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Hongjoong stood before the glossy, airbrushed ad.
It was overblown and lit up, beckoning passersby to stop and look. The eyes of the man in the ad pierced through the heart. The model’s hair was artfully mussed, clothes ruffled just so to give off a sexy, enticing vibe. That had always been Seonghwa, though. Even before all the glossy, overblown ads. Even before the spotlight, the interviews, the television shows, the movies, and the music shows. Seonghwa caught people’s eyes, and they gravitated towards him. Hongjoong should know. He’s Seonghwa’s first fan.
“Hongjoong, if I sing this song, do you think they’ll accept me?”
The air was thick with humidity. Sweat beaded on Hongjoong’s forehead, dripped down his back. It’s a hot, summer day and the heat was so overwhelming, the electric fan barely did its job. Hongjoong closed his eyes. A sigh.
“Seonghwa, they scouted you first. This is practically a formality.”
He can almost hear the pout on Seonghwa’s face. A presence leaned over him, blocking the electric fan a little. Hongjoong frowned, eyes remaining closed.
“If I sing like shit, they’ll drop me anyway.”
Hongjoong huffed. “No. If you sing like shit, they’ll figure you’ll need extra vocal lessons, but they’ll take you anyway.”
Seonghwa snorted. “That’s some confidence you have in me.”
“Some idols can’t even sing for shit, but they’re out there anyway. You sing decent, and you’re handsome. Any company would be stupid to pass you up.”
A short silence permeated the air.
Hongjoong cracked his eyes open.
Seonghwa had a small smile on his face, and he was looking right at him. Hongjoong’s heart skipped a beat at the fond gaze, the warm smile.
“Thank you, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong breathes into his hands, trying to keep them warm. He’s standing outside of a seedy club along Itaewon, it’s fucking cold, and his shitty coat is barely thick enough to keep the cold from creeping into his bones. He feels that stab of want; an impulse to breathe in the smoke, the heavy taste of it lingering in his mouth. But he’s trying to quit, and this is his third week. Hongjoong doesn’t want to lose.
(They used to smoke together. Two stupid teenagers trying to be cool, to have some semblance of freedom amidst all the rules and expectations. He remembers him coughing after his first puff, their laughter. He remembers his hands, the way he held the cigarette, gently. He remembers the interview he watched the other day. He, apparently, doesn’t smoke anymore. He’s an ambassador for an anti-smoking campaign. Hongjoong laughed.)
There are a myriad of people walking up and down the streets. A few clubbers fooling around. Some already too drunk; voices piercing the air, feet stumbling, their sober friends exasperated, but fond. Hongjoong surveys the crowd. Everybody’s alive, purposeful. He spies a few cornering each other, ducking into alleys, sharing a drink, a cigarette. Each of them hoping, wanting.
Briefly, Hongjoong considers the thought. A wind blows. He shivers.
“Want a smoke?”
He glances to his side. Minho is holding out a cigarette, lighter ready. Ever the enabler.
Hongjoong narrows his eyes at him. “I’m trying to quit, asshole.”
Minho lights the cigarette. Inhales, spits out the smoke. “Fuck that. We’ll die when we die.”
Hongjoong scoffs. “You’re a dancer. Shouldn’t you be trying to quit?”
Minho barks out a laugh. “Fuck you. I dance just fine.”
Hongjoong hums. They stand together for a moment, looking out at the crowd.
Minho is the first to break. “Good gig?”
Hongjoong shrugs. “Crowd was decent. Hyped up.”
“Some idol is in there. In the VIP section.”
“Yeah?”
“He was in the group I danced for. Ateez . Dude said hi to me. I was surprised.”
At the name, Hongjoong turns to Minho. “Which member was it?”
“How do I know you won’t spread this on twitter?”
Hongjoong shoves him. Minho laughs, the asshole. “It’s Wooyoung. He’s the friendliest among them. He’s actually nice.”
“Just him?”
Minho shrugs. “There were a couple of other guys, but I don’t think they’re idols.”
Hongjoong tries to convince himself he’s not disappointed.
“You like that one member, right? Seonghwa?”
Hongjoong clears his throat. “I used to know him.”
Minho raises an eyebrow. “No shit? Were you close?”
