gaze up to their reflection.
"Look at yourself," he commanded. "Don't you look beautiful like this? Being fucked from behind, dressed in this pretty lace?"
"Oh, fuck," Seonghwa moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.
Hongjoong applied a little pressure to his chin. "I asked you a question."
"Yes," Seonghwa gasped, forcing his eyes open to meet Hongjoong's intense gaze in the mirror. "I like it… I like seeing myself get fucked by you like this."
"Good boy," Hongjoong smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek before resuming his thrusts. As Seonghwa's moans grew louder, Hongjoong guided three of his fingers to his mouth. Though they were in one of the villa's most remote rooms, he didn't want to risk a thing. Seonghwa understood immediately, sucking the digits eagerly, coating them with saliva.
They continued like that until Hongjoong felt his own climax coiling tight in his gut. He reached around, taking Seonghwa's leaking cock in his hand and stroking him in time with his thrusts. It didn't take long; Seonghwa came with a broken cry, his release streaking the mirror in front of them. The sight of Seonghwa's utterly ruined expression in the reflection was all it took to push Hongjoong over the edge, and he followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside him.
They stayed like that for a while, recovering, their heavy breaths slowly returning to normal. Hongjoong carefully pulled out and turned Seonghwa around to kiss him softly. But Seonghwa, with a surprising burst of energy, guided him backward onto the bed, climbing atop him to continue their kiss there.
That night, they lost count of how many times they came together, pausing only to drink water or share lazy kisses before continuing.
The next morning, waking up tangled in each other with the excitement of being ‘officially’ together, they did it again, so consumed by each other that they completely forgot about the breakfast they had organized for their guests.
They were both deeply embarrassed later, saying that they overslept, as if no one would notice Seonghwa's high-collared shirt on a sunny Italian morning or the obvious dark circles under their eyes.
When they sat down, Hongjoong reached for Seonghwa’s hand beneath the table, intertwining their fingers gently. His thumb brushed over the silver bands on their hands; the promise rings they had exchanged a year ago, now joined by the new ones from the ceremony. The sight made something warm swell in his chest.
He looked at Seonghwa, who was talking with his parents, and Hongjoong couldn’t help but think about how much he wished the world could see how deeply, quietly, endlessly he loved him. But for now, this was enough.
chapter 6: bang the doldrums (10k)
chapters: 1 2 3 4 5/ 7
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, drinking
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, miscomunnication
a/n: we’re getting closer to the end, noo. bear with me and hongjoong’s eternal overthinking
- all the songs mentioned are fall out boy songs
- the song seonghwa sings is the bridge from this is how i disappear
bang the doldrums
originally published on ao3
A week had passed, and Hongjoong no longer knew what to do.
Every day blurred into the next, as if time itself had slowed just to mock him. He’d expected; no, he’d needed Seonghwa to fight for him, to tell him not to end things, to insist they talk in person instead. He knew himself well enough to admit that if Seonghwa had said that, he would’ve agreed, and they wouldn’t have reached this point. But Seonghwa only left him in silence long enough for Hongjoong to hear his own heartbeat before finally saying,
“If that’s what you want.”
Hongjoong had hung up, thrown his phone against the floor, and stared at it for an hour, hoping Seonghwa would apologize like he had the day before, but he didn’t. That same night, Hongjoong blocked Seonghwa’s number, only to decide the next morning it was better to just delete it entirely. It didn’t make much difference since both of them were still in the group chat with their bands, but deleting it gave him the illusion of control. At least the temptation was gone, and he wouldn’t have to see his name every time he made a call.
The first week was the hardest. On the fifth day, he came home from work, curled up on his bed, and stared at the ceiling, listening to his bandmates' muffled voices outside his door. He hated himself for it; he didn’t want to be the one dragging down the mood of the apartment, but he couldn’t stop.
The breaking point came when three knocks sounded on his door, followed by the slow creak of it opening. Mingi leaned in first, awkward as ever, followed by Jongho and Yunho.
“Hyung,” Mingi said carefully, like he was testing the air. “Come on. Let’s get out of here, let’s go for fried chicken or something.”
Hongjoong sat up slowly, his heart already pounding. He didn’t want their pity, or whatever this was.
“I don’t want to,” he replied, looking at them.
“Just for an hour,” Yunho stepped inside. “You don’t have to talk about it, we just don’t want you—”
“I said I don’t want to!” The words tore out louder than he intended, and his voice cracked on the last syllable. He could already feel the tears forming, but the look on their faces only made him angrier for some reason. “Just leave me the hell alone, all right? I don’t need this.”
The silence afterward was worse than anything.
“Do you think this is easy for us?” Mingi shot back, stepping forward with a look Hongjoong was sure he’d never seen before. “We’re trying to help you, so stop treating us like crap just because you’re miserable.”
Hongjoong almost jumped out of bed without thinking, and Yunho started, “Mingi—” But Jongho moved first, stepping up to the bed and gripping Hongjoong’s shoulders, holding him in place. For a split second, Hongjoong thought he was about to hit him, but instead, Jongho just looked him straight in the eye.
“Calm down,” he said.
Hongjoong’s eyes burned with shame. He wanted to apologize right then, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Let’s go,” Jongho murmured, guiding Mingi toward the door, who was muttering under his breath. Yunho stayed in the doorway with his arms crossed, just watching him.
“I knew this was going to happen,” he said calmly, then closed the door, leaving Hongjoong alone again.
He collapsed back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and this time he couldn’t hold the tears back. He was frustrated with them, with himself, with everything. But as the hours dragged on, it shifted into guilt. They hadn’t deserved it. They had only been trying to help for the past week, and he had turned his pain into a weapon, aiming it against the people who least deserved it.
By midnight, he couldn’t stand himself anymore. When he opened his door, he found the TV casting its glow over the living room, and his friends sprawled across the couch, scrolling on their phones. The second they noticed him, they shifted, like they weren’t sure what to expect.
“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong said quietly, his voice hoarse from crying. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Jongho looked at him for a moment, then sighed.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, and Hongjoong nodded, then Jongho patted the spot beside him on the couch. Yunho gave him a small smile, but what hurt most was seeing Mingi’s red, swollen eyes. Hongjoong felt like the worst person alive. He knew how sensitive Mingi was, and still…
He sank into the cushions and rested his head on Mingi’s shoulder, catching him off guard.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“No… I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry, hyung,” Mingi murmured, and they stayed like that until sleep took them both. For the first time all week, Hongjoong felt the faint relief of knowing he wasn’t completely alone.
After that night, he tried… just not in a healthy way. By burying himself in work so no thought could escape him. He drove to his studio and spent long hours there working on the demos they already had. He didn’t write anything new, not because he didn’t want to, but because he felt empty. It didn’t make much sense; when people went through a breakup, they usually had so much to say, but Hongjoong didn’t. Then he remembered that their “relationship” had never been like a normal one, so…
When they were called for a meeting with the label, none of them expected to be greeted by the staff smiling at them, congratulating them on their jump in popularity after the festival. They showed them how the streams had increased, and how their name was being mentioned in international forums more than ever. Hongjoong sat straighter, feeling proud; everything they’d worked so hard for was finally showing results. But then, their manager spoke.
“Everyone’s been asking about the song you performed on the third day, during the exchange with Vesper,” he said.
It felt like a punch to the gut. Hongjoong tried to force his mind blank, but his memory betrayed him, showing Seonghwa singing to him across the stage. He lowered his gaze, trying to stay composed while everyone turned to Mingi and congratulated him. That’s when Hongjoong was reminded that this wasn’t about him. This was Mingi’s song. His pain, his effort, he deserved to celebrate it. Hongjoong forced himself to breathe.
“See?” Hongjoong said after a moment, nudging Mingi with a faint smile. “And you didn’t even want to release it.”
Mingi got all red, and they laughed.
They agreed Mingi’s song would be the one they’d promote, so they made small adjustments, recorded it, and rushed into preparing the music video. It was all happening really fast, but it was better for Hongjoong. Better to keep moving, better to stay busy, anything was better than being still long enough to think.
The day before shooting, Mingi appeared in the doorway of the living room, looking nervous.
“Hyung,” he said suddenly. “Can you dye my hair?”
Hongjoong looked up from his laptop, and blinked. “What?”
“I want to bleach it and cut it short,” Mingi said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was thinking… I don’t know, I need a change.”
Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “And you want me to do it instead of going to a salon?”
“Come on, you’ve been doing yours for years. You’re practically a pro. Besides…” Mingi hesitated, then smiled. “We’ll get to spend time together.”
Hongjoong had the suspicion that Mingi just wanted to cheer him up in a more subtle way, and it made him feel a little bad. But he reminded himself: this was his friend. It was fine.
“Fine,” Hongjoong sighed, closing his laptop. “Before you regret it.”
They headed out in the car, and after parking near the shops, they picked up bleach, toner, dye, gloves, and a decent pair of scissors. Mingi insisted on stopping by the corner store for snacks and drinks, and then, saying he was hungry, invited Hongjoong to a café. Each stop stretched the trip out longer, and Hongjoong began to suspect this was Mingi’s plan all along. Strangely, he didn’t mind. For the first time in weeks, he was out, and he realized he was enjoying it.
They turned a corner and passed a tattoo studio that caught Hongjoong’s attention. He had seen recommendations for the place online, and he’d been thinking about getting a tattoo for a long time. He even had a design planned, but he was still uncertain about the idea of something permanent on his skin.
“Would you get one?” Mingi asked, catching the look on his face.
“Yeah, maybe,” Hongjoong replied.
“You should. It’d look good on you.”
“Do you think so?” Hongjoong asked, and Mingi nodded. “What about you?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” he laughed.
When they returned to the apartment, Mingi spread everything out on the dining table and studied it for a moment.
“So,” he said, pulling up a couple of reference photos on his phone. “I was thinking something short, like really short.”
Hongjoong leaned over to look and was surprised. The cuts Mingi showed him were far shorter than his current style. He’d look like a completely different person, but Hongjoong could see it working.
“That’s bold,” he said. “But it’ll look good on you.”
Before he could study the pictures further, a message flashed across the screen, and Mingi immediately locked the phone, but Hongjoong caught a glimpse of the sender’s name: Wooyoung. The name wasn’t what startled him; it was his reaction. Mingi never hid his phone like that.
“You don’t have to do that,” Hongjoong said after a moment.
Mingi froze. “Do what?”
“That.” Hongjoong gestured at the phone. “Hiding the messages, or acting like I’m going to be upset. I know you guys still talk to Vesper. Of course you do, they’re our friends. What happened with me and Seonghwa…” His voice cracked at the name, but he forced it out. “…that’s between him and me. Not you guys.”
Mingi shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking down to the table like he was being scolded.
“I mean it,” Hongjoong went on. “Don’t cut them off because of me, and don’t tiptoe around me either. I care about those guys too, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be their friend. It’s fine.”
They were silent for a moment until Mingi nodded.
“Okay,” he said softly.
“Good,” Hongjoong smiled at him, though he felt guilty. The fact that Mingi felt like he couldn’t be honest around him made him feel worse. This whole thing was hurting the wrong people. They didn’t bring it up again; instead, they spread an old towel across the bathroom floor and got to work.
It took hours of cutting, bleaching, toning, and then dyeing, with breaks in between, but Hongjoong found himself oddly absorbed in the process. He was too focused on not screwing up Mingi’s hair to think about anything else. When he started to apply the dye, Mingi leaned back with his eyes closed.
“Don’t move,” Hongjoong muttered, brushing through his hair.
“Hyung,” Mingi said, opening his eyes to look at him.
Hongjoong glanced down. “What?”
“Thank you.”
For a moment, Hongjoong was caught off guard. Then he smiled faintly. “Stay still.”
By the time they finished, the sun had already gone down. Mingi stared at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his newly dyed pink hair. Hongjoong had no idea how he pulled it off, but he did. When Mingi stepped into the living room, the others immediately turned their heads.
“Whoa,” Yunho said, whistling. “You look like you just joined Vesper.”
“Yunho,” Jongho muttered when he noticed Hongjoong. He felt all their eyes flick toward him and sighed, dragging a hand through his own hair.
“I already told Mingi this, but I’ll say it again,” Hongjoong said, looking at them. “Whatever happened between me and Seonghwa has nothing to do with you guys. I don’t want you cutting off Vesper because of me. And I don’t want you to stop talking to him either. I get it, okay?”
They all looked like they weren’t sure what to say, but no one argued.
“Okay,” Yunho finally said.
Hongjoong nodded once, feeling a bit of relief. He knew they’d been walking on eggshells around him, avoiding the subject like it might crack him open. And maybe it would, but it wasn’t fair to let them carry that weight.
He knew, in the small rational part of his head, that the way he’d been avoiding everything would cost him. Avoidance didn’t make the ache go away; it simply hides it until some random day it all comes crashing down.
That day for Hongjoong was a random Thursday. He lay half-awake on his mattress after a hard day at work, scrolling on his phone, when the screen showed a face he had sworn he’d erased. He almost didn’t recognize him at first, since it looked like he’d dyed his hair from silver to black, but still had long hair. Hongjoong took his time to study his face, before coming to the fact that yes, he was seeing Seonghwa. He wondered why he was seeing him if he made sure to remove him, but he saw San’s comment on the video, and he realized that the universe had a petty sense of humor. Still, he couldn’t fight the curiosity and tapped it.
It started with Seonghwa setting down the video while smiling, and seeing him this close made his heart ache. He noticed that his eyes now had black circles under them, and that the background was the same hotel room from L.A., or at least it matched the memory of it, so they’re back again. Seonghwa sat down and tuned his guitar, then began to sing.
Can you hear me cry out to you?
Words I thought I’d choke on figure out,
The sound of his voice hit Hongjoong like a physical thing. Part of him wanted to slam the phone down and run; another part wanted to keep listening to his voice all night long. He felt angry first, though he didn’t know exactly why. Maybe because after all of this, hearing his voice again felt so good. Seonghwa kept going.
I’m really not so with you anymore
I’m just a ghost
So I can’t hurt you anymore
So I can’t hurt you anymore…
He didn’t recognize the lyrics; it wasn’t a Vesper song, and the post didn’t say it was a cover. That meant it was something Seonghwa had written, which made everything worse somehow. The clip ended as Seonghwa did the last note with his guitar, reached up, and turned the phone off. Just thirty seconds. Hongjoong didn’t know how many times he watched it; the number blurred after ten. Each repeat undid him a little more, until he sat on the bed with his knees pulled up, and his fingers trembling.
Curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to tap Seonghwa’s profile. The first thing he noticed was that the photos from the amusement park were still there. He hadn’t looked at them in months, but if he saw them now, he’d probably cry. After that post, there was the L.A. photo dump and finally the video he just saw. Hongjoong noticed that it was the only video Seonghwa had ever uploaded as an actual post. Seonghwa seemed like the type of person to meticulously plan his aesthetic, and that video broke the pattern of his feed.
Hongjoong tapped on the L.A. post, realizing he’d never studied it carefully. Most of the pictures were of Vesper performing, the group together, a few cityscapes. And the photos he remembered too well; the photos he had taken of Seonghwa when they spent the day exploring, the selfie they took together, and, last of all, the picture of them together at the beach.
He wondered why Seonghwa hadn’t deleted them. Surely it must hurt him too… Or maybe it didn’t.
He opened the comments, and most of them were from Vesper members, some fans praising the set, and other people he didn’t recognize. He was about to exit when one caught his eye: “matz!” And others replied with the same word, some of them confused.
Hongjoong stared at the word in shock, then let out an unexpected laugh; he had forgotten that stupid nickname. It was ridiculous, really, but the more he laughed, the more his eyes burned. He didn’t even notice when the first tears fell, or when they kept coming, until he was sobbing.
Fuck, he missed Seonghwa. He missed whatever it was they had; Seonghwa had said just friends, probably to mask that it was only casual sex, but nothing about them had ever felt casual. From the first day together, Hongjoong knew it was different, and they should’ve talked about it. If Seonghwa had only wanted him for the sex, maybe he would’ve taken it, to stay close. But it hadn’t been like that, and losing what they had been worse.
His gaze drifted to the Star Wars notebook on his nightstand; he had thought about throwing it away, but never could. After his last outburst, he had been too embarrassed to reread anything he’d scribbled, so he ignored it, but maybe now was the time. Maybe putting something on paper would help.
He picked it up and flipped through, scanning the mess of thoughts he had written. He slowly began to accommodate his ideas, and the lyrics turned out to be a way to let out his frustration about their strange, undefined relationship. Those rambling words from before gave him somewhere to start, and he wrote for at least two hours, crying on and off, until he felt exhausted and set the notebook aside.
When he was finally ready to rest after letting out some of his frustration, he began to remember. It was easy to admit that Seonghwa had hurt him, but it was harder to admit that part of it was his own fault. What if they had actually talked? What if he had pressed Seonghwa to explain what ‘it means what it means’ really meant instead of letting him stay vague? He remembered that Fourth of July night so vividly: the glow of fireworks on Seonghwa’s face, the way it felt like something else entirely. It made his heart ache. They lasted like two months, and the ghost of it haunted him more than entire past relationships. He couldn’t stop wondering what they might have been.
He couldn’t sleep and, with a sigh, Hongjoong reached for the notebook again. This time, the lyrics felt softer in a way, more emotional. He lost track of time until the sunlight began to spill through the curtains, and he cursed under his breath since he had to be at work in only a few hours.
For the next week, Hongjoong worked on those two tracks. He completely focused on polishing and producing them, even asking his colleagues for advice, which he rarely did. Somehow, he finished both in a matter of days. He didn’t know how he managed it, except that maybe wanting to keep his mind occupied really did wonders. Some nights, he fell asleep on the studio couch, only waking up when one of his friends called to check on him.
When the demos were ready, he took them to his manager. He handed over the USB, feeling suddenly nervous.
“What’s this?” his manager asked, holding up the drive.
“I know we only planned for ten tracks,” Hongjoong said quickly. “But these are two more that I think should be on the album.”
His manager frowned. “Hongjoong, we’ve already settled on the tracklist. Adding songs at the last minute is risky, you know that.”
“I know,” Hongjoong admitted, tightening his jaw. “But I really believe in these. Please, just listen. Trust me on this.”
The silence stretched, and his manager looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, took the USB, and tucked it into his pocket.
“Alright, I’ll talk to the higher-ups. No promises.”
Hongjoong nodded, holding back the rush of relief until he was outside. Later that day, his phone buzzed.
Manager:
We can add them
Hongjoong’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately replied.
Hongjoong:
Thank you, hyung
Manager:
Don’t thank me yet
Tell the boys to come in tomorrow
We’re on a tight schedule now
Hongjoong didn’t care about the stress. He practically ran home to give them the news, but when he told them, Jongho looked like he might strangle him.
“Hyung,” he groaned. “You told us we’d finally get a break before the shows. I was already pacing myself, taking care of my voice, and now—” He stopped, looked at Hongjoong, and exhaled hard, shaking his head. “Never mind. Do you have the lyrics?”
Hongjoong handed them over, feeling suddenly exposed as the others leaned in to read. He now realized that the songs could be a bit personal. None of them knew the details of what had happened with Seonghwa, and Hongjoong had no intention of spelling it out, but his lyrics could give them an idea. Still, no one said anything and didn’t ask. They just nodded and told him they were good.
The next two days were spent recording until late at night, with Jongho always being the first to arrive, and the others coming after work. Hongjoong got to be more involved in the process this time, which made him happy since he already had a clear vision for both songs. After some brainstorming, they settled on calling the songs Bang the Doldrums and Fourth of July. The latter was easy, but for the first one, he’d originally wanted The Summer of Like, but they said it didn’t fit much. When they finally wrapped, he clapped Jongho on the shoulder.
“I owe you. Let me buy you something to say thanks,” he said.
Jongho seemed to think for a second before saying, “You’re paying for dinner tonight.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but agreed, and they ended the night at a small spot near the studio, grilling thick slices of pork belly with all the sides and celebrating with soju.
Two weeks later, the album officially dropped, with a total of twelve tracks.
01. Thriller
02. “The Take Over, The Breaks Over”
03. This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race
04. I’m Like A Lawyer With The Way I’m Always Trying To Get Off You
05. Hum Hallelujah
06. Golden
07. Thnks fr th Mmrs
08. Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am?
09. Bang The Doldrums
10. Fame < Infamy
11. Fourth of July
12. I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers
They gathered around one copy in the practice room, and Jongho turned it over in his hands before passing it around. When Yunho got a look at the tracklist, he laughed.
“Wow, we really don’t know how to name songs, do we?” That made everyone crack up, even Hongjoong, who suggested most of the names.
“Hey, they’re iconic!” Mingi said, and Yunho shook his head, laughing. They all kept looking down at the CD like it was the most precious thing they had ever seen. It was the result of their hard work, and they felt really proud of it.
The weeks of promotion passed really fast; they moved from one show to the next, fitting in interviews, performances, and photoshoots. During interviews, they were asked about Vesper more often than not, about how they had become friends and what it meant for both bands to be so close. Since Hongjoong usually ended up being the one who answered most questions, he couldn’t even remember how he managed to get the words out without his voice breaking. The first few times, Yunho had stepped in and handled it for him, giving Hongjoong a chance to breathe.
Aside from that, they were doing great. Of course, they weren’t recognized on the scale of K-pop groups, but the response was better than any of them had dared to expect. The sales, especially international ones, surprised them the most.
One night, he was surprised to see a message on the group chat with Vesper.
Wooyoung:
Congrats on the release, you guys
San:
The album is really good
Hongjoong:
thanks
Unknown number:
I really liked it
The last two messages were sent almost at the same time, making Hongjoong freeze. The messages stopped for a moment until Yeosang broke the silence.
Yeosang:
When’s your first show?
Jongho:
In a week
Yeosang:
Damn
We won’t make it to the first one
What about the second?
They continued talking, but Hongjoong stopped reading after that. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, telling himself he’d ask the boys later what else had been said.
During promotions, they only performed Thnks fr th Mmrs and This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race, so when rehearsals began, it felt strange to play his two songs. Each time they ran through them, Hongjoong felt too aware of his own lyrics, almost like everyone could see through him. Before practice, a staff member pulled him aside to explain that since the last songs had been added late, they’d have to split them: one on the first show, the other on the second. Hongjoong nodded and made a quick decision: Bang the Doldrums would be the first, then Fourth of July.
He was so focused on rehearsal that he didn’t notice the missed calls from his mom until hours later. His stomach dropped when he saw the screen since he hadn’t spoken to her in a while, and the panic made him call back immediately.
“Joong-ah, is everything okay?” his mom answered, laughing when she heard Hongjoong’s nervous response. “Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to tell you that your dad, your brother, and I want to come see your first show. Could we?”
Hongjoong was surprised. “Why are you asking like you need permission?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a little nervous. “I just wanted to make sure it’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is,” he said quickly. “I’d like that.”
They said goodbye, his mom ending with a soft, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Hongjoong replied, smiling despite the heaviness in his chest. When he hung up, he sat there for a while, realizing how long it had really been since he’d last talked to his mom.
The day of the first show came faster than Hongjoong could process. In between rehearsals and trying to clear his workload, he barely noticed the time slipping away until suddenly it was here. The four of them felt even more nervous than the first day at the festival.
Their manager drove them through Seoul’s narrow streets to the venue. It wasn’t massive, but a well-known club that regularly hosted alt bands. The place fit about three thousand, each with a seat, and it felt like the right size for Lost Signal. Their manager had told them the tickets had sold out so quickly that the venue had added a second show. That part still surprised Hongjoong.
“Sold out…” Yunho muttered, staring out the window. “Can you believe that? People actually paid to hear us scream in their faces.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jongho replied. “I sing like an angel.”
Mingi gave him a side eye, and they all laughed, but Hongjoong still felt tense. He tugged on his black hoodie, which was hiding his stage fit underneath. His outfit had a short-skirt hybrid piece that felt risky, but he’d decided to go for it. If there was ever a night to own it, it was tonight. He faintly remembered Seonghwa saying that he looked good in that type of skirt.
When they arrived, some small groups of fans were already waiting outside, and Hongjoong noticed a few holding homemade banners. His stomach flipped when he realized they were there for them. It was different from the festival, since they had a more diverse audience.
Inside the venue, it smelled like beer and dust. The staff waved them toward the back, where their dressing room was, and the four of them dumped their bags and instruments, then headed out for soundcheck.
The stage looked small under the glaring lights but standing there with his bass slung across his chest, Hongjoong felt taller. They ran through the opening of Thriller twice since it didn’t feel right; it was their first time in a closed venue, so it made sense.
“Alright,” the sound tech called out. “One more time from the top, then you’re good.”
Hongjoong played the riff again, trying his best to calm his heart. The sound echoed cleanly across the empty floor, and he imagined it filled with people, making him feel more nervous.
After soundcheck, they went backstage again to prepare themselves. They dressed quietly, each of them focused on their own thing; Mingi was looking at himself in the mirror, Jongho was practicing his vocals, and Yunho sat bouncing his knee, tapping a rhythm on his thigh with his sticks.
“Are you guys nervous?” Mingi asked when he sat back.
“Nope,” Jongho said flatly, though his frown betrayed him.
“Liar,” Hongjoong told him, and Jongho looked at him with a look that made him laugh.
The manager poked his head in. “Ten minutes, be ready.”
Those ten minutes felt like an eternity, and when the stage crew finally waved them out, Hongjoong’s palms were slick with sweat. The roar of the crowd hit them as soon as they stepped into the side corridor, and seeing all those people, it felt huge.
“Okay,” Hongjoong said, looking at them. “We good?”
“Yes, captain,” They all said in unison, and Hongjoong laughed, gripping his bass tighter.
When they walked out, the crowd erupted, surprising them. The stage lights blinded Hongjoong for a moment, but when he adjusted, he could see the packed floor; their faces, hands, phones lifted. They were really here.
Jongho stepped up to the mic. “Seoul!” he shouted, his voice filled with adrenaline, and the crowd screamed back.
The instrumental started, and Hongjoong leaned into his mic to do the intro, trying to keep his voice steady even though his stomach flipped:
“Yeah, what you critics said would never happen,” He tried to keep his voice steady. “We dedicate this album to anybody people said couldn’t make it. To the fans that held us down ’til everybody came around.”
He stopped for a second, looked at the crowd, and smiled. “Welcome. It’s here.”
They started with Thriller with Yunho pounding the drums, Mingi’s guitar, and Hongjoong’s bass. Then Jongho started singing, and the audience followed the song. For the first few minutes, all Hongjoong could think was: This is real. We’re actually doing this.
The setlist rolled out in the same order as the album since they wanted to promote it completely, but they’d added a couple of Lost Signal’s most popular songs. Hongjoong noticed quickly which song lit the place up the most. When the opening chords of This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race started, the crowd started singing even before Jongho sang the first line. Probably because it was the other track they promoted, but still, the way people jumped and clapped along felt unreal.
Yunho leaned into his mic for the bridge, “All the boys who the dance floor didn’t love, and all the girls whose lips couldn’t move fast enough.” He screamed, then paused for a second, and smiled.
“Sing, until your lungs give out.”
And the crowd did. The entire room started to chant “This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race,” and they screamed with so much force that the stage itself seemed to vibrate. The four of them exchanged a look, surprised, then smiled widely.
Hongjoong’s heart clenched as he scanned the sea of lights and faces, and for a second, he thought he wouldn’t spot them. But then he saw his parents in the seats he’d reserved for them, and his older brother between them, he felt relieved. Both of them were clapping along, and his older brother waved at him. Hongjoong smiled back before snapping his gaze down to his bass again, feeling more energy.
The set moved into calmer songs, giving them all a chance to breathe. And while they were playing, Hongjoong realized something that made his stomach twist. Almost every lyric, whether it was his or not, felt tied to Seonghwa. Those songs weren’t even written about him; most of them came almost finished, and others were his friends’ experiences. But during the weeks Hongjoong had spent obsessively editing them, he’d probably added some parts that related to him. And now that they were playing them live, it was impossible not to notice how much of Seonghwa lived in them.
After Golden, Jongho took a moment to hype the crowd before they continued with Thnks fr th Mmrs. When they hit the infamous line “He tastes like you, only sweeter,” the crowd completely lost it, screaming it so loud they couldn’t hear the track.
