Archive of Our Own

When Mr Bang had announced that the choir would be going on a two-week bonding road trip around the country as part of orientation, Jihoon had almost passed out. What the fuck. Spending fourteen entire days with the sole purpose of socialising with other people? Call Jihoon crazy, but he wasn’t wild about the idea.

That sense of doom had almost immediately been wiped out by an equally crushing relief as Mr Bang added: “We’re going to perform along the way, of course, in all sorts of locations. So you all can look forward to that! And no slacking, but it’ll be lots of fun.”

“Summer road trip,” exclaimed Seungkwan from behind Jihoon, as the rest of the choir began to buzz with excitement. As cheesy as that sounded, Jihoon thought, rolling his eyes internally, he couldn’t deny the excitement welling in his chest at the prospect of a trip dedicated, okay, to socialising, but also to performing. God, Jihoon loved singing to perform. 

“Hyung,” Seokmin said from beside him. “I’m kind of excited. Are you excited? I’ve always wanted to go on a singing trip with a choir."

Man, Jihoon felt tired already. “I’m from Busan, so,” he hedged. “Can’t wait to sing there too.”

Seokmin’s eyes lit up, ready to say something, when he was interrupted by the loud “Okay!” of choir vice-president Byun Baekhyun, who had stood up. “Time for roommates,” he trilled. “Everyone listen up! You’ll be staying with them for two weeks, so play nice. No swapping! We’re all mature, almost-adults here, right.”

A slight hush fell over the room as Baekhyun read pairs and trios off his phone. Jihoon listened intently as he reached the “Lee” section of the choir. 

“Lee Jihoon, audio tech, with Lee Seokmin, pol science.”

Jihoon was proud of himself for not reacting outwardly. 

“Oh!” Beside him, Seokmin turned to him and grinned. Jihoon could only offer a weak nod in response. It wasn’t like Jihoon disliked Seokmin; they’d only known each other for two weeks (two practices). But what he did know was that the younger boy, while being shy at first — and actually, quite intimidated — turned out to be rather excitable, and giggly, and chatty, and all the things Jihoon was not. So to spend thirteen nights living with that… 

Jihoon shook off the despondency that had started to settle over him again. It’d only be at night. He’d just focus on learning his parts, practising them, delighting in every combined rehearsal and performance they had. Besides, he didn’t think Seokmin was mean or anything. It would be fine.

Mr Bang dismissed them, and choir members began to leave, talking enthusiastically. As Jihoon moved to pack his scores back into his file, someone called his name. 

It was Hong Jisoo, law major and his high school choir senior of three years. “Jihoonie!” said Jisoo again, coming closer, doe-like eyes curving sweetly. “Isn’t the trip exciting? Who’s your roomie?”

“It is, hyung,” Jihoon said, feeling like they were again in another old and cramped music room. “I got Lee Seokmin. Pol sci.”

“Oh, Seokminnie,” Jisoo said fondly. “He’s very sweet. You’re lucky. I’ve been saddled with Jeonghan again.” 

Jihoon wasn’t surprised that the younger boy had already endeared himself to Jisoo. “I’m sure,” he responded. “I just find him a little… much sometimes. It’s probably a me problem. Besides, I barely know him.”

Jisoo shrugged. “The few times I’ve spoken to him, he’s been pretty tame. Kind of quiet, actually.”

Huh. Probably just because Seokmin spent most time with him in practice — they stood next to each other for some reason (Jihoon was half a head shorter than the guy, damn it). 

“Well, whatever,” Jihoon said. Across the room, the guy in question was in animated, quiet conversation with another junior — Jung Jaeho? Jaehyun? One of those. “I’ll get used to him soon.”

Jihoon didn’t have to wait until the next choir practice to start. Two days later, he got a ping from an unsaved number.

Lee Dokyeom

Hi hyung! This is Seokmin from choir, I got your kakao from Jisoo-hyung

This is random but um

Wanna shop for room snacks and stuff? Since we’re rooming and all

You can say no it’s fine ><

 Jihoon

Hello

Jihoon pondered. While he wasn’t wild about spending an afternoon with a choirmate he’d just met, he did need to get some groceries for the trip. Besides, it was thoughtful of him to offer, and this was a chance to get to know the person he’d be living with for two weeks better. Maybe Seokmin wasn’t too annoying.

Jihoon

Sure i guess

We can go to the conbini near campus this tues?

The response came not two minutes later.

Lee Dokyeom

Okay! It’s a date

Thanks hyung, see you :D

Jihoon

See you too

Jihoon thumbed off his phone and slid it into his pocket with a lingering awkwardness. The conversation passed out of mind for the rest of his day.

Jihoon met Seokmin at GS25 at 4.25 p.m., feeling only slightly uneasy, and made stilted small talk as they collected a red shopping basket and boxes of chips, Pepero, ramyeon, the works. Jihoon was pleased to discover they had similar tastes — finally, someone who understood that the best Melona flavour was yam.

“Oh, right,” Jihoon remembered, while taking a bag of dried persimmons. “What’s ‘Dokyeom’ mean?” 

Seokmin’s ears turned gradually red. “Old nickname. When I played PUBG in middle school, that was my handle, and I kinda forgot it was my Kakao too. Kinda shameless, huh?”

Jihoon huffed a short laugh. “Flexer. S’alright, you haven’t seen mine.”

“Do you play? What’s your handle?”

After Seokmin had reacted appropriately to his PUBG alter ego, which he really hadn’t touched in a few years (‘Woozi’), Jihoon felt significantly more at ease. Maybe it was incited by some feeling of nostalgia, but talking to Seokmin felt unusually simple, in a good way. 

Seokmin scratched edgily at his ear again. For whatever reason, Jihoon distinctly remembers the white shine of the conbini lights off Seokmin’s dark, short hair on that day, and the silver glint at his left earlobe — a single stud. 

“Didn’t know you pierced your ears,” Jihoon said, on a whim.

“Oh, yeah,” Seokmin replied, smiling self-consciously. “Just the one, though — a bet by my friend, but I liked it, so. Man, you’re just uncovering all my bad decisions today, aren’t you.”

Jihoon appraised him, the sharp jut of his cheekbone, the long line of his jaw. “Suits you.” He belatedly felt an inexplicable embarrassment at the bald compliment.

 A pause. Jihoon couldn’t see Seokmin’s face as they walked beside each other, but Seokmin responded with a bashful-sounding thanks. 

“Hyung,” said Seokmin. They’d passed by the medicine aisle and Seokmin had darted in to grab a packet of something. “We have to get this, okay. What’s choir without Pei Pa Koa? I swear they’re magic, especially after a whole week of singing.”