Hongjoong takes a deep breath. “We just went to the same school. So not really.”
“Was he nicer back then?”
Hongjoong gives him a confused look. “What? Was he an asshole?”
Minho waves his hand. “Just cold. A bit reserved. Doesn’t smile much.”
“...He was probably tired.”
Minho takes one last puff from the cigarette. The smoke curls up, disappearing into the cold air. “Maybe. But they say he’s always like that. He’s only friendly with his members.”
Hongjoong hums. Minho bumps him with his shoulder. “Are you disappointed, fanboy?”
Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Fuck off. Like I said, I knew the guy. So I know he’s far from the dreamboat prince the media makes him out to be.”
Minho waggles his eyebrows. “Come on, tell me. Was he a delinquent? Did he fuck around a lot?”
Hongjoong sighs. “He was just a regular boy.”
“Maybe I should quit.”
Hongjoong puts down his chopsticks.
Across from him, Seonghwa picked at his food, a somber look on his face. Hongjoong remained silent.
Seonghwa sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “All these rules… And the asshole trainees… It’s just… Sometimes, I’m so tired of it. It’s like I can’t even breathe wrong or they’ll kick me out. It just pisses me off.”
Hongjoong took a deep breath. “You’ve been there a year. Come on, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa finally met his eyes. “I know… But it just gets tiring sometimes. I think about whether I’m good enough or if it’s even worth it. And the others, they’re so good, I feel like I can barely catch up… I’ve been asking myself if I even deserve to be there or if it’s just because I’m the token mediocre visual.”
Hongjoong leaned forward. “It’s your dream, Seonghwa. You’re meant for this shit. This is you. Fuck being good enough. You’re more than that. You belong there, more than anyone else.”
Seonghwa let out a huge breath, a deep frown still on his face. Hongjoong stood up. “Okay, clearly, you need to cheer up. Come on.”
Hongjoong pulled him up by the jacket and dragged him out across the cafeteria.
Seonghwa, confused, “What? I’m--”
“We’re ditching school.”
Hongjoong took off running, and Seonghwa is dragged along.
Later, after hours of eating street food, strolling among stores and stalls, ducking from authorities, and ignoring parental phone calls, Hongjoong handed Seonghwa a cigarette in the back of an alley.
“...I can’t smoke. My voice--”
“Just one, Seonghwa. Fuck it, you know?”
Seonghwa swallowed.
Hongjoong held out the cigarette, an offering. “I won’t force you if you really don’t want to, but just to say ‘Fuck you’ to them.”
Seonghwa giggled. “Who’s them?”
“The asshole trainees fucking with you. Your hardass coaches. Your stupid supervisor. Just this once, break the rules.”
A grin spread across Seonghwa’s face.
The little flame danced in the dim alley. Hongjoong touched the tip of the cigarette in Seonghwa’s mouth with the lighter. Softly, Hongjoong instructed him, “Slowly, inhale the smoke, then breathe out.”
Seonghwa made an attempt.
He burst into a coughing fit.
Hongjoong laughed.
“Here, let me show you.”
Hongjoong took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it up to his lips. He took a drag. The smoke curled up between them. Tucked in their own corner, at that moment, it’s as if it’s only the two of them in that pocket of time. It’s weirdly intimate; the quietness, the dim atmosphere, the alley shielding them both from the rest of the world. There’s only the light of a cigarette, shared between them.
Seonghwa gazed at him, at his lips. He whispered, “Okay. I get it.”
He took the cigarette back and breathed in.
Hongjoong lives at night. The days are just routines, necessities. But nights, he comes alive. He lives in darkness: in the dim lighting of the studio, amidst strobing lights in dark clubs, walking down the streets lit by flickering lamp posts and passing cars. He takes comfort in the dark, at nights.
His gigs are usually in the party areas, and depending on his sets and if his friends are there, he could be there all night or he might leave early. There’s a constant to it though. Whether the night’s just begun or it’s about to end in a few hours, Hongjoong goes to the ad.
It’s Seonghwa. But it’s also not Seonghwa. Or, at least, not Hongjoong’s Seonghwa. This Seonghwa is made up, reproduced, a concept. Prince Seonghwa. The Golden Boy. Hongjoong’s Seonghwa is the one who thought he was never going to be good enough. The one who wanted to quit because he thought he didn’t deserve it. The Seonghwa who broke down into tears when Hongjoong said good-bye.