Hongjoong thought about how that line had haunted Mingi for weeks, since his ex had said it about the guy she cheated with. But hearing thousands of people shout it back surely felt like something different, like he reclaimed it. During the second verse, Hongjoong walked over to Mingi, and they locked eyes as they played. For a second, it was just the two of them, their instruments almost touching as they leaned in, grinning. Their fans shrieked at the sight, and Hongjoong’s smile widened as he tried to pour every ounce of pride he felt for Mingi into that look. Mingi grinned wider in return before Hongjoong finally pulled back.
They followed with Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am?, which was a song they wrote together following a bit of the pirate theme they had going on. They had fun performing it, but when they finished it, Hongjoong felt nervous again. Bang the Doldrums was next.
He gripped his bass tighter, feeling the cool metal under his fingers, the weight grounding him as the intro riff pulsed through the monitors. They all gave him a comforting look before starting to play. Yunho’s sticks twirled over his drums, counting them in, and then Jongho started singing.
I wrote a goodbye note
In lipstick on your arm when you passed out
I couldn′t bring myself to call
Except to call it quits
When they were rehearsing, Jongho had asked how he should sing this song. Hongjoong told him to go with whatever he felt from the lyrics, and Jongho described it as a mix of frustration and hope; frustrated with the person, yet still hoping they’d return to the way they used to be. Hongjoong had paused, looked at him for a moment, and said that yeah, he could sing it like that, whatever it meant. Now, on stage, he was pulling it off perfectly.
Best friends
Ex-friends till the end
Better off as lovers
And not the other way around
He wondered what it would’ve been like if Seonghwa had asked him to keep things as friends, and he realized that it wouldn’t have worked. From the very first moment they met, it had been different in a way that friendship alone could never contain. The idea of stepping back felt impossible. Shaking the thought away, he kept his focus on Jongho as their voices blended into the chorus.
You’re wrong
Are we all wrong?
You’re wrong
Are we all wrong?
By the time they reached the next chorus, Hongjoong was already halfway lost in thought. He couldn’t stop picturing Seonghwa somewhere across the world, and a part of him ached to know if he heard this song and realized it was meant for him. Or if he’d even care. His throat tightened, and a sting of tears formed in his eyes, catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, forcing his focus back to the stage.
The tombstones were waiting
They were half-engraved
They knew it was over
Just didn’t know the date
He sang the bridge alongside Jongho. It was his favorite part of the song, since he poured the most sentimental pieces of himself. As the words left his mouth, he felt his voice crack and a tear slip down before he could stop it. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jongho glancing at him, then continued singing. Hongjoong forced himself to continue, but hated that he couldn’t hold back a few tears just as the next line came.
And I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me
The same way I think of you
This is a love song in my own way
When Jongho sang the chorus again, he blinked rapidly, fighting to compose himself. The audience really liked the song, and Hongjoong focused on that, letting the bass pulse harder.
By the final lines, Hongjoong exhaled fully while looking at the audience, then his family, and at his bandmates who had carried him through the set with their energy and smiles. The tears were gone now, replaced with a strange mix of relief and longing. The song ended, and the crowd screamed. Hongjoong gave a short nod to the audience, letting them know they had given everything, and thanking them for appreciating his song. Jongho slapped him on the back as the next song came.
They closed the night with the last track on the album, and the final chorus was a favorite of Hongjoong. Each of them played with everything they had left in them, while Jongho hit the last note with an intensity that gave Hongjoong chills.
When the song ended, there was a moment of silence before the room erupted into applause. The sound washed over them; it was overwhelming. Hongjoong felt like he could finally breathe for the first time that night. They gathered at the front of the stage, and each of them took turns thanking the crowd, then bowed.
Finally, with one last goodbye, they waved and walked offstage. There was a moment where no one spoke, then they pulled each other into a tight group hug. Their dreams were becoming a reality. They separated to walk to the green room, and the moment they were inside, the four of them collapsed on the couch and floor like they’d just run a marathon. Mingi grabbed the nearest water bottle and downed it in seconds.
“Holy shit,” he said, dropping the empty bottle on his chest. “Did you hear them? They were louder than Yunho’s snare.”
Yunho flicked a towel at him. “My snare was perfectly balanced, shut up.”
Jongho sank into the cushions, closing his eyes, and Hongjoong dropped beside him, still in shock. He leaned back, starting to feel sleepy, when the door swung open.
“Joong-ah!” his mom’s voice called as she stepped inside, immediately pulling him upright. His dad and brother followed close behind, and right after came Mingi’s mom and Yunho’s parents, carrying small gift bags in their hands.
“Congrats, you guys,” Mingi’s mom said, holding out a neatly wrapped package. “I’m so proud of you.” Mingi didn’t waste a second, rushing into her arms with a big smile.
Yunho’s mon gave his son a clap on the shoulder. “You did really well tonight,” he said, and Yunho gave him a shy smile, then hugged them both.
Hongjoong turned back to his own family when his mom pressed a small bag into his hands, which contained clothes, of course. His mother always loved to gift him clothes for some reason, but Hongjoong appreciated it a lot.
They chatted for a while, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed Jongho standing off to the side, not really joining in. Jongho had told them before how his parents didn’t support his music career, saying that he should focus on law school. He was about to call Jongho over when Mingi moved first.
“Hey, come on,” Mingi said, throwing an arm around Jongho’s shoulders and pulling him toward his mom. She greeted Jongho with a hug, and Hongjoong let out a small sigh of relief, grateful.
The conversations stretched on, until they had to leave before it started getting too late. His father and brother hugged him before heading out first, but his mom stayed. She stepped closer, studying him with a look only mothers seemed to have.
“You were crying on stage, weren’t you?” she asked softly. “Is everything okay?”
The question startled him. He hadn’t thought anyone would notice from that far away, and he was sure he’d masked it well under the lights. She studied his face for a moment, placing a hand on his cheek.
“You looked so sad,” she murmured, pulling him into a gentle hug before he could answer. “Whatever’s on your mind, you can tell me. You can always call, you know.”
Hongjoong felt the urge to cry again. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this, her arms, her voice, his mom. He rested his head against her shoulder, letting himself sink into the comfort he hadn’t realized he was starving for.
“I… yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered. “I’ll call more, I promise.”
She squeezed him once more before pulling back, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I love you, Joong-ah.”
“I love you too, mom,” he said, smiling softly.
They stayed a little longer, exchanging a few words with Mingi’s mom and Yunho’s parents before they had to leave.
They were so exhausted after the first show that Hongjoong couldn’t even remember how they got back to the apartment. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, completely drained. The next day was usually meant for the second show, but for scheduling reasons there was a day off in between, which gave them a chance to rest.
Hongjoong thought it was a good idea to work on something, but when Yunho arrived and told them that he wanted to go for a drink, Hongjoong agreed without hesitation. He rarely went out like this, but he genuinely felt like he needed it. Usually, he ended up standing outside, smoking quietly, not interacting much, so it didn’t wear him out. And that was exactly the plan.
Hongjoong drove them to a bar they sometimes went to, they found some seats at the bar, ordered their drinks, and started talking about random things, mostly about the show and how surreal it all still felt. After a while, Yunho nudged him lightly.
“There’s a guy staring at you,” he said.
Hongjoong frowned, lifting his glass. “What?”
Yunho tilted his chin toward the far end of the bar, and Hongjoong followed the gesture, spotting him immediately: a guy with black hair, a white shirt, and fitted jeans. He was a bit taller than Seonghwa, and had a beautiful smile. The guy watched him quietly while sipping his own drink, occasionally speaking with his friends, then returning his attention back to Hongjoong.
“He’s cute,” Yunho muttered. “Go talk to him.”
Hongjoong shook his head quickly. “I’ll pass.”
Yunho gave him a look, but Hongjoong ignored it, and focused back on his drink. Later, when Yunho and the others became more social, too much for Hongjoong’s mood, he went outside for a smoke. He lit his cigarette and leaned against the wall, watching the smoke curl upward, then looked around to see if the guy might be out there, but the alley was empty. Halfway through his cigarette, though, he spotted him. The guy stepped out, catching Hongjoong’s eye almost instantly. He smiled and gave a small wave.
“Hey.”
Hongjoong straightened slightly. “Hey.”
The guy came closer. “I’m Jihoon.”
“Hongjoong,” he replied, taking another drag before offering the pack. “Want one?”
Jihoon shook his head. “No, I don’t smoke. But thanks.”
There was something about the way he smiled, and Hongjoong found himself smiling back.
“You come here often?” Jihoon asked, leaning against the wall beside him.
“Not really, just sometimes with my friends,” Hongjoong said, flicking the ash to the side.
Jihoon tilted his head, studying him. “You don’t look like the type that enjoys this kind of place.”
Hongjoong chuckled; Seonghwa had told him the same thing. “Guess I don’t. But it’s nice to get out once in a while.”
“Yeah,” Jihoon said softly, looking at him. “You’ve got this mysterious vibe, it makes me curious.”
Hongjoong looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious, huh?”
Jihoon’s smile widened. “Yeah. In a good way.”
They noticed more people coming out of the bar, and glancing at them, so Jihoon motioned toward the street outside.
“Hey… want to go for a walk? It’s a little quieter out there.”
“Sure,” Hongjoong replied.
As they walked, they started talking more casually about their lives, work, and interests. Hongjoong learned that Jihoon was studying medicine and was a year younger than him. There was something refreshing about how Jihoon expressed himself, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything Hongjoong said.
They drifted into the quieter streets, leaving the noise of the bar behind. The air was cooler here, and as they walked, Hongjoong caught the way Jihoon’s gaze lingered on him now and then. His eyes were a soft, light brown, almost golden under the lamplight, and Hongjoong found them beautiful, but his mind refused to let go of some wide, dark eyes that had once held him so completely. Hongjoong swallowed, forcing the thought aside, and tried to focus on Jihoon.
After a few minutes, they ended up in a more secluded spot and sat down on a bench to keep talking. Jihoon paused mid-conversation, and his gaze flicked to Hongjoong’s lips, then back up, making clear what he wanted. Hongjoong swallowed, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if maybe this was what he needed; something new and different, to finally loosen Seonghwa’s hold on him.
“Can I kiss you?” Hongjoong asked, the alcohol giving him more confidence.
Jihoon smiled softly. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
He leaned down just enough so Hongjoong could meet his lips. The first kiss was tentative and sweet, soft and careful, but as the alcohol eased the tension, the kiss deepened. Jihoon touched Hongjoong’s arm, steadying him as they broke apart.
“My place isn’t far,” he said, still holding his arm gently. “Do you want to come?”
Hongjoong nodded. “Yeah.”
Jihoon’s apartment wasn’t far, it was in a zone Hongjoong actually knew. As they started walking, Hongjoong slipped his phone out and quickly typed a message into the group chat, letting the others know where he was before sliding it back into his pocket. He tried to focus on Jihoon beside him while chatting,
They hadn’t gone far when Jihoon said something that made Hongjoong laugh and the sound was still fading from his lips when a voice cut through.
“Hongjoong.”
A hand caught his arm from behind, making him turn, but he moment his eyes landed, his body froze. The air seemed to vanish. For a second, he didn’t recognize him since the black hair threw him off, but there was no mistaking it. It was Seonghwa. Dressed head-to-toe in black, and his chest heaving as if he’d sprinted there.
The shock paralyzed Hongjoong. It felt like an eternity, as if everything else around them had disappeared and it was only the two of them. Then he saw Seonghwa’s gaze shift to Jihoon, frown, and open his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He let go of Hongjoong’s arm, and his voice cracked as he spoke.
“I… sorry. I didn’t know. Sorry.”
He stayed there for a second, looking at Hongjoong as if expecting something, but Hongjoong was frozen in place, unable to respond. Then, Seonghwa smiled faintly, apologized again and turned to leave, disappearing into the crowd before Hongjoong could process anything. It wasn’t until Jihoon spoke that he was pulled back to reality.
“Are you okay?” he asked, worried.
“…Yeah… yeah, sorry,” he said automatically, with a shaky voice. He followed when Jihoon moved, but each step felt mechanical, like his body was on autopilot. Hongjoong had no idea how much time had passed, since he lost notion of everything, but at some point Jihoon stopped.
“I don’t know what just happened,” he said, glancing at Hongjoong. “But if you want, we can head back. You don’t have to feel obligated.”
Hongjoong took a deep breath, and he suddenly felt guilty, “No, I don’t feel obligated. It’s just…” He quickly realized that there wasn’t a way to explain it and sighed. “Sorry. I made you waste your time.”
Jihoon gave a small understanding nod, and they walked back in awkward silence, but Hongjoong couldn’t stop scanning the streets, half-expecting to see Seonghwa again, but he didn’t.
When they returned to the bar, Hongjoong saw his friends talking with another group, but when Yunho spotted Hongjoong, they immediately approached him.
“He was that quick?” Jongho said, making the others laugh, but the humor vanished when they saw Hongjoong’s face.
“What happened?” Yunho asked, concerned.
“I ran into Seonghwa,” he said quietly.
They stayed in silence for a second before exchanging concerned looks.
“Maybe we should go back to the apartment,” Yunho suggested gently.
Hongjoong felt guilty since he ruined his friends’ night out, the thought making his stomach twist even more. He already felt like he might throw up. Jongho offered to drive, sensing Hongjoong wasn’t in the right state to do it. And from the backseat, Yunho and Mingi kept their eyes on him, their concern so obvious it made him feel worse. He hated that he’d made them worry.
When they finally made it back to the apartment, Hongjoong realized that his hands were trembling. Yunho noticed immediately and gently guided him toward the couch.
“Hyung, sit down. I’ll make you some tea,” Yunho said softly before heading toward the kitchen, and Jongho followed him.
Mingi dropped down beside him on the couch, while Hongjoong stared at the floor until they returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup. He accepted it with both hands, trying to steady himself, and took a sip. The warmth soothed him a little, but when he set the cup down, his eyes drifted back to his arm, right where Seonghwa had grabbed him.
“What happened out there?” Mingi asked carefully.
Hongjoong exhaled and told them everything. From Jihoon to Seonghwa calling his name, the look on his face, how sudden it all was. By the time he finished, the others looked surprised.
“Hyung, sorry if this is too blunt, but…” Yunho said. “What exactly were you two?”
The question that had tortured Hongjoong for months. He dragged his hands through his hair, elbows on his knees, and his head fell into his palms.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know what we were.”
“You never talked about it?” Yunho asked, leaning forward.
Hongjoong shook his head without looking up.
“But… was it just casual sex?” Mingi continued. “Or did it seem like it was turning into a relationship, or…?”
Hongjoong kept shaking his head, faster this time, the words tumbling out. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
They stayed in silence for a while, letting Hongjoong breathe, then Jongho continued.
“What do you want, hyung?” He asked, making Hongjoong lift his head. “What were you hoping for with Seonghwa?”
Hongjoong looked at him for a long second, then looked at his arm again. What did he want? The answer felt obvious, but terrifying at the same time. He hadn’t cared only about the sex, and honestly, that wasn’t even the part that mattered most to him. What had mattered was waking up beside Seonghwa, the way those dark, gentle eyes softened when they looked at him, his smile, the way he lit up about the smallest, nerdiest things. Hongjoong didn’t want to stop seeing that, he didn’t want to lose it.
But talking about it had always felt impossible. The thought of saying it out loud, only for Seonghwa to feel nothing in return, left him terrified. What if Seonghwa laughed at him for being stuck on a handful of encounters that barely lasted two months? But… after tonight, he didn’t know. Could Seonghwa feel the same? Or maybe not.
Finally, Hongjoong let out a shaky breath. “…I don’t know.”
Jongho exhaled, Hongjoong could tell they also felt frustrated.
“Then you’ll have to figure it out. But…” he continued. “You should know that Vesper’s coming to the show tomorrow. They just got back today.”
Hongjoong stayed quiet, then nodded faintly.
“I could tell them that you don’t feel comfortable,” Jongho suggested, but Hongjoong shook his head; it’d only make him feel worse.
They looked at each other, not knowing what to say, until Yunho changed the topic, and they chatted until they started to feel sleepy. Hongjoong told them he’d stay on the couch a bit longer. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, with his thoughts circling endlessly, replaying Seonghwa’s face, his voice, the touch of his hand.
The next day, Hongjoong looked worse than he had the night before. There were red circles under his eyes, and his skin seemed paler. The others didn’t press him much, but they obviously knew it wasn’t the stress of the show this time.
By the time they got into soundcheck, Hongjoong’s chest finally loosened just a fraction; music always had that effect on him. Holding the bass grounded him in a way, and for a while, he could almost breathe again.
Until they got to Fourth of July.
The moment the intro played, his mind betrayed him. He imagined Seonghwa out there in the empty seats, watching him, and his throat tightened. It knocked him off balance, and his fingers slipped, making the wrong note rattle through the amp. Everyone froze and glanced over immediately.
“Sorry,” Hongjoong muttered quickly, gripping the neck of his bass tighter.
“We can play another song,” Yunho suggested after a moment, but Hongjoong shook his head firmly.
“No, keep going.” He said, and they did after some hesitation.
The rest of the day blurred; all the pre-show chaos kept him busy enough to push the thoughts of Seonghwa aside. At least until minutes before they were due onstage.
“Can you guys give me a second?” Hongjoong asked.
They nodded without hesitation, and he slipped outside, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. The cool air hit his face, and he lit a cigarette with shaking hands, the smoke filling his lungs. He leaned back against the brick wall, exhaling slowly.
He had never been good with words. Expressing himself through music was one thing, but when it came to confronting his own feelings directly, everything tangled. He’d wanted to tell Seonghwa what he meant to him, how much he’d changed his world, but instead, he’d made a scene over a misunderstanding, and now it felt like everything was ruined.
He let out a long breath, looking at the gray sky. If he couldn’t say it out loud, maybe the songs could say it for him. Every one of them carried a piece of Seonghwa anyway. Maybe, when he heard them, he would understand.
The door creaked, surprising Hongjoong. Yunho stepped out, poking his head around.
“Hyung, five minutes.”
Hongjoong nodded, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his heel.
Inside, the guys were waiting. They clapped him on the back, Yunho squeezed his shoulder, and they all muttered encouraging words. It was funny, since Hongjoong, being the oldest one, should have been the one encouraging the others. He still managed to smile; there was no point in being sad before the stage.
When the lights hit and the roar of the crowd exploded, that familiar rush surged through him. He gave everything he had: jumping, shouting, leaning into Jongho’s mic with a smile so convincing it almost erased the fact that an hour ago, he’d been breaking apart. The crowd believed it, screamed it back at him, and for fleeting moments, he believed it too.
But at every pause between songs, his eyes betrayed him. They swept the crowd again and again, desperate, restless, searching for some familiar faces, but all he could see was a blur of faces, hands, and lights. Nothing more.
After what happened yesterday, maybe they decided not to come. The thought clawed at him, heavier with every track. He played harder, shouted louder, trying to drown it out, but the ache stayed.
He couldn’t stop wondering what Seonghwa thought when he saw him with Jihoon. It made him feel gulty since Jihoon, of all people, didn’t deserve being pulled into this mess, and he knew that using Jihoon just to test if Seonghwa would get jealous was cruel. But in the most selfish corner of himself, Hongjoong wanted to believe Seonghwa cared.
Still, the show continued as it had on the first day, and finally, the last block of the set began. Hongjoong tightened his grip on his bass, swallowing hard as he scanned the sea of faces, hoping, praying, that somewhere, Seonghwa was there, watching. Because if he wasn’t… Hongjoong wasn’t sure how he could keep all of this locked inside. His head was a mess, and he knew someday he’d look back at this and laugh, but right now, it was unbearable.
Then it felt like fate gave him a bit of mercy.
Mingi’s brows furrowed after Fame < Infamy ended, and his gaze shifted sideways. Not at the crowd, but toward one of the hidden sections of the venue. When Mingi looked back, worry was written all over his face, and that’s when he knew. Hongjoong followed his line of sight, and everything stopped.
There, he saw four figures half-hidden from view. He knew instantly. His breath caught, his chest seizing tight as if the strings of his bass had snapped and wound themselves around his ribs. He stared, terrified to blink, terrified they’d disappear if he looked away. Then one of them shifted and turned his head, looking down.
Hongjoong’s heart dropped so violently it hurt. He didn’t need to see the face. He was too familiar with the posture, the curve of his shoulders. It was Seonghwa.
The crowd kept screaming, the lights were bright, but all of it was muted. It was him. He came.
Hongjoong’s throat worked around air that wouldn’t come. He gripped the mic with white knuckles. It was his turn to make a speech, but he had one thing in mind. At that moment, he realized something. It was now or never.
He swallowed and spoke before the fear could paralyze him.
“We’ve been together for almost three years,” he started, “and while we’re doing it slowly, we’re making it great. We want to take this moment to say that this is a fucking dream for us, and thank you for letting us have this dream.”
He exhaled shakily, eyes scanning the crowd before finding their way back to where he knew Seonghwa was. His chest ached, but he kept going.
“And, um, there’s some way to put this, uh, I’m sorry.”
His voice cracked, and it came out louder than he intended. But he pressed on, his eyes locked on Seonghwa.
“Every single song is about you.”
The crowd seemed confused, even his friends, but for him, what mattered was the way Seonghwa was startled, his attention snapping back to the stage as the people beside him turned to look at him. Hongjoong let out a soft smile, feeling some kind of relief. He looked at the crowd as the opening instrumental of the next song began, lifting the mic once more.
chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
playlist
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
minor san x wooyoung
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, drinking, angst, smut (making out, blowjobs, handjobs, anal sex, frottage, riding, praise king, porn with feelings)
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, hongjoong is bad at feelings, jealousy, misunderstandings, miscommunication, eventual romance, situationship final boss, happy ending
chapter 5: so much (for) stardust (9,3k)
chapters: 1 2 3 4 / 7
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, drinking, smut, praise kink, window sex?, miscommunication, angst
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, hongjoong is bad at feelings, jealousy, misunderstandings
a/n: heh, sorry
originally published on ao3
The walk back to the hotel felt strangely suspended, like the night had pressed pause on the rest of the world. People were still celebrating around them, but none of it seemed to touch them. Hongjoong knew exactly why he had suggested going to his hotel room; he wanted to escape, to distract themselves from the questions that had been hovering between them all night. As long as things stayed physical, as long as they didn’t name whatever this was, maybe it would stay manageable.
At one point, he remembered his friends, so he got his phone out and sent Yunho a short message to let him know not to expect them back, and if he could sleep with Mingi and Jongho tonight. Hongjoong really hoped he’d see it before deciding to show up at his room in the middle of the night. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and tried not to picture what Yunho’s expression would be when he read it.
When they finally stepped into the hotel, Hongjoong felt suddenly insecure. Compared to the hotel where Vesper stayed, this was nothing. He stupidly worried that Seonghwa would see it as lacking, but he didn’t say anything; he only stood there for a moment looking around the lobby with curiosity. That tiny detail let Hongjoong breathe easier.
He led the way into the elevator, pressing the button, and when the doors opened on his floor, he guided Seonghwa down the hall to his room. He couldn’t help but mentally thank the cleaning staff when he turned the key and saw the room spotless. He didn't even remember how they had left the room before going to the festival, but it wasn't clean.
He let Seonghwa step inside, and they agreed to shower first. But when Seonghwa suggested doing it together, Hongjoong was caught off guard. Seonghwa only reminded him that it wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before. Well, that's true, the first time they had sex, they took a shower afterward. Resignated, he nodded, following him in.
Except, this shower was nothing like the other; there wasn't even a single kiss or that same desperation; it was the opposite. They helped each other wash slowly while Seonghwa hummed a song under his breath, and when he asked Hongjoong to help him wash his back, he first noticed the line of his muscles, then how the tan of his skin stood out more now, probably since he spent more time here under the sun than in Seoul, and the silver hair only made it more noticeable. He thought, not for the first time, how unfairly hot Seonghwa was.
When Seonghwa turned around and they made eye contact, Hongjoong wanted to escape. He didn't even want to think about his expression while Seonghwa made comments like:
“I didn’t notice this mole before.”
or,
“Your skin’s softer than I thought.”
Hongjoong just tried his best to focus on anything else.
After they finished, they helped dry each other off. Hongjoong slipped into one of the hotel robes and handed the other to Seonghwa, feeling guilty about Yunho. He mentally promised that he’d make it up to him by asking for another one tomorrow. They walked out of the bathroom, and Hongjoong pointed to the bed while telling Seonghwa to wait there while he got what they needed. As he rummaged through his bag, he remembered that twist of jealousy he’d felt a couple nights ago because Seonghwa had brought condoms and lube. It was ironic since he’d packed his own for the same reason.
When he turned back, he didn't find Seonghwa on the bed, but instead stood by the window. Fireworks burst outside, splintering into the night sky around him, illuminating his figure in flashes of red, blue, gold. For a second, Hongjoong just stared. If Seonghwa only wanted sex from him, then maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe this was still worth it, because how could he ever want to look away from this view?
He approached quietly, slipping his arms around Seonghwa’s waist from behind, resting his head against his shoulder. He felt Seonghwa stiffen for a second too long and eventually relax into the embrace. It struck Hongjoong that this simple, wordless touch was more intimate than anything they’d done before, and the realization that he was the one who’d initiated it made his chest tighten.
“The sky looks beautiful like this,” Seonghwa murmured, with his voice almost drowned out by another burst outside. Thankfully, they were on one of the highest floors, and no other buildings were in sight, so they had a clear view.
Hongjoong nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah.”
He pressed a slow kiss against Seonghwa’s neck, felt the way his breath hitched, then another kiss, trailing lower. His fingers moved to undo the belt of Seonghwa’s robe as his lips mapped a line down to his shoulder, his back. Seonghwa’s soft sighs filled the space until one came out deeper, louder.
“Are you sensitive here?” Hongjoong asked, and the small nod he got in response only made him keep going, kissing along his spine until the robe slipped from Seonghwa’s shoulders to the floor.
Hongjoong guided him to turn around, and his breath caught. Seonghwa’s face was flushed, glowing faintly under the glow of the fireworks, eyes wide, lips parted. Hongjoong barely had time to take it in before Seonghwa closed the distance, kissing him with urgency, pulling at Hongjoong’s own robe until it fell too. He couldn’t help smiling against his mouth when their kiss became messy, desperate. Hongjoong’s hands came up to cradle Seonghwa’s face, his thumbs stroking the high arches of his cheekbones as he tasted him, savoring the moment. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless.
Hongjoong let his actions convey everything his words couldn’t, so he began a slow, worshipful descent down the length of Seonghwa’s body. His lips found the pulse hammering at the base of his throat, then the sharp line of his collarbone. He paid homage to the elegant slope of his shoulders, biting down gently on the taut muscle, eliciting a gasp from Seonghwa.
He lowered himself further and touched the flat plane of Seonghwa’s stomach, feeling the muscles quiver under his touch, before his mouth closed over one peaked nipple. He tasted it with his tongue, circling and sucking until Seonghwa’s fingers tangled in his hair, then he gave the same attention to the other, reveling in the sounds falling from Seonghwa’s lips.
His journey continued downward, over the delicate skin of his abdomen, tracing the defined lines of his hips, the sharp V of his pelvis. He mouthed at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, feeling the powerful muscles there tremble. Finally, he was on his knees, face to face with the evidence of Seonghwa’s desire, hard and flushed against his stomach.
Hongjoong looked up, and their eyes locked. Seonghwa was a mess, the sight of it making Hongjoong’s lips curve into a wicked smile as his eyes drifted down Seonghwa’s body, realizing that he was completely hard. Hongjoong wasn’t the only one wanting this.
“Look at you,” Hongjoong murmured, looking directly at him. “So fucking beautiful.”
His hands skimmed up Seonghwa’s thighs as he glanced around for the lube, and when his fingers found the discarded bottle and the condoms on the floor beside them, he slicked his palms, warming the gel between them before slowly wrapping his hand around Seonghwa’s hard cock.
Seonghwa jolted immediately, a choked-off moan escaping him as his hips gave an involuntary thrust into the tight, wet heat of Hongjoong’s fist. Hongjoong began a slow rhythm, his strokes long and firm, while his other hand held Seonghwa steady by the hip.
“So responsive tonight,” Hongjoong breathed against his skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the jut of his hip bone. He swiped his thumb over the leaking tip, spreading the moisture, and Seonghwa cried out while his head fell back.
“Hongjoong, wait,” Seonghwa panted, lowering his hand to cover Hongjoong’s, stilling his movements. “I don’t want to come like this.”