Jihoon squinted at the bright red packaging. “Hmm. Never had these. They look kind of shady?”

“Believe me, they’re so legit. And life-changing,” Seokmin breezed. “Seungkwan can vouch for me. One time he ate these and he said it was like his throat had been completely cured… oh, but then we found out—”

“—His licorice allergy,” Jihoon finished, facepalming. “Idiots. Guess he can’t vouch for it.” Jihoon raised his eyebrows. 

“Noooo,” said Seokmin, his forehead creasing with distress. “I know you’ll love them, hyung, unless you’re also allergic to any obscure herbs. Okay, but—” here he straightened up, looking suddenly embarrassed — “we don’t have to get them, if you don’t want to.” He looked so earnest in that moment that Jihoon couldn’t help but be somewhat endeared. “I’ve got some—” He was interrupted by the thunk of the cardboard box falling into the basket on Jihoon’s arm. 

“Let’s go,” Jihoon said shortly, starting to move off. He couldn’t see Seokmin’s face behind him, but what he did catch: 

“Thanks, Jihoon-hyung,” Seokmin said simply, his voice like a smile, warm and secret and soft. Then it became lightly teasing: “Can’t believe you’ve been singing without these all this time.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Jihoon returned, only half-joking. The LINE characters on the boxes of Pepero in the basket seemed to be winking at him. Maybe living with Seokmin wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, he’d be entertained. 

Seokmin, Jihoon found out inadvertently, had a very nice hoodie. He knew this because after two hours in the tour bus, after the general excitement of being in a tour bus and songs had passed and been sung, he woke up with an unfamiliar, warm softness pressed against his face at the next rest stop. At first he turned his head and curled deeper into the coconut-smelling warmth. But then the warmth jolted, and that shook Jihoon into wakefulness.

Slowly coming to, Jihoon realised with a sudden mortification that it was Seokmin’s beige-clad shoulder (or more accurately, his arm) he’d fallen asleep on. 

“Oh, you’re awake, hyung,” Seokmin said. The bus was significantly emptier, and he was typing something on a laptop. “I heard this rest stop has really good kimbap. Wanna get some?”

“Man, I’m sorry. Hope I didn’t drool on your hoodie or anything,” Jihoon blurted, scrubbing his hot face. Where were his glasses? On his face. Right. “And yes, kimbap sounds great.”

Seokmin pshawed, waving his hand genially. “It’s fine, Jihoon-hyung. Come on — we’ve only got twenty minutes left.”

So they did. What didn’t occur to Jihoon until later — when he woke up again on Seokmin’s shoulder, the other boy also passed out against his head — was how… natural it felt, pressed against him. How they fit against each other.

Better for naps, he supposed, and promptly fell back asleep.

The salty sea breeze of Gangneung-si was like second nature to Jihoon, but not to the majority of the city-dwelling choristers. “Oh my God.” Seokmin pointed out a cafe nestled between short buildings, with such genuine enthusiasm that one could almost forget that there were at least three of the same within two klick of their campus. “It kinda looks different. Like, it’s the same as back home? But it feels different, somehow.”

“Maybe it’s your tourist psychology kicking in,” Jihoon deadpanned, still feeling some of the effects of the long bus ride.

Seokmin laughed aloud, clear as a bell. “Come on, hyung. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it either.”

Well, not really, Jihoon thought. Busan felt much the same. But with the choir — with Seokmin — everything was new and, yeah, exciting, considering they were about to busk in twenty minutes or so, curse Mr Bang and his “warm-up activity”. Maybe Seokmin’s wide-eyed wonder was infecting him too, becoming more endearing than annoying, and he couldn’t feel too mad about that. 

So he said instead, “Less talking, more humming.” Around them, the choir was mostly silent, save for the hum of people warming up their throats. They were performing a traditional shanty tune that needed accurate and quick diction. 

“Mmmm,” Seokmin acquiesced, folding his bare arms against an errant evening breeze. The warm, sparse but bright lights of the market square washed the surrounding street stalls and the choir’s uniform yellow polo shirts — really, their uni’s colours were a travesty — in bronze and shadow. 

Nothing could really beat the thrill of an impromptu performance, the first conducting wave of Mr Bang’s hand, the anticipation when the eyes of total strangers turned to stare at you, first in confusion, then interest. Before long a small crowd of mostly middle-aged uncles and aunties had formed in a parabola about their choir of forty.

The notes of their singing carried through the air well enough, people’s quiet chatter coming through. Jihoon could hear Seokmin singing beside him, his bright tenor frolicking between notes adeptly; sincere and radiant in a way Jihoon had never really taken notice of until now, and though this was a relatively simple song it was lovely nevertheless.

An encore was requested by two hoary-haired aunties when they sang the last note. Jihoon’s stomach jumped pleasantly, and beside him, he could feel rather than see Seokmin wriggle in excitement in tandem. The golden glow of post-song adrenaline nestled within his chest — within them both, he thought.

“Hope everyone had fun tonight,” Mr Bang said at the night’s debrief. “Sorry for springing that on you all, but be prepared for an even bigger audience in our next location, so I want everyone to rest well before we set off tomorrow afternoon. You all have the morning to explore around and have fun, so sleep early!”

“Yes, Mr Bang,” chorused the choir. “It’s already ten p.m.,” groused Jihoon. “What does he mean, early?”  

Seokmin gave Jihoon a sideways look as they stood up to begin walking back to the room. “Never stayed up before to finish assignments, hyung? Really?”

“I’m an organised person,” sniffed Jihoon. “I only procrastinate two out of seven days a week.” 

Seokmin laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

The smallish room had a single large bed, not that Jihoon had been expecting anything less from their rather poorly-funded choir. Nevertheless, Jihoon fell into bed after washing up (Seokmin had let him go first, bless him), keeping a healthy distance from the other pillow. 

Not twenty minutes had passed before Seokmin too climbed onto the bed. They lay in silence for about two minutes before Seokmin said softly, “Hyung, are you asleep?” His coconut fabric softener or shampoo or whatever tickled Jihoon’s nose pleasantly.

Jihoon was not, in fact. “Yeah,” he said, without opening his eyes.

Seokmin huffed good-naturedly. “Wanna talk?”

Jihoon considered. While the pillow beneath his head was surprisingly soft, he felt as though he hadn’t quite worked off all his performance high yet. “Okay,” he said, surprising himself.

“Weren’t the ahjummas at the end so nice?” his junior gushed. “I’ve never been asked for an encore before.”

“Definitely,” Jihoon said. “An ego boost, isn’t it? But the older folks were generally pretty vocal when my old choir used to go busking. It’s nice.”