(Hongjoong said it, and it was final. It was a week before Seonghwa’s debut.)
But then. Hongjoong thinks, regarding the ad. This is still him. Still Seonghwa. A different version, but still him. Hongjoong is under no illusion that Seonghwa belongs to him. He belongs to everyone now, to the world. At best, Hongjoong is just a faint memory, maybe a cautionary story to tell. Maybe nothing at all.
Hongjoong takes a good look, even though he’s done this a hundred, maybe a thousand times before. The seductive smile, the smoldering eyes. The way the clothes hug his figure. This is Seonghwa. He’s as beautiful as ever.
Hongjoong knows he should stop doing this , whatever this is. It’s been five years. Five years.
“Get a grip,” Hongjoong mutters to himself.
Maybe he’s a masochist, he thinks wryly. Or he’s an obsessed creep. Hongjoong follows everything: the social media accounts, the news, fansites. A dedicated fan. That’s what he is, he convinces himself. There’s nothing wrong with supporting an old friend. Old friends do that. The group itself is pretty good too. Even if Seonghwa wasn’t part of them, he would still listen to their music. They perform well. They’re good.
(This is Seonghwa’s dream. This was their dream. Now, Seonghwa’s living it.)
A group of tittering young women break his trail of thought. They’re tipsy, stumbling over each other, giggling. One of them stumbles over to him.
“Oppa! Are you a fan too? Could you take a picture of us?”
Hongjoong smiles, tight. He takes the phone, “Of course.”
Seonghwa’s voice crackled through the speakers. Hongjoong continued to scribble fragments and phrases on paper, working out which lines sounded good and scratching out the bad ones. His brow furrowed as he read the lyrics over.
“--so I told her we’re both trainees, and it would be a bad idea to even date, let alone each other. She cried!”
Hongjoong snapped to attention.
“...But do you like her?”
A laugh flows out from the speaker. “I don’t. I have no time for that. You should know that.”
Hongjoong swallowed. He went for it. “You’re talking to me, though. The one break you’ve had in almost 8 hours, and you’re talking to me.”
“You’re my favorite person, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong felt his cheeks warming.
“Well, maybe fooling around could help. Nothing serious, but just to have fun.”
“What a player! But I’m fine. I’m already so tired. I don’t want to deal with a relationship, serious or not.”
Hongjoong couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re--”
“And I have you, so, what more do I need?”
Hongjoong stopped breathing. He willed himself to calm down. “Wow. You really don’t have a life.”
Seonghwa laughed. Teasingly, he cooed, “I only have you!”
After a few more minutes, a voice called out. Seonghwa, we’re starting!
“Well, I have to go now. See you tomorrow, Hongjoong!”
Hongjoong smiled. “Good night.”
Once the conversation ended, Hongjoong sighed. This is enough. He went to bed and hoped Seonghwa would be able to sleep soon.
On the other end, Seonghwa took a deep breath. It’s true, he thinks. There’s only Hongjoong. He sang and danced through the night; thinking of the one person he wants to perform for.
It’s a slow day at the cafe. Kevin is scrolling through his phone, leaning on the counter. Chanhee is wiping down tables for the nth time. Juyeon comes out of the back room, a bright grin on his face. “Hongjoong, what do you think about performing a big gig in a bougie club?”
Chanhee comes over, and Kevin looks up from his phone.
Hongjoong crosses his arms. “How big are we talking?”
“Mainsteam acts. Fancy venue. Crowd numbering hundreds. Actual sponsors. And of course, huge payout.”
Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. “You’re fucking with me.”
“My friend is one of the logistics people, and they asked me if I knew any good underground acts. I thought of you right away!”
Chanhee snorts. “ ‘Friend’? You mean your boyfriend Hyunjae?”
Kevin cackles.
Juyeon sputters, “That’s not--”
Hongjoong takes the phone and checks out the invitation letter. His eyes widen at the proposed talent fee. Disbelieving, he asks Juyeon, “Are they going to deduct this with commissions or something?”