Hongjoong stilled, looking up at him. The raw need in Seonghwa’s voice sent a jolt straight through him. He wanted to draw this out as much as possible, to wring every last drop of pleasure from him until he was mindless and he could remember this night forever, but he also needed him. Knowing exactly what Seonghwa wanted, he released him with a final squeeze, rose to his feet, and captured his mouth in a kiss.
“Turn around,” he whispered against his lips.
He turned Seonghwa toward the window, pressing him against the cool glass. In the reflection, he caught Seonghwa’s dazed expression and his own flushed face, the fireworks exploding behind them. Hongjoong retrieved the lube again, coating his fingers generously, and pressed close behind Seonghwa with one arm wrapping around his waist to hold him steady, his mouth finding the shell of his ear.
“Watch,” he commanded softly.
He pressed his first finger against him, circling slowly before pushing in past the initial resistance. Seonghwa gasped, his hands splaying against the glass, and his breath fogging a small circle on the pane.
“So tight,” Hongjoong groaned, his own cock twitching at the sensation. He worked his finger in deeper, crooking it gently. He added a second finger, the stretch more pronounced. Seonghwa’s head dropped between his shoulders, letting out a low moan. Hongjoong scissored his fingers carefully, stretching and preparing him, while his eyes were glued to their reflection. He could see the exact moment the pleasure began to override the slight pain, the dazed, overwhelmed look on Seonghwa’s face in the glass.
“You see that?” Hongjoong murmured. “Look at yourself. Look how beautiful you are like this, right here for the whole world to see.”
The truth was, even if Hongjoong could be a bit possessive, he didn’t mind the thought of the world catching a glimpse of this. Maybe because deep down he knew it wouldn’t last. Seonghwa wasn’t his and probably never would be. And yet, being here with him, hearing his voice falter and seeing that rare softness slip through, Hongjoong wanted to memorize all of it, burn it into himself like proof it had happened.
It was a cruel kind of happiness, and still, if this one fragile moment where he could pretend was all he could ever get, he would take it, treasure it.
When a third finger joined the others, Seonghwa sobbed.
“Joong, I’m gonna come… please, can I?”
“It’s okay,” Hongjoong soothed, and quickly wrapped his lubed hand around Seonghwa’s cock, stroking him in time with his fingers. “Let go, I’ve got you.”
It was all the permission he needed. With a cry, Seonghwa came apart in his arms, his release stripping the window in front of them as his body shuddered violently. Hongjoong held him through it, his fingers still gently working inside him to draw out the last waves of his climax, and whispering praises. He was mesmerized by the ruined, blissful expression reflected back at him. He watched, captivated, as the man in the glass was completely unraveled, and the sight branded itself onto his soul.
Hongjoong let him ride the aftershocks and catch his breath. Seonghwa’s chest heaved against the cool glass, his body spent and pliant. After a while, he spoke.
“Please, Hongjoong… I need to feel you inside.”
Hongjoong only answered by kissing him on the cheek and carefully withdrew his fingers, earning a soft whimper at the loss. He took a moment to tear open a condom and roll it on, adding more lubricant, then positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against Seonghwa’s stretched and sensitive entrance.
“You okay?” he murmured, pausing to give him one last chance to change his mind and continue catching his breath.
“Yes,” Seonghwa gasped, pushing back against him. “Please.”
Hongjoong pushed in, slowly, inch by inch, giving Seonghwa’s time to adjust. He held himself perfectly still, with his forehead pressed against Seonghwa’s shoulder. When he was fully sheathed, both of them moaned. And just as he was about to ask if Seonghwa was alright, he rolled his hips slowly, taking Hongjoong even deeper and making him gasp. That was all the invitation Hongjoong needed. His grip tightened on Seonghwa’s waist, and dug his fingers into honey skin. He drew back slowly, savoring the exquisite drag, before pushing back. The only sounds were their mingled breaths, the soft, wet slide of their bodies, and the occasional dull thud of Seonghwa’s palms shifting against the glass.
Hongjoong’s hands gripped Seonghwa’s hips as he watched their reflection, mesmerized by the way Seonghwa’s body yielded to his. But suddenly, Seonghwa’s free hand came up, tangling in his own hair, then sliding down to cover his eyes, obscuring his expression from the mirror. Something flared in Hongjoong’s gut. He needed to see, he needed to know what was happening. So, without warning, he pulled out completely, making Seonghwa whine at the sudden emptiness.
“Why…?”
Hongjoong ignored the question, his hands gently turning Seonghwa around to face him. The sight was even more devastating up close; Seonghwa’s face was flushed, his lips swollen and glistening, and his eyes glazed with a need so profound it made Hongjoong’s heart clench. He crashed their lips together.
“I need to see you,” Hongjoong said against his mouth. “You were hiding from me.”
He shifted them both; now Seonghwa’s back was against the window, and he guided one of Seonghwa’s legs around Hongjoong’s waist to pull him closer, drawing him in with the strength of his own body. The new position was uncomfortable at first, but more intimate. A sharp cry escaped Seonghwa as Hongjoong entered him again, face-to-face, his arms immediately wrapping around his neck for balance.
“Is this better?” Seonghwa whispered, his breath hot against Hongjoong’s ear.
“So much better,” Hongjoong groaned, his hands gripping Seonghwa’s thighs to help him set a new, slower rhythm. He could watch every flicker of pleasure cross Seonghwa’s face. He drank in every gasp, every flutter of his lashes, every time his perfect lips parted on a sigh.
Slowly, inevitably, the rhythm began to change. It was more desperate now. Hongjoong’s thrusts lost their control, becoming sharper, faster. Seonghwa’s fingers tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, his head thrown back against the glass.
It was during one particularly deep, angled thrust that Hongjoong saw a single tear running through Seonghwa’s cheek. Hongjoong stilled for a second, worried, but the way Seonghwa’s body clenched around him gave him the answer. Seonghwa pulled slightly at Hongjoong's hair and tried to move since he slowed his rhythm, which only made him smirk.
“I know,” Hongjoong whispered against his neck. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He shifted his angle, aiming for that same spot again and again, each thrust now a targeted assault on Seonghwa’s senses. Another tear escaped, and then another, until Seonghwa was crying silently, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure coursing through him. Seeing Seonghwa so beautifully undone, so perfectly wrecked by his touch, ignited something primal in Hongjoong. He needed to push him over that final edge. So, with a growl, Hongjoong reached between them, his fingers wrapping around Seonghwa’s weeping erection. He stroked him in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation was too much.
“Come on, baby,” Hongjoong urged while his pace became relentless. “Let me see you. Let go for me.”
The use of the nickname, the sensations, and the pace was too much for Seonghwa. As his orgasm crashed over him, his body went limp, all strength leaving him as he collapsed forward, burying his face in Hongjoong’s neck. A sob escaped his lips as he spilled over Hongjoong’s fist, his body clenching even more. The feeling of Seonghwa tightening around him was enough for Hongjoong, and with a groan, he drove into him one last time, his own release crashing over him.
As he held him impossibly close, shuddering through the waves of his climax, he could feel the hot tears on his shoulder and the occasional hiccup. He kept his hand moving, gentle now, stroking him through the sensitive aftershocks until he felt Seonghwa whimper softly against his neck.
“It’s okay,” Hongjoong murmured and wrapped his arms tightly around Seonghwa. “You were so perfect, so good for me.”
For a long moment, they stayed like that, slumped together, their harsh breaths the only sound in the quiet room. Then, Hongjoong slipped out carefully, making them whine. Seonghwa’s silver hair clung to his damp forehead, so Hongjoong brushed the strands back gently, revealing his flushed face, and leaned down to press a kiss against his lips.
He helped Seonghwa to the bed, steadying him when his legs wavered, and guided him to lie down against the sheets. For a few seconds, Hongjoong simply looked at him, all stretched out, still catching his breath, and his chest rising and falling. He pulled himself together, went to the bathroom, removed the condom, grabbed a towel, and returned. In silence, he cleaned Seonghwa first, then himself. When he was done, Hongjoong sat at the foot of the bed and began to massage Seonghwa’s thigh, which made him let out a short laugh.
“How did you know it was almost cramping?” he asked, still a bit breathless.
Hongjoong laughed softly. “I could tell.”
Hongjoong’s hands kept working slowly, while Seonghwa leaned his head back against the pillow. His eyes drifted to the window, watching as the last bursts of fireworks fizzled out.
“It’s almost over,” Seonghwa murmured.
Hongjoong followed his gaze. “Yeah. Honestly, I don’t really like the noise,” he admitted, “but they’re beautiful.”
“Mm,” Seonghwa agreed.
Switching to the other leg, Hongjoong’s fingers pressed carefully into the muscle. After a pause, he asked, “Do you feel better now?”
Seonghwa smirked faintly, turning his head toward him. “After fucking, do you really think I wouldn’t?”
Hongjoong laughed, shaking his head. “No, seriously. Do you feel better?”
Seonghwa went quiet for a minute, his lips pressed together as if he had to think about it. Finally, he said, “Don’t you ever get that feeling… when everything’s going too well, like something bad has to happen?”
Hongjoong froze, and his hands stilled on Seonghwa’s knee. He knew that feeling too well. That voice in his head that told him not to trust happiness, that if he let himself believe in it, it would only get ripped away. He lived with it constantly, forcing himself to shove it down so it wouldn’t consume him. Before he could form a reply, Seonghwa let out a sigh and cut in.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” He said. “It’s just… whenever I’m happy, something bad follows. Like maybe I don’t deserve happiness. And honestly… I could understand that.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened. He’d never been good at comforting people; what was he supposed to say when he barely knew how to handle it himself? Seonghwa really did seem like a good person, though. He tried, cared about his friends, and even if his family didn’t accept him, he still loved them anyway. How could he not deserve to be happy? Hongjoong hesitated, searching for the right words before finally asking,
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
Seonghwa shook his head and smiled more softly this time, almost like he was the one trying to reassure Hongjoong.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m just thinking too much.”
Before Hongjoong could protest, Seonghwa leaned forward, cupping his cheek with one hand, and kissed him deeply.
“Let’s do it again,” Seonghwa murmured when they separated, already guiding Hongjoong back against the pillows, and climbing over him. Hongjoong knew that Seonghwa was trying to distract him. Part of him wanted to stop, but another part knew that they weren’t that close. So he let him take control, let himself get lost in the warmth of his body. When they finished, Hongjoong cleaned them both again, then his hands lingered on Seonghwa’s back, memorizing the warmth and soft shiver under his fingers. Seonghwa didn’t move much, only pressed his face against Hongjoong’s neck.
They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other. This kind of intimacy was still strange for Hongjoong since he rarely let his friends touch him, and even with his family, it always felt awkward. With past partners, it had taken time before he could get used to it. But when Seonghwa’s arm slipped across his chest, and rested his head there, he didn’t flinch or pull away. He just let it happen. Maybe it was the drowsiness, but instead of tensing, he found himself nudging gently at Seonghwa’s back, keeping him close until they fell asleep.
Hongjoong woke up in a quiet room, and the space beside him was empty. His body tensed before his mind even caught up, and he scanned the dark room, but he was alone. He turned toward the nightstand, and his phone was there, so he checked it and realized that it was 5 a.m. He only had two notifications: one from Yunho last night, telling him not to profane his bed, and another from the group chat: the others figuring out a ride back to the hotel about an hour ago. No Seonghwa.
Hongjoong felt disappointed, but forced himself to push it down. He shouldn’t feel that way. Instead, he got up, slipped into casual clothes, and headed to the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he thought about distracting himself, so he got out and decided to go to Mingi and Jongho’s room, but on his way, something caught his attention. In the smoking area, he could see Seonghwa dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. Hongjoong froze, feeling relief and surprise at the same time. Before he could second-guess it, he crossed the hall and pushed the door open, making Seonghwa turn around, surprised.
“Sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Hongjoong shook his head. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just couldn’t sleep.” He exhaled and held up the pack in his hand. “Do you want one?”
Hongjoong nodded immediately; he hadn’t smoked in a while. He lit it, but it felt strange. He turned it over on his tongue. It didn’t taste like the ones from home.
“Did you buy these here?” he asked.
“Yeah, as soon as we landed,” Seonghwa replied. “I usually carry a pack, in case I get nervous.”
“Nervous?” Hongjoong asked, watching him.
Seonghwa laughed softly. “Same as yesterday. Don’t worry about it.”
But Hongjoong did. He remembered the conversation from the night before, and the way Seonghwa had said he didn’t deserve happiness. Even though it’s difficult for him to comfort someone, he really wanted to help with whatever was happening to Seonghwa. He looked at the sky for a moment, smoking occasionally while thinking, and after a moment, he spoke.
“I don’t know why you think you don’t deserve to be happy. I mean, yeah, I’m almost a stranger to you, but even from here I can see how much you try, how much you care for your friends. And despite everything, it’s obvious you still love your family. That doesn’t look like a bad person to me,” Hongjoong looked at him. “You do deserve happiness, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa stared at him, frozen in place. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything until his cigarette burned down too far, and the ember kissed his finger. He hissed, jerking it away, making Hongjoong laugh. Seonghwa shook his head at himself, put it out, and immediately lit another.
“Stop saying you’re like a stranger to me, far from it.” He looked at Hongjoong, then at the city view. “What you just said… it means more than you think. Really, thank you.”
Hongjoong smiled at that, feeling a bit relieved. They smoked in silence after that, looking at the cloudy sky. Seonghwa offered him another, and Hongjoong took it. After that, they started to talk about nothing in particular until the sky lit up. At around six, Seonghwa decided it was time to leave.
“I should check on my friends. I hope I don’t have to clean vomit today.”
“It has happened before?” Hongjoong asked while chuckling, and Seonghwa nodded.
They stayed in silence for a moment. They really never knew how to say goodbye; it was always this awkward. Finally, Hongjoong said, “Do you want me to walk you back to your hotel?”
Seonghwa shook his head gently. “Don’t worry about it, you should go see your friends.”
They smiled at each other, and Seonghwa left. Hongjoong decided to stay there to finish his cigarette alone. A minute later, the door opened suddenly, and Yunho stepped out, surprising Hongjoong.
“Knew I heard your voice.”
Hongjoong smirked and held out the half-finished cigarette. Yunho’s face twisted instantly in disgust, which only made Hongjoong laugh. That was the point. They headed back inside together while Yunho started telling him what had happened last night.
“First, Yeosang drank so much he was practically draped over Jongho. Poor kid had to take care of Yeosang in the bathroom while he puked. You should’ve seen his face!” He said, and both laughed. Hongjoong could picture it.
“And then,” Yunho lowered his voice a little and closed the door to their room. “I sat down with San and Wooyoung for a drink, and suddenly Wooyoung kissed me on the cheek! I was shocked. For a second I thought he was… you know, into me.” He paused, shaking his head at himself. “But then we kept talking, and I realized San and Wooyoung are actually together. Like, they’re boyfriends. Which is crazy, because I’ve seen them kiss before, but I guess I never thought about it.”
That caught Hongjoong off guard. He wondered how Yunho, being as perceptive as he is, didn’t notice before. They sat on Yunho’s bed while he continued.
“And Mingi,” Yunho was almost wheezing with laughter now. “He actually got the number of the girl he was dancing with, but he lost it! He was too drunk, then messed around with me and some other guys, and poof. Gone.”
Hongjoong let him ramble, but Yunho suddenly paused and glanced at him with a worried look.
“Hyung, are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?” Hongjoong asked, surprised.
“You just seemed a little lost,” Yunho said carefully.
“I’m fine,” Hongjoong answered quickly. Yunho studied him for another moment, then let it go, going back to his story. When he finally finished, Yunho grabbed his things and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.
“Hyung! Don’t we have bathrobes?!” he shouted through the door.
Hongjoong got up immediately and checked near the window. He hadn’t noticed before, but it looked like Seonghwa had tried to wipe the glass clean and had folded both bathrobes neatly on the floor. He exhaled and called back to Yunho, “I’ll ask for one while you shower.”
When he returned, he lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Surprisingly, he didn’t think of anything. Eventually, though, exhaustion caught up to him.
Hongjoong woke to the sound of someone calling his name and a light shake on his arm. He blinked against the sunlight filtering through the curtains and groaned, rolling over.
“Hyung,” Jongho’s voice came again, a little louder this time. “It’s already twelve.”
That caught his attention. Hongjoong sat up quickly, his hair sticking up in all directions. “Twelve? Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Jongho said, looking too awake for someone who’d been the designated babysitter last night. “The guys from Vesper invited us to grab lunch and then hit the beach.”
Hongjoong just stared at him, still sleepy. He didn’t expect to go to the beach, but the thought actually sounded nice. He’d even packed clothes in case his friends wanted to go.
“Lunch and the beach,” he repeated, rubbing his face. “Okay. Did you tell the others?”
“They’re already getting ready,” Jongho replied. “So you better move unless you wanna be last.”
Hongjoong forced himself out of bed to take a shower, then pulled on fresh clothes and grabbed the bag he’d packed with his swim shorts and a towel. By the time everyone was ready, they called a taxi and piled in. The restaurant Vesper had recommended wasn’t too far. After paying the fare, they stepped out and headed inside. Vesper was already waiting for them, and to everyone’s surprise, it was the first time they’d seen them in casual clothes, Seonghwa being the only exception for Hongjoong.
“You look good,” Yunho said as they slid into the booth across from them, and everyone laughed while greeting each other. The moment the waitress brought their menus, Yeosang leaned closer to Jongho.
“Hey,” He said, bowing his head a little. “About last night, I’m sorry you had to deal with me.”
Jongho laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Really, it wasn’t that bad.”
“It was!” Yeosang insisted.
“He was even apologizing to you in his dreams,” San said, and that made everyone laugh.
As the conversation carried on, Hongjoong couldn’t help noticing how quiet Seonghwa was. He still laughed with the others and chimed in here and there, but his energy felt different. Hongjoong kept catching himself glancing over, though this time Seonghwa never looked back. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it made his stomach sink. Still, he wasn’t going to push if Seonghwa didn’t want to talk about it. By four o’clock, they decided it was time to leave.
“We should rent cars,” Seonghwa said once they stepped outside. “Two would be enough.”
“Where?” Jongho asked.
“There’s a rental place a few blocks down,” San replied, checking his phone. “We can go there now.”
The process was pretty straightforward. Inside the small office, the clerk checked their licenses, IDs, and asked for a credit card, which San handed over without hesitation. Hongjoong tapped his foot through the paperwork, listening carefully as the guy explained the insurance policy in English before sliding the contract across for them to sign. Within half an hour, two midsize cars were ready for them.
“Manhattan Beach?” San asked, glancing at the group.
“We don’t know any beaches here,” Mingi replied quickly.
“It’s our favorite one, you’ll like it,” Yeosang assured, and everyone nodded.
“Okay then,” San said. “I’ll drive one. I know the way.”
“I’ll take the other, I’ll be following you,” Hongjoong said.
They found their cars and started sorting seats. Hongjoong ended up behind the wheel of the first, and was surprised when Seonghwa slid into the passenger seat beside him. Yunho and Mingi claimed the back. In the other car, San drove with Jongho in the passenger seat, with Wooyoung and Yeosang in the back.
Hongjoong handed Seonghwa his phone and told him to look for the beach on Maps. He was going to follow San, but just in case. He tried and failed to connect his phone to the radio, so he left it on the first station it landed on, in which they were playing an indie song, and he was just starting to vibe with it when Yunho groaned.
“Hyung, play something else,” he said, leaning forward toward the console.
“Hands off,” Hongjoong warned, keeping one hand on the wheel.
“This is boring!”
Before Hongjoong could swat him away, Seonghwa reached forward calmly, and his hand brushed against Hongjoong’s as he took the knob. He flipped through a few stations until he found a pop station. His touch was warm against Hongjoong’s skin, which made his grip tighten on the wheel.
“Better,” Seonghwa said with satisfaction, glancing at him.
From the backseat, Yunho burst out laughing. “You two are like an old married couple. Look at this!”
Hongjoong shot him a sharp glare through the rearview mirror, which only made Yunho laugh and slap Mingi’s arm for backup. Mingi was already wheezing.
“I’m gonna kill you both,” Hongjoong muttered, his eyes back on the road.
“Sure you will,” Yunho kept laughing.
Seonghwa didn’t say anything; he only adjusted his sunglasses and nudged the volume up slightly, but Hongjoong caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. He refocused on the road.
The drive felt shorter than expected. They pulled into the lot, rolled the windows down, and handed over cash for the day rate at the booth before squeezing into a spot. Together they helped Wooyoung and Yeosang haul out the oversized bag stuffed with umbrellas, extra towels, and the cheap volleyball they’d insisted on buying on the way. They carried everything across the warm sand, and to their surprise, the beach wasn’t nearly as packed as they’d imagined. Sure, there were a lot of people, but there was still plenty of space. When they found a good spot, they stabbed the umbrellas into the sand and spread the towels. Some took their shirts off, tossed their bags, and everyone started settling in.
Hongjoong sat cross-legged on his towel, squeezing the sunscreen into his palm. He rubbed it over his arms and neck, careful not to smear it on his tank top. When he glanced up, he saw San running sunscreen across Seonghwa’s back while talking with Yeosang.
Hongjoong’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. He admired Seonghwa’s shoulders, his muscles, the honey-colored skin catching the sunlight, and couldn’t look away. His mind betrayed him, flashing back to the night before, the way that same back had been under his hands. He barely noticed the sunscreen drying tacky on his own palms.
“Be more subtle.”
The voice snapped him out of it. He turned, startled, to find Wooyoung standing over him, slipping on his sunglasses. He was holding a plastic bag with drinks, and pulled out a can, handing it over.
“Here,” Wooyoung said. “Before you burn up.”
Hongjoong took it quickly, thanking him. Wooyoung smiled, then walked toward the others with the rest of the drinks. Hongjoong cracked the soda open immediately and started drinking. Mingi dropped down beside him and tried to start a conversation, but before Hongjoong could reply, a sudden burst of laughter erupted behind them. Both turned in time to see San get up from his towel and run across the sand with Seonghwa following him immediately, yelling something.
“Don’t! You just put sunscreen on!” Yeosang shouted after them, but neither of them listened. San darted toward the shoreline, and Seonghwa closed the gap, caught him right at the edge of the water, stumbling. Seonghwa started splashing San while he laughed so hard he could barely fight back.
Hongjoong watched, with his soda forgotten in his hand, how Seonghwa seemed so happy, his smile so big. So why, he thought, was it only with him that Seonghwa seemed distant? Why was he laughing so easily now, after barely smiling at him? He shoved the thought aside immediately and told himself to stop exaggerating, to stop reading into things. These were his best friends, he was allowed to have fun with them.
Eventually, San and Seonghwa dragged themselves back and collapsed onto their towels. Wooyoung scolded them for getting sand everywhere, but neither cared. They chatted lazily until the sun dropped lower, and Yunho suggested going for a walk. They packed up a few things and wandered down the beach until they stumbled on an empty volleyball court tucked close to the dunes.
“Let’s play a game,” San suggested, holding up the ball they’d bought. “Vesper versus Lost Signal.”
“That’s unfair,” Mingi complained instantly, pointing at Vesper. “You’ve got San! He’s insane.”
“Oh, so you’re chickening out?” Wooyoung teased.
There was no way out after that. They split into teams, sorted out the rotations, and began. The game itself turned messy fast, but it was fun. Hongjoong threw himself into it, even if he knew he couldn’t keep up with the others. His legs burned, and when their side managed a point, he celebrated hard.
They played until Vesper scored 15 points and continued their walk. Hongjoong hung toward the back, his eyes drawn inevitably to where Seonghwa was talking with Yunho. Not to him. When the sunset started, they stopped to take some pictures. Yeosang lifted his phone and called out to Seonghwa.
“Stand there, I’ll get some good ones of you.”
Seonghwa humored him and posed with his shirt unbuttoned and his silver hair catching the breeze. Hongjoong watched, and suddenly Seonghwa turned his head, met his eyes, and smiled.
“Come here,” he said. Hongjoong froze. The feeling of being ignored, then smiled as if nothing made him feel dizzy. His first instinct was to retreat, but then he forced himself forward. Just go, he told himself. Yeosang snapped a few shots of them together before Yunho’s voice interrupted them.
“Excuse me, could you take a picture of all of us?”
He was asking a stranger walking past, and they agreed easily. They posed in front of the ocean, first facing the camera. Then Seonghwa suggested that they turn to face the water, so their backs were facing the camera. When the stranger handed back the phone, they thanked them, and everyone crowded to see the picture. Hongjoong noticed that they really seemed like a big friend group now.
“I’m hungry,” Seonghwa told San.
“It’s late already. Do you guys want to grab dinner?” San asked the others, and they all agreed. “There’s this restaurant close to the rental place. We can drop the cars off first.” Then he turned to Seonghwa. “It’s the one with the smoking area.”
Seonghwa’s face lit up. They gathered their things and headed for the cars. Seonghwa figured out how to connect his phone and played his playlist while taking suggestions from Mingi and Yunho.
At a red light, Hongjoong glanced sideways. Seonghwa was turned toward the window, watching the streets, and Hongjoong let himself admire him until Seonghwa turned back suddenly, catching him in the act. He smiled, and Hongjoong’s ears burned hot. He smiled back before snapping his gaze forward again, gripping the wheel tighter as the light turned green.
Back at the rental place, they returned the cars and walked to the restaurant. Everyone looked worn out, but nobody seemed ready to go. They slid into a booth and ordered beers when the server came; everyone except Yeosang. They teased him, but he decided to order soda, saying that he was done drinking. They did small talk until the food came, and the conversation flowed more naturally once everyone was eating. When the plates were nearly empty, Jongho suggested ordering some snacks, but before the server came back, Seonghwa stood.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” he said, patting his pocket for his lighter.
“Go, go,” Wooyoung waved him off.
“I’ll come with you,” Hongjoong blurted before even thinking, making all eyes snap to them. Wooyoung made an exaggerated little “ooh,” and their friends teased them, but they just ignored it.
Outside, the air was cooler. The smoking area was just a narrow patio, but they could get a full view of the night sky. Seonghwa tapped a cigarette loose, then offered one. Hongjoong took it, and they lit up in a silence that felt intoxicating. Hongjoong wanted to ask what was wrong, if he’d done something, if the distance he’d felt all day was real or only in his head. But the words wouldn’t form.
“You’re quiet today,” Seonghwa said finally.
Hongjoong exhaled the smoke and glanced sideways. “Me? I’m the quiet one?”
It came out sharper than he meant, more like a complaint. He regretted it instantly and shook his head. “Sorry.” Seonghwa looked at him, surprised, and Hongjoong wanted nothing but to look away and escape that gaze.
Seonghwa dropped his eyes to the ground, like he was thinking, before saying softly, “If I made you feel bad somehow… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Hongjoong rushed out, leaning harder against the railing. “I’ve just been tense, I guess.”
Seonghwa studied him for another moment, then stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
“These four days… they’ve meant a lot to me. More than I thought they would. I don’t know how to express this, but…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “With all the stress from the shows, the rehearsals, the pressure from my family, I don’t know. Having you around was a relief.”
Hongjoong froze, feeling guilty. Maybe he’d been selfish, pushing too much onto Seonghwa when he was already carrying so much. He opened his mouth, and his words fumbled. “I’m sorry, I—”
But Seonghwa turned fully toward him, cutting him off. His eyes searched Hongjoong’s face, lingering on his lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
The question knocked the air out of him. Here we go again, he thought. But he wanted it. God, he needed it. Needed some proof Seonghwa still wanted him. So he nodded.
Seonghwa leaned in, pressing their lips together. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, and Hongjoong loved it. He kissed him back, letting himself melt into the warmth. They pulled apart after a few seconds, and Seonghwa laughed under his breath, almost embarrassed, fiddling with a new cigarette between his fingers as if he needed something to do with his hands. Hongjoong’s heart raced.
Eventually, they slipped back inside, sliding into the booth like nothing had happened. Their friends didn’t tease this time, too focused on their talk. They suggested making a group chat so they could keep in touch in Seoul, and planned to go out together once they were back. Hongjoong liked the idea; he really wanted to keep in contact with all of them.
The next morning, Hongjoong found himself at the hotel restaurant with Mingi, Yunho, and Jongho. Their manager had already taken care of everything for the return, so their luggage was waiting in the lobby, neatly lined up for pick-up. The four of them sat around a small table, poking at their plates of eggs and toast while scrolling on their phones. They decided to tell Vesper that they were leaving.
Yunho:
We’re heading to the airport now.
It didn’t take long for a reply.
