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The thing is, despite being against doing more than what’s needed of him at any point in time, Sungchan’s love language has always been devoting his all to the people he loves.
He’s sitting next to a bathtub when he realizes this fact for the first time, hands covered in bubbles and rooted deep in someone else’s scalp as he slowly rubs soothing circles over light brown locks. The position is as uncomfortable as it gets, with Sungchan half sitting and half squatting to reach over the edge of the bathtub, the shower head balanced precariously on the edge of the tub. The fan is running, Sungchan absentmindedly notes, listening to the white noise drown out the rest of his thoughts.
“I can… wash hair… alone. Right?” the boy in front of Sungchan stutters out in broken Korean, a thick accent to his words and a tentative look on his face. Sungchan hums a noise of nonchalance in return, gripping onto one of the strands of Shotaro’s hair more tightly. There's a piece of gum stuck on it, the very reason they’re here right now.
“Right,” Sungchan nods. “But gum is hard to get out by yourself. Just sit back,” Sungchan continues, fighting back a smile as he watches Shotaro’s shoulders slump in defeat. Sungchan admires his tenacity. Despite being in a completely foreign country & learning a language that bears little resemblance to his own, Shotaro is independent to a fault.
He’s not against asking for help, no, the countless nights Sungchan’s heard Shotaro come in late after managing to sneak one or two extra practice sessions with the company sunbae night owls prove enough of that. But Shotaro is introverted in almost every sense. He curls in on himself more often than not, always trying to solve problems he might not even understand by himself.
Thankfully, that’s where Sungchan came in.
“Who did this, by the way?” Sungchan asks, trying to mask the undertone of anger. Shotaro quirks an eyebrow at that one, and Sungchan thinks it’s really unfair how good Shotaro is with detecting tone. He supposes it’s a given, having to switch from recognizing words to recognizing emotions to keep up with the rest of the world. Or maybe that’s just how Shotaro is. A sharp, perceptive mind concealed carefully by an adorable idol persona so real Sungchan wonders if that was the real Shotaro instead.
Shotaro purses his lips. “Older… hyung. Trainees. Say—said… unfair,” he confesses, a slight tinge of red on the top of his ears. Sungchan frowns. He knows this conversation. Knows the rumours like the back of his hand. Loathes them with every fibre of his being.
“Unfair? Who are those people to call your debut unfair? You may have trained at SM for less than them, but you’ve literally been dancing since ten. Fucking assholes,” Sungchan grumbles, slathering more shampoo onto Shotaro’s hair as he finally manages to ease the gum out of his locks. Shotaro winces a little at the pain, but his mouth remains shut.
They fall into an easy pattern like this: Shotaro falls victim to a joke he doesn’t get, Sungchan helps him take care of the aftermath, learning something new about himself in the process. Shotaro refuses to talk about his problems, and Sungchan pries it out with a steady hand and an erratic heartbeat. In a way, it’s become a sort of love language for him, looking out for the cute foreigner most people have a hard time believing is older than Sungchan. Shotaro repays him in pretty smiles and thankful reassurances, indulging in Sungchan’s tendency to cling to his favourite people.
Back in July, when the company first introduced Sungchan to his new roommate and debut partner, Sungchan already knew the implications of Shotaro’s debut before he knew him. Shotaro was a new kid, and Sungchan the veteran of five to six years, but everyone he knew had debuted and left him behind. It was only natural Sungchan drifted towards him, hoping that their similar age might mean a debut together. Sure, they have years of training apart, but Shotaro wasn’t a nobody trainee.
Shotaro is a talented dancer, to say the least, proven in the weekly trainee evaluations enough for Sungchan to know it. But it took an overtime stay in the dark, musty practice room for Sungchan to really let it hit him. He’s heard of people falling in love at first sight, but this was far from the first time Sungchan’s seen Shotaro. It was, however, the first time Sungchan saw Shotaro without the awkward label of a foreigner.
And perhaps, that was when Sungchan started to have to lie to himself about his affections.
“It’s… not bad. I have friends. I have you,” Shotaro tries, eyes blinking languidly in thought. Sungchan can’t help but notice the tiny sparkle of light in his irises, a barely-there touch of light that reflects a million times like a kaleidoscope. He’s pretty, Sungchan thinks absentmindedly, not letting the implications of that thought settle.