Juyeon smiles. “Like I said, they have actual sponsors. It’s all yours. If you perform, that is.”
Hongjoong feels excitement rushing through him. It’s a really good gig. He’s about to ask about setting up a meeting when--
“And the group you like is headlining! Ateez is the main act!”
Hongjoong’s smile freezes. Kevin notices the sudden stiffness. He nudges Hongjoong with his elbow. “Don’t you like them? You’re always watching their videos during breaks.”
Hongjoong forces a laugh. “I’m just--that made me nervous!”
Chanhee teases him. “Afraid you’ll be starstruck?”
Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I…”
The three of them look at him expectantly. Hongjoong thinks, Fuck it .
“Hook me up. I want to do it.”
Juyeon claps him on the back while his co-workers holler in excitement.
Juyeon wastes no time, typing up a message on his phone. While he’s typing away he says, “This is going to be really big, Hongjoong. We should post about this right away when the official line-up comes out.”
Chanhee chimes in. “You have a solid fan base underground. I bet a lot of them will come.”
Kevin comments, “The edgy hip hop kids might get annoyed. Something about selling out or whatever.”
Chanhee’s nose scrunches, annoyed. “Fuck them. Hongjoong makes awesome music. More people should hear it.”
(“Hongjoong, this is so good! We should definitely make a song together someday! We’ll dominate the charts!” Seonghwa exclaimed, beaming at him.)
Hongjoong taps the counter. “We don’t have to interact with the other artists, right?”
Juyeon shrugs, still looking at his phone. “I mean, you might have to greet them if you run into each other. Just common courtesy.”
Kevin quips, “What a wallflower you are, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong throws a towel at him. “Shut up!”
But really. As much as possible, Hongjoong doesn’t want to talk to him. Or be put in a position that he would have to talk to him. The gig is for exposure, experience. Maybe he wants to watch them live for a bit. But meeting Seonghwa is not part of it at all.
(The thought makes his heart beat faster, his palms clammy. Seonghwa.)
He’ll admit this much: he wants to see him. He wants to watch him perform in person.
He wants to perform on the same stage, just once.
“You’ll probably make a lot of friends. Famous ones, I mean.”
Hongjoong said it offhandedly, more matter of fact than anything else. It didn't sit right with Seonghwa. He stopped chopping the green onions. Hongjoong continued with stirring the pot, unbothered.
The sound of the television in the other room floated into the kitchen. It’s muted, more background noise than anything. Seonghwa caught a glimpse of his grandmother, nodding off on the couch.
Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I mean. I’ll probably have to interact with some of them.”
Hongjoong smirked. “You’re gonna be a bigshot, posting pictures with other idols on Instagram for your fans.”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “Please. And deal with the dating rumors because I happened to go to the same cafe? Yeah, no thanks.”
“If it’s a boy, no one will care.”
Seonghwa’s throat closed up. He focused his attention back to the onions, picking up the knife. “It could be a problem.”
Hongjoong walked over to him and watched. He joked, “Why? Worried about the fanfiction?”
“No. Because I like men.”
There it was. Silence descended on them. The television somehow sounded louder in his ears.
“That’s no problem. No one will know unless you want them to.”
The television droned on in the background, and they spent a while just leaning on each other. Hongjoong gave him a reassuring smile. “Let’s finish cooking, yeah?”
Seonghwa looked after him and he thought, Yeah. This will be a problem.
(Hongjoong snuck glances at him all night. When Seonghwa’s grandmother excused herself, and it was just the two of them on the couch, watching the Christmas specials; Hongjoong watched.
Seonghwa caught him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Hongjoong replied. “Just bored.”
A foot nudged his side. Seonghwa’s lips tugged up in a half-smile. In the glow of the television and under the dim light, he looked soft and comfortable. “What’s got you frowning?”
You, Hongjoong wanted to say. He sighed. “Just thinking,”
“It’s Christmas Eve. Stop thinking.”
Hongjoong leaned back further into the couch. Maybe it’s the warmth or the images hypnotizing him, but he felt fuzzy and loose. He said, “I’m thinking about you.”
Seonghwa sat up. “What about me?”
Hongjoong chuckled. “I keep on thinking about how it will be like when you debut. I’m so excited for it.”