Seonghwa:
Our flight leaves in a few hours
safe travels!
When they finished breakfast, Lost Signal rolled their bags across the lobby and climbed into the van. Hongjoong stopped for a moment, looking back at the city through the glass doors. Los Angeles had been exhausting, overwhelming, but it felt like they’d actually achieved something here. He had this hope that if the new album did well, maybe they’d be back sooner than expected.
The flight home was quiet since everyone was too drained to talk. Thankfully, before the trip even began, Yunho, Mingi, and he had agreed to ask for time off until the eighth, and when they finally landed, they allowed themselves the luxury of doing nothing but sleeping.
Almost immediately after, Hongjoong tried to slip back into his routine. He had errands to catch up on, and the small tasks kept him busy, giving him something to focus on other than stop and think. Because even now, days after they’d returned, Seonghwa hadn’t sent him a single personal message.
The group chat was still active, sure. They’d just finished spamming all the photos from the trip, everyone posting their favorites on Instagram, and swapping accounts. Seonghwa had messaged him privately once, asking for the pictures they’d taken the night they went out together, but that was it. Nothing beyond that.
Hongjoong kept telling himself Seonghwa might just be busy. He didn’t even know what Seonghwa’s daily life looked like; maybe he had a job, maybe he was still studying, or he was focused on the band. The truth was, he didn’t actually know much about him at all.
And yet here he was, waiting for a message like an idiot, irritated at his own impatience. He tried to push it down because the frustration wouldn’t change anything, and buried himself in his to-do list, ignoring the part of his brain that still wanted Seonghwa’s attention. Two weeks after they’d returned, Seonghwa finally texted him.
Seonghwa:
Sorry for disappearing
The last weeks of school have been killing me
but I have vacations now!
Hongjoong stared at the screen, considering ignoring it just to prove he wasn’t waiting. But he had been waiting for a long time. Maybe this was the opportunity to get to know Seonghwa more.
Hongjoong:
it’s okay
what do you study?
Seonghwa:
oh no, I already graduated
I’m an elementary teacher
That explained everything, no wonder he was busy. Hongjoong tried to picture Seonghwa in a classroom, surrounded by kids, and the irritation he’d been carrying started to disappear. It just fit him.
Hongjoong:
I should have expected it
it suits you a lot
don’t worry, I understand that you’re busy
Seonghwa:
Yeah..
it’s not personal, I swear
In between planning and resting, I just lose most of my days :(
I’ll try not to disappear again though
Hongjoong reassured him, and just like that, the conversation continued. Somehow that night they ended up texting until sunrise, about random topics. Hongjoong laughed at his screen until he realized it was nearly 6 a.m. and he hadn’t slept at all. They continued like that the whole week. They messaged almost every night, some days just short check-ins, sometimes hours-long conversations that left Hongjoong smiling like an idiot at his phone. He truly felt like a teenager texting at Seonghwa like this.
And again, Seonghwa stopped replying.
This time, it didn’t bother Hongjoong. He was busy too, meeting friends when he could, working on the album, and making edits to the songs the others suggested. He tried again to write since he felt like he had to be inspired now; a love song could work, even if he had to exaggerate the lyrics, like when he wrote after the amusement park. but still, nothing.
One particular Saturday night, Hongjoong and Mingi were enjoying the silence of the house. Jongho was out drinking with some old friends, and Yunho had gone to see his family. Mingi was on his computer working on a song with his headphones on, and Hongjoong was scrolling through his phone on the couch. He noticed that Wooyoung had uploaded some stories about a party and was about to tap past them, disinterested, until a video made him stop.
Seonghwa was sitting next to a guy Hongjoong didn’t recognize; he had brown hair brushing his chin, his arms covered in tattoos, and was undeniably attractive. The clip showed the two of them downing shots in sync, grimacing at the taste before bursting out laughing. Then Seonghwa leaned his head on the guy’s shoulder dramatically, pretending to faint. The video cut there onto the next story, and then the next. Hongjoong didn’t watch them. He dropped his phone onto his lap and sat there, staring at nothing.
Don’t start, he told himself. Don’t.
He understood that Seonghwa was busy and that he needed time for himself, but he looked really happy with that guy. Hongjoong wondered if he was being replaced this soon. Maybe he should’ve texted more, invited him somewhere, done something before it got to this, but if Seonghwa didn’t reach out either, what was he supposed to do?
“Hyung, can you listen to this real quick?” Mingi asked, turning his screen toward him.
Hongjoong looked at Mingi, but the knot in his chest made it impossible to focus. “I’m going to sleep,” he muttered, and it came out harsher than he meant.
He earned a look from Mingi, then he just shrugged and turned back to his work. Hongjoong felt guilty, but he was more annoyed, mostly at himself. He rubbed his face on the way to the bathroom, going through the motions of brushing his teeth and washing up before retreating to his room.
Fuck. He was jealous. Badly. And the worst part was he didn’t even know if he had the right to be. They weren’t anything official. He knew they should’ve talked about it before things got this messy, but they hadn’t. And now it felt like it was slipping out of his hands before he even knew what he wanted.
The next day was a slow Sunday, which made everything worse. Hongjoong tried to keep himself busy with chores, laundry, talking with his friends, anything to stop him from reaching for his phone, but there wasn’t much to do, and when there’s nothing to do, you start to think. Around twelve, his phone buzzed. He almost didn’t look, but he saw Seonghwa’s name on the screen.
Seonghwa:
Heyy
sorry again
we started working on a new song and we’re drained
Are you okay?
Hongjoong stared at the screen, weighing every option, before finally typing:
Hongjoong:
I’m fine
Seonghwa answered with a couple of small messages about how his week went, and that this song was Yeosang’s first work. He tried to ask about Hongjoong’s day, but he answered in short sentences. He knew he was being childish, but the ache in his chest made it impossible to say more.
Seonghwa:
Seriously, are you okay?
sorry again, I really was busy
Hongjoong:
You didn’t seem very busy
He didn’t think of it until he hit send, and immediately his stomach knotted. Seonghwa saw the message immediately, but he didn’t answer anything for a minute. Hongjoong was sure he had messed it up this time.
Seonghwa:
We should talk in person
Hongjoong felt scared. He remembered the guy in the video and how Seonghwa seemed really happy with him. Maybe this was it. Maybe Seonghwa was done and just waiting for the right excuse to end things, and Hongjoong had handed it to him.
Hongjoong:
There’s no need, it’s fine
His phone rang almost immediately, and Hongjoong considered ignoring it, but maybe it was time to face it. He accepted the call, and Seonghwa’s voice came a little sharper.
“Is this about yesterday’s party?”
Hongjoong’s hands trembled on the phone. He wanted to say something, but he truly had no right to be upset. Shit, if Seonghwa wanted to end things now, maybe it was for the better. Why would he want someone this insecure? When Seonghwa didn’t receive an answer, he spoke again.
“If you mean the guy in the video,” Seonghwa paused a moment, “that’s my friend. We’re in the same company. He’s another artist, and we went to celebrate with the band.”
Ok, now he felt stupid, truly stupid. Pathetic, even. It was his friend. He was being ridiculous now that he thought about it better; Seonghwa acted like that with his friends. The fact that Hongjoong wasn’t as affectionate as Seonghwa made him see things differently. He felt his lips tremble as he tried to find the words to apologize.
“I—,” before he could finish, he heard Seonghwa sigh in frustration.
“Believe what you want.”
The line went dead.
Hongjoong froze with the phone still pressed to his ear. His throat felt tight, and his heart was slamming like it wanted to claw its way out of his chest. Thank god everyone was in their rooms, because anyone who saw him would’ve known, would’ve seen the exact second his heart felt like it broke. He sank to the floor, letting his phone slip from his hand. The phone vibrated a second later. Then again, and again. Seonghwa was calling him and sending messages.
Seonghwa:
I’m sorry
I didn’t mean to say that
call me back?
please, don’t ignore me
Hongjoong saw the screen blink and show the messages, but he didn’t answer.
He felt stupid and a little proud of himself at the same time. Stupid because he’d let himself get hurt, knowing this would happen; proud because he thought he was protecting whatever fragile piece of himself had started to trust Seonghwa. Maybe Seonghwa had every right to be exasperated, and maybe Hongjoong had been childish and possessive and unreasonable. He didn’t know which part of him hurt more: the part that wanted to apologize immediately, or the part that wanted Seonghwa to come back begging.
He started to feel the tears, but a door creaked open in the hall, and he immediately grabbed his phone and ran to his room, locking the door. He told himself he needed a distraction, and his eyes fell on the Star Wars notebook on the bedside table. Someone had told him once that writing helped clear the head, so he sat on the bed, opened it, and the first page greeted him:
i love summer
i am loving this
and you and everything
He snorted at how corny it looked. He’d exaggerated that night, planning to use it as lyrics, but now it felt embarrassingly naive. He tore the page out and balled it up, then fished a pencil out from between the other pages and started to write.
He didn’t plan the words; they might not make sense tomorrow, but right now, they calmed him. He wrote about the small, stupid fantasies that had kept him afloat, about the way someone could be tender one minute and impossibly distant the next, and how humbling it felt to shrink when it happened. The sentences got meaner as he got tired. He cursed himself for feeling jealous over a party video and how he acted about it.
His hand cramped after a few pages, and he decided it was time to stop. He wrote at least four pages of incoherent words, but it made him feel better. He shut his phone without looking. He couldn’t tell if he was being cruel or reasonable. If he answered, would it fix anything? He curled up on the bed, exhausted in every sense. The notebook lay open beside him while his tears started to spill.
The worst part, he realized, was that none of this had really surprised him. He’d always known it could come to this, but still, that knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less.
The day at work passed in a blur, like he’d left his body on autopilot. He forced his best face on, spoke when he had to, and kept himself busy enough that nobody would ask him questions. He even came earlier because the thought of one of his friends seeing him like this made his stomach twist.
When he came back home, the first thing he noticed was Yunho at the dining table with his phone pressed to his ear. When he looked up and saw Hongjoong, he paused and lowered the phone.
“Hold on a second,” Yunho said into the call, then muted it. He squinted at Hongjoong. “Did you invite Seonghwa hyung over? He’s asking for our address and—” His sentence cut off when his eyes settled on Hongjoong’s face. Whatever expression he had made Yunho stop.
“Oh.”
He looked like he didn’t know if he should say something, then he unmuted the call. “Yeah, he’ll call you right now,” he told whoever was on the line, before hanging up.
The apartment went quiet after that. Yunho set his phone down, studying Hongjoong.
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hongjoong replied. Yunho leaned back, still watching him carefully, as if thinking how far he should push.
“Seonghwa hyung sounded worried and was asking if he could come.” He paused, and his voice was softer now. “You should talk to him.”
The last thing Hongjoong wanted was to drag his bandmates into this mess, especially now that they were all getting closer to Vesper. He forced a small nod.
“Thanks, I’ll handle it.”
He walked past Yunho without another word, carrying his bag down the hall until he reached his room. He shut the door behind him, dropped his things by the bed, and finally reached for his phone. The screen showed the calls and messages he’d been ignoring since yesterday. He hesitated, staring at Seonghwa’s name, then tapped call.
The line barely rang before Seonghwa answered, desperate.
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, drinking
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, hongjoong is bad at feelings
a/n: I swear I would never abandon this fic, but the ateez concert left me in a bit of a depression, the first week of school killed me (I’m the teacher), and I feel like this chapter is important in some way? I overthought it so much and had to get creative writing and editing in the middle of classes, but hey, better late than never. Enjoy!
all the mentioned songs are here
originally published on ao3
Hongjoong slipped quietly out of Seonghwa’s room, still feeling a bit sleepy despite the shower. It was early, after all. The hotel hallway was hushed, and as he stepped outside, he took in the grand entrance one last time, appreciating how polished and extravagant everything looked. Again, he wondered how famous Vesper was here.
When he returned to his own hotel, he passed the lobby café and hesitated for a moment before deciding to enter. He ordered four americanos, thinking about his bandmates and how they’d probably need the caffeine even more than he did. The barista slid the cups across the counter, and he balanced them carefully on a tray as he stepped into the elevator.
When he unlocked his door, the sight waiting inside made him let out a sigh. All three of them, Jongho, Mingi, and Yunho, were piled on his bed. There were some empty beer bottles on the tiny table in the room, and by the depth of their sleep, it was obvious they’d stumbled in sometime in the early morning, and the younger two were too tired to make it to their own room.
Hongjoong set the coffees and his things down with care, shaking his head. He rolled his suitcase into the corner and pulled out fresh clothes. The sound of zippers and fabric shifting was enough to stir Yunho, who cracked one eye open. His hair was a mess, and he had a thin trail of drool in the corner of his mouth.
“You just got back?” he mumbled.
“Yeah,” Hongjoong answered simply.
“What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty,” Hongjoong replied, tugging on a more comfortable shirt.
Yunho groaned, but against all odds, he pushed himself upright and stumbled into the bathroom. The shower came alive a moment later.
Hongjoong turned to the bed, planting his hands on his hips. “Mingi, Jongho. Wake up. We need to get ready for the festival.”
Mingi made a noise in protest and buried his face deeper into the blanket, while Jongho just shifted slightly. Hongjoong had to tug at the covers and raise his voice at them, threatening to leave without them.
“Come on,” he added, nodding toward the cups on the table. “I brought you coffee.”
That did the trick. Slowly, the two of them dragged themselves up, reaching for the drinks. They muttered something like thanks before stumbling off to their own room to prepare themselves.
Hongjoong sank into a chair with his own cup, holding it between both hands, already piecing together a mental checklist of how to keep everyone on schedule.
By nine a.m., Lost Signal’s van rolled into the festival grounds in Los Angeles. The streets were already teeming with vans, crates, and stagehands. From the window, Hongjoong could see massive stages, trucks unloading drums and amps, and crew members. Even from outside the gates, they could hear faintly how other bands were practicing.
“Wow… this is big,” Mingi muttered, leaning forward to press his forehead against the glass.
Yunho gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah. It’s… a lot.”
Hongjoong tried to talk in a calm tone, even though he probably was the most nervous one. “We’ve got this. Just focus on our set.”
Their manager ran through instructions once they’d parked, he told them about passes, stage times, where their green room was, and who to talk to if anything went wrong. Hongjoong caught most of it without translation, but it was still comforting to have someone discussing details with security and the tech crews.
As they passed through the festival gates, the scale of it hit him fully. They watched the towering stages, barricades, and power cables crisscrossing the ground. People with clipboards walking through the crowds with urgency, and vendors already setting up tents lined with merch. It was as if reality hit him at that moment.
“Okay… so we’re really doing this,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else. His chest felt tight, in the same way he remembered from the very first time they’d played together.
They were led into a backstage tent tucked near one of the bigger stages. It just had folding chairs, a couple of tables, and a rack of bottled water. A few other bands were already there, talking and checking their instruments.
“Alright, green room rules,” their manager said in a firm voice. “You stay here unless it’s soundcheck or stage time, the staff will escort you. Don’t wander before your stage; after it, you can leave.”
Hongjoong nodded, though his fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting. He caught a few festival staff glancing his way, and he started to feel self-conscious. His outfit suddenly felt too much. He tugged at his sleeve. He’d spent way too long that morning deciding, and landed on black pants, a fitted black shirt, and a half-red skirt layered on top. He liked it and thought it looked good. But now, under their gazes, maybe it was too much.
“Do you think the crowd will like us?” Mingi asked in a low voice, leaning toward Hongjoong.
“I… don’t know,” Hongjoong admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s a new audience.”
Jongho, who was already sitting in one of the chairs holding his phone, looked up briefly. “It doesn’t matter. We play our music. If they like it, great. If not, at least we played.”
Yunho stretched, looking around nervously. “I just hope the soundcheck goes well.”
As they were talking, Hongjoong pulled out the Star Wars notebook. He didn’t want to admit that it helped ease his nerves, but he found comfort in having it with him. He began scribbling a few things. And, after a while, Seonghwa and the rest of Vesper appeared nearby, looking less nervous than they were. Yunho waved, and they came over. They were all dressed all in black, as always, and Hongjoong wondered how they weren’t burning alive under the leather.
“Are you ready?” Seonghwa asked, leaning casually against a table.
Hongjoong nodded, with his fingers tightening around the notebook. “I think so.”
“You’ll be fine,” Seonghwa said, then glanced down at the notebook. “Wait, that’s the notebook I gave you! What are you writing?”
“Just stuff,” Hongjoong replied. “Random things, it helps me relax.”
Seonghwa tilted his head, as if that made perfect sense, and offered a small smile. “Write something for me too,” he suggested lightly, holding out his arm, making Hongjoong raise an eyebrow.
“What if I draw a penis?” he joked.
Seonghwa shrugged and grinned. “I guess I’ll just have to play with a penis on my arm.”
They laughed together, joking with Seonghwa eased some of the tension in Hongjoong’s chest. He thought about what to write, but his thoughts kept drifting to last night, and he had an idea. He tried writing first with his pen, but they quickly realized it wouldn’t work on skin. Seonghwa looked around and found a marker that was probably meant for announcements. Hongjoong started with a single, innocuous word: “fuck.” Seonghwa relaxed for a moment, feeling relieved he hadn’t gone too far. But then, on impulse, Hongjoong added -ed. Fucked.
Hongjoong burst into laughter while Seonghwa tried to rub it off, but the ink wouldn’t budge.
After a few more casual exchanges between both bands, Lost Signal was called for soundcheck. Vesper wished them luck, and just before Hongjoong got up, Seonghwa grabbed his arm.
“You’ll do great,” he murmured. “I’ll be cheering for you.”
Hongjoong returned a genuine smile and then walked with his bandmates.
There was chaos backstage. There were technicians running around adjusting amps, checking drum kits, and moving microphones while the crew radios crackled intermittently. The chaos didn’t help at all with the band’s anxiety.
“Okay, let’s do our best,” he muttered to himself while his fingers brushed over the bass strings. Yunho nodded beside him. “We’ve rehearsed this a thousand times. It’s just… bigger.”
“Got it, captain,” the others said in unison, making them all laugh. It helped to ease the tension a bit.
As they stepped onto the stage for soundcheck, the vastness of the festival grounds stretched before them. The crowd wasn’t fully there yet; there were just a scattering of early attendees and crew, but the enormity of the space compared to the venues they played in Korea made everything feel monumental.
Hongjoong adjusted his strap and nodded to the others. “Let’s go.”
The first few notes were tentative, a little jittery. And, of course, they made some mistakes. Yunho’s drumming faltered slightly on the third measure, Mingi’s fingers slipped two times, and Jongho’s voice wavered just enough to twist Hongjoong’s stomach. But as they settled into the rhythm, the familiar patterns clicked into place. Each member leaned on the others for balance, which was a strength they always had. The soundcheck ended more quickly than they thought, the crew nodded in approval, and instantly they collapsed on the ground, wiping their sweat.
“Not bad for a first run,” Mingi whispered, and then they saw their manager walking towards them.
“All set,” he said. “You have twenty minutes on the main stage later. Relax, stick to the setlist, and most importantly, enjoy it,” he finished with a smile.
Twenty minutes. It was short, yes, but enough for them. Enough to show what Lost Signal could do. They bowed to their manager, thanked him, and decided to grab some food; the nerves had left them really hungry.
By mid-afternoon, the festival was already starting. The crowd had grown exponentially. Lost Signal’s crew hustled them toward the stage entrance when it was their turn.
Hongjoong’s fingers tightened around his bass strap. “Twenty minutes…” he muttered under his breath. The others looked at him and grabbed his shoulder, reassuring him. They all had sacrificed many things for this moment.
When their cue hit, they stepped onto the stage to the roar of anticipation. For a moment, the nerves threatened to swallow them whole. They had prepared a full speech, but they couldn’t think of anything at that moment. Only Mingi broke the silence, shouting, “Are you ready?” and his deep voice caused several girls in the front to scream.
The first notes of Sugar, We’re Goin Down hit, and the crowd’s energy surged back at them. People raised their hands, shouted along with the intro, and the tension began to melt. They weren’t sure if people would actually enjoy a new band, but they seemed to like them.
“Here we go,” Yunho said, hitting the first drumbeat. While they were good at what they were doing, they all knew that the power of their songs was Jongho and his voice. That’s why Hongjoong was glad he had joined Yunho and him. His voice was really strong, and it carried the weight of the songs, shocking and captivating anyone who listened.
The twenty minutes passed in a blur. They stuck to the setlist, and though it was short, the audience’s energy fed them, leaving them with a feeling of triumph. They thanked the crowd, and stepped off-stage while catching their breaths. Hongjoong could hear the cheers of the audience, and he couldn’t help a small, incredulous smile.
“They liked it,” Mingi said with disbelief in his voice. “They really liked it.”
They were all too stunned to respond immediately; it didn’t feel real. Hongjoong felt tears threatening to well up, so he looked around to ground himself, trying not to let them fall.
“How aren’t they sweating?” Yunho asked, drawing everyone’s attention to where he was staring.
Hongjoong followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Vesper stepping onto the stage. They had an entirely different aura from Lost Signal. Their usual black outfits were even more elaborate now, layered with capes, and their makeup was heavy. Hongjoong could catch a glimpse of Wooyoung, who had full eyeliner and black eye shadow. Somehow, they didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Hongjoong signaled his bandmates to move to the side, around a food truck, to watch. More people were arriving, which made sense since opening acts usually drew smaller crowds, but there were still enough fans.
Vesper began setting up, and Hongjoong noticed that Seonghwa hadn’t erased the word Fucked he had written on his arm. In fact, he might have even raised his sleeve to make it more visible. Honestly… it looked good, even matching his outfit. They didn’t bother with introductions. San yelled something in English that they couldn’t really catch and started.
The crowd erupted immediately, some singing along, some screaming the lyrics. Hongjoong was surprised by how popular they already were outside of Korea. He leaned against the side, absorbing the performance. They were undeniably skilled performers; they didn’t look nervous like Lost Signal. And San’s voice… Hongjoong’s jaw dropped. From what he remembered, San hadn’t spoken much last night, probably because he was too drunk, but on stage, his voice was raw, powerful.
The chorus repeated the lines I’m not okay, and Hongjoong guessed that must be the song title. They were enjoying the performance when something unexpected happened. After the second chorus, Wooyoung launched into a guitar solo that was genuinely impressive. But midway through, San leaned in and, without warning, lifted his face and kissed him.
Immediately, some fangirls screamed, camera flashes went off, and gasps rippled through the crowd. San just went back to singing as if nothing had happened, and Wooyoung didn’t even look fazed; he just kept playing while smiling.
Hongjoong froze, unable to process what he’d just seen. Then someone said:
“We should do that.”
He and Jongho turned toward the familiar voice, stunned, and found Mingi grinning at Yunho. Yunho shook his head emphatically, whispering, “No. Absolutely not.” And they couldn’t help but burst into laughter, even earning a few side-eyes from nearby people.
Hongjoong glanced back at the stage, trying to hold his laugh. Vesper continued through four more songs. Each one of them was really good, and Hongjoong made a mental note to check out their discography when they returned to Korea. One song in particular caught his attention, Disenchanted. It was the one he helped Seonghwa with, and now he could hear all his suggestions incorporated perfectly. He remembered asking if Seonghwa usually wrote or produced for the band; he didn’t, but he loved contributing, and this song was personal to him. And now, watching Seonghwa play the bass with such passion, singing the chorus alongside San with so much feeling, Hongjoong couldn’t help wondering what had inspired such a heartbreakingly beautiful track.
When Vesper’s set ended, Lost Signal regrouped at the side-stage area. They were exhausted, but something about watching Vesper had been inspiring; different, yes, but it reminded Hongjoong of why he loved music.
“They’re intense,” Mingi admitted. “Totally different from when we saw them in Korea.”
Jongho nodded. “Yeah, definitely something else.”
The afternoon passed in a blur. They watched a few more acts, Hongjoong always loved to see different bands, checked in with festival staff, and coordinated with their manager. The schedule left some downtime, which they used to review notes and prepare for the next day.
By evening, Lost Signal gathered near a lounge tent where multiple bands’ crews hung out. Most were American, and the conversations were in English, so Hongjoong didn’t pay much attention to. His focus was on a group of four boys at the back, changing to more casual clothes, but still black. Lost Signal moved toward them, and Vesper greeted them immediately, exchanging congratulations. It was a relief to have another band speaking their language. Seonghwa walked alongside Hongjoong immediately.
“You guys killed it,” he said. Hongjoong couldn’t help noticing how good he looked with his stage makeup. “Not bad for a first festival.”
“Thanks,” Hongjoong replied, avoiding the intense eye contact Seonghwa was making with him. “You guys… wow. That was truly incredible.”
Seonghwa smirked faintly. “Thanks. I couldn’t erase your little word on my arm.” He held up his sleeve, making Hongjoong laugh.
“But it made you look even hotter on stage.”
“Hotter?” Seonghwa asked, tilting his head.
Fucking hell.
Seonghwa laughed softly, and Hongjoong caught the faint blush on his cheeks. He definitely liked compliments.
“You looked really hot on stage, too. I forgot to say it earlier, but I love your outfit. Where did you even find a skirt like that?” Seonghwa asked. The question caught Hongjoong off guard. He was still a little self-conscious about it.
“I made it,” he admitted. “I like altering my clothes.”
That answer lit up Seonghwa’s face, and it sparked another easy conversation between them. Later, both bands watched the remaining acts from the side while chatting. Hongjoong occasionally jotted mental notes, tweaking ideas for tomorrow. Once the festival ended, and with no further responsibilities, they said their goodbyes to Vesper and returned to the hotel. Both bands looked exhausted, which made sense since they had gone out drinking the night before.
The first day had left them drained, more than twenty minutes on stage should have. Back at the hotel, Hongjoong and Yunho flopped onto their respective beds while Mingi and Jongho retreated to their room. Hongjoong stared at the ceiling, processing the day. Yunho had probably fallen asleep instantly. Before sleeping, Hongjoong and Seonghwa texted for a bit, and then he took a long, hot shower, letting the warm water wash away the sweat and tension of the day. He slid under the cool sheets afterward, falling asleep almost immediately.
The second day came earlier than anyone really wanted. Sunlight filtered through the hotel blinds, bothering them. Hongjoong rolled over, stretched, and groaned softly. Their morning routine was simple: shower, dress, grab breakfast, check instruments, and then head back to the festival grounds.
Before the festival officially began, Vesper came to find them. Everyone was becoming really close friends, faster than Hongjoong had expected. After talking for a while, Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged a glance across the room and spoke almost in unison.
“Let’s grab a snack.”
Everyone looked at them, waiting. Hongjoong added, “Maybe some coffee for everyone before we start?”
Seonghwa nodded, smiling. “Good idea. I’ll help you carry them.”
Hongjoong realized how obvious they probably seemed to everyone. And it wasn’t exactly a secret what was happening between them, either. But the other six didn’t care, or maybe they got used to it now, and simply nodded, continuing their conversation.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa walked to the café in silence, which felt surprisingly calm for a festival morning. After Hongjoong ordered eight iced americanos, Seonghwa leaned against the counter, with his eyes flicking toward him.
“I liked what you wrote on my arm yesterday,” he said.
“Weren’t you complaining that you couldn’t rub it off?” Hongjoong teased, making Seonghwa laugh.
“Yeah, but after I saw the photos from our set, I realized it looked cool as fuck,” Seonghwa said. “Could you write something again?”
Hongjoong blinked. He hadn’t expected that, but he liked their little game. A grin spread across his face. “Sure, I just need something to write with...”
He looked around and spotted a red lipstick on the empty table next to them. It was completely new. He raised an eyebrow at Seonghwa, who laughed and nodded. They made sure it was untouched, and Hongjoong paused to think before deciding on the first word that came to his mind. Easy. With Seonghwa, everything felt easy.
Seonghwa raised a brow, laughing softly. “Easy… why?”
“It was the first word that popped into my head,” Hongjoong admitted. “Looks good, right?”
Seonghwa shook his head, smirking, and tapped the word with a finger as if approving. “Perfect. I’ll be even hotter today with the lipstick.”
Hongjoong nudged him, and they both laughed. When their order was ready, they also grabbed a few snacks for their friends and carried them back, chatting along the way.
Once breakfast was finished and they were back at the stage area, Lost Signal set up their equipment. This time, the crew allowed them a slightly longer warm-up. They felt more relaxed this time.
Their setlist had shifted slightly. They decided to include one of their demo track, which was almost finished, but they never performed it live. It was risky, yes, but they wanted to show something new.