From the corner of his eye, Jihoon watched excitement dawn on Seokmin’s face. “You were in choir too? I mean — it’s obvious. With how good you are. Yeah, so was I,” Seokmin beamed. “What choir were you in?” 

They talked about choir for a while, Jihoon feeling more and more comfortable, but the love — it could only be called that — in Seokmin’s gaze for this extra-credit club struck him the most; it was a mirror of Jihoon’s own when talking about music, about singing. It touched him in a strange way.

“I didn’t realise how much I missed singing with other people. I like...” Seokmin suddenly trailed off, seeming to change his mind at the last second. “Singing with our choir,” he finished, awkwardly laughing. 

O-kay. “Me too,” Jihoon said, feeling slightly unnerved.

Seokmin furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to consider something. “Oh, and, hyung,” he said, evidently having come to a decision, “you sounded... really good. I never realised, but your voice is so light, it’s unreal, it really suits the song. You kind of sound like a… fairy? But not in a bad way!” he hastily tacked on, for Jihoon had turned his head to fully face him with a scowl.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, without too much rancour. But he couldn’t stop the inevitable warmth brushing wings over his chest, the pleased heat of his ears. With a kind of amused schadenfreude he saw that the high points of Seokmin’s cheeks were also flushed with colour. “But thanks. I thought you... sounded great too,” he said sincerely. Why did he feel inordinately embarrassed saying that?

Jihoon woke in the middle of the night with his blanket stolen. Figured.

Tenor 1 gathered the next day for a good lunch and what Jeonghan termed a “bonding outing experience that will be fun, Jihoon, just you watch”.

The restaurant was a little too warm, the twelve of them were sitting a little too close to one another and it was a little too loud, but it was more tolerable than usual, Jihoon thought, because God, if the spicy seafood soup wasn’t one of the best things he’d eaten in a good while. Judging by his sectionmates’ exultant groans, they thought so too.

“Jeonghan-hyung, for once your recommendations have hit the spot,” Kim Dongyoung commented, swigging water. 

The assistant section-leader closed his eyes. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, you ingrate,” he said, while Baekhyun chimed in, “Yeah, only ‘cause I picked this one. It’s not Jeonghannie’s fault he’s bad with Naver.”

They all laughed. “Don’t say that, hyung,” Jisoo said peaceably. “We all know Jeonghan’s bad with all tech in general.”

Now Jeonghan had put down his spoon and slapped Jisoo on the back. “See if I don’t throw your clothes out the window when we get back,” he said, smiling amidst the spluttering of the other tenors.

Jihoon just rolled his eyes and took another fiery spoon of soup, a bead of sweat rolling down his back. Seokmin, on the other hand, was being a textbook social butterfly. It was obvious that all the tenors liked him already — his dopey antics, the pealing timbre of his guffaw.

And even though sometimes his voice was a tad too loud, or he clung sporadically to Jihoon in fits of laughter, warm tan skin against his, it was okay, because Jihoon had learnt Seokmin was just like that: someone sociable and likeable and bright. Sometimes it could even be kind of cute…? 

Jihoon was so taken aback by this thought that he didn’t process Seokmin’s gesticulating arm coming his way, miss, and knock over his small soup bowl in one fluid motion.

“Shit,” Jihoon swore inadvertently, the sudden warm liquid making him stand up, the bowl caught safely his hands. It wasn’t a big spillage — thank God — and none of it had gotten on the floor. It did, however, get on Jihoon’s jeans and a bit of his shirt (at least both were black). 

“Oh, God,” Seokmin exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry. Hyung, are you hurt? Was it hot?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jihoon said abstractedly, pushing his chair back. It shrieked accordingly. “I’ll go wash up.”

Of course, the restaurant didn’t have a bathroom Jihoon could use. “You can go to one of the shops next door,” the ahjumma told him. “Sorry, son.”

Jihoon returned and explained to the table that he’d leave for a bit, and Seokmin stood up immediately. “I’ll go with you,” he said. Jihoon nodded.

They stepped out of the humid restaurant, and the air felt a few degrees cooler, as did Jihoon’s brain. “I’m really sorry, hyung,” Seokmin said again, tugging at his ear fretfully as they started to walk. “I’m a total klutz. I hope it washes out.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, really,” Jihoon assured him, the hot, tiny bead of annoyance in him melting away at Seokmin’s genuine distress. “Besides, I needed an excuse to step out for a little while, it was really warm. And — thanks for coming with me, too.”

“If I didn’t, what kind of friend would I be?” Seokmin said. Unwillingly, Jihoon flushed. What was he even thinking of? Stupid. “Still,” Jihoon replied, awkward. “You looked like you were having fun.”

“Well, actually…” Seokmin hesitated, then rushed on. “I mean — everyone is really nice, and it’s great ‘cause you and Jaehyunie and Seungkwanie and Jisoo-hyung are there! But sometimes I feel a bit… tired? And shy? Especially after too long with too many new people, haha.” He stopped. “I mean, not that seven new people is, like, a lot or anything. Sorry, I’m rambling.” 

“No, I totally get you,” Jihoon said, rather astounded. So Seokmin could feel shy and introverted too? Jihoon would genuinely never have guessed — that is, if he didn’t already remember the shyness Seokmin had shown the first few times they met, his overly formal language. That meant that Seokmin had to have put up not exactly a front, but showed a side of him that he’d normally take longer to reveal at lunch. To make people more comfortable? “I kind of assumed you liked everybody at first meeting. No offence.” 

Seokmin barked a laugh. “Why would I take offence to that? But, yeah. I don’t… usually tell people this. I just thought you might get it.”

This heart-to-heart really felt a bit incongruous with a random trip to find a toilet, Jihoon thought. But better now than never, he supposed. 

“I’m glad,” he responded. “My opinion of you is significantly elevated.”

“What do you mean, hyung? Are you saying you’ve had a poor opinion of me all this time?” Seokmin said dramatically, looking mock-affronted. “Wait. You don’t actually mean that, right.”

“What do you think?” Jihoon couldn’t resist. Then he snorted. “Seokmin, if I actually disliked you, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. I wouldn’t even have agreed to meet you at the conbini Tuesday. Heck, I wouldn’t even have talked to you during choir practice. Of course not, idiot.”

“Oh,” Seokmin said, a small, secret smile creeping across his face. “And you don’t mean that. ‘Idiot’.”

“That, well…” Jihoon considered. “The jury’s still out on that one.” And I did find you a bit annoying at first, and sometimes now too. But I’ve made my peace with it, and with you as a… somehow introverted, loud person? It was just another thing about Seokmin for Jihoon to ponder.