“Yeah,” Sungchan sighs. “You have me, your wonderful, handsome and cool knight in shining armour,” Sungchan jokes. He earns a tight-lipped giggle for that, an airy little chuckle that rings in the back of Shotaro’s throat, the slightest hit too deep because of his voice. Sungchan pretends it doesn’t tie a knot in the pit of his stomach.
“I don’t need help from a clumsy, overconfident puppy,” Shotaro replies in Japanese, seemingly too frustrated to continue. Sungchan doesn’t know enough of the language to make an effort to understand, so he just hums nonchalantly.
“Don’t you start Make a Wish promos soon?” Sungchan asks, half out of need to break the silence and half to try and hear Shotaro’s strange contrast in vocal tone.
“Yes,” Shotaro responds, sitting still as Sungchan throws out the last of the sticky gum.
“You should make a wish then,” Sungchan says jokingly, looking at Shotaro. Shotaro seems aware enough of it to comply, clasping his hands together and muttering under his breath. Sungchan watches as he smiles, the corners of his lips quirking up as Shotaro acts alone.
“I wish you’d stop worrying about me so much,” Shotaro replies in Japanese, much to Sungchan’s dismay. He nods, leaning over further to grab the gum on the back of Shotaro’s head. He tries not to think about the mean trainees, having known them and their tendencies for years. Some people are just like that. No use worrying over it.
“I wish you could understand me,” Shotaro mutters in Japanese, barely above a whisper as Sungchan helps him rinse the shampoo out of his hair. Sungchan smiles sympathetically at him, not understanding a word. He tries, really he does, but Sungchan doesn’t have the same desperation for communication as Shotaro.
When it gets time for the normal shower part, Shotaro shoos him out of the room with a mixture of broken Korean and tiny snippets of Japanese he’s taught Sungchan right for moments like these. Really, only Shotaro could make ‘get out!’ cute enough for Sungchan to remember it vividly.
When Shotaro comes out, water still dripping from his now gum-free hair, Sungchan really tries not to stare. It’s not just Shotaro’s body or whatever, Sungchan just helped the guy wash his hair, after all. Instead, it’s the hoodie thrown over his shoulder, giant enough for Sungchan to know that it’s not Shotaro’s. He looks so tiny like this, so adorable Sungchan wonders how anyone has the heart to be mean to him.
“What?” Shotaro asks, snapping Sungchan out of his daze. Sungchan blinks.
“Isn’t that mine?” Sungchan asks, the coil in the pit of his stomach tight and tense. It’s been tight and tense ever since they told him he was going to debut. Sungchan wants to blame it on nerves, but really, he knows the skip in his heart better than that.
“Oh. Sorry. It was jost there,” Shotaro replies, almost sheepish as he ducks his head. He mispronounces ‘just there’, a tiny mistake that makes the shy smile on his lips pretty in ways Sungchan can’t get used to. Sungchan can’t help the grin that spreads on his face.
“Just there,” Sungchan corrects, watching Shotaro cock his head to the side in confusion before realization dawned on him. Shotaro nods.
“Just there. It… you were just there. Always... Thank you,” Shotaro tries again, face scrunched up in thought. Sungchan nods absentmindedly, trying not to think about what he might possibly mean by it.
The night of Make a Wish’s MV release, Sungchan is crowded into a cramped apartment with twenty two other boys, all cheering and celebrating the start of their major project. The party’s hosted in the 127 hyung’s 5th floor apartment, much to Doyoung’s protest.
“I didn’t consent to this!” Doyoung yells with futility, watching as the Dreamies arrive after Sungchan and Shotaro, bringing enough takeout with them to feed an army. Renjun grins at him.
“Your dorm is the only one clean enough for us, hyung. Unless you want to do this on the 10th floor? Or the WayV pig den?” Renjun points out. Sungchan can’t stop the cackles that come out as Doyoung’s face falls, admitting defeat as he ushers the Dreamies inside.
WayV arrives next, their presence immediately made known by Lucas’s boisterous shouts and Kun lugging along the largest pot of hangover soup Sungchan has ever seen in his life. He didn’t even know pots that big existed, taking Sicheng, Xiaojun and Kun’s combined effort to bring inside.