When they hit the stage, the audience’s energy was immediately different from the previous day. People were already moving toward the barriers, waving their hands, even shouting some of the lyrics. Hongjoong felt a thrill shoot through him. They really did like Lost Signal?
It was clear they were more confident today. They delivered their speech, introducing themselves and hyping the audience. Hongjoong felt a rush while energizing the crowd, and even Yunho got them clapping along during Dance, Dance. It was as if they were a completely different band from yesterday.
The twenty-minute set felt longer this time. They felt the adrenaline through them, making everything feel ten times better. The applause was louder this time, and the fatigue they felt seemed irrelevant. They thanked the audience, and while Hongjoong let the others speak for a moment, he felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes again. He didn’t know why he was so sensitive during these performances, but this… this was his dream. Their dream.
After stepping down, they grabbed a few sips of water. They couldn’t stop talking about how incredible the set had been. Hongjoong watched his bandmates laugh while teasing him gently for almost crying, but he just rolled his eyes. He couldn’t be mad when even the demo track had gone over well. He felt pride in it, since he had spent so long working on it. Hongjoong knew Lost Signal had potential, and this festival was proving it. They could go even further.
Vesper went on afterward. Hongjoong noted that the transition from Lost Signal to Vesper might have been jarring. Even though both were rock bands, their styles were completely different, yet the crowd seemed to enjoy it.
They started as they had yesterday, with I’m Not Okay, and Hongjoong watched the crowd react with the same intensity. This time, there were more girls screaming and hyping them up. He guessed it made sense since all four of them were undeniably attractive, and whatever San and Wooyoung’s dynamic was, it added to the excitement.
This time, instead of a kiss after the chorus, San now grabbed Wooyoung’s hair mid-guitar solo while maintaining eye contact. The fangirls screamed, recording videos and cheering as if it were the highlight of the festival.
When the set ended, Vesper thanked the audience, but Hongjoong noticed Seonghwa scanning the crowd. When their eyes met, he smiled and raised his arm. He looked cute even with that black outfit. Hongjoong laughed, earning a side-eye from his bandmates.
When Vesper got out of the stage, both bands reunited near the side stage and decided to grab something to eat. Even though Hongjoong had wanted to watch a few other acts, he couldn’t deny that he was really hungry. They walked together, praising each other’s performances, until they reached a nearby Mexican restaurant. Everyone ordered different dishes and decided they would share to taste everything.
While waiting for their food, Mingi suddenly asked, glancing at San, “By the way… why do you kiss on stage?” The Lost Signal members turned to him, and Hongjoong wasn’t sure if they could ask that. “Is it popular these days or what?”
Wooyoung glanced at San and seemed to think for a second. “That’s true. Why didn’t you kiss me today?”
“Fans also like the hair pull!” San said, defending himself.
Wooyoung nodded. “Well, that’s why,” he said to Mingi, and they moved on.
Hongjoong couldn’t help but be curious. He wondered how Vesper handled this in Korea; he had no idea how the Korean public would react to the same performances.
The food arrived quickly, and they ate while talking. Hongjoong found himself enjoying Vesper’s company more than he’d expected. Not just Seonghwa, but Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung too. When they finished and paid the bill, everyone debated where to go next, probably to a basketball game that was happening that day. That’s when Hongjoong felt a light tug on his sleeve.
“Do you want to take a little walk? I can show you the city,” Seonghwa asked casually.
Hongjoong hesitated, glancing at his bandmates. “I could… don’t you mind?”
“Of course not,” Seonghwa replied. “I’ve been here before. I’ll show you some spots you might like.”
Their friends didn’t waste time teasing them. And, of course, Wooyoung was first.
“Wow, so you’re just going out with your boyfriend and leaving us behind?” Hongjoong froze at the term boyfriend, while Seonghwa didn’t know where to hide.
Yunho feigned a sob. “Yeah, you don’t even want to spend time with us anymore, hyung.”
Hongjoong’s ears burned, but before he could protest, Yeosang shook his head, laughing. “Relax, and enjoy yourselves. Don’t worry about us.”
After a few more laughs, Wooyoung added, “But you owe us something, hyung!”
Seonghwa waved it off. “Yes, yes,” he said. And before leaving, they promised to meet in the evening and said their goodbyes.
As they walked, Hongjoong spoke first. “Are you sure your friends don’t mind us? We could go with them, too.”
“Oh, don’t worry. When we come here, we usually split up,” he replied. “Even Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang like to go out together while I rest for a bit. They’re just teasing us. What about your friends?”
“We don’t really care,” Hongjoong laughed. “We go out together or not, depending on the day. It’s just… our friends seem to have such a good time together.”
“Mm, talking about that,” Seonghwa added. “I’m really glad our friends got along. I didn’t expect it.”
Hongjoong agreed, and they continued walking. The streets of L.A. had a different energy in the early evening. Hongjoong looked around, taking in the details and snapping photos, while occasionally stealing glances at Seonghwa, who was telling him stories from their past visits.
They ducked into a quiet coffee shop, far from the tourist zone. While Hongjoong ordered two drinks, a young Korean girl approached them hesitantly, holding a notebook, followed by two friends.
“Seonghwa-oppa? Could you sign this, please?” she asked.
Seonghwa’s expression softened. “Of course,” he murmured, scribbling neatly before handing it back. He smiled gently as they praised him, his expression almost charming. Hongjoong was struck by how different he seemed to his fans.
Then one of the girls noticed Hongjoong and gasped. “Oh my God… are you the one from Instagram?”
Hongjoong froze. “Uh…”
Before he could respond, her friend added, “Yes, he is!” Hongjoong blinked, unsure why they were acting like this.
The first girl leaned closer. “What’s your duo name? You know… like together?”
Hongjoong blinked, catching on. He had enough fandom culture knowledge to understand. He turned to Seonghwa and was surprised to see him seriously considering it.
“Hmm… we have to find something in common,” Seonghwa said, holding a hand to his chain. Hongjoong shot him a look that clearly said Are you seriously doing this? But Seonghwa continued. “We’re the oldest in our groups, right?... Mathyung?”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes, but if Seonghwa wanted to, he would join him. “Matz,” he suggested after a moment.
Seonghwa paused, considered it, then laughed. “Matz… yeah, I like it.”
The girls squealed. “Yes! I love it! Matz!”
Afterward, they said goodbye, and Seonghwa waved at them before turning to Hongjoong.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“What? They like it!” Seonghwa replied.
Hongjoong rolled his eyes and went to collect their coffees.
They continued walking through the city, passing through murals and art installations, snapping photos, and pausing to admire every corner. Hongjoong found that he liked the simple and quiet intimacy of exploring together. Teasing, brushing hands accidentally on purpose, and laughing about random things.
When they walked through a commercial district, Seonghwa’s gaze caught on a small toy store tucked between two larger shops. He suggested they go inside to check something out, and Hongjoong agreed. After searching through a few aisles, Seonghwa suddenly lit up.
“Oh! They do have the new Animal Crossing LEGO set!” he exclaimed.
Hongjoong tilted his head. “Animal Crossing?” he asked, trying not to sound puzzled.
Seonghwa’s smile softened. “Yeah… I’ve been waiting for this one. I love these little sets. They’re relaxing to build, and I like collecting them, like you saw in my apartment.” He looked at Hongjoong, then back at the display. “Look, it’s Tom Nook’s store!” He pointed at the tiny LEGO model with wide eyes.
Hongjoong smiled quietly. He didn’t fully get it, but he could see how much it meant to him. “It looks… really detailed,” he said, not sure what else to say.
Seonghwa nodded. “Yeah. I wish I could take it home right now.” A moment later, he frowned slightly. “Oh, I just need to run to the bathroom real quick. Could you wait outside?”
“Sure,” Hongjoong said.
As he watched Seonghwa ask an employee where the bathroom was, Hongjoong suddenly had an idea. Without thinking twice, he bought the LEGO set as quickly as he could and stepped outside. Now standing there with the box awkwardly pressed to his chest, he thought about what he had just done. Maybe he’d gone too far. What if Seonghwa was just admiring it and felt uncomfortable that Hongjoong bought it? Should he really have spent that money?
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a gasp. Hongjoong looked up and saw Seonghwa in the store entrance, with his hands covering his mouth.
“Wait, what?!” Seonghwa exclaimed, blinking at the LEGO in his arms.
Hongjoong handed it to him without a word, but Seonghwa shook his head.
“Take it, or I’ll give it to the first kid that walks by,” Hongjoong said, faking annoyance.
Flustered, Seonghwa glanced back toward the store. “No, no… I didn’t mean for you to buy it. Sorry if it seemed like that, I just—”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes. Maybe he’d been right, maybe Seonghwa really did feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t just return it. “Just take it.” He said with a lower voice this time.
“Thank you…” Seonghwa murmured with a flush on his face. He hugged the bag carefully as they continued walking, and Hongjoong’s worries eased when he saw how ridiculous he looked: all black clothes, silver hair, heavy eyeliner, and still somehow adorable, clutching the LEGO like it was everything.
Seonghwa smiled at him and repeated, “Thanks. I really mean it.”
Hongjoong just waved it off, saying it was simply a thank-you for showing him the city.
The sky was getting darker now. They paused to take photos of each other while continuing; Seonghwa took a few candid shots of Hongjoong examining a tiny mural of a cat, and Hongjoong snapped one of Seonghwa laughing at something he had said.
At one point, Seonghwa stopped to gesture toward a small plaza. “When we come here, I always love walking this way. There’s a little fountain I like, and sometimes there’s someone playing music here. I thought you’d like it.”
“Yeah, I really like it…” Hongjoong said, looking at Seonghwa. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Hongjoong looked away. They were standing in silence until one bench was free, and they hurried over before anyone else could take it. They chatted for a while, but then Seonghwa’s phone buzzed with a notification, and his expression dropped as soon as he saw it.
“San just texted,” he said, frowning slightly. “The manager wants us back at the hotel to talk about last-minute stuff for tomorrow.”
Hongjoong’s stomach sank a little. “Ah… so that’s it for today?”
Seonghwa nodded with his lips pressing into a soft line. “I wanted to show you more… but I guess not.”
“Don’t worry,” Hongjoong said, brushing Seonghwa’s hand briefly. “We can come back another time.”
Seonghwa’s smile returned. “Yeah, we can come back.”
They left the plaza and continued walking toward his hotel, stopping again for more photos. Seonghwa handed Hongjoong his phone and asked him to take a photo of him holding his LEGO, which Hongjoong agreed. He posed first smiling, then making a playful kissy face.
Hongjoong laughed at him, and Seonghwa immediately stopped posing. “What? My fans like it!”
“Your fans, huh? Alright, one more,” Hongjoong said, snapping another picture. Seonghwa suggested a selfie since he wanted a picture of them both before they left. They positioned themselves in front of the fountain and posed. Hongjoong ran a hand through his blonde hair, made sure he looked good, and smiled. Seonghwa lifted the LEGO box to be visible in the shot and grinned. After three selfies, they looked at the pictures together and laughed softly. When they reached the front of Seonghwa’s hotel, he hugged the LEGO box to his chest and looked at Hongjoong earnestly.
“I really enjoyed today, I hoped I could’ve shown you more.”
“Don’t worry,” Hongjoong replied. “Any other day, we can go out like this again.”
Seonghwa hugged the LEGO tighter. “Thanks again,” he whispered. Hongjoong watched him for a moment, struck by how cute he looked.
“Promise me one thing,” he said suddenly. “You have to invite me to build it with you. I’ve never done a LEGO set before.”
Seonghwa’s eyes lit up. “I will,” he said eagerly.
“Excuse me.”
They moved aside to let someone else enter the hotel, creating a brief awkward silence when they noticed how close they were now. Hongjoong saw Seonghwa biting his lip, and their eyes met for a second.
“Well… see you tomorrow then,” he said softly.
Hongjoong hesitated. He really wanted to kiss him.
Stop being a coward.
He had to remind himself that they were nothing yet, they hadn’t decided what they were, and maybe a kiss was too much. But then again, they had kissed before, outside of anything sexual, like the day at the amusement park.
After what felt like an eternity, he gathered the courage to cup Seonghwa’s cheek and leaned in for a gentle kiss. It was soft, brief, nothing like the others they’d shared. Seonghwa froze for an instant, then relaxed into it. His phone rang, but Seonghwa didn’t move to answer.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hongjoong whispered as they pulled apart.
They shared one last smile, and Hongjoong watched Seonghwa enter his hotel, waving one final time. With a soft exhale, Hongjoong turned toward his own hotel.
On the third day, Lost Signal’s nerves were running high. They were sitting in the green room, trying not to think about the worst-case scenario since their manager was called for last-minute changes. When he came back after being called to the staff tent, the four of them looked up like they were waiting for their death sentence.
“What did they say, hyung?” Hongjoong was the one to ask, trying not to sound scared.
Their manager looked at them with a big smile on his face, “Relax, you’re not cut. In fact, you just got ten extra minutes! One of the other acts dropped, so your set’s now thirty instead of twenty.”
The relief was so big that they couldn’t help but laugh.
“Thirty minutes?!” Jongho’s eyes went wide. “That’s like a real set.”
“Oh, thank god…” Yunho sighed, running his hands through his hair.
Hongjoong just let out a big breath. He was really scared that they could lose this opportunity. It got even better when Vesper came in a little later, sharing the same news. That’s why Seonghwa had been called the night before, to discuss the setlist. After their short soundcheck, they decided to grab breakfast together since there was a small café nearby that looked good. It was half-empty, which worked out perfectly since they needed space to push two tables together. They all ordered bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee, and started chatting about their sets.
“So,” Seonghwa said, sipping his coffee, “what are you all adding to the set?”
“We actually had a plan for extra songs,” Hongjoong said. “A demo for our new album, and another track.”
“Oh, you’ve got a new album coming?” Seonghwa asked, and Hongjoong nodded. “We didn’t really know what to add, but we chose some of the less known songs. We think they’ll fit.” Hongjoong agreed.
They kept talking about the festival until Yeosang leaned back and said, “You know what’d be funny? If we switched members for the extra songs.”
Everyone turned to him.
“What do you mean, switched?” Yunho asked.
“Like, change members for one song,” Yeosang explained. “Some of you play in our set, and some of us play in yours.”
They thought about it for a moment, then the idea started sinking in.
“That’d be chaotic,” Yunho said while laughing.
“It’d be amazing,” San cut in. “Imagine the reaction.”
Hongjoong set his fork down, thought for a second, and said, “It’s actually a good idea. We’d just have to be smart about who switches, since we’d only have like ten minutes to practice. No vocal swaps though, that’d be too messy.”
“Yeah, no way I can cover Jongho,” San said while shaking his head. “My poor throat.”
That made Jongho laugh.
“So vocals stay as it is,” Seonghwa summed up. “That leaves instruments.”
“Okay, let’s see.” Wooyoung tapped his plate with his fork. “Who here can actually play something else?”
Mingi raised a hand immediately. “I can play bass, Hongjoong taught me.”
“Good,” Yeosang said. “Then maybe I can switch with Yunho?”
“Yeah, we can do that,” Yunho agreed.
Vesper’s side of the table exchanged looks.
“So, let’s map this out,” San said. “If Jongho stays on vocals for Lost Signal, and I stay on vocals for Vesper, then who fills the rest?”
Seonghwa set his coffee down and turned to Hongjoong. “You can play guitar, right?”
“Yeah, why?” he asked.
“Then Hongjoong can play with us, and Wooyoung can play with Lost Signal,” Seonghwa suggested.
“Holy shit,” Wooyoung muttered. “I actually like the idea.”
“Wait, let’s write this down,” Mingi said, pulling a pen from who-knows-where and scribbling on a napkin. “For Vesper’s extra time: San vocals, Seonghwa on bass, Hongjoong on guitar, Yunho on drums.”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa confirmed.
“And for Lost Signal’s extra time,” Mingi continued, “Jongho vocals, Wooyoung on guitar, Yeosang on drums, and me on bass.”
Everyone sat in silence for another moment while processing the idea. Then Wooyoung slapped the table.
“This is insane, we have to do it.”
“Yeosang, you’re a genius,” San said, and Yeosang just rolled his eyes while smiling.
Hongjoong glanced at San, then raised an eyebrow. “Wait, if I’m on guitar, you’re not gonna kiss me like you do with Wooyoung, right?” That made the whole table burst into laughter.
“Only if Seonghwa doesn’t get mad,” San shot back, making them laugh even harder.
After they finished eating and split the bill, they walked back toward the small rehearsal rooms the festival had set aside for bands. There were just a few, but two were empty. They could hear through the hallways the other bands practicing, but they were too focused on their new plan. Both bands agreed to skip running through the regular setlists since those were already polished. When they got inside one of the side rooms, Lost Signal gathered up first.
“So, which one are we letting Yeosang and Wooyoung play?” Jongho asked.
Mingi glanced at Hongjoong, then said, “The demo. It’s already half-duet between me and Jongho, and I think Yeosang’s voice would actually fit the low parts.”
“Yeah, he’s got the range,” Jongho agreed, looking thoughtful. “And he’s already a vocalist.”
Yunho raised a brow. “Wait, are you sure about asking Yeosang to sing, though? It’s a lot of pressure.”
“We’ll ask him,” Jongho said firmly. “If he’s not into it, we change plans.”
With their final decision, they stood and crossed the hallway to the room where Vesper was setting up.
“Hey,” Hongjoong called as he knocked and pushed the door open. “We have a suggestion for you guys.”
Wooyoung looked up from tuning his guitar. “Sounds serious.”
“Not really,” Mingi replied. “We were thinking that for our switch song, we’d play the demo. But… It’s a duet. Yeosang, we’d want you to sing with Jongho. Is that okay with you?”
Yeosang was clearly surprised at the suggestion.
“Me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jongho said. “We’ve got the lyrics printed already, and Yunho can hand you the drum sheet. It won’t be much, I sing most of the song. But if you’re not comfortable—”
“I like it,” Yeosang cut in with a faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll do it.”
Jongho’s face had relief all over it, and Hongjoong made a mental note to thank their manager again for having the lyrics ready. Yunho dug into his bag and passed Yeosang the drum notes, while Mingi handed Wooyoung the guitar sheet.
“Okay, team switch,” Wooyoung said, clapping once. “We’ll take this room. You guys go over there.”
After that, Lost Signal’s temporary lineup claimed one side of the room and began working through the demo, while he rest headed next door to get set up. Seonghwa slung his bass over his shoulder and turned toward them.
“For our extra song, we’ll do this one called The World is Ugly.”
Hongjoong flipped through the sheets Seonghwa handed him. The chords looked deceptively simple for a Vesper song. He thought it could be a sad song, hence the title.
“San’s not here?” Yunho asked, glancing around. Hongjoong did too, only realizing now that San was missing. Seonghwa shook his head while adjusting the tuning pegs.
“He got a call from his dad, but said he’d be back soon. We’ll just practice the instrumental for now.”
“Got it,” Hongjoong said, already testing the opening progression.
They counted in and started running through the song. Hongjoong’s brows were furrowed, since he really tried to focus. Every time his fingers slipped, he clenched his jaw, determined to fix it. He had that tendency to want to do everything really well, even if it was his first try. By the second run-through, he felt a little more confident.
Through the walls, they could hear Lost Signal’s swapped lineup rehearsing. Jongho and Yeosang’s voices blended together surprisingly well. It almost sounded like the song had been written for the two of them.
“Damn,” Yunho muttered during a pause. “We’ll have to use Yeosang for the recorded version.”
They all laughed at that, then kept going. Time slipped by faster than they expected, until a knock on the door from a staff member announcing that they’ll have to be ready soon jolted them back. They packed up quickly and regrouped with the others in the hallway. Lost Signal’s switched lineup looked more drained than they did, but they all looked satisfied.
“How’d it go?” Hongjoong asked.
“Better than expected,” Jongho said with a grin. “Yeosang is really good.”
Yeosang gave a small shrug, though there was big smile on his lips. “No, no. Jongho’s really good.”
“And Wooyoung didn’t fuck up anything,” Mingi added.
“Thanks for the faith,” Wooyoung groaned, which only made everyone laugh.
Just then, San jogged down the hallway, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sorry, sorry! Family stuff. Were you guys okay without me?”
“We managed,” Seonghwa replied. “But you’ll pay for the beers later.”
“What?!” San yelped, making everyone laugh again.
At that moment, the festival staff appeared down the hallway, signaling Lost Signal’s turn to head backstage. Both bands shared quick pats on shoulders and encouragements before the group moved toward the stage.
Lost Signal were first. They played their same setlist from day one and the extra song, but this time it felt entirely different since they weren’t as nervous as on the first day. Confidence truly played a big role, and the crowd noticed too. The cheers were louder than before, and they sang the lyrics back. For Hongjoong, the sight of strangers singing along, and actually vibing with their songs, sent a jolt of pride through his chest. Even at one point, Mingi crossed the stage to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, bass and guitar lines together, and the audience roared. When they finished the second-to-last song, Hongjoong stepped forward.
“We’ve got a surprise for you guys today.”
The crowd made sounds of confusion, but they were quickly drowned out by excitement when Wooyoung and Yeosang walked onto the stage. Of course, their fangirls screamed louder than everyone else. Hongjoong and Yunho gave quick waves, then hurried offstage, practically running down to the pit so they could watch.
The stage looked strange with the new lineup, but once they started playing, they did surprisingly well.
The demo they chose was one of Mingi’s songs. It was something he had written almost entirely on his own, inspired by one of his deepest heartbreaks. Hongjoong still remembered the night clearly: Mingi sitting stiff in the living room, his phone abandoned on the table after his girlfriend had called to end things. He had phoned her first, hoping to clear up rumors about her cheating, only for her to admit it outright. Mingi had acted like it didn’t matter, brushing it off, but for the rest of that week, he wasn’t himself. His eyes were so sad that the band started to really worry about him, so Hongjoong had suggested writing, saying it might help.
At first, Mingi didn’t want to record it or add it to an album since it felt too personal. But when they finally played it together in practice, they realized how good it was, and reluctantly, Mingi adjusted a few things, just in case it ever found its way onto a record. It still didn’t have a proper title; “Thanks for the Memories” was just a placeholder. But, to be fair, none of them were particularly good at naming songs.
Yeosang’s deep voice came in first, then Jongho’s powerful voice. They were grounding the song in a way that made the hair on Hongjoong’s arms stand up. He never had the opportunity to hear Yeosang’s singing voice before, but it was a totally different experience. And Wooyoung… he wasn’t their guitarist, but he quickly adjusted to Lost Signal’s style. It was admirable.
When it ended, the reaction was explosive. The screams were so loud that Hongjoong got scared, and Vesper’s fangirls in particular shrieked like they’d been given the greatest gift of their lives.
Hongjoong could see the pride on Mingi’s face, followed by relief. They bowed, thanked the audience, and cleared the stage.
Now it was Vesper’s turn.
While they launched into their setlist, Lost Signal regrouped in a side tent. Hongjoong and Yunho decided to run through their part one more time. Hongjoong hated missing Vesper’s final stage, but he couldn’t risk messing this up. He wanted to do it justice. More than that, he wanted to impress not just the audience, but the people he was about to share the stage with.
Suddenly, San’s voice carried through the speakers outside, announcing their extra song.
“That’s us,” Yunho said.
They exchanged a quick nod, packed away their nerves, and walked toward the stage entrance. Yeosang and Wooyoung jogged off, high-fiving them as they passed. The crowd was filled with anticipation as San stepped to the mic and said:
“This one’s called The World is Ugly.”
A wave of screams rippled through the audience.
Hongjoong strapped on Wooyoung’s guitar, Yunho got into position, and the first notes rang out. The three of them: Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa, started with the instrumental, and then San started singing:
These are the eyes and the lies of the taken,
These are their hearts, but their hearts don’t beat like ours…
Oh. So it was a love song.
Hongjoong tightened his grip on the guitar, forcing himself to stay locked to the rhythm. He glanced at the crowd, swaying to the slow tempo, then at San, who sang with such raw intensity it was almost tangible. Hongjoong noticed that his gaze wasn’t wandering over the audience; it was locked on a single spot. Hongjoong followed it, and he could see in the audience someone with long, black hair. Oh. Well… He turned back to his guitar, pushing the thought away.
They continued playing; it was honestly a beautiful song. Hongjoong couldn’t understand why it was one of Vesper’s lesser-known ones. Sure, it was calmer, slower, but beautiful. Hongjoong was lost in the flow of it when suddenly another voice joined San.
I just wanted you to know,
I wanted you to know…
Hongjoong’s head snapped up, and he saw Seonghwa singing, his deeper tone blending perfectly with San as he played. But… he wasn’t watching at the crowd.
He was watching him.
Right at him.
Their eyes met, and Seonghwa’s lips curved into a faint, secret kind of smile as he sang,
I’m thinking of you,
every night, every day.
For a second, Hongjoong forgot how to breathe. His hand slipped on the fretboard, nearly throwing him off. He started to feel heat and panic in his chest.
Oh shit. This is going too fast. Way too fast.
He really, really shouldn’t be obsessing over this, whatever this was. But then, why was his heart beating so hard? Why did it feel like the whole damn stage narrowed down to just the two of them, like the screaming crowd and San’s voice faded to background noise? He tried to pull himself back into focus, but the lyrics didn’t help.
‘Cause the world is ugly,
but you’re beautiful to me
Oh no. Oh, fuck. This is bad.
It wasn’t supposed to matter this much. They were just friends? Or barely even that, they were still figuring each other out. He couldn’t be falling into something already, not like this.
But it was too late. Way too late.
Are you thinking of me,
like I’m thinking of you?
Hongjoong swallowed hard, forcing himself to play through the rest, with his jaw locked and eyes down, because if he looked up again, he was afraid of what his face might give away. He forced his fingers back into motion, but before he could steady himself, the song was over.
The last note faded, and the audience erupted, but Hongjoong barely heard them over the pounding in his ears. He didn’t even notice when both bands crowded the stage, shouting thank-yous, waving, bowing together. Hongjoong clapped along automatically, but a burn rose behind his eyes that he couldn’t blink away, and the tears slipped before he could stop them.
This was it. This was what he’d dreamed of since he was a kid, scribbling lyrics in the margins of his school notebooks. Standing here, with his band beside him, strangers screaming for their music. It was real. It was happening.
Mingi clapped him on the back, and when Hongjoong looked around, all of his bandmates were smiling at him, wide and proud. It made the tears fall faster. He ducked his head, trying to hide, but then felt Seonghwa’s hand brush his. He looked up, met that same quiet smile from the stage, and couldn’t help but return it.
This was their dream. They were living it.
After their sets, both bands hung around backstage, watching the artists still left on the lineup. Some were people they knew by now, and others complete strangers, but the music was good. Every now and then, someone would pass by and greet them, praising their performances.
When the final act wrapped up, the crowd started spilling out, but the night had only just begun. It was July 4th in L.A., and the whole city was celebrating. There were flags draped over balconies, fireworks already starting to crackle in the sky, and the air began to smoke like a mix of smoke, barbecue, and ocean breeze. Both bands decided they weren’t ready to call it a night.
After walking for a while, they ended up at a bar Wooyoung swore had cheap cover, a decent crowd, and “actually good music.” Inside, it wasn’t much, but all they really wanted was to drink. When they walked in, a few heads turned their way. Fair enough, they probably looked a little out of place. They hadn’t had the chance to change out of their stage clothes, so Lost Signal was in their usual loose pants and oversized shirts, while Vesper was still dressed head-to-toe in black, and each of them had a different hair color. Hongjoong got why people were staring.
The group grabbed one of the big couches in the corner and ordered a round. They chatted and laughed while drinking, but like always, people started drifting. Mingi was the first one to disappear, since he was pulled onto the dance floor by a girl, and Yunho leaned into the group at the next table until he was basically part of them. Wooyoung and San had tucked themselves into their own corner of the couch, and the rest decided to give them some privacy. They migrated to the bar, ordered another round, and leaned against the counter as they waited. The bartender slid their beers over, and they clinked bottles before moving a step away from the crush of bodies.
“It’s funny that now that Seonghwa and I decided to stay with you, everyone split up,” Hongjoong said, sipping from his bottle.
“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t run the second we sat down,” Yeosang replied, which made them all laugh.
Hongjoong didn’t notice at first how close Yeosang and Jongho had gotten, there was something about the way they leaned into each other when talking. The two of them kept the conversation going, and Hongjoong just nodded along, smiling when they pulled him in, but his eyes kept drifting toward Seonghwa, who was sipping his drink quietly. He wasn’t smiling like before, just kind of zoning out.