“Hmph. Anyway,” Seokmin said pointedly. Jihoon wanted to laugh at his petulant expression. “It doesn’t mean I’m not having fun with you now, Jihoon-hyung. Look, we’re properly exploring Gangneung now!” Man, he said the most embarrassing things. But — it was a beautiful day, sea breeze ruffling their hair, and the shops were small and quaint in a nostalgic way, with sunlight beaming down on them both and Seokmin’s wide grin shining brightest of all, so what could Jihoon do but agree?

“Alright, fine,” Jihoon said, a smile playing at his lips, almost forgetting about the oyster-smelling stain on his pants that was growing cold. “It is nice. Let me go ask this shop first.”

Seokmin waited outside as the uncle inside kindly let Jihoon use the bathroom. He hadn’t anticipated that the wet stain that graced his jeans, while clean, looked kind of like he’d peed his pants. Seokmin informed him of this in no uncertain terms.

“We can go shopping for a new pair?” Seokmin offered, his mouth threatening to quirk up. “On me.”

“Nonsense, I’ll be fine,” Jihoon said. “My jeans will be, at least. I don’t need more clothes. I’ll, er, explain to anyone who asks.”

“If you say so,” Seokmin said, that now-familiar shine in his eye sparking to life. 

The walk back to the restaurant, while still about five minutes if they strolled, felt comparatively much shorter. Not that Jihoon was being dramatic, but probably because of how almost his entire view of Seokmin had changed. Now Seokmin made Jihoon feel that much more comfortable, knowing what he knew now, how really similar — yet different — they both were. 

“We’re supposed to be bonding with our section,” Jihoon said unwillingly. They’d stopped before the entrance of the restaurant. “Go talk to them.” 

“Yeah,” Seokmin agreed. “But. Thanks for hearing me out, hyung. I really appreciate that.”

They smiled at each other: Seokmin unrestrained, Jihoon faintly; both genuine. “Of course, idiot,” Jihoon said. “What kind of roommate would I be if I didn’t?”

Before Jihoon knew it, hours had passed between a raise of a glass and Seokmin’s crystalline laughter, the other boy clinging to Jihoon. Their choir was Yongin-bound.

Jihoon hadn’t expected Tenor 1 to work, honestly. He knew the singers they had were skilled, and that the guys could all get along; what he was surprised by was how much he enjoyed being with them.

Parties and such, larger-scale social events were never Jihoon’s thing. This, however — their conversations flowed easily, and his section-mates seemed down-to-earth in a way Jihoon respected (except Baekhyun, maybe, but Jihoon didn’t hold that against him).

What was an unpleasant surprise was that, two hours into the bus ride, Jihoon felt the beginnings of an unpleasant burn in his throat. He groaned audibly, which made him feel worse. Not now! Shit, the fucking soup. It was haunting his ass.

Then he remembered Seokmin in the conbini two weeks before. “Seokmin,” he said hoarsely, tugging on his sleeve. 

Seokmin had earphones in and didn’t hear his feeble voice. He seemed to have developed a sense that Jihoon was craving some alone time, and hence had left him alone.

Jihoon patted his shoulder, finally getting his attention. “Hey, do you have some of that Pei… red medicine thing,” he said. “I have a sore throat.”

Seokmin looked up from his laptop and frowned sympathetically. “Oh, no,” he said. “Good thing I always keep some on me.” From his wallet he drew out a sachet and passed it over. “Prepare for your life to change,” he said dramatically. 

Jihoon said, “Idiot,” and emptied its contents into his mouth. The sweet liquid soothed his throat like a cooling balm, the discomfort disappearing almost completely. “It’s horrible. I think I’m passing out.”

“What?” Seokmin exclaimed, whipping around, genuine panic in his voice. “Oh. Dammit, hyung,” he said, as Jihoon burst into ungraceful gales of laughter. 

“Only kidding. It’s great, Seokmin-ah, thank you,” Jihoon said, chuckles subsiding. An acute embarrassment suddenly fell over him — since when was he so immature? The shit Seokmin did to him… “Sorry if I actually scared you. Though you really shouldn’t have been,” he added. 

“I’d go nuts if something actually happened to you, Jihoon-hyung, seriously,” Seokmin huffed, but a smile was tugging at his lips. Then he seemed to have the same realisation as Jihoon, both their cheeks growing hot at how that sounded, but Seokmin stuck with it. “I mean it,” he insisted.

Jihoon didn’t have a doubt, but this scenario? It was out of his league. “Thanks,” was all he managed, and tried to go to sleep. He failed, of course, until his head settled (by accident or design?) back onto the Seokmin-shaped pillow beside him. 

Skinship was weird. How was this weird and good at the same time?

Jihoon had made his peace with waking up on Seokmin’s shoulder again. Groggily blinking awake, he saw darkened indigo sky beyond the window, stretching over the endless grey of asphalt; a glance at his phone told him it was 6 p.m. They’d be reaching Yongin in about an hour or so. Seokmin had passed out against the headrest, his mouth open unattractively. 

Jihoon had never really observed a sleeping person up close; now he didn’t have a choice. He looked at Seokmin and his sleep-addled mind noted how the slackness of Seokmin’s face belied so much energy, so much depth, how his expressiveness meant you could read every thought passing through his mind — or at least, Jihoon felt he could now.

It was the little things and moments, Jihoon thought, that made Seokmin special and intriguing to him, in so little a time. Beyond his initial impression of him, is sincerity, his simplicity in everything he did, be it giving in Jihoon Pei Pa Koa or practising for a song, or making an effort to cheer up Jihoon or their sectionmates — Jihoon just felt the endearment enveloping him whole. And the golden brilliance of his singing voice… The sheet music of their next performance sat neglected in Jihoon’s hands.

Before Jihoon knew it, the bus had arrived at Yongin-si, the sky the smooth, soft black of Seokmin’s hair, which tickled Jihoon’s ear from where he pressed against him. Now their contact felt like something Jihoon actively wanted, which was a frankly terrifying concept, and clearly not something to give more than five minutes’ thought to.

Jihoon cleared his throat, gently shaking Seokmin’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re here.” Seokmin’s eyes opened slowly, and the bright streetlamps outside still couldn’t compare to the warmth that his sleepy, open gaze made Jihoon feel.

“Mmmm,” he said, as the bus trundled to a stop. “I had a really wack dream. I think you were in it, hyung. It was good.” 

Now Jihoon really felt the flush creeping up his neck. How was he supposed to respond to that? “That’s nice,” he said, so, so awkward. Man, he was kind of fucked. 

Seokmin just laughed. “Your satoori’s cute.” Which was even worse. “Shut up,” Jihoon responded, helplessly.