The 10th floor hyungs arrive last, all looking various degrees of tipsy as they bring with them five bottles of wine. Sungchan’s confused, to say the least, thinking about the Make a Wish unit’s first stage the next day. He’s not given much time to mull it over when Jungwoo hands him a glass of red wine, smiling cheekily.
“Why aren’t you drinking? You’re not the one promoting,” he says, voice slightly wobbly and Sungchan makes a mental note to never pregame with the 10th floor hyungs.
“Management lets you do this kind of thing the night before performing?” Sungchan wonders aloud, watching Jaemin and Hendery toasting two Christmas mugs filled with red wine. It’s a strange sight, the rest of the 00 line crowding around them and cheering the two on. Sungchan spots Shotaro in the crowd, giggling as he denies Yuta’s offer of a glass.
Jungwoo snorts. “Of course not. But what are they gonna do about it? They can’t exactly ground us the night before a performance,” Jungwoo says, handing Sungchan the glass before pausing.
“You’re legal, right?” Jungwoo asks. Sungchan snorts, rolling his eyes in mock hurt.
“And I thought I was your favourite trainee,” Sungchan teases, watching Jungwoo roll his eyes in return.
“Not a trainee anymore,” Jungwoo argues, smiling easily. “You’re out here stealing real people’s hearts and shit. Come on, drink up and go help Yuta with Taro.”
Sungchan hesitates again, turning to look at Shotaro again. He can vaguely make out Yuta’s slurred shouts of Japanese, small phrases Shotaro’s taught him slipping into Sungchan’s limited pot of ‘words he can understand’.
“Hey, what are you so worried about? You can’t be nervous about tomorrow’s stage or you’re never going to sleep. A drink won’t hurt,” Yuta prods, grin wide as he offers the coffee mug of wine again. Shotaro hesitates this time, evidently considering the offer.
“Getting drunk before my debut… you can’t be serious,” Shotaro sighs, a look of exasperation on his face as he looks at Yuta. Yuta’s grin only widens.
“Exactly! I got drunk before my debut, chased off all the nerves. Trust me. I’ve got five years of experience, Taro,” Yuta argues. Shotaro’s expression colours with concern, a touch of pretty empathy dusting over his features. But before he can respond, Taeyong comes out of nowhere and grabs onto Yuta’s ear, pulling it slightly. Yuta’s yelps of pain translate quite well, Sungchan thinks.
“Ignore him, Yuta-kun was not drunk when we debuted, don’t worry. Just enjoy the party, Taro,” Taeyong sighs in his practiced Japanese, surprisingly smooth for someone who barely has time to breathe, let alone learn a new language. Sungchan’s stomach coil tightens. He wishes he could be that proficient in Japanese, if only to help Shotaro. Maybe he should start binging more anime.
“You look like a lovesick puppy,” Jungwoo interjects, snapping Sungchan out of his daze. Sungchan blinks, whipping his head back to Jungwoo’s outstretched hand, the promise of liquid courage right there.
“Thanks,” Sungchan mutters bitterly. Jungwoo’s expression softens at that, patting his head gently.
“Just remember to be careful, Chan. Dating is hard in our line of work,” Jungwoo says, a sobering piece of advice he didn’t quite expect. Sungchan nods dumbly.
“Thanks,” he says again, and Jungwoo smiles, resting the glass into Sungchan’s hand. He opens his mouth to say something else, but before Jungwoo could utter a syllable, an extremely tipsy Mark crashes into both of them, pulling them both to the middle of the room. Sungchan glances around at his groupmates, the people he’d never think to ever be in the same room with, much less getting shitfaced with, and thinks fuck it. Who knows when he might get a chance like this again?
Sungchan takes the glass of wine Jungwoo handed him, letting the warmth of the alcohol take over any rational part of his brain. The rest of the party starts to blur together, the only things Sungchan can distinctly remember is Jaehyun nearly throwing up out the balcony after one too many rounds of beer pong with Sicheng and Mark, and Jisung taking his first sip of champagne after Jaemin had forcefully wrestled a flute from Doyoung while Taeyong was near tears about how big his baby was getting.