Hongjoong tilted his head, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Wanna get out of here for a bit? Go for a walk or something?”
Seonghwa hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Hongjoong turned back to the other two. “We’re gonna head out for a bit. Jongho, cover the beers for me, I’ll send you the money later.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Jongho replied, already wrapped up in his argument with Yeosang about which festival act had been the best.
Hongjoong laced his fingers with Seonghwa’s as they tried to track down Mingi and Yunho, first scanning the dance floor, then the couches, but after a few minutes, they gave up. No luck. The only ones in sight were Wooyoung and San, slumped together on the same couch. They’d definitely had more drinks since both were flushed, and Wooyoung was practically in San’s lap.
“Hongjoong and I are going for a walk,” Seonghwa announced as they approached.
San burst out laughing, almost spilling his glass. Seonghwa just rolled his eyes and kicked Wooyoung’s leg under the table, hard enough to make him yelp.
“Don’t get lost out there,” San slurred while his head dropped lazily onto Wooyoung’s shoulder.
“Bring him back in one piece,” Wooyoung called after them with a wink.
Seonghwa just shook his head, sighing, but Hongjoong caught the little smile tugging at his mouth as they pushed through the bar’s front door. They walked in silence for a while, but with Seonghwa, it was always the good kind of silence. The streets around them were filled with drunk people, cars rolling by blasting music, and fireworks cracking in the distance. But none of it really mattered to Hongjoong. Right then, all he cared about was Seonghwa.
Eventually, they stumbled on a small park tucked away from the noise. It wasn’t crowded, just a couple of people passing through, and the clearing was open enough to give them a clear view of the sky.
They sat side by side on the grass, with the faint hum of the city around them, and only hearing the red and blue fireworks. Neither spoke; it was enough just to sit there. But Hongjoong was worried about Seonghwa, so he glanced over and asked softly, “Is something bothering you? I mean… we’re not exactly close friends, but… I’d like to try, if you want to talk.”
Seonghwa let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t say things like that. You’re more important to me than you think.”
Hongjoong was caught off guard, but before he could answer, Seonghwa continued.
“Events like this… they always make me emotional. It hasn’t been easy to get here. My family… they don’t hate what I do, but they don’t really accept it either. I love them, but sometimes I wish my dream wasn’t… something we never talk about.” He exhaled, looking down at his hands. “When I met Yeosang, I felt less alone. He’d just been kicked out by his dad for wanting to be an artist, and we decided to rent a place together. Then Wooyoung came around all the time since he’s Yeosang’s best friend, then San… and somehow, we became a band. They’re my family now. I’m proud of them. Of us.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened. Without thinking, he reached out and took Seonghwa’s hand, squeezing it lightly. Seonghwa didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked up at the fireworks again and smiled faintly. “Anyway, enough heavy talk.” He turned toward Hongjoong. “How did it feel, playing with us?”
“Different,” Hongjoong admitted. “We’re both rock bands, but you guys… it felt like another world.”
Seonghwa’s smile widened. “Funny thing, I wasn’t supposed to sing that part tonight. It’s just San, but I told him before I wanted to try. Thought you might like the surprise.”
Hongjoong couldn’t shake the image of Seonghwa on stage, singing while looking directly at him; it kept replaying in his head. His stomach twisted with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to. What does this mean for Seonghwa? Is this just… sex? Or does he actually want something more?
Seonghwa didn’t seem like the type to mess around with something like this. Suddenly, he wished he could just ask and get a straight answer, without overthinking it a hundred times first, but he never really liked this type of conversation. His throat tightened. He swallowed hard before finally asking, with his voice rougher than he meant it to be.
“What did it mean? Those lyrics… No, all of this. What does it mean?”
Seonghwa didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the night sky, watching as a firework cracked open into blue sparks that scattered and disappeared into smoke. Every second of silence made something in Hongjoong’s chest ache.
After a while, Seonghwa said quietly, “It means what it means.”
The answer should’ve frustrated him, but instead it left Hongjoong even more drawn in. The glow of the firework lit Seonghwa’s profile, and he could see his sharp jaw, the slope of his nose. Hongjoong had always thought Seonghwa carried a kind of contradiction: everything about his face was sharp, striking, but there was this softness in his big eyes that could undo him completely.
That softness was there now, and it made his heart ache.
Almost without thinking, Hongjoong reached up, his fingers brushing gently through Seonghwa’s hair. The gesture felt fragile, tentative, like he was testing whether he was even allowed this, even though they’d kissed before. Seonghwa finally turned at the touch, meeting his eyes, and every alarm in Hongjoong went off. But, with those wide eyes and slightly parted lips, how could he think about anything else?
So, he leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t like the other kisses they’d shared. This one was slower, deeper, as if he needed to pour everything he’d been holding back into it. Gratitude. Confusion. Longing. Fear. Hope. He kissed Seonghwa like it was the only language he had left, like maybe if he did it right, Seonghwa would understand everything he couldn’t say aloud.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Hongjoong kept his forehead resting against Seonghwa’s for a few seconds, searching his face. His voice trembled as he spoke.
chapter 3: so good right now (7,8k)
chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 / 7
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
warnings: smoking, smut, drinking, making out, frottage
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, hongjoong is bad at feelings
a/n: i’m back! sorry for the delay, I was a bit busy getting ready because… I’m going to see ateez in a few hours!!! i couldn’t sleep from the excitement, so I decided to write instead. - all the mentioned songs are fall out boy's songs
originally published on ao3
The next morning, Hongjoong was already at the table, with his spoon idly dragging through a half-finished bowl of yogurt while his phone lit up every few seconds at his side. His heart hadn’t slowed down since last night, and sleep had come and gone. He was thinking about the festival, about money, about the possibilities. About Seonghwa. Mostly Seonghwa. Yunho sat down across from him first, dressed neatly as every morning; he was working part-time at a dance academy nearby, teaching kids and helping choreograph idol auditions.
“You look like hell,” he said, yawning as he poured milk into his cereal.
“I’ve been thinking,” Hongjoong muttered.
Yunho gave him a long, cautious look. “Dangerous.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know,” Yunho replied, spoon halfway to his mouth. “That’s why I’m worried.”
Before Hongjoong could argue, Jongho stumbled in, still in pajamas. He dropped into the chair next to Hongjoong and groaned, “Finals are killing me.”
“Morning,” Hongjoong said.
Jongho just grunted and started picking the marshmallows out of Yunho’s cereal box. Mingi appeared last, with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.
“You okay, hyung?” he mumbled around the foam.
“Can you not?” Yunho said, wrinkling his nose, but Mingi just ignored him, shuffling toward the sink. After Mingi came back, Hongjoong tapped his phone against the table, trying to gather enough courage to speak.
“Alright. About that festival in L.A.,” he said. The room went a little quieter. Everyone knew what he meant; they’d talked about it before, thought about it, and dropped it once the numbers started looking ugly.
Jongho looked up from his cereal with his brows raised. “Didn’t we already decide it’s too expensive?”
“Yeah, but hear me out.” Hongjoong leaned forward. “If we split housing and food, it’s not impossible. And I’ve got some savings, enough to cover extra if we come up short.”
“Wait, you’re actually saying we could still go?” Mingi asked.
Hongjoong nodded. “I talked to the manager to check flights. It’s not as bad as we thought.”
“Hold on. Why do I feel like this sudden motivation has something to do with Vesper?” Yunho asked, making Hongjoong freeze.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Yunho continued, narrowing his eyes. “I saw their name on the lineup.”
“Okay, yes. They’re going, but that’s not why.” He sat up straighter, defensive. “Look. Even if they weren’t going, this is the kind of thing we’ve been saying we want. We can do local gigs forever, or we can try something bigger. I believe in our music. And if I need to put my own money in, I will.”
The table went quiet except for the crunch of Jongho eating marshmallows. After a while, he shrugged.
“I mean… it’s kind of crazy. But I’m not against it.”
“I’ve never been to L.A.,” Mingi said with a grin. “And I’ve always wanted to perform outside of Korea. Imagine us, in some bar on Sunset Boulevard or something.”
Yunho sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s a good opportunity, but I just don’t want you to get distracted.”
“I’m not distracted,” Hongjoong said quickly.
Yunho didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Fine. Let’s try.”
“I’ll talk to the manager again today,” Hongjoong said, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips.
By the time Yunho went to work and Mingi and Jongho to their classes, Hongjoong stayed in his room for a while, working on the band logistics and checking emails. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his thoughts kept drifting to the photo Seonghwa posted, to the words: I love summer. How cute he’d looked holding that stupid plushie. To his voice. His laugh.
It was stupid.
It wasn’t like him. Hongjoong had dated before, casually and seriously, but this… this felt different. Or maybe it was just him who was different now. He hated not being in control of his emotions, hated the way one person could change the temperature of his entire day just by existing in his mind. He’d barely known Seonghwa for what? Two days? That shouldn’t be enough to drive him this crazy. And yet here he was, staring at his phone, waiting for another text from Seonghwa. Annoyed at himself, he threw his phone across the bed and forced himself back to work.
His shift at the recording studio was the same as always, just checking cables, setting up microphones, and running small errands between sessions. He didn’t have an important title, more like an assistant, but he didn’t mind. The pay was good, and he enjoyed meeting different artists and being close to the kind of environment he aspired to for himself. Sometimes he was asked to sit in and take notes, to tidy up after a session, or just to wait until someone needed an extra pair of hands. That afternoon, he clocked out a little before sunset and drove home.
When he got back to the apartment, kicked his shoes off, and dropped his keys onto the dish by the door, he remembered: the manager. He’d forgotten to check his reply. Hongjoong grabbed his phone and opened the message thread.
Manager:
Flights are available. I checked the festival details, it’s July 2nd to 4th, so in three weeks
You’ll need to submit forms next week for lineup confirmation. If you’re sure, I’ll start on bookings. Let me know how long you plan to stay
Hongjoong exhaled, three weeks. He typed back.
Hongjoong:
we’re in
let’s try to stay at least until the 6th if flights allow
I’ll talk with the guys again just in case, but you can start looking
thank you so much, hyung
Once it was sent, he walked into the living room, where Jongho was lying on the couch with his laptop on his stomach. He plopped down beside him, reached for the remote, and chose a movie that looked interesting. Fifteen minutes passed in silence, just the sound of Jongho clicking away at his keyboard, and a car chase on screen. After a while, he pulled out his phone and opened Seonghwa’s chat.
Hongjoong:
we’re going to the festival too
It only took a few minutes before Seonghwa replied.
Seonghwa:
Really?! that’s amazing
I’m so glad. I hope we get to hang out there too<3
He looked at the little heart for a moment, then tapped into Seonghwa’s profile again, and his recent post; the one with them together. Hongjoong scrolled down. Curiosity got the best of him, so he opened the comments. There were mostly comments praising his looks, but one comment stood out.
seonghwa-ssi, who is he?
And Seonghwa’s reply:
just a friend :)
Just a friend.
Something twisted in his stomach; it didn’t sit right. Sure, technically, “friend” was already stretching it; a stranger might’ve been closer considering they had sex and spent a day together by chance, nothing more official than that. Still, the word didn’t feel right.
His eyes skimmed further. Another comment: you two look good together, to which Seonghwa had replied with nothing but a soft smiley emoji. Hongjoong turned his phone face down and sank deeper into the couch, making Jongho glance over.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah, just tired.”
The following night, they dragged themselves into Hongjoong’s studio. It wasn’t really a studio; it had once been his father’s workshop, but Hongjoong had begged to take it over when his father planned to rent it.
“Are you sure the neighbors don’t care that we practice this late?” Mingi asked while dropping his backpack with a thud.
Hongjoong smirked. “There are no neighbors. The closest house is a fifteen-minute walk, that’s why it’s perfect.”
“Perfect for murder, too,” Jongho muttered, pulling out his laptop.
“Shut up and set up your mic,” Hongjoong replied.
They started by preparing everything while talking about their days. When everything was set up, Hongjoong was the first one to talk.
“Alright. We need to discuss the setlist before we start.”
Yunho leaned against his amp. “Festival sets are shorter, right? Like, thirty minutes max?”
“Depends on the slot,” Hongjoong replied. “Opening acts usually get twenty. If we’re lucky and it’s not the parking-lot stage, yeah, thirty”
“So what’s the plan? Our classics, or are we throwing in the new stuff?” Mingi asked.
“We don’t have classics. We have like ten singles and some demos.” Hongjoong replied.
“That’s classic for us,” Jongho replied, making Mingi snort.
“Okay, but for real,” Yunho said. “Crowds at festivals don’t wanna hear deep cuts, they need energy.”
“Then we open with Sugar, We’re Going Down,” Mingi said immediately. “That one always hits.”
“Finally, my genius is respected,” Mingi said, grinning.
“Shut up,” Jongho muttered, but he was smiling too.
Hongjoong jotted it all down in the notebook Seonghwa had given him.
“That’s five. If we get more time, we can throw in another one.” He smiled at his band members. “We’ll test them at practice and see what feels right.”
They all nodded; they could already feel the excitement. And so, the setlist started to take shape.
Their days bled together: work, school, then the long ride to the studio. Sometimes they left sweaty and exhilarated; other times, frustrated and sore, but slowly, the set took shape. They argued a lot, and they laughed even more.
Meanwhile, finals season crushed the younger two. Jongho and Mingi arrived late more often than not, citing group projects and presentations. Hongjoong let them nap during breaks, even though it meant less rehearsal. He wasn’t heartless. When finals finally ended, it was like watching two prisoners released from solitary confinement.
By then, the songs sounded good. Not perfect, they never felt perfect to Hongjoong, but good enough that he caught himself imagining Lost Signal on the stage. And then, inevitably, imagining Seonghwa in that crowd.
Life outside the studio didn’t stop. Yunho spent his mornings drilling kids through choreo routines, Mingi balanced his student life with working at a café, and Jongho basically lived in the library until finals ended, then celebrated by sleeping twelve hours straight.
And Hongjoong… he worked his shifts at the recording studio, then stayed up too late tweaking setlists, emailing the manager, stressing about money. His savings were going to shrink faster than he liked, but he refused to admit it.
One night, after a particularly rough run-through, they collapsed in the studio, sweaty and exhausted.
“Okay,” Mingi panted. “That was… actually good. Like, festival-worthy good.”
“Really?” Yunho asked.
“Yeah.” Mingi grinned. “I’m proud of us.”
“Don’t get sappy,” Jongho warned.
“Shut up. I’m being sincere for once.”
Hongjoong sat back against the wall, watching his bandmates tease each other. His chest felt heavy, but not in a bad way. They were good. They were ready.
The last week of June blurred into the same loop: rehearsals, last-minute changes, and rushing home half-dead. Everything Hongjoong had expected, but what he hadn’t expected was the quiet that followed after Seonghwa’s last text. Not a single message since.
He told himself it made sense; everyone was busy practicing for the festival. The second the band stumbled into the apartment after practice, they collapsed. Weekends weren’t any better, either spent discussing arrangements or just catching up on sleep. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d been waiting for Seonghwa to ask him out again, but he never did. And Hongjoong, being just as stubborn, hadn’t tried either, so he couldn’t really complain.
Their flight was scheduled early in the morning, and the group stumbled into the airport with their sunglasses, caps, and travel bags. Their manager checked them in, fussed over the passports, and they boarded. On the plane, Jongho sat next to Hongjoong. Mingi and Yunho ended up a couple of rows behind, already bickering about who’d get the aisle seat. Hongjoong just put his AirPods on and slept.
Hours later, the L.A. skyline came into view, sprawling and glowing in the late afternoon haze. By the time they cleared customs and piled into a van with their luggage, Hongjoong’s body ached from sitting, but his excitement overlapped it. This was it. Different continent, bigger stage, more opportunities.
At the hotel, their staff handled most of the check-in while the boys waited in the lobby, still yawning. Yunho and Hongjoong ended up in one room, while Mingi and Jongho shared another down the hall.
They didn’t want to waste the little daylight left. After changing clothes, the four slipped out onto the street. The city was really different from Seoul; louder, more chaotic, but beautiful. They wandered for a while until they finally ended up at a burger joint. Ordering in English was a bit of a challenge, but with some pointing and their best effort, they managed. Soon enough, each of them sat down with a double burger, a side of fries, and a soda.
They were talking while eating, when Hongjoong’s phone buzzed against the table. He unlocked it without thinking, then froze when he saw the name.
Seonghwa.
did you guys land already?
His stomach twisted, but he forced his fingers to move.
Hongjoong:
yeah, just got to the hotel
we went out for food real quick
Seonghwa:
which hotel?
He hesitated for a second, then typed it out. And, almost immediately, another message blinked across the screen.
Seonghwa:
oh, that’s right around the corner from us
guess I’ll see you soon
I gotta run for now, but I’ll text later
Hongjoong stared at the screen, chewing slower, pretending like his pulse hadn’t just jumped. He slipped the phone face down on the table, trying not to smile.
The first evening in L.A. passed quicker than Hongjoong wanted. After dinner, they strolled lazily through the streets near their hotel, still feeling the jet lag. By the time they got back, Yunho collapsed face-first into the bed with his shoes still on. Hongjoong lay back on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He tried not to let his thoughts drift too much toward Seonghwa; he needed to rest for tomorrow, but it was useless. And then, just past ten, his screen lit up.
Seonghwa:
my friends are heading to a bar near here
do you guys want to come?
Hongjoong stared at it, biting his lip, then looked at Yunho. He was already sitting up, scrolling through his phone.
“Bar?” he repeated when Hongjoong told him. “Yeah, I’m down. Let’s ask the others.”
It didn’t take much convincing; Mingi and Jongho wouldn’t say no to a drink. Hongjoong sent a quick reply to confirm they were in. Seonghwa answered almost immediately with the name of the place, and when Hongjoong checked the map, it turned out to be only a short walk, just a couple of blocks away.
They took quick showers and started getting ready. Hongjoong spent longer than he meant to standing in front of his suitcase, pulling out options and second-guessing himself until Yunho teased him for taking so long. He ignored it, finally settling on a white t-shirt under a leather jacket, paired with black pants and black boots. A few sprays of his cologne and he was done. Yunho went for something sleeker: a dark coat layered over a black collared shirt and matching trousers.
By the time Mingi and Jongho came to knock on their door, it was obvious each of them had interpreted “going out for drinks” differently. Together, they looked less like a group and more like tourists on their way to four different occasions. They laughed it off and headed out.
The nightlife hit different; it was brighter, louder, and even more crowded than the day. They walked through the streets, stopping here and there to snap a few photos before reaching the bar. It was a simple spot, nothing fancy, just the kind of place where friends reunited on a weekend. Near the back, Hongjoong caught sight of Vesper tucked into a booth. Seonghwa was facing the door, and the second their eyes met, his lips curved faintly, making Hongjoong’s pulse flutter.
“Hey, you made it!” A boy with long, black hair waved them, so they walked in their direction.
It was a little awkward at first. Yunho ended up across from the black-haired boy, who wasted no time striking up a conversation with him. Mingi sat opposite a boy with blonde hair, who only nodded politely. Jongho in front of the one with green-tinted black hair. And, as if luck was playing some kind of joke, Hongjoong found himself right in front of Seonghwa.
Seonghwa took the lead, gesturing around the booth as he introduced his bandmates one by one: Wooyoung on guitar, San as the main vocalist, Yeosang on vocals and drums, and himself on bass. Then, the spotlight shifted to Hongjoong, who cleared his throat and did the same: Yunho on drums, Mingi on guitar, Jongho as the main vocalist, and himself as the bassist.
Just as they finished introducing themselves, the waitress appeared with menus now that the table was finally complete. There was a pause as they skimmed through the menus, just the low hum of the bar filling the space. The only voices Hongjoong could hear were Wooyoung and San discussing what to order.
Hongjoong tried to concentrate on the menu in English in front of him, but then he felt something; Seonghwa’s foot brushing lightly against his under the table. His head lifted instinctively, and when their eyes met, Seonghwa was smiling at him. It was a subtle smile enough to send heat crawling up Hongjoong’s neck. He forced himself to smile back before glancing down again, cursing silently at how ridiculous he felt for overthinking Seonghwa’s distance all this time when here he was, right in front of him.
The waitress returned to take their orders. Beers all around, a couple of cocktails, and a spread of appetizers they agreed to share. When the drinks came a few moments later, the first round went down easily. And, with that, the stiffness began to ease. It was Wooyoung who cracked the ice, leaning across toward Yunho.
“So, this is your first time here?”
“Yeah,” Yunho said with a big smile. “It feels huge. Really different from Seoul.”
“That’s L.A.,” San muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Wooyoung nudged him dramatically. “Don’t act like a local, we’ve only been here twice.”
San rolled his eyes, but for a moment, there was a softness in the way they looked at each other before turning back to Yunho. Hongjoong caught the subtle exchange but didn’t linger, because Seonghwa leaned in slightly at that moment, his full attention on him.
“Long day?”
“Yeah,” Hongjoong admitted, his fingers circling his beer. “It feels like I haven’t stopped moving since we landed.”
Seonghwa’s smile curved, like he understood too well. “That’s L.A. for you.”
Hongjoong let out a quiet laugh, taking a sip of his beer. As the drinks settled in, the atmosphere loosened. Wooyoung had a way of pulling threads between people, weaving them closer without anyone realizing. They laughed at some things Wooyoung said or how he teased his bandmates, and even gained some glances from the other table, but they were having a great time. Soon, the two groups were effortlessly bantering, as if they’d known each other for years.
Hongjoong found himself laughing along, easing into it more quickly than he expected. He was still a little on edge at first, but the warmth and familiarity in their interactions made it feel easy, almost comforting. He glanced toward Seonghwa from time to time, catching him mid-laugh at something one of his bandmates said, and when Seonghwa’s gaze met his, Hongjoong offered a small, quick smile and pretended to turn back to his own conversation.
Seonghwa was leaning slightly back, dressed in a black shirt with the top two buttons casually undone and dark jeans. His silver hair caught the low light of the bar, and a hint of makeup made his sharp features stand out even more. He genuinely looked good, too good to ignore, and Hongjoong felt himself getting distracted.
“By the way,” Yeosang interjected, tilting his head, “how do you guys usually put your setlists together? We had some issues with that.”
Jongho spoke first, outlining a couple of songs they’d worked together on, describing how they layered the arrangements and added small touches during practice.
“You mostly write them, right?” Seonghwa asked, leaning in a little toward Hongjoong.
Hongjoong shook his head. “We all contribute, really. Everyone has ideas.”
Jongho scoffed softly. “When we try to contribute, our hyung already has half the song done.”
They all laughed at that, then Seonghwa tilted his head, silver hair catching the light again.
“Have you written anything lately?”
Hongjoong shrugged. “Not really… I don't feel inspired right now.”
“Well,” Seonghwa replied, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips as he lifted his beer to take a sip. “I hope you find the inspiration you need here.”
Hongjoong’s eyes met Seonghwa’s for a fleeting moment before he turned away, taking a drink of his own beer. He didn’t know what to expect.
By the second round, Yunho and Wooyoung were practically fused at the hip, cracking jokes and talking with the others, even singing sometimes. At one point, Wooyoung dragged Yunho toward the bar to order shots, San and Mingi trailing behind them. Jongho was pulled into a conversation with Yeosang that Hongjoong couldn’t really hear.
Wooyoung and Yunho came back with a tray of shots, clattering them onto the table with exaggerated flair. “We’re celebrating,” Wooyoung declared, sliding glasses toward everyone. “New city, new festival, no sleep!”
The group cheered, lifting their glasses. The burn of liquor chased down the beer, and suddenly everything was warmer, looser, easier. As Hongjoong watched both bands laugh and talk over each other, he remembered something: he still had Yeosang’s clothes. He leaned in a little closer.
“Hey, about your clothes,” he called. “The ones I borrowed last time. I still have them. I’ll give them back once we’re in Seoul, I swear.”
Yeosang blinked at him, a little dazed, then let out a soft laugh. “Oh, you’re… ah, right. Don’t worry about it. I was planning on donating them anyway.” He waved a hand like it was nothing, already turning his head toward Jongho, who leaned in to say something.
That was when Hongjoong felt something; a light touch on his knee. At first, he froze, unsure if he’d imagined it, but the gentle pressure moved slightly upward along his leg. He stopped mid-thought, heart thudding, and slowly glanced to the side, past Yeosang.
Seonghwa had his eyes locked on him, lips wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle, with his cheeks faintly flushed. The heat in Hongjoong’s chest surged; his gaze inadvertently lingered on the curve of Seonghwa’s lips as he took a slow sip. He lingered, slowly drawing the liquid in, letting the tip of his tongue press against the edge as he swallowed, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When he finally pulled the bottle away, his lips were slightly glistening, parted just a fraction. Before Hongjoong could react, Seonghwa turned back to his bandmates beside him, laughing lightly, and Hongjoong felt a sudden, dizzy warmth spreading through him. He was pretty sure the alcohol had already hit him.
He tried to refocus on the conversation, but the image of Seonghwa’s flushed expression kept looping in his mind. Then Seonghwa leaned past him, brushing his shoulder almost casually as he murmured something about heading to the bathroom. Hongjoong felt a subtle thrill running through him, and he muttered quietly to Jongho, “I… I’ll be back too,”
Jongho barely glanced up, still engrossed in the conversation with Yeosang, nodding absentmindedly, completely unaware of the situation.
Hongjoong eased out of the booth, careful not to attract attention, and followed Seonghwa. They didn’t even head toward the bathrooms. Instead, they slipped down a quieter hallway near the back exit, the bar’s music and chatter muffled, leaving them in a private, dimly lit space.
Seonghwa pressed him lightly against the wall, and before Hongjoong could fully register it, Seonghwa’s lips were already on his. He tasted the faint sweetness of Seonghwa’s beer.
“I missed this,” Seonghwa murmured against his lips, teeth brushing briefly against Hongjoong’s bottom lip. “I’ve been so busy… really busy lately.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened; he felt a rush of frustration and longing all tangled together. He wanted to tell him he had overthought everything, that he had been obsessing over the fact that Seonghwa hadn’t messaged him, but he realized suddenly that Seonghwa had been just as busy. They had both been running on fumes, their own worlds pulling them in different directions. And yet, here they were, the tension of the past weeks dissolving in the press of lips.
He let himself sink into it, gripping Seonghwa’s arms, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, sloppy in the best way. Their bodies pressed together. Hongjoong could feel Seonghwa’s chest against his, the subtle shift of weight as their hips aligned. Every brush of a hand, every tilt of the head drove the desire higher, the urgency of the moment making it impossible to think clearly.
Seonghwa’s fingers tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, tugging lightly, and Hongjoong gasped against him, biting back a moan. The taste of alcohol mixed with the faint scent of the city clinging to Seonghwa’s skin was dizzying, intoxicating. He could feel the line of Seonghwa’s jaw pressing against his, hear his ragged breath, feel the pulse racing in the tight space between them.
The world outside the doorway faded completely. All the neon signs, all the music, all the laughter of their friends inside, it was gone. There was only the raw, messy heat between them, the way Seonghwa’s tongue traced the corner of his mouth, the way their bodies seemed to fit together.
They shifted slightly, hips brushing, thighs pressing together, both a little clumsy from the combination of beer and adrenaline. Hongjoong let his hands roam, mapping the familiar terrain of Seonghwa’s back, memorizing the muscle in his shoulders, the curve of his spine. Seonghwa’s hands moved lower, under the hem of Hongjoong’s shirt, tracing along his ribs, sending shocks through his system.
Every second stretched. Neither of them spoke; it was replaced by the gasps and soft moans that broke through between kisses. It was messy, urgent, and the longer they went, the more it demanded of them.
After what felt like both an eternity and a moment, Hongjoong pulled back slightly, chest heaving, forehead resting against Seonghwa’s. The world started to seep back. He could hear Wooyoung’s laugh in the distance.
“We should go back…” Hongjoong murmured, brushing lips against Seonghwa’s jaw. “Our friends are inside.”
Seonghwa hesitated for a moment, then replied softly. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.” He straightened, running a hand through his hair. They stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath and fixing their clothes.
When they stepped back into the bar, immediately the shift in energy was obvious. Wooyoung’s head snapped up from the table, eyes narrowing at the corner they’d disappeared to. He leaned back in his seat, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Took you two long enough. What, the line in the bathroom was that fun?”