Like most road trips, Jihoon doesn’t remember most of the interminable hours between one performance and the next — just that they were all filled with Seokmin. 

He only remembers some important things. Like how that night in their room, somehow even smaller than the first, Seokmin asked for help revising their parts for their performance. But Jihoon knew it was never good to sing late if they could help it, so they were restricted to humming, against Seokmin’s weak protests.

“No,” Jihoon had said, adamant. “We can’t sing too much before the real deal tomorrow, and the days after that. Besides, we already had evening practice.” And Tenor 1 game night at Jeonghan and Jisoo’s room, so they absolutely could not over-sing.

“Fiiine,” Seokmin acquiesced. “Thanks anyway, hyung. Can you hear if I’m humming this rhythm right?”

He was. “You’re fine. Just focus on section C’s pitch accuracy — sometimes I hear you going a little flat,” Jihoon said. “Oh, and try to round your tone on the higher notes, because sometimes you stick out.”

Seokmin nodded, seriously studying the score. Seeing his furrowed eyebrows, Jihoon had an (unrelated) brainwave. “Seokmin,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “By any chance, would you want to, um. Sing for me?” He backtracked. “For, uh, my music coursework.”

Seokmin had grown silent, but Jihoon pressed on. “I was just thinking… Your voice would suit the piece I’ve been working on, and — I’ve been needing a vocalist, so. Would you?”

Jihoon gritted his teeth internally, raised his gaze to meet Seokmin’s, and was met with the other boy’s soundless, eager stare. “Of course, Jihoon-hyung,” he burst out, excitement spilling forward in a flare. “I’d be honoured.”

Honoured. “No, no, don’t say it like that,” Jihoon floundered, then gave up. “Okay, great. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Seokmin said, his eyes scrunched characteristically upwards. “You’re so cool, hyung. I could never think of composing anything.”

Jihoon laughed. “You could still try. You’re the one taking pol science.”

“Yeah, but only if you were there to show me,” Seokmin replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve always liked performing better than thinking of anything on my own. So… yeah. I’d love to perform your song.”

“That’s fair,” Jihoon said, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “Thank you again. It —  means a lot.”

“Send me the deets after we get back,” Seokmin said, a promise.

“Thank you!” the choir chorused, Jihoon looking up from his bow. Around them, scattered applause somehow cut through the clamour of the milling crowds, screams and chatter and laughter filling the air.  

“I haven’t been to Everland in ages,” Seokmin said happily, after the choir had been dismissed to explore! Come back by 9, call if you get lost by Baekhyun. The multicoloured lights around them were reflected in Seokmin’s gaze; they coloured his tan skin, the curve of his cheek, in purple and turquoise. Jihoon felt a tug in his gut at seeing the other boy here like this, vibrant and flushed with the high of performing, at his side. Deja vu, but the feeling he was having now was certainly novel. “I used to see other high school bands and choirs perform here, but I can’t believe we’re actually one of them now! Great audience, even if the kids started walking around.”

“It’s loud,” Jihoon observed, raising his voice to be heard. “Nice warm-up for our stops later.”

“Yeah,” exclaimed Seokmin. 

“Come on,” Jihoon said to him, starting to walk ahead. “Where to?” came Seokmin’s voice indistinctly from behind, a warm hand catching hold of Jihoon’s shoulder. 

Jihoon whipped around, but of course it was just the other boy, dark hair falling in his eyes, suddenly too close and leaning over Jihoon with his absurdly long torso and everything in this crowded, bright place, and Jihoon dropped his gaze.

“Everywhere,” Jihoon replied curtly, staring over Seokmin’s shoulder. “We’re here on a subsidised trip, I’m not going to waste my first trip to Everland. Let’s go.”

The rest of the choir around them had long since dispersed into the masses of tourists and families. “Never took you for an amusement park kinda guy, hyung,” Seokmin said. His hand had shifted from Jihoon’s shoulder to his arm, and Jihoon looked at it. “So we don’t get lost,” he explained, scratching his ear. Jihoon let it be, studiously ignoring it.

“Not really,” Jihoon admitted, adjusting his bag. “I never really went to parks, but I figure Everland should be one of them, since it’s so famous and all.”

“Aha,” Seokmin said. “Parks are great, just — not the big rides.”

“Oh? Scared?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin said, without any trace of shame. Jihoon laughed. “Shame,” he responded. “Anyway, the lines look too long to ride more than one.”

The crowds had thinned on the road they were walking on, presumably to experience the attractions on either side of them. “Wanna go, hyung?” Seokmin ventured. “I can… wait here for you.” 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon said quickly. “We’ve gotta get back soon anyway. We can just... walk.”

“Okay.” Seokmin’s gaze was warm. “Thanks, hyung.”

They walked in companionable silence until they stepped onto a bridge over a lake of sorts, where beyond the waters rose the gleaming turrets of the Disney-esque castle, lit in pearl. “Ooh, money shot,” Seokmin pointed out, grinning. “Let’s take a selca?”

As Jihoon acquiesced, Seokmin shifted nearer to him to be in frame till their arms were almost brushing. Before Jihoon could think, Seokmin was tentatively sliding his arm around Jihoon’s shoulders, and oh, the warm weight was foreign but Seokmin , and felt natural as anything, but Seokmin himself was looking at Jihoon, asking permission in his gaze. Jihoon nodded, acutely aware of the ridiculous gravity his mind seemed to be assigning this moment — Seokmin was a pretty touchy guy with other friends, probably this was odd for him too — and unsure of what his own expression conveyed, but he sincerely was glad Seokmin could not read minds. When did this happen? He thought he’d progressed from feeling awkward with Seokmin, but here it was with force again. 

Seokmin snapped pictures and showed them to him, retracting his arm (Jihoon did not mourn its loss). Both of them smiled with peace signs — Seokmin making a silly face in one — and the newest trivial thing Jihoon’s dumb brain fixated on was the same look in their eyes: fondness.

He’d save that picture for further study later.

“Alone and wandering without your section. This is becoming a pattern,” Jeonghan quipped. “What say you?” Meanwhile, Jung Jaehyun had pulled Seokmin aside to show him his phone.  

“Seriously, who asked y’all to disappear so quickly?” Jihoon fired back. “Besides, I didn't hear anything about section bonding this time.” Jeonghan just chuckled and slapped his back. “I’m just teasing,” he said. “I wouldn’t let us get in the way of Seokminnie, would I?” 

Jihoon stared at him. 

“Kidding,” Jeonghan lilted. “Why look so serious? Making friends is good, Jihoon-ah.” 

Jihoon stared some more. “I—” he started, then gave up. “Thanks, hyung,” he said, clambering aboard the bus.