Seonghwa laughed. “I’m nowhere near debut. You’ll have to wait a little longer.”
“You’ll be in a monster rookie group, you’ll have your first win in your first year. You’ll go to all those award shows. You’re going to be loved, Seonghwa. So much.”
Hongjoong bit his tongue. I love you, he wanted to tell him.
Seonghwa gazed at him. “...You know you’ll always be my best friend, right? Whether I make it big or I fail, I want you by my side.”
Hongjoong tore his eyes away from the television and looked at Seonghwa. He had an earnest look on his face; warm eyes. Those damn eyes, Hongjoong thinks. Seonghwa scooted closer.
“Hongjoong, you’re my favorite person in this world. Aside from my grandma, you’re my only family.”
Family.
“...And if I want to be more than family?”
It’s quiet. All of a sudden, the sounds melted away. Hongjoong only heard the beating of his own heart. Everything else ceased to exist, and it’s only the two of them. Seonghwa’s lips were parted. Hongjoong leaned closer.
Seonghwa spoke, barely a whisper. “What do you mean?”
Hongjoong stared into his eyes and realized they were both doomed from the start.
Inevitable.
Seonghwa touched Hongjoong’s cheek, gingerly.
Hongjoong breathed out, “I love you.”
Seonghwa leaned in and answered him with a kiss.)
He’s feeling unusually tense tonight.
Maybe it’s because of the shitty shift he had earlier. Maybe it’s because the crowd is bigger tonight. There’s something in the air--almost electric. For the first time in a while, he’s feeling jittery before a performance.
Hongjoong is leaning on the wall, off to the side of the small stage, waiting his turn and willing himself to relax. Jungwoo and Minho both step up to him, each of them smoking.
The sight irks him. “Can you even smoke here?”
Jungwoo and Minho stand on either side of him, crowding him. Hongjoong snaps, “Fucking quit it.”
Jungwoo exhales the smoke towards him. “Whoa, what’s with the fucking attitude?”
Minho cackles. “Hongjoong’s in a pissy mood. He hasn’t smoked in weeks.”
Hongjoong jabs an elbow at Minho’s side. “Fuck both of you. That’s not it.”
Jungwoo reaches up to his shirt pocket and plucks a cigarette from the carton. He shoves it in Hongjoong’s mouth. “Chill out, Hong. You can quit again tomorrow.”
Jungwoo flicks the lighter open. Hongjoong takes a deep breath.
He gives in.
He takes a deep drag and feels the familiar cloud inside of him. It warms him and fills his mouth with a bitter aftertaste. It feels comforting and familiar. As he exhales the smoke, Minho hoots. Jungwoo shakes his head, smiling knowingly. Cheekily, he asks, “Feel better?”
Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck you.”
Minho hums. “What’s got you all jumpy?”
Hongjoong takes another drag. He breathes out. “I don’t know. Tonight just feels weird, man.”
Minho smiles and catches Jungwoo’s eye. They both sling an arm around Hongjoong. Jungwoo pipes up, “Tell you what, after you perform, come back here. We got a surprise for you.”
Hongjoong glares at him. “Fuck surprises. What is it?”
Minho ruffles his hair. “It’s a nice surprise, dipshit. Look forward to it.”
Just then, the MC on stage hypes the crowd up, resulting in screams. A beat begins to pound through the speakers. It’s Hongjoong’s beat.
Hongjoong shakes the two of them off. He takes one last drag and shoves the cigarette into Jungwoo’s mouth, making him sputter. “It’s my turn. Don’t fuck around.”
As he makes his way to the stage, Jungwoo, indignant, yells, “You better come back here when you’re done!”
As soon as Seonghwa hears the voice spitting into the mic, he knows it’s him . He rises abruptly, shuffling past the other members and ignoring their confused noises, heading to the balcony overlooking the stage below.
Beautiful.
It’s Hongjoong; bathed in warm light, his voice reverberating through the club. The crowd jumps and sings along, hanging on to his every word. But to Seonghwa, it’s weirdly quiet. Like the world around him has been muted. He takes in Hongjoong, in the flesh. After five years.