Sometime before midnight, Donghyuck climbs onto the dinner table with a megaphone Sungchan didn’t know he had, losing his balance on the chair. Yangyang is the only one sober enough nearby to reach up and stabilize him, but they both nearly crash anyway.
“Sinners, demonspawns, the Devil’s advocate who threw a blue shell at me—“
“Deserve!” Renjun yells from the other side of the room. Sungchan snickers as Yangyang hands Donghyuck a slipper. It ends up colliding with the wall three feet away from Renjun, but Donghyuck doesn’t seem to care.
“—and Shotaro, the time has come for our final event of the night,” Donghyuck announces, shouting into his megaphone. Sungchan catches Doyoung wincing in the corner of the room, the only one sober enough to think about all of the noise complaints they’re about to get. He heard Johnny and Taeyong going out earlier to give the neighbours some apology gifts and warnings earlier, an excellent choice of action.
They all grumble and yell their protest in response, lamenting the end of their rule breaking night. Idol life was notorious for its lack of freedom and monotone “off days”, after all. Even Sungchan knows the relief of a break, having spent the last five years chasing a dream he wasn’t sure would ever come true. Everyone seems glad for a friendly party.
“You still need to finish your bottle of ketchup, Duckie!” Mark yells, painting a scowl over Donghyuck’s features as he holds up a finger.
“Shush! We must first discuss our final event! Through the universally accepted method of decision making governments should use to decide the outcome of conflict—“
“What?” Shotaro whispers to Sungchan, confusion etched onto his features. Adorable, Sungchan thinks. He giggles, waving Shotaro off.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sungchan whispers back. Shotaro shrugs, leaning over to see over Sungchan’s shoulder. Sungchan can almost hear him mutter ‘too tall’ under his breath.
“—Mario Kart, Liu Yangyang of team WayV has won you gracious gods the honour of choosing our group party game. Thus, without further ado…”
Donghyuck hands the megaphone to Yangyang, who’s sporting a megawatt smile of pure evil. Sungchan feels a chill creeping down his spine.
“Send in your best three players per unit. We’re playing Among Us! We’re playing until an impostor wins!” Yangyang announces, turning to Shotaro and Sungchan as he says it. The room erupts in cheers and applause, already starting to scheme as Shotaro turns to Sungchan, evidently confused. “And one of you guys can be our last player,” Yangyang adds, pointing to Sungchan.
“What’s the prize?” someone yells. Yangyang freezes, slightly flustered as he reaches into his pocket. After feeling around for a little while, he pulls out a matte black card. Sungchan frowns.
“Is he a chaebol?!” Sungchan hisses to the nearest person, which happens to be Ten. Ten turns around and looks up at Sungchan, slightly confused before he realizes something.
“He’s ‘comfortable’,” Ten says back, drawing air quotes as Sungchan’s mouth falls into an ‘O’ shape. Train with someone for three years and swindle hundreds out of him in ice cream money, but you’ll never know how rich he is. The world truly is a mysterious place.
“I’ll give you a hundred thousand won?” Yangyang offers, watching as the rest of the room snap to confused attention. It seems Sungchan wasn’t the only one who didn’t know of their chaebol friend.
Dejun is the first to break the silence, a look of utter betrayal on his face. “And you make me buy my life’s saving worth of ice cream when you have that ?! Liu Yangyang—”
They settle into the living room after everyone’s made their rounds to grill Yangyang out for his ice cream addiction. Each unit sends their three best members to compete for the chance of a hundred thousand won, the stakes now higher than ever. Sungchan initially tried to push Shotaro into competing for them, but Shotaro just looked at him like he’s crazy.
“I can’t even talk?” Shotaro points out.
“But that’s the point! They’ll be too busy taking pity on you!” Sungchan rebutts. Shotaro doesn’t share the sentiment.
Sungchan pouts, jutting out his bottom lip as his eyes widen. “I’ll treat you to sushi after?”
That got the ball rolling.
Shotaro turns to Yangyang in the middle of the room, currently engrossed in the most competitive round of rock paper scissors Sungchan has ever seen in his life. He loses to Lucas, who’s cheering with joy as Yangyang smacks him down with a decorative pillow.
“Yangyang!” Shotaro yells, making Yangyang snap out of his rage-induced pillow smacking session when he loses his spot on the team to Lucas. Yangyang looks up.