“Jihoonie,” his mum crooned. “Have you eaten? Oh dear, have you lost weight again, you’re so skinny.” Early Busan sunlight smoothed the hardness of her face, illuminating new grey hairs that Jihoon didn’t remember seeing. She nudged his father beside her. “Dear, stop stoning and hug your son.”

“Oh yes,” his dad said, seeming to come back into himself, his yellow windbreaker the same as it’d always been. “Jihoon-ah, how’s school? You sang so well in the videos you sent. Younghoon said so too.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Jihoon said, smiling. “Yes, mum, we ate breakfast on the bus. It’s good to be back.”

“Not enough, I’m sure. I made anchovy seaweed soup anyway, you have some of that too. Then we can have lunch,” his mum said. A few other choir members’ parents had also come to greet their sons at the bus terminal.  

It was a mini choir competition that they were here for, competing against five other uni choirs. Not the biggest choral event that Busan had hosted, but a convenient lineup with their trip date, and certainly the first that they’d attended as a choir.

That day, Jihoon left the choir to visit his parents, and the next few were spent reunited with the choir in practice till D-day came.

Watching the other choirs from the audience, smoothing a crease in his white shirt, Jihoon noted Seokmin’s leg bouncing restlessly beside him. His face was withdrawn and tensed in a way Jihoon had never quite seen. 

“You good?” Jihoon whispered, leaning closer.

“Yeah,” Seokmin breathed back. “Just a little nervous ‘cause we’re next. The other choirs are really good.”

“So are we. So are you, ” Jihoon said with conviction. “We’ve been practising twice everyday; we’ve got this.”

Seokmin looked at him, cracking a small grin. “Okay, you’re right,” he said softly, the tension in his gaze lessening incrementally. “I’m excited! I can’t wait to perform!” He pumped his fist.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but he patted Seokmin’s knee. “Spare me,” he quipped. “Seriously, you’ll be great. Even if you fuck up — which you won’t — just keep moving forward. Or singing forward, whatever. The judges or audience won’t even miss a thing, that’s what the rest of the choir is for.”

Seokmin was looking at him with an odd look in his eye. “What?” Jihoon asked on reflex. “Just thinking,” Seokmin said, his voice soft now in a different way. “What would I have done without you as my roommate, Jihoon-hyung?” It was then that Jihoon registered: his gaze was suspiciously similar to the one in their selca that night. 

“Don’t say embarrassing things like that,” Jihoon fumbled out. Silence for a beat. “It’s true,” was all Seokmin said, and he might have said more if a stagehand hadn’t called them to move backstage. 

Maybe it was silly to feel this way about a song they were performing, but as Jihoon heard their choir’s voices intermingling in the air, the pure and unadulterated quality of a cappella Latin sacred music in absolute silence, he felt emotion swelling in his chest in time with their voices, at how good they sounded, at their dedication given form. Then, he decided, no, it wasn’t silly, because he could feel the engagement and energy palpably from the rest of his choirmates, Mr Bang conducting; maybe most of all from Seokmin, who even from the corner of Jihoon’s gaze seemed to emit that burning earnestness like a flame, yet never once letting the fine control over his notes slip. Jihoon revelled in the sonic grandeur — long and beautiful sound —  in singing with them, with him. 

Their other two songs came and went in the same vein, and by the end Jihoon felt as though his entire mind had been honed to a single sharp point; at its tip was the note his voice was currently producing. It was truthfully not a perfect performance — going a little sharp at certain musical points, or when one baritone’s voice stuck out during a quiet section — but none of that seemed to matter when their last chord faded, reverberating through the hall; it was as though waking from the spell that only performing seemed to cast. 

Jihoon blinked as the small audience and judges applauded, the sound almost jarring but welcome. The choir took a bow as one, and as they straightened up Jihoon put an arm across Seokmin’s back unthinkingly, a soundless affirmation.   

Feeling Seokmin lean wholeheartedly into his touch was just as exhilarating as the performance that’d just happened. The other boy turned to look at him with some intangible thing glimmering in his expressive eyes, like a lantern shining deep underwater, that Jihoon was almost certain was reflected in his own. Even in this public concert hall, with applause dying and the choir moving off stage and out of the venue, Seokmin’s smiling gaze cut through it all, wordless and profound. Jihoon didn’t even have to try to imprint this moment in his memory. He gets it, he thought again, fonder than ever.

“Excellent job, everyone,” Mr Bang called, once they’d gathered outside the hall. “We’ll know the results soon enough, but that’s not very important. What matters is that we made the best music we could together; that was the best final performance I could’ve asked for. Give yourselves a hand!”

Cheers and applause and obnoxious whoops from the choir. They were being a bit of a public nuisance, Jihoon absently thought, but he figured they deserved at least this. 

“Jihoon-ah!” The audience had started to stream out as well, and his mum was waving her arm, his dad at her side. “Mum, Dad!” Jihoon said. “Thanks for coming.”

“How could we miss it, my son? We couldn’t understand what you all were singing but it sounded wonderful. You were so good, I saw you in the front row, you looked so cute,” his mum exclaimed. 

“Mum,” Jihoon said, feeling warm and embarrassed, especially with all their choirmates in the background. Then the embarrassment dissipated and he just felt lucky. His dad slapped his back, giving a thumbs-up. “Younghoon says he wishes he could’ve come,” he said. “We took a video for him.”

“Introduce us to one of your friends, son,” his mother said smilingly. Oh. Really the only person who came to mind (and was nearest to them) was… “Seokmin-ah,” Jihoon called tentatively. 

Seokmin looked up from an animated conversation with Seungkwan. Oh! Jihoon saw him mouth, then turned to Seungkwan, probably apologised, and came over, eyebrows and lips curved up.

“These are my parents, Seokmin,” Jihoon said, only a little awkwardly. “Mum, Dad, this is my roommate, Lee Seokmin. He’s a tenor too.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir, ma’am,” Seokmin said, only slightly too formal, bowing. 

“Oh, dear, it’s nice to meet you too,” his mum said. “We hope Jihoonie hasn’t been too hard to live with. Jihoonie, you’ve been taking care of your dongsaeng, right?”

Now both Jihoon and Seokmin laughed awkwardly. “No,” Seokmin said, at the same time that Jihoon said “Yes,” which made things even more graceless. “Jihoon-hyung is very neat,” Seokmin hurried to elaborate. “I’m really glad we were roommates.”

“Good!” his mum said, oblivious to Jihoon’s flush. “Take care of Jihoonie too, okay? We worry sometimes that he works too hard and then no one looks out for him.”

“Ma,” Jihoon groaned, but Seokmin, bless him, just said, “Of course, ma’am,” seriously, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he bowed again and slipped away to give them more privacy.