Seonghwa swallows. For a moment, Hongjoong’s eyes snap up, and Seonghwa tightens his grip on the railing. “Hongjoong,” he whispers.
A hand claps him on the back and shocks him out of his reverie. Eden stands next to him, watching Hongjoong. “Talented kid. My friend told me to come out here, but I didn’t expect him to be serious about this guy.”
Seonghwa doesn’t take his eyes off Hongjoong. “He’s great.”
“Yeah. Crowd knows his songs. The beats are unique. Breaking in shouldn’t be a problem for him.”
Just then, hollers sound out from below. Hongjoong is getting off the stage.
Seonghwa looks at Eden. “Are you scouting him?”
Eden shrugs. “I agreed to meet him. He’s more skilled than I thought. So I guess I am.”
Seonghwa can’t even begin to understand the mixed feelings of excitement, happiness, and dread in his stomach. He’s about to ask more, to ask if Eden is serious when a raucous voice cuts through all the noise.
“Eden hyung! My man!”
Electrifying. It’s just the two of them, as always. As if years haven’t gone by. It’s the two of them on a hot summer day, lying down in the bedroom. It’s the two of them tucked in an alley, sharing a cigarette, shielded from the rest of the world. It’s the two of them on a warm couch on Christmas Eve, sharing a kiss. Tonight, time stops, and once again, they’re in their own pocket in time. Just the two of them.
It’s the first hit of nicotine after a long time of holding back. It’s the pull of the glossy ad, beckoning; making him go back. Again and again.
The two of them face each other in the darkness of the club, amidst all the noise. There’s nobody else.
Hongjoong will quit again tomorrow.
Jungwoo pulls him by the sleeve. He gestures to the smiling man standing beside Seonghwa. “This is Eden hyung, Ateez' producer from KQ Entertainment and Seonghwa from Ateez! This is my friend and rapper here in the underground scene, Hongjoong.”
Eden reaches out a hand. “Good set, man. You did great out there.”
Hongjoong forces a smile, and it feels like a grimace. He powers through. He grips Eden’s hand in a firm handshake. “Thanks. I’m a big fan.”
Eden laughs. “Of me or Seonghwa?”
Hongjoong smiles and doesn’t answer.
“Hongjoong… It’s been a while.”
Hongjoong takes a deep breath. He looks at Seonghwa.
It’s like the air’s been punched out of him. Pictures and screens could never do justice to Seonghwa. Hongjoong knows he must be more handsome and mature, not the lanky teenager from years before. But seeing him right in front of him warms him up in more ways than one. Seonghwa is positively gorgeous. From the way he stands, the expensive-looking clothes on his frame. Gone is the soft, awkward Seonghwa. This Seonghwa exudes confidence and charisma just by standing there.
Maybe he was afraid of being starstruck.
Hongjoong feels self-conscious all of a sudden, in his ratty jeans and worn boots and baggy jacket. Hongjoong clears his throat. He realizes he’s been quiet for some time. “Hey, Seonghwa.”
Eden and Jungwoo look between the two of them, bewildered. Eden asks, “You know each other?”
Seonghwa smiles. “We’re--”
“We were classmates.”
Hongjoong doesn’t even want to get into it.
He misses the way Seonghwa’s eyes fill with hurt, searching Hongjoong’s face.
Eden exclaims, “Really?! Shit, we should celebrate your reunion! How long has it--?!”
“Hyung, are you fucking Dispatch ? Let’s get some more drinks around here!”
Minho hauls Eden and Jungwoo away, the three of them bickering as they make their way to the table. Hongjoong doesn’t know whether to thank Minho for cutting off the questions or kill him for leaving him alone with Seonghwa.
“You look good,” Seonghwa offers.
Hongjoong leans over the balcony, refusing to look at Seonghwa. “You too. I see you on TV all the time.”
A short silence.
Seonghwa steps closer to him, their shoulders nearly touching. Hongjoong refuses to look at Seonghwa, still.
Hongjoong tells him, “...You’re doing really well.”
Seonghwa reaches out a hand, wanting to touch--
“Hey! You two! Cut the high school reunion!”
Hongjoong sighs. He pushes off from the railing. “We’re coming!”
Seonghwa lingers behind, wanting.