The table erupted with laughter. Hongjoong and Seonghwa exchanged a glance, barely suppressing smiles, their hands brushing when they reached the table.
They settled back, ordering another round for the table. Both bands continued laughing, stories bouncing back and forth. The initial awkwardness was gone, and the connection was already established. Wooyoung kept nudging Yunho with exaggerated commentary on their earlier conversation, drawing everyone into small bursts of laughter.
The night stretched on, but even as other groups started to filter out, the energy between the two bands stayed high. San yawned openly, trying to hide it behind his hand, but Wooyoung wasn’t having it.
“C’mon, we’re not done yet!” he teased, dragging him toward the jukebox. The rest groaned but followed in half-hearted protest, laughter spilling as they argued about which track to play.
Hongjoong caught Seonghwa’s gaze again, and this time there was no hiding it. The city lights glinted faintly in his big eyes, the way he watched him making it impossible to think of anything else. Hongjoong’s heart thumped with a familiar ache, a longing that didn’t even bother pretending to be casual.
“I’m calling it,” Seonghwa murmured when Wooyoung and Yunho finally argued themselves into submission over the playlist. “I’m heading back. You coming?” His voice was low, meant only for Hongjoong.
Hongjoong swallowed. The truth was, despite having a great time and being happy from seeing his friends like this, he wanted nothing more than to go with him. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m going back too.”
The tease and gentle ridicule from the others came immediately. Jongho’s grin was big as he said. “Aw, the lovebirds are leaving the party early?”
Hongjoong shot Jongho a look that made him chuckle. The rest waved them off, shouting half-hearted warnings to behave and to take care.
The streets outside were quiet, and the hum of the city was softer now. Streetlights lined the sidewalks, casting long amber reflections across the wet pavement. The air smelled faintly of food from a corner diner. They walked close together, Hongjoong matching his pace with Seonghwa’s, their hands brushing occasionally until finally, one lingered on the small of his back.
“Do you want to come back to my hotel?” Seonghwa asked after a pause, his voice low. Hongjoong glanced at him for a moment before nodding.
“Yeah… I do.”
A satisfied curve tugged at Seonghwa’s lips. “This way,” he murmured, guiding him with a hand at his back as they crossed the street.
Inside the lobby, Hongjoong couldn’t help but notice how luxurious it was, so far from the modest hotel his band was staying in. Was Vesper really that popular? He thought, but it was quickly drowned out by the heat coiling in his chest as Seonghwa keyed the elevator, pressing the button for his floor. Hongjoong’s hand lingered close to his, almost daring to close the distance, and when their skin brushed, the brief, electric contact sent a shiver up his spine.
They rode up in silence. If anyone got into the elevator at that moment, they would feel the tension and anticipation threading between them. As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, they stepped out into the quiet corridor of Vesper’s floor. Seonghwa led the way to his door, unlocking it with a quiet click. He paused, letting Hongjoong step inside first, then closed the door gently behind them. The room smelled faintly of his cologne, and the dim lighting made everything feel intimate.
Hongjoong leaned back slightly, letting the door click shut fully, and finally, Seonghwa turned to him. They stood there a moment, just looking at each other, with their breaths slow and hearts racing, before Seonghwa stepped closer, tilting his head, letting his lips brush against Hongjoong’s. It was soft, teasing, and Hongjoong’s hands found his waist, pulling him in closer, desperate and careful all at once.
The kiss deepened almost without thought, Seonghwa’s mouth hot and insistent against Hongjoong’s, his fingers tangling in the shorter man’s hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, pleased sound from him. Hongjoong could taste the lingering sweetness of the cocktails they’d had earlier and the faint bite of alcohol mingling with the heat of Seonghwa’s tongue sliding against his own.
He didn’t resist. He couldn’t resist.
Not when Seonghwa pressed into him like this, all desperate hunger and barely restrained need, his body warm and solid against Hongjoong’s. Not when his hands were now gripping Hongjoong’s hips like he was afraid he’d slip away.
Hongjoong broke the kiss just enough to murmur against his lips, “Do you share the room with anyone?”
Seonghwa let out a shaky breath. “Yeosang,” he admitted, but then, as if remembering, added, “but he’s staying with San and Wooyoung tonight.”
Hongjoong swallowed, trying, and failing, not to let that information coil tight in his stomach. He should think. He should pull back, consider what this meant, what they were doing…
But then Seonghwa kissed him again, and all rational thought dissolved into static.
Hongjoong guided them backward, hands firm on Seonghwa’s waist, until the back of his knees hit the edge of one of the beds. He pulled away just enough to ask, “Which one’s yours?”
Seonghwa nodded toward the one closest to the window, and Hongjoong sat down on the edge, looking up at him.
God, he was beautiful like this.
Silver hair tousled from Hongjoong’s fingers, lips swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed with want. The dim light caught the sharp lines of his face, the curve of his throat as he swallowed, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
Seonghwa didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, straddling Hongjoong’s thighs, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him as he settled into his lap. Hongjoong’s hands instinctively gripped his hips, fingers digging in just to feel him.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
Seonghwa’s gaze was dark, pupils blown wide, and Hongjoong could see the same hunger reflected back at him that had been simmering between them for weeks. Then, slowly, Seonghwa reached up, brushing Hongjoong’s hair back from his forehead, his fingers lingering against his temple before sliding into the strands. Hongjoong exhaled, shuddering at the touch.
Then Seonghwa leaned in, capturing his mouth again, and this time, it was fiercer.
Hongjoong kissed him back just as fiercely, hands sliding up his sides, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his shirt. Seonghwa rocked against him with a slow, deliberate grind of his hips, and Hongjoong groaned into his mouth, fingers tightening on his waist.
The friction was maddening. Seonghwa moved against him again, dragging himself over Hongjoong’s thighs. Hongjoong could feel him hardening through his jeans, could feel the way Seonghwa’s breath hitched when their bodies pressed together just right. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, swallowing every soft sound Seonghwa made, every gasp when their hips met.
Seonghwa’s hands were everywhere; tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, gripping his shoulders, sliding down his chest like he wanted to memorize the shape of him. His movements grew less controlled, more desperate, his hips rocking faster now, chasing the friction, the pleasure coiling tight in his stomach.
Hongjoong let him take what he needed, hands roaming over Seonghwa’s back, down to the curve of his ass, pulling him closer, urging him on. He could feel his own arousal under his pants, every drag of Seonghwa’s body against his sending sparks through his veins.
They were both breathing hard now, their kisses turning messy, open-mouthed and hungry. Seonghwa’s forehead dropped against Hongjoong’s shoulder, his hips still moving in slow, sinuous rolls, his breath hot against Hongjoong’s neck.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked.
Hongjoong could only agree.
He slid a hand up Seonghwa’s spine, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him lift his head. Their eyes met again; Seonghwa’s lips were parted, his gaze hazy with want, and then Hongjoong pulled him back in, kissing him deeply, swallowing the soft, desperate sounds he made.
Hongjoong couldn’t stop this. Not when every movement sent heat pooling low in his stomach, not when Seonghwa felt so good above him, around him, against him. Not when the weeks of tension had finally boiled over into this, into Seonghwa’s hands on him, his body moving with his, his breath mingling with Hongjoong’s in the space between kisses. Suddenly, Seonghwa put a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder, indicating him to pause. He got up and went to his suitcase.
Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on him, tracing the lines of his body as he moved; the lean muscles of his back, the curve of his waist, the way his black jeans clung to his thighs. And then, despite himself, Hongjoong’s eyes dropped lower.
Fuck.
Seonghwa’s arousal was unmistakable, the hard outline of him pressing against the fabric, and Hongjoong’s breath caught. A sharp, unwelcome thought sliced through the haze of desire: Had he planned this? Had he been expecting someone else?
He gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away. It didn’t matter. They were here now, and whatever this was, whatever they were doing, it was between them. Nothing else existed.
When Seonghwa turned back, Hongjoong’s pulse stuttered. In his hands were a bottle of lube and a box of condoms, his own body responding instantly.
Seonghwa stopped in front of him and, without a word, he began to undress.
Hongjoong watched, transfixed, as Seonghwa’s fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, revealing smooth skin inch by inch. He did it slowly, as if he knew exactly how much it was affecting Hongjoong. And maybe he did. Maybe he wanted Hongjoong to feel this; the ache, the need, the way his own hands trembled slightly as he started to undress as well.
They didn’t speak. The only sounds were their breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the quiet click of their belts being undone. Their eyes stayed locked, the tension between them thickening with every second, with every piece of clothing that fell away.
When they were both bare, Hongjoong reached for him, hands settling on Seonghwa’s waist. His skin was warm, almost feverish under Hongjoong’s touch. He leaned in, pressing kisses along Seonghwa’s stomach, chest, collarbone, up the column of his throat, feeling the way Seonghwa’s breath hitched when Hongjoong’s teeth grazed his pulse point.
Seonghwa tilted his head back, giving him more space, his fingers tangling in Hongjoong’s blonde hair. Hongjoong took his time, savoring the taste of him before finally capturing his lips again in a deep, lingering kiss.
Then, with a gentle push, Seonghwa guided Hongjoong back onto the bed, following him down. He stretched out beside him, reaching for the lube, and Hongjoong’s throat went dry as Seonghwa slicked his fingers, warming it between them.
The first touch was tentative. Seonghwa’s breath shuddered as he pressed a single finger inside himself. Hongjoong watched, mesmerized, as Seonghwa’s body tensed, then relaxed, his lips parting on a quiet gasp. He couldn’t look away.
The sight of Seonghwa like this, spread out beneath him, lost in sensation, his skin flushed, his cock hard against his stomach, was almost too much. Hongjoong grabbed the lube, coating his own fingers, and when he touched Seonghwa, sliding a finger alongside his, Seonghwa arched off the bed with a sharp inhale.
“Hongjoong—” His name was a plea, a prayer, torn from Seonghwa’s lips.
Hongjoong kissed him again, swallowing the sounds he made as their fingers moved together, stretching him. He mapped every reaction; the way Seonghwa’s thighs trembled, the way his nails dug into Hongjoong’s shoulders, the way his breath came faster, shallower. When Seonghwa finally pulled away, his voice was wrecked. “I’m ready.”
Hongjoong nodded, reaching for the condom. His hands weren’t entirely steady as he rolled it on and slicked himself with more lube, but Seonghwa’s gaze was still fixed on him.
Hongjoong positioned himself between Seonghwa’s thighs, his pulse roaring in his ears. He gripped the base of his cock, guiding himself to Seonghwa’s entrance, and the first press was electric; Seonghwa’s body yielded to him, pulling him in with a slow, intoxicating resistance. Seonghwa’s breath stuttered, his fingers digging into Hongjoong’s biceps as he adjusted, his lashes fluttering shut for a brief moment before his eyes locked onto Hongjoong’s again.
“You feel so good,” Seonghwa breathed.
Hongjoong didn’t rush. He pushed in gradually, savoring every inch, every tiny shift of Seonghwa’s body beneath him. The way Seonghwa’s lips parted, the way his thighs tensed, the way his fingers scrambled for purchase against Hongjoong’s skin. He drank it all in, committing every reaction to memory.
When he was fully sheathed, Hongjoong stilled, letting them both adjust. He leaned down, capturing Seonghwa’s lips in another deep kiss, swallowing the soft whimper that escaped him. Then, with a slow roll of his hips, Hongjoong started to move.
Seonghwa’s nails raked down his back, his breath coming in uneven gasps against Hongjoong’s mouth. Every thrust was deliberate, measured, dragging out the pleasure until Seonghwa was writhing beneath him, his legs hooking around Hongjoong’s waist to pull him deeper.
Hongjoong wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, but he knew this time it was different. Something had shifted between them, and he confirmed it when he looked down at Seonghwa and met his eyes. His brows were furrowed, tears clinging at the corners, but there was something new in his gaze. Hongjoong’s thoughts scattered when he felt Seonghwa’s hand brush softly against his cheek.
“Faster,” he demanded.
Hongjoong obeyed, snapping his hips forward, and Seonghwa arched off the bed with a sharp cry, one that Hongjoong silenced with another kiss, swallowing the sound as if he could devour it.
The pace built, the slap of skin against skin filling the room, mingling with their harsh breaths and muffled moans. Seonghwa’s hands were everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide where to hold on. Suddenly, a broken gasp tore from Seonghwa’s throat, making his entire body tense. Hongjoong knew exactly what had just happened.
He did it again, angling his hips just right, and Seonghwa’s reaction was instantaneous: his back arching off the bed, his thighs clamping around Hongjoong’s waist, a high, desperate noise escaping him before he slapped a hand over his own mouth.
Hongjoong grinned, predatory, and did it again.
Seonghwa’s eyes screwed shut, his free hand fisting the sheets as pleasure wracked through him. Hongjoong could feel him tightening around him, could see the way his cock twitched against his stomach, leaking precum.
“I, ah, I’m close,” Seonghwa choked out behind his hand.
Hongjoong reached between them, wrapping his fingers around Seonghwa’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Seonghwa’s hips jerked, his breath coming in short, frantic pants, and then he broke. Seonghwa came with a muffled cry, his release spilling over Hongjoong’s fingers, his body clamping down around him in waves. The sight alone was enough to push Hongjoong over the edge; he buried himself deep, his own orgasm crashing through him with a groan, his forehead dropping against Seonghwa’s shoulder as he rode it out.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, their breathing the only sound in the room. Then Hongjoong pulled out slowly, tying off the condom before tossing it aside.
Seonghwa was still sprawled beneath him, boneless, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were half-lidded, and when Hongjoong leaned down to kiss him again, Seonghwa hummed into it, content.
Hongjoong went to the bathroom and brought back a towel to clean Seonghwa, then himself. Once they were both somewhat freshened up, Seonghwa tugged at Hongjoong’s wrist, pulling him close.
"Lie down with me," he murmured.
Hongjoong didn’t resist, settling beside him, their legs tangling together as they melted into another slow, deep kiss. The alcohol was making everything softer, slower, more intimate.
"Stay with me tonight," Seonghwa whispered against his lips, fingers tracing idle patterns along Hongjoong’s spine. "If you don’t have other plans."
Hongjoong didn't have the energy to think about it. He just smiled, nuzzling into the curve of Seonghwa’s neck. "Yeah, I’ll stay."
The room went quiet, limbs still lazily entwined. The alcohol helped, easing them both into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.
The alarm went off too soon. Hongjoong groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, clinging to the last remnants of sleep. Just as he was about to drift off again, a hand brushed gently across his forehead, tucking some strands of hair away.
He blinked his eyes open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and the first thing he saw was Seonghwa watching him. His silver hair was messy, his chest bare, and Hongjoong noticed for the first time a tiny mole in his eyebrow. He lost count of how many times he thought Seonghwa was beautiful.
“Good morning,” Seonghwa’s morning voice made Hongjoong’s chest tighten. “Do you want to shower first?”
Hongjoong shook his head faintly. “I can shower in my room. I’m already bothering Yeosang enough.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Seonghwa laughed softly.
“Then you go first,” Hongjoong replied.
But Seonghwa didn’t move. He had his gaze fixed on Hongjoong in a way that made his skin prickle.
“What?” Hongjoong laughed nervously, his voice coming out a little breathless.
Seonghwa’s smile widened. “I never noticed how long your eyelashes are. They’re ridiculously pretty.” His tone dropped lower as he leaned in. “Almost unfair, actually.”
Hongjoong froze, heat blooming across his cheeks. No one had ever told him that before. His right eye fluttered shut instinctively when Seonghwa’s finger hovered close, and he felt the lightest brush before that same hand trailed down to his cheek.
“You’re blushing,” Seonghwa teased gently, the smirk tugging at his lips only making it worse.
Hongjoong turned his face away with a laugh, hiding behind the pillow. “Stop saying nonsense. Go shower, we need to get ready for the festival.”
Seonghwa chuckled, clearly satisfied, and finally got up, disappearing into the bathroom, giving Hongjoong a moment to press his burning face into the sheets.
When it was his turn, Seonghwa told him to use his shampoo and soap. He showered quickly, then pulled back on the same clothes as yesterday. They chatted idly as they got ready, but before long, Hongjoong decided to leave, not wanting to be perceived by his bandmates. He doubted they’d be up at seven a.m. after last night’s drinks anyway.
At the door, Seonghwa leaned in slightly. “I’ll see you at the festival.”
Hongjoong nodded, fighting the urge to kiss him, “Yeah, see you there.”
chapter 2: alone, together (8k)
chapters: 1 2 3 4 / 7
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, sh!bottom)
explicit
genre: rock band AU, 18+ smut
summary: Two bassists, and a summer full of unspoken feelings.
tags: mutual pining, music, fluff, bassist! seonghwa, bassist! hongjoong, different bands, hongjoong is bad at feelings
a/n: i love making hongjoong overthink. this chapter doesn't have any smut but i hope all the fluff? makes it worthy (not fluff exactly, you'll see lol). hongjoong final notes are actually pete wentz's livejournal entries, if you know the lore maybe yk where this is going lol
originally published on ao3
The first thing that Hongjoong noticed was that the sun was too bright; it was warming the side of his face, and at first, he didn’t think much of it. He just shifted slightly, groaning under his breath, and rolled over to escape the brightness. His body felt heavy in that particular way it did on Sundays, and everything around him was quiet and warm enough to tempt him back to sleep, so he reached lazily for his phone to check the time. It was 9:02 a.m. That was earlier than he liked to be awake on a Sunday, way earlier. He considered turning back over and slipping under the covers again. That’s what he would do…
Except something didn’t feel right.
His brow furrowed. The sheets were too soft, and the room didn’t smell like his room. He blinked harder, now a little more alert, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar walls, the furniture, how everything was too clean… Then it hit him. He wasn’t home.
His body shot upright, and his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest as his mind tried to catch up with reality. He turned, half expecting someone else to be in the room, already awake and waiting, but he was alone. The bed beside him was empty.
Right. Right.
Seonghwa.
Hongjoong ran a hand over his face, trying to decide if he was more embarrassed or confused. Had he overstayed? Was he supposed to have left earlier? He wasn’t exactly an expert in casual hookups, especially not the kind that involved sleeping over. He was the “leave before it gets weird” type.
What if Seonghwa’s out there, pissed off and waiting for me to get the hell out?
He started to panic, and the fact that his clothes were nowhere in sight didn’t help. Great. He rubbed his temples and debated whether sneaking out barefoot was even an option.
That was when he heard footsteps coming into the room. The door creaked open a second later, and Hongjoong turned, ready to apologize. But there was Seonghwa, standing casually in the doorway, looking unfairly good for this hour. His silver hair was tied loosely back with a few strands curling around his ears, and he wore an oversized T-shirt with a band logo and a pair of pale gray pajama shorts. He didn’t look angry, at least.
“You’re up,” he said with a smile.
“Yeah,” Hongjoong replied, still trying to mask how off-balance he felt. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to crash so hard.”
Seonghwa tilted his head, confused. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just thought… maybe I stayed longer than I should’ve?”
“It’s nine in the morning,” Seonghwa said slowly, like he was trying to understand a very bad joke. “Do you want to have breakfast?”
That caught him off guard. “You made breakfast?”
“Yeah. Come eat before it gets cold.”
Hongjoong blinked. “You didn’t have to—”
“I also tossed your clothes in the wash. They were kinda everywhere, so I hope that’s okay.”
“Wait. You did my laundry?”
Seonghwa leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed loosely. “You looked dead to the world. I figured you’d appreciate not having to put on wrinkled jeans. You’re welcome, by the way.”
It was a lot. It was so much.
Not in a bad way, just in a Hongjoong-didn’t-know-how-to-process-this kind of way. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I could’ve helped, you know.”
“You were asleep. What was I gonna do, shake you awake and hand you fabric softener?”
“I just mean you didn’t have to do all that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Look,” Seonghwa said with a playful sigh, “are you really gonna make me stand here and let the food get cold, or are you gonna stop being ungrateful and brush your teeth? There’s a new toothbrush in the second drawer.”
There was no edge to his voice; he didn’t sound annoyed or rushed, just amused, like this was exactly how he expected the morning to go. Hongjoong had no argument left.
“Okay, yeah. Thanks.”
“Thought so,” Seonghwa said with a smug little smile, then turned and disappeared down the hall. After that, Hongjoong walked to the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and exhaled. There, alone, it was easier to admit he was freaking out a little.
He found the toothbrush where Seonghwa said it’d be; still unopened in the box, sitting neatly beside the floss and backup razors. That tiny detail made something twist in his chest. Why does he have extra toothbrushes? Not that it meant anything. Maybe he just liked being prepared. Maybe it was for Yeosang. Maybe it was just normal.
But it didn’t feel normal.
Hongjoong braced his hands against the counter, staring at his reflection. His blonde hair was a mess, his eyes were puffy, his lips looked vaguely swollen, definitely from all the kissing, and he was sure he had marks all over his back to pretend last night hadn’t happened.
He brushed his teeth in silence, trying to focus on the task instead of his spiraling thoughts, but it was difficult. This wasn’t how mornings after hookups usually went, not that he had them before, but he’d seen enough secondhand to know how it should go. Quietly collect your things, send a thank-you text if you feel like being polite, and try not to make eye contact on the way out. But Seonghwa had made him breakfast, washed his clothes, and kept an extra toothbrush in his drawer like he expected someone to stay.
And that someone was him.
Hongjoong rinsed his mouth, spat, and wiped his face with the towel, staring at himself again. Was this normal for Seonghwa? Did he do this every time someone stayed over? Was this just his version of being polite?
The thought made his stomach twist. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to know if this was normal for him, but he was also thinking about it a little too much.
He stared at his reflection one last time, smoothing his hands down his wrinkled borrowed shirt. It was too big at the shoulders but soft, and it smelled like Seonghwa. He took a breath and opened the door.
The smell of homemade meals hit him as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, still drying his hands on the towel tucked by the sink. It grounded him, a strange sense of domesticity pulling him further out of the haze of sleep and the mini crisis he'd just had in the mirror. He was still a mess, but his teeth were clean, and he hadn’t had a full breakdown. That counted for something. He followed the smell down the hall barefoot and rounded the corner to the kitchen.
Seonghwa was standing at the stove with his back turned. He was humming to himself as he was flipping something in a pan with practiced ease. There was already one plate set on the table, along with two cups of coffee, a tiny bottle of orange juice, and napkins folded neatly beside the plates. Hongjoong hovered at the edge of the room. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said after a while.
Seonghwa turned a little, smiling over his shoulder. “You say that like I made a four-course meal.”
“You’re...literally making pancakes.”
“They’re easy to make,” Seonghwa replied, flipping one more onto the plate. “There’s also eggs and bacon. Very basic stuff.”
Hongjoong stepped closer, eyes scanning the table. It looked good. It was the kind of thing he used to imagine making for someone someday if he ever got the chance, but now he was the one being served, and it messed with his head more than it should.
“I could’ve helped.”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes, “But you didn’t. So sit down before it gets cold.”
Hongjoong obeyed, slowly pulling out the chair and sinking into it.
It smelled even better up close, and the presentation was clean, even a little artsy: pancakes stacked, fruit on the side, a bit of powdered sugar dusted on top. The coffee was exactly how he liked it, too.
As Seonghwa set the last plate down and joined him, Hongjoong glanced up, catching the faint, dark smudges across his collarbone. His gaze trailed lower. There were marks along his neck, and he was sure there were even more beneath the shirt.
“Shit,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think…”
Seonghwa followed his gaze, then waved it off with a laugh, grabbing his fork.
“I like them,” he said casually.
Hongjoong shook his head. “Still. I got a little carried away.”
“That’s the point,” Seonghwa said around a mouthful of pancake. “Isn’t it?”
Hongjoong didn’t know what to say to that. So he took a bite of his own, pretending to focus on the food. It was good, a little too good, which made everything worse, somehow.
There was silence for a while, just the clink of utensils and the sound of the fan whirring somewhere overhead. It was a classic Seoul summer morning, already heating up before noon, except he should’ve been home, working and preparing for the week. But he was here, across the table from someone he’d only known for a few weeks. Someone who cooked for him, cleaned up after him, and smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You’re quiet,” Seonghwa said eventually, nudging his knee under the table.
“I’m eating.”
“I can almost hear your thoughts.”
Hongjoong laughed, took a sip of coffee, and said:
“It’s just… a lot. All this. I don’t usually…”
“Sleep over?” Seonghwa offered.
“Do all of this.”
Seonghwa looked at him for a second, then a worried expression passed his face.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, no. I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It’s just… new.”
Seonghwa took a sip of his coffee, considering what Hongjoong said. “Well. I don’t usually do this either, if that helps.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So why?”
Seonghwa looked at him, and Hongjoong could swear that his gaze was softer. “Because I wanted to.”
Hongjoong’s stomach flipped, so he pushed more syrup onto his pancakes to hide it.
“Did you have any plans today?” he asked instead, trying to steer them into safer territory.
Seonghwa nodded. “Sort of. I got these amusement park tickets a while ago. Yeosang and I were supposed to go, but he had some family issues and he’s not coming back until later tonight.”
“Oh.”
“I was just gonna waste them. Unless…”
Hongjoong glanced up, and Seonghwa was already watching him.
“Wanna go with me?” he asked, sounding a bit insecure. “We don’t have to stay long. Just thought it might be fun.”
Hongjoong stared at his plate. He hadn’t planned anything for today. Sundays were usually for writing, maybe checking in with the band about arrangements. But he hadn’t been feeling inspired lately. He’d been in a weird, half-empty creative rut for weeks now. And despite the part of his brain screaming that this was a bad idea, that this was happening too fast, he found himself saying:
“Yeah, sure.”
Seonghwa brightened immediately. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, but I’ll drive,” Hongjoong replied.
“It’s my idea, you don’t have to—”
“I have to repay you, this food is delicious.”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. When they finished, Hongjoong insisted on doing the dishes.
“You made breakfast,” he said, standing by the sink before Seonghwa could protest. “At least let me feel useful.”
Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the domestic type.”
“I’m not. I just hate sitting around when someone’s doing everything.”
They fell into a quiet rhythm, Hongjoong washing and Seonghwa drying. For a while, it felt stupidly normal. This was the kind of domestic shit that belonged to people who’d been together for a while, not people who’d just met, hooked up, and accidentally turned it into a Sunday date.
Once the last dish was set to dry, Seonghwa grabbed a rag to wipe down the counter, and Hongjoong excused himself to go to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sat on the closed toilet lid, with his back against the cool tile, and took out his phone. The group chat had twenty missed messages, mostly memes and Jongho complaining that they finished the cereal and no one told him. He hesitated a second, then typed:
Hongjoong:
not coming back til tonight
The reply was instant.
Yunho:
???You're alive
Jongho:
Should we be worried or proud
Yunho:
Did you get kidnapped
Mingi:
Is he good in bed
Jongho:
Say “no” if you’re in danger
Hongjoong:
stop
I’m not dead
and don’t make it weird
He tossed the phone onto the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror.
Too fast.
When he came back, Seonghwa was on the couch again, flipping through TV channels. “Want to watch something before we head out?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“Sure.”
They settled on some random movie. Hongjoong slouched comfortably into the couch cushions, and before long, Seonghwa’s legs were draped casually over his lap. It was easy. Strangely easy. But then Seonghwa muted the TV and turned to him with a grin.
“I want to work on something. You down?”
Hongjoong was shocked for a second, then agreed.
They moved to the low table in front of the couch. Seonghwa reached under it, pulling out a small stack of notebooks, flipping through until he found one with a glossy black cover. It was covered in doodles, some tiny X-wings drawn in the corners, and a faded Darth Vader sticker on the back. He handed it over.
“This one’s empty. You can keep it.”
Hongjoong raised a brow. “You give all your hookups Star Wars notebooks?”
Seonghwa just laughed. After bringing back his equipment, Seonghwa had gone back to working on the piece from the night before, mentioning offhandedly that it had to be perfect for some festival in the U.S. Hongjoong had heard of it, he was pretty sure their band had received an invitation too, but they hadn’t decided anything yet, mostly because of money.
After a while, it became clear Seonghwa didn’t need much help, so Hongjoong figured it was a good time to try writing again. He clicked his pen and opened the notebook. At first, it was nothing serious, just some phrases or ideas, but his mind kept drifting back to Seonghwa. His soft laughter, the way he kissed, how everything felt quieter when he was around. He stared at the page, the pen still in his hand. Then sighed, shut the notebook gently, and set it aside. Maybe later. He offered to help Seonghwa again.