“A nice boy. Very polite. You’re leaving after this, right?” Jihoon’s mum asked him, frowning. “You better come back and visit during winter break. Or sooner. We’ve missed you, Jihoonie.”

“I will,” Jihoon said, going willingly into his parents’ embrace, their cardamom and salt scents too familiar, mingling with the petrol exhaust of the newly-arrived tour bus. 

“Take care of yourself, son,” his father said, his crow’s feet furrowing. “Work hard…”

“But not too hard,” his mum finished. “We’re very proud of you, Jihoonie.” 

Jihoon nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more. “See you December,” he promised.

He followed the choir up the bus, looking around him — at the short buildings hugging the road, mountains looming in the background, his parents waving from the kerb, and pictured it in six months or so, covered in snow.

“Your parents are nice, hyung,” Seokmin said, a smile in his voice. 

Jihoon scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks for entertaining them. I know my mum can be overbearing? sometimes.”

“No, no,” Seokmin assured. “It’s obvious she cares a lot for you. She kind of reminds me of my mum, ha.” 

It was Jihoon’s turn to smile. “You got siblings? I’ve got an older brother, too, but he’s working in Daegu.” 

“Older sister,” Seokmin said. “Based in Seoul, though.”

“Ah.”

“You must miss them,” Seokmin said, after a beat. “I can’t imagine living so far away from my family.” 

“I do,” Jihoon said bluntly. “But I wanted to come to Seoul to attend our uni’s audio tech course really badly, so. I make do.”

“It’s great that they’re supportive?” 

“Well… my dad wasn’t at first,” Jihoon said, rueful. “But he came round eventually.” 

“Good, ‘cause I couldn’t imagine this choir without you,” Seokmin said firmly. Jihoon laughed. “That doesn’t make sense, idiot,” he said. “What if I enrolled and never joined the choir? That wouldn’t change.”

“I guess so,” Seokmin said. “But I think you like singing and music too much not to ever join, hyung. I’m the same way.” He said this with such ardence that Jihoon felt inordinately touched. 

“You’re right,” he said finally. 

“ Guys,” Baekhyun suddenly yelled, popping up from his seat. Beside him, Do Kyungsoo pulled him down as the bus lurched. “Check your phones! The rankings have been released on the website!” 

“Hyung, look for me,” Seokmin groaned, as the bus burst into frantic chatter. “I can’t look.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jihoon said again, his stomach still fluttering as he pulled out his phone. He scanned the list for their uni. “We got—” he gasped.

“Second!” someone yelled, and then the bus went into uproar. “ Hyung,” was all Seokmin said, collapsing against Jihoon. “ Yes .”

“Oh, God,” Jihoon said, letting his head flop against the headrest, relief and happiness soaring in him. “That’s pretty decent, considering we were up against BYC and all those other good choirs.”

He looked down at Seokmin. The other boy was gripping Jihoon’s shoulders, his head buried in the crook of Jihoon’s neck, and Jihoon thought he could feel his pulse fluttering against his. “I know it doesn’t really matter,” Seokmin said, muffled, “but I’m still really glad.” 

“Told you,” Jihoon said, catching Seokmin’s elbow, noting his paler fingers on Seokmin’s tan skin, smelling the coconut of his hair and trying to sound casual. “We killed it.”

“Annihilated it,” Seokmin exclaimed, looking up. Their faces were suddenly so close, Seokmin’s exultant grin filling Jihoon’s field of vision, his nose only a couple of inches from Seokmin’s. They blinked in sync, and then Jihoon’s instincts kicked in, his neck flaming with a vengeance — oh, God, he couldn’t exist like this, couldn’t pass off casualness anymore — starting to rear back. But what he didn’t expect was — Seokmin didn’t move, fingers still clutching Jihoon’s hoodie. 

“I’m…” Seokmin cleared his throat, which directed Jihoon’s attention to his neck, which was a bad idea because it was flushed fetchingly. Jihoon hated his brain. “I’m really glad we got to, um. Sing together, and room together. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I really enjoyed being with you on this trip, hyung. So, thank you.”

Jihoon was rendered almost speechless. Probably no one had ever said something this vulnerable — this sincere — to him before. It was only fitting that Seokmin was the first. “What did I say about saying embarrassing things?” was all he managed, compelled also to whisper. He really always ruined the mood, didn’t he. But instead of being offended like someone else would, Seokmin laughed softly, leaning back and breaking some of the thick tension (imagined on Jihoon’s part?). He must have seen something in Jihoon’s look, which was... interesting; normally Jihoon was reading Seokmin — now their roles were reversed.

“Only for you, hyung,” Seokmin said. Something glinted in his gaze and disappeared just as quickly, a fish with flashing scales darting underwater. For once, Jihoon could not tell what it was.

Returning to normalcy after the trip was jarring, two weeks of singing and travel suddenly ending. Text me, Seokmin had said. I can’t wait to sing your song. He’d pulled Jihoon into a quick hug, Jihoon’s chin hooking perfectly over his shoulder, and it had been a… conflicting experience. Thanks for the two weeks.

Jihoon went back to coursework, and Seokmin presumably back to finishing papers of some sort, corresponding only over Kakao, and it wasn’t until almost a week later, almost the end of summer week, that Jihoon reluctantly went to one of Mingyu’s parties and Seokmin opened the door.

“Hyung,” Seokmin said, eyebrows flying up. “Hi! You know Mingyu?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon said, just as surprised. “He’s my friend’s boyfriend?” 

“Oh! Myungho,” Seokmin smiled, his oversized beige shirt slipping to reveal a sweat-sheened collarbone as he leaned on the doorframe. “I’m Mingyu’s roommate. Housemate, haha.”

“Campus is small, huh,” Jihoon said, pulling at his denim jacket. “It’s good to see you, Seokmin. Sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been finishing up the demo of the track.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Seokmin said, grinning. “And same to you. C’mon in, please.”

Jihoon stepped inside, and he confessed: “I’m not usually a party person. I just came because Myungho asked me to, and I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Then you should go find him,” Seokmin said. “But, hyung. I didn’t get to tell you this, but—” he leaned closer, because the music was just a bit too loud. “Do you — would you want to get lunch, hang out or something sometime?” he said into Jihoon’s ear. “On me.”

Jihoon felt the space in his chest reserved for Seokmin heat up again. “Um, sure,” he said. “Can’t say no to free food.”

Seokmin laughed, a burst of sun Jihoon hadn’t felt in a while. “Awesome,” he said. 

Jihoon

Seokmin-ah, I’m done with the demo

Have a listen?