“Can Chanchan be my translator?” Shotaro asks. Yangyang seems to mull it over for a moment before flashing him a thumbs up.
“Me?” Sungchan asks, confused. “But I don’t even speak Japanese? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with Yuta?”
Shotaro turns to him, rolling his eyes. “Yuta’s on a different team. He’ll probably try to rat me out. Besides, you know me well enough.”
The butterflies in Sungchan’s stomach have a field day with that one.
They decided that if two teams end up as impostors and win, Yangyang will just give each team fifty. On the contrary, Sungchan and Shotaro have a chance to win double if they manage to win as the only impostor left, thus negating the earlier note.
They’re all sent to different rooms and areas with minimal spectators, not allowed to communicate in any way. Sungchan curls up with Shotaro in the corner of Doyoung’s room, managing to steal his bed thanks to the good old Shotaro puppy eyes. Shotaro’s laptop is now precariously balanced on his knees as he leans onto Sungchan’s shoulder, waiting for the rest of the members to join. Sungchan freezes up at the touch, not going unnoticed by Shotaro.
“This okay?” Shotaro asks, a lace of concern in his eyes as Sungchan quickly nods his head.
“Yeah. D-don’t worry,” Sungchan stammers, feeling his cheeks dust pink for some reason. He’s not sure why this is bothering him so much. Sungchan’s always been a confident flirt. Shotaro is shy even, normally, given how he acts with the other members. But when it’s just the two of them… something feels a little different, and Sungchan can’t remember a time when he used to slide up to any pretty trainee he liked and flirted until they’re either too shy to respond or ready to punch him out of cringiness.
“It’s starting,” Sungchan says instead, trying to distract Shotaro. Shotaro turns to his screen as black and red fill up the screen, his lime avatar standing next to Donghyuck’s yellow. Sungchan stifles a gasp.
The game goes normally, nothing exciting happening in the first few rounds anyway. Shotaro and Donghyuck get a sneaky double kill before covering each other, earning a scream of frustration from Dejun and Jaemin from the living room. They manage to frame Johnny by dwindling their time waiting for Shotaro to type, even though Sungchan is the one handling all of the conversations anyway.
Sadly enough, Donghyuck attempted to fake a task and accidentally hit kill in front of four people, ending his contribution in a rather awkward manner. They all yell apologies to Johnny for the earlier vote off, and soon there were four.
“Oh my god, we’re gonna win,” Sungchan hisses, excited as he watches Shotaro navigate the game with practiced ease. Poor innocent Jisung comes into their view, sitting on cameras like an idiot as Shotaro dives in for the kill. Sungchan is about to tell him to run when suddenly, a figure pops up in their peripheral view. Chenle comes up at the last minute, catching Shotaro straight at the scene of the crime and Sungchan hurriedly reaches over and slams the report button.
Shotaro says something under his breath in Japanese Sungchan can only imagine to be ‘fuck’. Shotaro looks up at him, slightly panicking as he hands the laptop over to Sungchan.
Chenle is already going off at a million miles per hour, yelling incriminating evidence against Shotaro to try and get Jungwoo to believe him. He’s hard not to believe, having managed to sus Donghyuck out from the beginning, and Sungchan knows it’s a losing battle. So he rolls up his sleeve, remembers a mafia game he saw from another idol group and sets to typing.
Jungwoo, Sungchan types, he’s not lying.
Shotaro’s eyes widened impossibly wide at that, mouth dropping open in shock.
“What are you doing?” Shotaro hisses. Sungchan waves him off
“Watch.”
The chat is going feral, Jungwoo sending in a million question marks while Chenle has gone silent in shock.
Donghyuck was my impostor buddy, and he got caught way too fast, but consider this!!! Sungchan types, ignoring Donghyuck’s indignant yells from the other room.
Oh my god, Jungwoo replies, evidently in disbelief. Shotaro shares the sentiment, gaping at Sungchan in mild horror.
Let us win, please!!! Think about the prize, hyung! A hundred thousand won split between nine people on your team? You can barely do anything! Sungchan sends, watching as realization dawns to Shotaro.
“You’re a genius,” Shotaro says, mouth still agape.