“I’m breaking up with you,”
The smile on Seonghwa’s lips twitched, unsure. Because that’s not what Hongjoong said. Surely, he must have misheard. Surely, this is a prank, and their friends will burst in any moment. He’ll be mad; so fucking mad but that would be okay. Seonghwa will forgive him. He’ll forgive Hongjoong, as long as it’s not true.
“Seonghwa, I can’t keep doing this with you. We’re over.”
The smile wilted. His mouth must be hanging open, he probably looked stupid. This is mean, Seonghwa thought, almost hysterically. He huffed out a laugh. He felt his face distort into a grimace. Wetness on his cheeks, but it was not raining.
“What? Hongjoong, even if this is a joke, this is too much. Too fucking much.”
Hongjoong shoved his hands into his pockets. He sighed, hanging his head. But he raised his gaze back up and he told Seonghwa–
“I’m serious. We’re over. Good luck with everything, Seonghwa.”
And like the universe is joking, the door behind him slammed open, cheers of “Surprise!” resounding through the cold air. But Seonghwa only looked forward, back to them, staring at Hongjoong’s figure trudging away, each step taking him farther away, eventually lost to his sight. A ghost.
“Seonghwa…?”
Concerned looks, cautious whispers.
Seonghwa ran away.
Like a movie, Hongjoong thinks, a smirk on his face.
Seonghwa, ethereal and beautiful, sits on one end of the circular booth, drinking and laughing. Their eyes meet. Seonghwa beams at him. He looks so damn happy.
If Hongjoong were in his place, he wouldn’t be as kind. The thought makes him guilty. He stands up. “I’m stepping out for some air,” he says offhandedly. A few drunken acknowledgements greet him and he scurries away.
Outside the club, in the alley, Hongjoong leans on the wall. He takes measured breaths, willing himself to calm down. He could just leave. Eden already has his contact details, they have a meeting set the day after tomorrow. His gig went well, his friends are happy. And Seonghwa. He got to see Seonghwa perform, even exchanged polite hello’s. The night has already gone so well. It’s enough. He shouldn’t push his luck, shouldn’t hope that–
“I figured you’d be here,” a voice greets him.
“Fuck,” Hongjoong whispers.
“Rude,” Seonghwa snickers, siddling up to him, smiling. Deadly.
“I was just about to leave, actually. It was nice to see you again–”
“--I’ll walk with you!”
Seonghwa grabbed at his arm just as he was about to walk past him. Hongjoong’s eyes flit from the hand on his arm to Seonghwa’s determined stare, his… embarrassed face?
“I’m–I’m sorry for trying to act cool! Please, can we…talk, just a little bit?” Seonghwa mutters, fingers slowly unwrapping their grip. His hand transfers to his own left, rubbing at it. Nervous.
Disbelievingly, Hongjoong thinks, why the hell is Korea’s Sweetheart nervous? Because of him ? (He tries to dispel the smugness deep within, barking at his ego to shut the fuck up.)
Hongjoong shuffles his feet. He sighs, but he leans back on the wall, beside Seonghwa. “Sure.”
Seonghwa laughs, awkward. “Great. Thanks.”
Silence. Oh shit, Hongjoong panics.
“You–”
“You did a great job, out there. The rap. And all. And the lyrics. And–the beat too. I recognize it. It’s–it’s one of the old ones, right? I still remember it. But you reworked it and it was really–nice, better, even. Like. You did–you were great!” Seonghwa rambles.
Hongjoong can’t help it. He breaks out in genuine laughter.
“Why–-are you laughing at me?!” Seonghwa whines.
Hongjoong grins and replies, “Aren’t you a superstar? Loosen up. It’s just me,”
For a moment, they just look at each other. Seonghwa’s eyes soften. He murmurs, “It’s because it’s you that I’m so nervous.”
Hongjoong’s breath hitches. “Seonghwa–”
“Let me just say this now because I don’t know if you’ll ever want to talk to me again after this. Let me say this now because you didn’t give me a chance to when you broke up with me.”
Hongjoong swallows the lump in his throat.
“You are my dream. I want you more than any award, any fucking trophy, more than any of this. All of this--it’s hollow without you.’