Sent: Audio File 3:40

Let me know what you think

Lee Dokyeom

Hyung. HYUNG

This is wild

I love it, you’re a genius

And you sound great too

I can definitely sing this

Jihoon

Heheh

When’re you free?

“Nice setup, hyung,” Seokmin whistled, looking at the two monitors and keyboard.

Jihoon chuckled ruefully. “Not really, but it does the job. Most of the time I produce with the school’s equipment, but I’ve got at least this.” He gestured to the makeshift recording booth (not much more than a mic) beside the table with the monitors. “Have a seat.”

Seokmin sat, and the limited space forced their knees (Seokmin’s stupid long legs) to touch. Another thing to ignore, Jihoon thought, besides the fact that seeing Seokmin in his personal space like this was doing things to him. Thank God Soonyoung was out.

“Okay,” Jihoon said, after Seokmin had warmed up with some vocal exercises. “For the first stanza, I’d like you to enunciate really well, and sing mostly in falsetto, long phrases. Can you do that?”

Seokmin gave him a thumbs-up, putting lips to mic. 

Jihoon watched Seokmin as he sang, his closed eyes, his expressive eyebrows, the way the golden timbre of his voice rose and fell with Jihoon’s music with absolute technical control. It sounded exactly like Jihoon had imagined; maybe better. But it struck him again: Seokmin was born to perform.

Seokmin finished the first stanza and looked uncertainly at him. “Was that alright? I don’t know. Was I too breathy?”

“It was beautiful,” Jihoon said simply. You were beautiful came unbidden to mind. Shit, how had he actually thought of something so cheesy? “You can sound more tentative at the lower notes later.”

A small smile fell onto Seokmin’s face. He scratched his pierced ear. “Thanks, Jihoon-hyung.”

They proceeded in similar fashion for the rest of the song. Because Seokmin was not only a great performer but musician, he actually gave inspiring suggestions about some parts of the melody that Jihoon revised. Working with him was so easy — natural, was the word that kept coming to mind with Seokmin. 

After almost two hours, Jihoon sat back and stretched, hit the playback button, and they listened to the complete track together, Seokmin’s voice threading gold through lush harmonies. Jihoon nodded contentedly. “Hyung, it sounds great as a whole,” Seokmin said. “I mean, not to flex or anything, but—”

“You should,” Jihoon interrupted, putting a hand on Seokmin’s knee. “You made this song.” His palm tingled, and he made to retract it. And then— 

“Wait,” Seokmin said, unexpectedly clasping Jihoon’s hand with his own larger one against his knee. Jihoon’s heart lurched threateningly — where the hell was this going? No way. Seokmin’s hand was sweaty, warm, and actually trembling a bit. He looked at Seokmin’s face, and the other boy was staring wide-eyed at his… chin?

A pause. Jihoon’s heart kicked into full throttle.

“Hyung,” Seokmin whispered. “I’m sorry, but — if I’m reading you wrong, please say something. You probably already know, but.” He sucked in a deep breath, as though he were about to sing. “I like you,” he breathed in a rush. 

Had Jihoon heard that right?

“I really like you, Jihoon-hyung. I know I haven’t known you for very long, but I was thinking about you even after our trip. You… inspire me. I really admire you, and I like how you’re grumpy but real and I think you’re an amazing singer and person and really cute—” He stopped, his face and ears suffused in an intense blush. Jihoon could feel their pulses hammering against each other, one-two one-two. 

“Are you serious?” was all Jihoon could say, his eyes darting about, mind reeling from everything Seokmin had said — he liked him, he admired Jihoon, he liked Jihoon, what — and that must have come out so wrong because Seokmin’s face immediately fell slightly. “Yes?” Seokmin said helplessly. “I’m sorry. This must seem so random, but I felt I couldn’t… not tell you after everything. After everything we did together, that happened.”

Jihoon still couldn’t quite believe it, his mouth opening and closing. The only thing that told him this was real was the solid weight of Seokmin’s hand over his. 

“I… wouldn’t have guessed,” he said finally, his neck burning. “Um. Thank you…?”

Seokmin suddenly seemed to realise something, letting go of Jihoon’s hand abruptly. “Shit, hyung, I swear I’m not trying to force anything on you,” he rushed out, his eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry—”

“No, no, wait,” Jihoon said. It was now or never; Seokmin stared at him like Jihoon was holding his heart in the palm of his hand. That look directed at Jihoon gave him the courage to say: “I’ve grown—” Jihoon cleared his throat. “Ahem. Fond. Of you, too.” It almost physically pained him to admit something so embarrassing, but God damn he had to do this, to grasp hold of this chance with both hands like how Seokmin had taken his, like how he’d seen his scholarship in an email and applied on an impulse, like how Seokmin was actually sitting in his room (where less than three people had ever visited).

But in the end it boiled down to something simple. Jihoon wanted more of Seokmin. And he wanted to try being with him. 

“So I — I like you too,” Jihoon struggled out, cheeks flaming, forcing himself to look directly at Seokmin. He steeled himself. “Do you want to try… going out? With me?”

Seokmin’s face cycled through relief, disbelief, and settled finally on a look with such tenderness that Jihoon felt it burn in his chest. “Jihoon-hyung,” he said seriously. “I almost had a heart attack.”

Jihoon blinked once, twice, and then they both burst into laughter, Jihoon’s lighter voice in harmony with Seokmin’s pealing laugh, Seokmin reaching out to collapse half on Jihoon like he always did. “Aish, seriously, what did you expect?” Jihoon said, gesticulating. “You pulled that out of, like, nowhere.”

“Sorry!” Seokmin said, his face still flushed, now with laughter. “We listened to your track, and it was so good, and I thought the mood was right and everything, and then I couldn’t help it, I just — your music, hyung, it’s amazing, you’re amazing, I’m so happy. I’d love to d-date you.” Then he looked down, that small, abashed smile spreading over his lips again, fingering his ear. “I’m so glad you… like me too.”

“Well, it took a little bit,” Jihoon said honestly, his mouth quirking up. “But it happened in the end.”

“I could say the same about you,” Seokmin returned, unexpectedly smirking, which was… more than a little hot, God, Jihoon’s ears were going to turn red and fall off. Then the smirk fell back into another full-bodied grin. “Kidding. You’re so cute when you blush like that.”

Jihoon was suddenly acutely aware again of how close their faces were, Seokmin clasping Jihoon’s shoulders in a mirror of their positions that final day in the tour bus. But now everything was different. Now Jihoon could —  

“Shut up, idiot,” Jihoon said, heart in his throat, and leaned in, pressing his lips to Seokmin’s with all the inevitability of water flowing. The sound that spilled from Seokmin — melting into Jihoon — was like a song, just for him.