The apartment is silent, everyone watching in mild awe, shock and disbelief.
We’ll treat you to lunch! Just the three of us! Sungchan proposes. There’s a new sushi place downtown that delivers.
A gasp rings from the living room. He went there. He proposed Jungwoo’s favourite food.
“You’re insane, Chanchan,” Shotaro chokes on his laughter, leaning back onto Sungchan’s shoulder as he cackles. His laugh is pretty, Sungchan thinks, distracted for a moment. As if he doesn’t hear it every day.
You’ve got yourself a deal, Jung, Jungwoo sends back, and the whole apartment erupts into chaos. Chenle is squawking in offense while the 127 hyungs run towards the living room to strangle and grill Jungwoo out for betrayal.
Shotaro howls, dropping fully onto Sungchan’s lap as Sungchan allows himself to crack, ‘Victory’’ blinking across the screen. Donghyuck runs into the room at that moment, arms wide open with tears streaming down his cheeks in laughter. Even though the Dreamies lost their chance at the prize because Donghyuck died too early, the whole situation was too ridiculous not to crack up over.
“You’re fucking insane, Jung,” Donghyuck howls as he cackles, the rest of the Dreamies coming in to crash all over Sungchan and Shotaro.
“I can’t believe Jungwoo willingly chose to third wheel for sushi,” someone says between howling laughter, so quiet Sungchan barely catches it. His cheeks suddenly flush red.
Wait.
Third wheel?
Sungchan opens his mouth to say something but is gloriously interrupted when Shotaro throws his whole body onto Sungchan and squeezes the life out of him, still half-laughing. Sungchan’s chest tightens impossibly tight, like a taut string as Shotaro buries his face into his chest. He doesn’t hear the next choral of congratulations and laughter, too busy trying not to combust.
Third wheel. A date. They’re going on a date, even though Shotaro doesn’t know that.
Fuck. Sungchan’s in too deep.
The thing is, Sungchan can’t translate love.
Technically, he could just say those cheesy things they’re always given on the scripts for fans, but that’s precisely why he can’t. Number one, it’s way too cheesy and could too easily be brushed off as a joke. Number two, Shotaro wouldn’t even understand half of them.
So, he tries the next best thing.
“Why do you always try to cook that for me?” Shotaro asks, sitting on the stool behind the counter as he stares at Sungchan try not to burn the Takikomi Gohan. He doesn’t see the appeal of it, personally, but Shotaro seems to like the mixed rice bowl.
“It’s the easiest Japanese dish I could find online,” Sungchan admits, shrugging lightly. “And cooking food for others is like the ultimate Korean love language.”
Shotaro cocks his head in confusion. “Love language?” he asks, slightly tripping over a syllable or two. Sungchan freezes. He almost let his secret slip.
“It’s like… things you do to tell someone you like them. Not just because you love them, also for friends and family. A common love language is cooking for others,” Sungchan quickly explains, trying to hide the red tint on his cheeks. Thankfully, his back is to Shotaro right now, hands busily tossing the rice around in his pan.
“But you suck at cooking,” Shotaro points out. Sungchan sticks his nose up at that, miffed.
“It’s the thought that counts!” Sungchan defends himself, puffing his chest out reflexively. Shotaro snorts at that one, tiny giggles slipping past his open lips as Sungchan unknowingly turns around to stare at him.
He can’t help it. Shotaro is like a magnet, tugging too hard yet too little at the same time. He yearns to reach out and just pinch his cheeks, cooing and peppering kisses all over his face.
“You sound just like Xiaojun sunbae—Dejun hyung,” Shotaro giggles, his smile impossibly wide. Sungchan snorts, thinking about their shared sunbae. Sungchan knows of Dejun, of course, having been at SM for even longer than him. They’re not close in any way, but Sungchan’s seen enough fan compilation videos to know of Dejun’s, ah, middle child problems. He’s quite funny when he’s overly defensive.
Sungchan ignores Shotaro, returning his focus onto the rice in his pan. The last time he tried, Sungchan almost burnt the whole thing if it wasn’t for Shotaro pointing out the weird brown rice on the edge of the pan. This time, Sungchan’s learnt to toss the food as he’s cooking.