By the time the clock read nearly 2 p.m., Seonghwa stood up and stretched, his shirt rising slightly to reveal the sharp line of his waist.
“I should change,” Seonghwa said, looking down at himself. “Unless you want to be the only one looking cool.”
Hongjoong scoffed. “You think I look cool?”
“You always do. It’s annoying.”
With a soft laugh, Seonghwa disappeared into one of the rooms, only to return a minute later holding a small stack of folded clothes. “These are Yeosang’s,” he said, handing them over. “He was going to donate them anyway. I think they’ll fit you better than my clothes.”
Hongjoong took the pile with a murmured thanks, inspecting the contents: all black, of course. A fitted t-shirt, worn-in jeans with subtle rips at the knees, and a thin bomber jacket. When he changed in the bathroom, he was surprised that the clothes did fit, surprisingly well. In the mirror, Hongjoong looked a little sharper than usual, the monochrome look contrasting with the pale of his hair. He ran a hand through his hair, then smoothed out the shirt, before stepping out.
Seonghwa was changed now too, and Hongjoong’s breath caught for a second. All black, like him, but he was wearing a black turtleneck, fitted pants, and black boots.
“You look good,” he said, maybe a little too quickly.
Seonghwa raised a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“You just… look too good.” God, Hongjoong. “Turtlenecks fit you well.”
Seonghwa smirked. “I had to hide the damage someone did.”
Hongjoong flushed, looking away, but Seonghwa was already slipping his phone into his pocket and grabbing his wallet. He gave Hongjoong a slow once-over, lips quirking.
“Damn,” he said. “The clothes look better on you than they ever did on Yeosang.”
“Should I be flattered or terrified he’ll find out and murder me?” Hongjoong asked, raising a brow.
That made Seonghwa laugh, stepping closer. “He’d probably thank you. He hates wasting anything.” His gaze dipped deliberately lower, and his voice dropped in a way that made Hongjoong’s skin prickle. “Also, you have a nice ass.”
Before Hongjoong could react, Seonghwa’s hand landed in a playful, unapologetic smack that made him jolt. Hongjoong shot him a glare that wasn’t entirely serious.
“Was that necessary?”
Seonghwa’s grin was infuriating. “Absolutely.”
Hongjoong chuckled under his breath, patting his pockets and fishing out his keys. “Alright. Let’s go before this turns into something else.”
Seonghwa nodded, but then he looked like he remembered something. “Wait, I have to bring an extra change of clothes for us.”
“What? Why?” Hongjoong asked in confusion.
“You’ll see.”
When he came back with a backpack slung over one shoulder, Hongjoong offered to carry it. They walked in comfortable silence. Outside, the sun had started its slow descent, casting long shadows across the street. They climbed into Hongjoong’s car. It rattled a little when he turned the key, but Seonghwa didn’t say a word. Instead, he pulled out his phone, opened his music app, and queued up a playlist. The first song was Taylor Swift.
“Seriously?” Hongjoong laughed, not at Seonghwa, but in surprise.
“What? You thought it’d be all emo?”
“…Yes?”
“I like good pop,” Seonghwa said simply. “Fight me.”
Seonghwa started to sing along, and Hongjoong couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, but his fingers were tapping the wheel to the beat. The drive didn’t take too long; they hit some weekend traffic near the Han River, but with Seonghwa’s singing in the background, Hongjoong realized he didn’t mind that much.
By the time they pulled into the parking lot of Seoul Land, the sun had finally warmed the air enough to make the breeze feel pleasant. Families were already pouring in with kids with sticky fingers holding giant balloons, couples wearing matching bucket hats, and girls posing for photos before the entrance gate. It wasn’t as flashy or chaotic as Lotte World, but there was something comforting about how normal it all felt. Hongjoong hadn’t been to a place like this in years.
They joined the entrance line. Seonghwa fished two crumpled tickets from his pocket and scanned them at the gate, nodding toward the turnstile. He walked ahead a few steps, then turned around with bright eyes. “Come on.”
“Are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?” Hongjoong called after him.
Seonghwa pulled a pamphlet from his back pocket, unfolded it, and pointed at a spot on the map. “Water gun fight. That’s the whole reason I brought extra clothes.”
“You’re joking.”
“It’s in the foam zone near Sky X. You pick a team, rent gear, and go wild!”
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “You brought us all the way to Seoul Land just to get into a water fight?”
“You seemed like you could use a distraction.” Seonghwa smiled as he said it.
Hongjoong blinked, not sure what to say to that. “Right, a water gun fight. Very therapeutic.”
“I mean, it works for me,” Seonghwa said, adjusting the strap on his bag. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
Hongjoong considered it for a bit, then sighed. “No, I’ll do it. Might as well earn my free breakfast.”
Seonghwa let out a soft laugh, the tension breaking just slightly.
“I just hope you know I’m competitive,” Hongjoong added as they walked. “If you shoot me, we’re no longer on speaking terms.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Seonghwa said while laughing.
They made their way through the park, passing bright signs and screaming children. Near the back, just past the kiddie coasters, they found the foam zone. The courtyard was split in two, each side marked with flags and inflatable obstacles. Staff handed out color-coded vests and water guns, then ushered them to their respective corners. They stuffed their belongings into nearby lockers and changed into light clothing that Seonghwa had brought: shorts that were too big for Hongjoong, tank tops, and some sandals.
Hongjoong barely had time to adjust his goggles before a horn blew and the chaos started. Kids and adults alike ran screaming through foam and water. People sprayed each other mercilessly. Hongjoong ducked behind a foam wall, loaded his gun, and caught Seonghwa in the back with a clean shot.
“You little—” Seonghwa spun around and charged.
The next fifteen minutes blurred into shrieks, soaked shirts, and foam flying everywhere. They lost their vests halfway through and didn’t bother going back. Hongjoong slipped on a slick tile and dragged Seonghwa down with him; Seonghwa retaliated by dumping a bucket of water over both their heads. By the time the final whistle blew, they were breathless, dripping, and laughing so hard it hurt.
They collapsed near the lockers, sitting on the pavement with water pooling around them. Hongjoong wiped his face with the hem of his shirt.
“You’re a menace, I’m filing a complaint.”
Seonghwa laughed. “You can complain once we’ve gone on a ride.”
Hongjoong looked at him. “A ride?”
“I bought tickets for the Black Hole.”
“The Black Hole?” Hongjoong asked.
“It’s iconic.”
“I thought we were getting fried chicken after this.”
Seonghwa leaned back on his elbows. “You’ll like it.”
They changed again and made their way toward the rollercoaster. The line was long. They moved slowly, the sounds of screams and metal grinding growing louder with every step. Hongjoong tried not to look at the steep drops or the loops twisting into the air while Seonghwa watched him with a worried expression.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Hongjoong tried to sound brave, but when they boarded the ride, strapping in side by side, the restraints clicked down, and the ride began its slow, painful climb, he didn’t realize that he started to grip Seonghwa’s hand until they reached the top.
The drop hit like a punch to the chest. Hongjoong couldn’t tell if he was yelling or just silently praying, but Seonghwa’s hand never left his. When it was over, they stumbled off the platform, breathless and shaking. Hongjoong wiped some tears from his face. They sat on the nearest bench in complete silence. Then, out of nowhere, Seonghwa laughed. A real, full-body laugh that made Hongjoong feel something warm on his chest. He laughed too, slumping sideways until their shoulders bumped.
“Never again. I hate you,” he muttered.
“It was fun!” Seonghwa said, still laughing.
“You’re crazy,” Hongjoong replied with a smile on his face.
They sat there a while longer, letting the adrenaline settle. Around them, the park still moved on with kids crying, roaring rides, and music. The sun was still high, but the heat felt softer now. Eventually, Seonghwa nudged him.
“Want to get food?”
“God, yes.”
They walked without speaking at first, just the sound of the occasional drip of water from their still-damp hair trailing down the backs of their necks. Their shirts clung to them in awkward places, the extra clothes Seonghwa packed now the only thing standing between them and a walk of shame through Seoul Land. Hongjoong had to admit it: the water gun fight was kind of fun. Kind of. Even if a group of middle schoolers had cornered and soaked him from head to toe.
“Chicken?” Seonghwa asked, pointing toward a little food court near the carousel.
“Sure,” Hongjoong replied. “But I’m paying.”
Seonghwa turned to him, skeptical. “Why?”
“You got the park tickets, the clothes, and the food this morning. I’m not trying to get adopted.”
That earned him a laugh. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”
They ordered spicy fried chicken with tteokbokki on the side. Hongjoong handed over his card before Seonghwa could even try to argue again. When they finally sat down, Hongjoong took a moment to stretch his arms behind his back. He felt wrung out, like his body hadn’t caught up with how much energy he’d burned in the past few hours, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.
“You’ve got good aim,” Seonghwa said, biting into a wing.
“I used to be on a laser tag team,” Hongjoong replied, mouth half-full. “But only because I was short and could hide better.”
“That tracks,” Seonghwa said, nodding.
They ate quietly for a few minutes, trading bites and wiping their hands on the thin napkins. The sun was beginning to tilt a little lower now, casting softer light over the tables. It wasn’t golden hour yet, but it was close enough that the edges of everything looked warmer. Hongjoong leaned back a bit, chewing on a piece of tteok.
“You know,” he said, “I haven’t been to a place like this in years.”
“Seoul Land?”
“No, just… any amusement park. Carnival. Whatever.”
Seonghwa looked up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I think the last time I went to one, I was like, twelve. Maybe younger.”
Seonghwa tilted his head. “Why?”
Hongjoong shrugged. “My parents weren’t really the type. They weren’t big on outings. Or, you know…” He gestured vaguely at the chaos around them. “This.”
There was a pause. Seonghwa didn’t press, but he didn’t look away either.
“I used to ask,” Hongjoong went on, “when I was little. I’d beg them to go places like Everland or the aquarium or whatever. And they’d always say they were tired, or busy, or that it was too expensive. After a while, I just stopped asking.”
Seonghwa frowned a little. “That sucks.”
Hongjoong nodded. “It is what it is.”
“But still.”
“I mean, yeah,” he said, poking at the chicken bone on his plate. “I always hated these kinds of places, or thought I did. But today didn’t feel so bad.”
He glanced up, and Seonghwa was watching him with something softer in his expression. He had a soft smile on his face. There was a kind of stillness in his face that made Hongjoong feel like the rest of the park had gone dim, like everything else had been pushed just a little out of focus.
“I think it’s just you,” he said before he could stop himself. “Like… it’s easy to be here because you’re easy to be around.”
Seonghwa blinked, clearly surprised. Then, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad.”
Hongjoong looked down again, suddenly self-conscious. He wasn’t the type to say things like that, but he hadn’t been lying. The day had gone by fast because Seonghwa made all of it feel manageable. It was less like a test of patience and more like something he was allowed to enjoy.
He watched as Seonghwa licked a smear of sauce from his thumb, talking about the last time he’d gone to Seoul Land with his cousins. His hands moved when he spoke, and his eyes crinkled when he laughed. There was a mark just above his collarbone that the turtleneck didn’t quite cover, and Hongjoong tried not to look at it. He focused on his food instead. He chewed slowly, savoring the spice on his tongue and the sound of Seonghwa’s voice cutting gently through the distant noise of the park.
“I’m full,” Seonghwa announced, wiping his mouth.
Hongjoong looked at the few pieces left on the plate. “You gonna eat that?”
Seonghwa pushed it toward him. “All yours.”
He popped it in his mouth, licking sauce from his fingers. “So what now?”
Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, squinting at the sky. “Want to walk around? Or just sit here till we turn into puddles?” Hongjoong pretended to consider.
“If I sit too long, I think I’m gonna fall asleep. Let’s walk.”
Seonghwa just smiled. They stood and dumped their trays, slowly making their way back toward the heart of the park. They wandered aimlessly for a while, letting the fullness settle and the midday energy wear off. They stumbled into a souvenir shop near the edge of the main plaza, it was filled with overpriced plushies, cheap fans, and themed water bottles. Seonghwa immediately gravitated toward a small shelf stacked with plush toys. He reached out for a white bear with a tiny pink cap and stars on its cheeks and turned it around in his hands with his eyes a little too fond. Hongjoong noticed.
"You like it?" he asked, leaning slightly to peek.
Seonghwa blinked, like he was caught. “It’s cute. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” Hongjoong said, already walking toward the cashier. “Stay here.”
“What? No—Hongjoong, no.”
But he was already at the counter, pulling out his wallet.
“You don’t have to do that,” Seonghwa said, following after him, looking genuinely flustered. “Seriously.”
“It’s just a thank you,” Hongjoong replied, waving him off. “Let me do this.”
The transaction was quick, and before Seonghwa could protest again, the bear was in his hands. He stared at it like it had just been handed down from the gods.
“I’m going to fight you,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
“I’d win.”
Seonghwa hugged the plush to his chest dramatically. “Still worth it.”
They walked again, trailing behind the louder parts of the park. The sky had turned golden, the edges of buildings catching the light, and the shadows growing longer with each passing minute. They found a quieter path that curved behind one of the big rollercoasters, where fewer people wandered.
“Hey,” Seonghwa said while pausing, making Hongjoong turn to him. “Can I take a picture?”
“Of me?”
Seonghwa nodded, already pulling out his phone. “You look cool right now.”
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Cool how?”
“Cool in general. Now stand by that fence, the light’s perfect.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but obeyed, placing a hand on the rusting metal railing. He tilted his head and smirked a little.
“No, no,” Seonghwa said from behind the camera. “Try facing me. Okay, now serious face. Chin down… a little more. There.”
Click.
“Now pretend you’re annoyed.”
“I don’t need to pretend.”
Click.
“Smile.”
Hongjoong let out a small huff of a laugh that made his eyes crinkle. Click. Seonghwa lowered the phone with a soft laugh.
“You’re good at this.”
“Maybe I should go into modeling.”
“Maybe,” Seonghwa replied. He raised the plushie up and tucked it under his arm, then posed with it against his chest, looking dramatically into the distance. Hongjoong snorted.
“Wait, wait. That’s actually kind of good,” he said, grabbing the phone. “Let me take a few of you now.”
He directed Seonghwa without thinking: “Look over your shoulder,” “Turn a bit,” “Hold the bear like it’s your child,” and Seonghwa followed, laughing the entire time.
The light hit just right. The silver in his hair glowed, and the black outfit contrasted perfectly with the warm tones behind him. He looked like a magazine spread. Unfairly beautiful. Hongjoong took a step back to capture a wider shot, lowering the camera for a second just to look at him. Just… look.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asked after seeing him pause.
“Yeah. Just… you look good.”
Seonghwa blushed, and before either could say more, a girl nearby approached, her boyfriend trailing behind.
“Sorry, excuse me,” she said, “Would one of you mind taking a photo of us?”
“Of course,” Seonghwa replied, already stepping forward. He took her phone and positioned them with the golden hour behind. He took at least five photos.
“Thank you!” she said after checking them. Then, after a moment: “You two look great, by the way. Want me to take one of you together?”
There was a small beat of silence, then Seonghwa said, “Sure,” handing her his phone.
Hongjoong blinked in surprise, but stepped closer. Seonghwa looped a hand casually around his arm and threw up a peace sign with the other. Automatically, Hongjoong mirrored it. They smiled. The light behind them was brilliant. Seonghwa tilted his head toward him, just slightly, enough that their cheeks almost touched. The plush was still tucked under his other arm.
Click.
When she handed the phone back, they both thanked her. She waved and left, and for a moment, they stood there together in silence.
Seonghwa opened the photo app and scrolled to the last one.
In the picture, it wasn’t obvious he was holding onto Hongjoong’s arm, but it was there if you looked. Their smiles looked genuine and the sunset behind them made everything glow. They looked good, really good.
Seonghwa showed it to him. “We look good together.”
Hongjoong’s heart stuttered for a bit too long. Together like what? Like this? In the picture? In this moment?
“Yeah,” he said finally. “We do.”
They kept walking, neither saying much after that. The sky turned pink, then purple. The park lights flickered on one by one. And slowly, they made their way to the exit. The drive back was quiet, but not in a bad way; it was comforting. Hongjoong kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting in his lap, fingers drumming absentmindedly. The sky outside had darkened completely now, and Seoul's lights blinked through the windows. Seonghwa was reclined slightly in the passenger seat, the plushie still tucked into his arms.
“I’m glad you came,” he said quietly, glancing over. Hongjoong gave a small smile, keeping his eyes on the road.
“You’re the one who invited me.”
“To Seoul Land,” Seonghwa clarified, nudging his shoulder lightly. “But yeah. Thanks for driving and… everything else.”
They pulled into the curb outside Seonghwa’s place, but neither of them moved to open the door.
“Kind of weird how nice it was,” Hongjoong said after a moment, trying not to look at Seonghwa.
“Yeah,” Seonghwa replied. “I thought you didn’t like amusement parks.”
“I don’t.”
Seonghwa laughed under his breath, and there was another pause. A car passed by slowly behind them.
“You really haven’t been to one since you were a kid?” Seonghwa asked, turning toward him.
Hongjoong nodded. “Not since… I don’t know, maybe elementary school?”
Seonghwa didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, gently: “That sucks.”
“Yeah. It’s fine, though. Just… not really a thing I got used to doing.”
“Well,” Seonghwa said in a softer voice now, “I’m glad today gets to count, then.”
Hongjoong looked at him. Seonghwa was smiling again, that same expression he’d worn earlier, but there was something different this time. His fingers fiddled with the edge of the plushie’s hat, like he was thinking of something else.
Neither of them moved.
And then Seonghwa said, a little too casually, “I really don’t want to get out yet.”
Hongjoong laughed quietly. “Then don’t.”
“Then I’d fall asleep here.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Seonghwa turned slightly in his seat to face him more fully. “Thanks again. I mean it.”
“Yeah.”
Another silence. This one heavier. Hongjoong could feel the air shift, feel the weight of Seonghwa’s gaze even when he tried not to look at him directly. But then he did. Seonghwa was looking at him. No, he was looking at his mouth. Hongjoong swallowed. His pulse picked up before he could reason it down, his thoughts spiraling into panic and different possibilities. He couldn’t decide if the heat rising in his chest was nerves or want. Maybe both.
And then… buzz.
Seonghwa blinked and looked down. His phone screen lit up with a message. Hongjoong could see Yeosang’s name on the notification. Seonghwa exhaled through his nose.
“Well,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Guess that’s my cue.”
Hongjoong felt something sink low in his gut. “Yeah. Right.”
Seonghwa paused with his hand on the door, then glanced back at him with a small grin. “Best date I’ve ever had.”
The word landed like a firecracker in Hongjoong’s head. Date.
He didn’t think. Didn’t stop.
He just reached out, grabbed Seonghwa lightly by the front of his shirt, and pulled him back. Their mouths met; soft, fast, hungry.
Seonghwa inhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t hesitate. He leaned into it, tilted his head slightly to deepen it. His fingers slid up into Hongjoong’s hair without asking, cradling the back of his neck like he didn’t want to let go.
Hongjoong kissed him like he’d been holding it back for the whole day. Maybe he had.
Seonghwa pulled back first, just barely. His lips were red and his breathing uneven, and god, he was beautiful. Hongjoong leaned in again, and caught another kiss on the corner of his mouth.
Another buzz. The phone again.
Seonghwa groaned softly, resting his forehead against Hongjoong’s for a second before pulling away completely. He looked at his screen and sighed.
“I should go before Yeosang starts thinking I got kidnapped.”
Hongjoong nodded, still in a daze. “Right.”
Seonghwa lingered at the door, hand on the handle, but his eyes were still on Hongjoong.
“I hope we get to do this again,” he said quietly.
Hongjoong’s chest ached. “Me too.”
Seonghwa smiled, opened the door, and slipped out into the night. Hongjoong watched him walk to the door of his building with one hand waving back and the other still clutching the plush bear.
Then he was gone.
Hongjoong sat there in silence for a long moment. He didn’t put on music on the way back; he just drove. No thoughts. Just the taste of Seonghwa still lingering on his lips.
When Hongjoong opened the front door to the apartment, the scent of hamburgers hit him first. Jongho’s voice called out from the living room.
“Ya! Took you long enough.”
They were all gathered on the couch, halfway through a movie, burger wrappers and paper cups spread across the table. Yunho was curled into one end of the couch with a blanket, Jongho in the middle, a half-eaten burger in one hand, his eyes fixed on the screen. Mingi sat on the floor, leaning back on the couch with his laptop open, probably trying to work and watch at the same time. All three of them looked up when they noticed Hongjoong’s silhouette in the doorway.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Jongho asked, immediately suspicious.
Hongjoong looked down at himself. Definitely not his usual mix of clothes and clunky accessories.
“You look really good,” Yunho added with his mouth full.
“Okay, first of all,” Hongjoong kicked his shoes off, “this is Yeosang’s old stuff. Don’t get used to it.”
Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Yeosang? That’s the name of the bassist?”
“No, no. His name is Seonghwa.”
The room fell quiet for a second. Jongho narrowed his eyes.
“You were with Seonghwa, wearing this Yeosang’s clothes… what exactly did you do?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Hongjoong said, trying not to smile. “Seonghwa invited me to Seoul Land. He said Yeosang, the other vocalist, couldn’t go, so…”
“You went instead and wore his clothes,” Yunho said with a grin. “Damn, substitute boyfriend arc unlocked.”
“Shut up.” Hongjoong plopped down between Mingi and Jongho, eyeing the takeout bags. Jongho slid a wrapped burger toward him.
“We got you one too,” he said.
“Thanks.” Hongjoong unwrapped it, the smell making his stomach growl.
“So,” Jongho smirked, watching him take a bite. “Is that why you look like you’re glowing and also traumatized?”
Hongjoong felt his face flush. “We did almost die on a ride.”
“And then what?” Yunho leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “You guys held hands and swore eternal friendship?”
Hongjoong focused on his food. “You guys are so annoying.”
They laughed and let it go. The movie continued, but Hongjoong could barely focus. His heart was still beating too fast, and his mind was still rushing. Every time the movie got quiet, he heard Seonghwa’s voice in his head. Best date I’ve ever had.
He didn’t even realize he’d stopped eating until Jongho offered him a drink, which he waved off. The others were half-asleep by the time the movie ended. As the credits rolled, Hongjoong stood up and stretched.
“Shower and bed,” he said.
“Sweet dreams, loverboy,” Jongho muttered without looking up. He ignored him and walked to the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, it hit him again; none of what he was wearing belonged to him. The shirt, the jeans, the jacket. All of it was Yeosang’s. All of it was still a little Seonghwa, too. And he’d completely forgotten to take his own clothes back from Seonghwa’s place. He grabbed his phone, ready to text him, but there was already a message waiting:
Seonghwa:
Today was really fun. Thank you again.
Hongjoong stared at the screen for a moment, then typed:
Hongjoong:
I forgot my clothes at your place lol
Seonghwa:
you were too distracted…
I’ll keep them safe for next time.
Next time.
Hongjoong stood there a moment longer, the phone warm in his hand. Then he smiled, set it down, and turned on the shower. Later, when he walked back into the living room with a towel around his neck, he found Mingi sitting on the couch again, laptop reopened with headphones on. He could see that he was editing something. Hongjoong flopped down beside him, still damp, watching the screen in silence. When Mingi noticed, he slid the headphones off one ear.
“You good?”
Hongjoong nodded. Then shook his head. “I think so.”
“Want to talk about it?” Mingi said after pausing the music. Hongjoong thought about it a bit, but he really didn’t want to go to sleep overthinking this. He exhaled.
“I don’t know. We spent the whole day together and it was fun, really fun, but…” He hesitated, then added, “It scared me a little.”
Mingi turned to look at him properly. “Scared you how?”
“I don’t usually do this,” Hongjoong said in a quiet voice now. “Hang out with someone like that. Click so easily. And he’s… he’s not what I expected. It wasn’t just fun, it felt like…” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “It felt a little too real.”
Mingi was quiet for a moment, then said: “And that freaks you out?”
“Kind of. Yeah.”
“Well…” Mingi leaned back. “He invited you, spent the whole day with you, and let you see him scream his lungs out on a ride. If that’s not real, I don’t know what is.”
Hongjoong let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You’re more romantic than I expected.”
“I’ve been writing ballads lately,” Mingi said with a shrug. “But seriously, if it felt good, maybe don’t run from it. You don’t have to know what it is right now.”
Hongjoong nodded, slowly. His fingers tapped against his leg.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, maybe.”
They stayed like that in silence for a bit, until Mingi was falling asleep. Hongjoong went back to his room and shut the door with a soft click behind him. He put on his usual pajamas: an old black tank and sweatpants that had definitely seen better days. Then he plugged in the hairdryer and began to towel out his hair. When he finally flopped into bed, he grabbed his phone to check the time and found a series of notifications waiting for him. One new message from Seonghwa. He tapped it open.
Seonghwa:
Here, I figured you’d want these.
Attached were a handful of shots from the park. The first few were the ones Seonghwa had taken: Hongjoong leaning against the fence, serious-faced; the half-smile one, sunlight catching in his hair; one where he was laughing, mid-protest, at Seonghwa’s direction. There was also one of Seonghwa himself that he probably sent by accident and, at the very end, the picture the girl had taken of them together.
Seonghwa:
You look good. We both do.
Hongjoong stared at the message, then went back to the last photo. It made his stomach do something stupid. He stayed there a long moment, just cycling through the small set. Then another message popped up.
Seonghwa:
Hey, what’s your insta? I wanna tag you.
Hongjoong blinked; he hadn’t expected that. He almost never posted personal stuff; his Instagram was mostly band updates, clips from shows, and the occasional landscape shot. He hovered his thumb over the keyboard, chewing the inside of his cheek, then sighed. Screw it.
Hongjoong:
no1likeme8_8
It only took a few seconds before the notification came in: @_starhwa_ started following you.
He tapped the profile and followed him back. Seonghwa’s feed was cohesive without trying too hard. All of the photos were of him alone, and his highlights were organized by city: Seoul, Busan, Gyeongju, Jeju. Mixed in between were clips of his band, videos of them onstage, in rehearsal, or at some party. In every highlight, Seonghwa looked completely at ease. His hair changed color in nearly every reel. Blonde, black, long, short, pink.
He was really handsome.
Just as he was scrolling through a reel from Seoul, Seonghwa in a green coat, walking in the rain, a new notification popped up.
@_starwha_ mentioned you in a post.
Hongjoong’s thumb froze. Then he clicked.
The post was a small photo dump of five pictures. First came the one of them together, the second was Seonghwa alone, leaning against the railing. Then one of their shadows stretched long across the pavement, but he didn’t know when Seonghwa took it. The fourth was Hongjoong from behind. And the last was a shot of the small plushie that had to be from Seonghwa’s apartment, perched on the edge of a windowsill. The caption read:
"i love summer."
And Seonghwa had shared it in his story, too. Hongjoong stared at the screen with his heart doing something traitorous in his chest. He wasn’t the type to post much. Most of his Instagram was archived, and what remained were some blurry gig photos and one mirror selfie from four months ago.
He didn’t want to overthink it, but… He tapped the little paper airplane icon and shared Seonghwa’s post to his own story. He didn’t know what to write, so he just picked a recommended sticker of summer vibes or some shit. That was enough.
He locked his phone and let it fall to the bed beside him.
It was stupid to feel this way. They’d only spent two days together. It was a little ridiculous, wasn’t it? He didn’t know Seonghwa. Not really.
And yet…
His eyes flicked to his desk, where the notebook Seonghwa had bought him still sat, unopened. He’d almost left it in the car earlier, but figured it might come in handy. Hongjoong got up and padded over, flipping it open to a fresh page.
He stared at the blank paper for a second. Then, without thinking too hard, he began to write:
hot and miserable, but totally in love
i love the way you have with me.
i love your big eyes and soft gaze.
i love like a boy loves a boy.
i love being up at 9 am.
i love the night.
i love summer.
i am loving this.
and you and everything.
you cant miss me, baby boy, we’re doing big things.
He stopped there, blinking at what he’d just written. It didn’t make much sense. It was too exaggerated and a little messy, definitely over the top. It wouldn’t work as lyrics yet, he’d have to fine-tune it later, but at least he wrote something.
He let the pen drop onto the page and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly sleepy again. After a moment, on impulse, he grabbed his phone. There was still one more thing buzzing in his mind. He opened a message to their manager.
Hongjoong:
hey
random question
what’s the timeline for that U.S. festival you mentioned?
should we try to go?
snowghoul
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