Hongjoong stares. The silence is heavy, and it feels so fragile. Like a single breath could bring them crashing back down to earth, to reality. Hongjoong should know better; he should walk away. But the words claw its way out of his chest, materializing, disrupting everything and bringing it all back to the beginning.
Seonghwa stares at him, looking younger, less confident, uncertain. It’s just him, Hongjoong realizes. It’s always been just Seonghwa. Hongjoong was the one who’s been deluding himself, deifying Seonghwa, even back then. Creating a distance that wasn’t even there. Ending everything because Hongjoong was afraid. Always afraid, always the cynic. Meanwhile, Seonghwa has just been there. Accepting, waiting, true. Always true.
Seonghwa deserves so much. He deserves the truth. So Hongjoong confesses,
“I’ve been dreaming through you. All these years. Even back then. I’ve been dreaming through you. I’m a coward, so I decided it would be better to make you a dream, than risk the reality of being with you.”
“The risk being…?” Seonghwa’s voice cracks.
“That you’ll wake up one day, and you’ll realize I’m the dead weight holding you back from making all your dreams come true.” Hongjoong murmurs.
Seonghwa eyes snap shut, mouth warbling as he begins to cry. It should be an unflattering sight. But fool that he is, Hongjoong still thinks he’s beautiful even when his heart is breaking.
“How could you think that?” Seonghwa accuses.
“Because it’s the truth. You were going to debut–”
“So what! You don’t think I would have–!”
“You would!” Hongjoong raises his voice, cutting Seonghwa off.
He continues, softer, “You would have done it. You would have endured it. Call me selfish, but I couldn’t handle putting you through that and knowing I was the cause of it. Because you’re just a person, Seonghwa. You would have gotten tired. It’s not worth it.”
Quietly, Seonghwa rebuts. “It is to me.”
The semantics aren’t lost on Hongjoong. He doesn’t dare.
“You have a good thing going, Seonghwa,” he warns.
Seonghwa steps closer, crowding him against the wall. “Why do you sound like you’re warning me?” he challenges.
“I’m not. I’m reminding you.”
Hongjoong puts a hand on Seonghwa’s chest, gently pushing him away. Seonghwa grips his hand, fingers interlacing with his. Hongjoong’s heart, treacherous, rouses and speeds up. “We’re over.” Hongjoong pleads.
“You don’t sound convincing,” Seonghwa returns.
“Please, don’t,” Hongjoong doesn’t dare meet his eyes. Those damn eyes.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that. Then I’ll really leave you alone.”
Hongjoong hunches over. He begs, “We’re over.”
Seonghwa pulls him in, hands cupping his face.
Just like that, Hongjoong wakes up from the dream. Reality shocks him, pulling him in, lips meeting in warmth, arms wrapped around each other. All the pining, all the yearning. Over. Just by Seonghwa being there, being near. Now, Hongjoong’s questioning how he ever even ended things. How he could have done it, considering now that Seonghwa’s holding and kissing him, he can barely pull away to breathe.
A weak, weak man. This is why he had to end things all those years ago. He would’ve ruined Seonghwa with his possessiveness, his intensity. He would have never let go. Now, he never will.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Hongjoong whispers, face cradled in the crook of Seonghwa’s neck.
“My mistake was not hugging you the moment you told me we’re over while looking like you were about to cry. In hindsight, I was too shocked to read your tells. Had I known you would be this easy, we could have saved the years of angst and drama.”
“Shut up,” Hongjoong snaps weakly.
“I’m never letting you go. No matter what. No more making decisions for me.” Seonghwa holds him tighter.
Hongjoong sighs. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Seonghwa laughs.
“Oh shit, really? Tell me when you’re ready to tell the world, we’ll work with PR on how to handle the media bullshit.” Eden barely glances away from his computer.
Hongjoong wants to die. Seonghwa bends over laughing.
Five fucking years and this was all it came down to. PR. Hongjoong almost wants to cry.
“See? I love you, but you’re a huge idiot,” Seonghwa kisses his cheek.
“I want to die, actually,” Hongjoong mutters.
“You can’t,” Seonghwa replies, cheekily.
“We still have to handle PR and the years ahead,”
Seonghwa smiles at him, warm and loving.
Reality far more beautiful than any dream Hongjoong could have imagined.