He’s so engrossed in the food that Sungchan almost doesn’t notice the stool softly grating on the tiles as they slide backwards. He doesn’t notice when Shotaro bumps into the fridge while sneaking up on Sungchan, trying to avoid the spot of spilled egg Sungchan had dropped earlier. He doesn’t notice when Shotaro bends down to pick up the polaroid he dropped from its place on the fridge, the first one the two of them took with Chenle’s housewarming gift camera.
He doesn’t notice until Shotaro’s wrapped his arms around Sungchan’s waist and hooks his chin onto Sungchan’s collarbone. It’s easy to forget that Shotaro’s 178cm with how much he curls into himself. Sungchan’s breath hitches.
“This is my… love language, then,” Shotaro drawls, taking extra care not to mispronounce the new term he just learnt. Sungchan tries to fight back the lump stuck in his throat.
“Hugs?” Sungchan squeaks, trying his best not to sound like a flustered chipmunk. Shotaro chuckles into his collarbone, the sound reverberating throughout Sungchan’s whole body. He’s fucked. He’s absolutely, royally fucked.
“For you? Oh, yeah! Hugs,” Shotaro agrees. Sungchan tries his best not to melt at the implications of Shotaro’s lilted ‘for you’.
“And for others?” Sungchan asks, wondering what Shotaro is thinking in that mysterious brain of his.
Shotaro hums. “If I could do it… words. I will—I would tell you,” Shotaro replies and Sungchan thinks he must be getting his words mixed up and not quite getting what he’s implying. Sungchan isn’t a shy person in any way, but no one wouldn’t be flustered at the implications of that.
It’s almost a confession, Sungchan thinks, the lines of platonic and romantic blurred beyond useful.
He burns the vegetables this time, but Shotaro laughs at his disappointed pout and promises to show him how to make it properly next time, so it’s not a complete loss in the end.
Maybe Sungchan should start taking his assumptions a little more seriously.
It takes Sungchan a month and a half before he decides to act on assumptions.
“Chanchan?” Shotaro asks, freezing in place as he steps into Sungchan’s room. Sungchan tears his eyes away from the poor teddy bear on the ground he’s been glaring daggers into, looking up to meet Shotaro’s eyes.
“Oh, Taro. Hi. Do you need anything?” Sungchan says sheepishly, raising his fingers in a small wave. Shotaro frowns.
“Are you okay?” Shotaro asks, gesturing at Sungchan’s current predicament. Sungchan hums, making a show of looking at his upside-down body, tangled in the curtains and the rod lies half broken off of the windowsill. His phone is on the floor, blasting Red Velvet as loud laughter rings out from the speaker in tandem.
"Is that Taro? ” Donghyuck’s loud voice rings from the phone, still laughing at Sungchan’s misery. Shotaro cocks his head, confusion evident on his features. Cute, Sungchan thinks.
“What happened?” Shotaro asks, and Sungchan turns to glare at the teddy bear on the ground again.
“I was playing with the bear,” Sungchan sighs, admitting defeat as he recounts the story. “And Hyuckie bet I couldn’t land the thing on the curtain. I did, but kind of got… tangled, trying to get it back.”
Shotaro snorts at that one, face contorting in pure disbelief and amusement.
“What?” Shotaro asks, genuinely confused. Sungchan groans.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he mumbles. As if on cue, Donghyuck cackles again over the line.
“Ah, Jung, I wish I could see you in real life. Alas, I have my stage in three minutes, so tell Shotaro to take pictures! ” Donghyuck bids, ending the call as Sungchan shrieks at Shotaro to not follow Donghyuck’s orders. Shotaro laughs at him one last time, before walking over to pick up Sungchan’s phone and drop it onto his desk.
Sungchan screws his eyes shut, sighing. Of course, this is happening to him. Getting tangled in curtains in front of his crush because of a goddamn teddy bear.
“Need help?” Shotaro asks. Sungchan whimpers.
“Yes, please,” Sungchan says, gesturing at the curtains wrapping his hands tightly as the wound around the shoulder he has on the floor. Shotaro laughs gently at him, sitting down to start untangling him.
“You’re such a big baby,” Shotaro coos, pulling one of Sungchan’s arms free to grab the tangled bunch out from underneath him. Sungchan kicks his legs forwards, letting himself fall out of the curtains as Shotaro holds a hand on his head to cushion the fall. Sungchan lands with a thump, shaking the floor as he exhales, exhausted.
“I’m not a baby,” Sungchan argues. Shotaro laughs at him for that, hand reaching over to pinch his cheeks.
“Yes you are, Chanchan. My cute little baby,” Shotaro proclaims, Korean less clumsy than it was before. He’s come a long way, Sungchan thinks, a small bud of pride growing in his chest. He’s gotten more comfortable expressing his affections through words, and Sungchan finally understands why verbal affection is Shotaro’s love language.
He has a way of placing carefully chosen phrases in Japanese with enough words in Korean for Sungchan to feel flustered before ultimately combusting later in private when he looks up the words.
He asked Shotaro once why he liked to say such cheesy stuff all the time if he cringes from them so often. Shotaro had simply shrugged and gestured at Sungchan.
“You’re only ever shy when I say cringey stuff,” Shotaro has pointed out.
Sungchan thinks he must know the implications of his words by now.
If not, well, Sungchan dares to make assumptions.
“I wouldn’t mind being yours,” Sungchan mumbles, ducking his face in the crook of his sweater as Shotaro helps him untangle the curtain from his feet. Shotaro freezes, whipping his head towards Sungchan in surprise. Sungchan rolls his eyes.
“Come on, you say this stuff all the time,” Sungchan pouts. “Aren’t I supposed to be the flirt between us?”
Shotaro’s lips tug into a smile, half out of surprise and half out of relief.
“You noticed?” Shotaro whispers, suddenly shy as his cheeks dust pink and Sungchan is so glad he made assumptions. Sungchan sits up, a dopey smile pulling on his face muscles as he nods.
“It’s kind of hard not to,” Sungchan points out, and Shotaro ducks his head in embarrassment again. Sungchan lacks the vocabulary complexity to really describe how adorable he is like this, but somehow it’s okay. Shotaro hard carries their verbal affection quota anyway. It’s their love conversation, one of unsaid words and acts of service for one another.
“You’re not quiet about your love either, Chanchan,” Shotaro says. Sungchan winces at his directness, wondering how much it’s from his lack of fluency and how much it’s from Shotaro’s secret flirty side, so well concealed from the fans.
“Better than being dense, no?” Sungchan points out, wondering for a moment if Shotaro knows that word. Judging from the quirk in Shotaro’s lips, he does.
He leans over and cups Sungchan’s face in lieu of a response, pulling them together before Sungchan has a moment to compose himself. Sungchan makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, wondering just how much Shotaro was hiding behind that awkward foreigner idol image of his.
He tastes like strawberry chapstick and the morning’s breakfast hashbrowns, feeling like heaven on Earth as he so perfectly slots into Sungchan’s waiting lap.
The coil in Sungchan’s stomach snaps at some point, unravelling like a spool of thread. It’s not fireworks or soaring butterflies like the movies try to say, more of a warm blanket over Sungchan’s head in the middle of a fall rain shower. Shotaro himself feels like the warm touch of home after a long day, simultaneously comforting and exhilarating. Sungchan’s never been one for poetics about his affection, but Shotaro’s always been the exception to his everything. Sungchan can’t help it. It’s his first love, after all.
Shotaro smiles into the kiss, suddenly shy as he tries to pull away. Sungchan chases after him, finding his confidence again as he reaches up to cup Shotaro’s cute cheeks, trailing kisses along his jawline.
“That tickles,” Shotaro mumbles, pushing Sungchan gently. His hands don’t really succeed, though, ending up trailing down Sungchan’s sides as he buries them in Sungchan’s hoodie pocket.
“You tickle my heart,” Sungchan says jokingly, earning him a look of confusion before realization settles in. Shotaro smacks his arm with a sweater paw.
“You’re so cheesy,” Shotaro mutters, ducking his head into Sungchan’s collarbone as he smiles. Sungchan finds himself patting Shotaro’s hair absentmindedly, playing with the soft locks.
“Cheesiness could be our love language,” Sungchan proposes. Shotaro hums into Sungchan’s collar, a happy little noise as looks up and pecks Sungchan again.
“I think you might be my love language.”
Sungchan shares the sentiment.