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Soobin has a secret.
He has many, actually. Some well known— his poor League of Legends skills, the plushy beneath his pillow, the fleshlight in his sock drawer— and others not so much— the name that falls from his lips in the middle of the night, the place where he goes to hide.
Soobin thinks it’s justified. Being the leader is a rough job. With recording and the meetings and the practices and the pointed looks directed only at him when any small thing goes wrong, it’s enough to have him pulling the comforter over his head at the end of each day, long legs curled up to his chest, forehead pressed to his knees and tears pricking his eyes.
That’s how it was in the beginning. Before Soobin found his safe place.
His hands are sweaty. He doesn’t think anyone saw him leave his room. Taehyun had left for the gym less than an hour ago, Yeonjun had been gone all day at Inkigayo, and he could hear the telltale sounds of Kai playing video games online in his room, headphones likely pulled over his ears. No one would know if he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. And so he crosses that threshold and sets his eyes upon his safe place.
The lights are turned low. Candles scatter across the dresser, the smell of lavender and jasmine swirling through the small space. Clothes litter the floor, and Soobin can’t help out the soft chuckle he releases as he walks to the queen sized bed in the middle of the room.
“Didn’t wanna wait?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.
A shake of the head. Beomie looks up at him through dark, long lashes. “It’s been so long. Almost thought I was dreaming when you texted me.”
“Did I wake you?”
She shakes her head once more. “No. Was up. Thinking about you.”
“You should’ve been asleep.” He sees the dark lines around Beomie’s eyes. His heart twists, thinking he’s cutting in on time the pretty thing could use sleeping.
“If I was asleep, I wouldn’t have been able to do all this.” She pouts, pointing her chin towards the flickering candles, then looking down at the dress adorning her body. Soobin runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
“Don’t overwork yourself on my behalf.”
She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t come in here just to bicker with me while I’m dressed like this, did you?”
He places his thumb beneath her delicate chin. His breath hitches when their eyes meet. He can see his reflection in the large brown pools of her irises, his own eyes dark, desperate, hungry. He looks like a monster preying on her, waiting for the first opportunity to swallow her whole. It’s what he is. But she is just as eager. She breaks the eye contact, and Soobin knows exactly where this night is heading.
Beomie’s fingers skirt the lace lining the sheer white babydoll hanging off her pale body. Such a picture of innocence. It’s a lie, but at this point, he doesn’t even care.
Beomie turns onto her stomach. Her dark hair brushes her shoulders. It’s just long enough that Soobin can tangle his fingers into it and yank her up, pressing her back against his chest. His free hand trails beneath the baby doll, dragging over the soft skin of her stomach. He can feel the way she shivers under his touch, her back arching, her thick, soft ass pressing hard against his crotch. He can’t remember the last time he slept for more than four hours, but fuck, is she a dream like this.
Beomie has always known how to put on a show for him. She grinds herself back, making sure the outline of his cock slots between her ass. He aches for her already, his mind consumed with thoughts of her every moment following their last meeting.
His large hands encompass her breasts entirely. The moan she lets out is drawn out, high-pitched, floating through the room like a sonata through a concert hall. Tomorrow, he must float from a photoshoot to an interview to a dance practice. But tonight, he wants to anchor himself inside of her.
Beomie must read his mind. She slips from his arms, turning around and letting herself fall back against the plush ivory pillows and gray satin sheets. Her dark hair fans out underneath her, eyes like pools of honey, pulling him in, sticking him there in her trap. She spreads her legs, and for a moment, the gloss over her eyes makes it look as though she might cry.
“Soobin,” she whimpers. “Soobin, please.”
He settles down, stomach against the mattress between her legs. His slender fingers hook under the white lace of Beomie’s panties. It’s like unwrapping a present, watching the fabric travel down those thighs. He hooks her legs over his shoulders as soon as the skimpy garment is flung onto the floor. He presses his tongue to her entrance, and her breath hitches, reminding Soobin that this, right here, is what he was born to do.
Soobin is a vice-tainted man. His heart was too easily all-consumed by his hobbies. From the anime he watched to the games he grinded away for hours, Soobin did not know love in moderation. Beomie was no exception. Each whimper and mewl that falls from her narrow pink lips has him digging his tongue deeper into her, trying to carve his claim into her. Mine. His mind screams. Mine. Mine. Always mine.
Her nails scrape his scalp, fingers weaved into messy blond hair. She pulls him taut against her, his tongue pressed flat against her while she grinds forward. His cock strains against his sweatpants, desperate for him to bury it into the tight heat that envelops his tongue.
Fuck the teasing. He has no clue when one of the members will notice he isn’t where he should be. At any moment, Kai could barge into his room asking for advice on his Animal Crossing town, or Taehyun could come home with dinner, or Yeonjun could burst through the door with some absurd story about this week’s filming, all just to find Soobin’s bed made up, his desk chair empty, the room as still as a painting missing its subject.
She falls apart when he thrusts two fingers into her.
“Soobin–” God , he has never loved his name until he heard the way it fell from her lips. “Soobin, your fingers. They’re so fucking big. They’re filling me up so fucking good. Better than anyone else, better than any other man’s cock–”
Beomie knows what she’s doing. The mention of someone, anyone else, touching what’s his sends Soobin throttled over the edge, sinking rapidly into his desperation for her, to be what she needs, to own her, to consume her.
He withdraws his fingers to Beomie’s protests. His sweats and boxers are pulled off, chucked to the side and lost to the mess of clothes on her floor. His shirt joins them a moment later, and just as they meet the floor, the tip of Soobin’s cock meets Beomie’s entrance.
“You are mine,” he growls out. “No one else gets to touch this fucking cunt except for me.”
He hasn’t even pressed the tip inside, but tears are welling up in the corners of her eyes. “No one, Soobin. No one else gets my cunt. It’s just you. Always just gonna be you.”
Soobin leans in. His lips brush against the shell of her ear, and he whispers, “Beg for it then. Beg for my cock.”
“Soobin…”
“If it’s what you need, then you’ll be a good girl and beg.”
A shudder runs down her body, and she nods her head. “Please.. Soobin, please give it to me.” The tears fall from Beomie’s eyes freely now. Fat tears roll down her full, pink cheeks like rain down a windshield. His heart wrenches at the sight, and he finds himself leaning in, switching between cheeks to kiss each fallen tear. “I need it. I need you. I need you so badly, been waiting so long, and I just need you.”
And who is he to deny a pretty crying lady?
He presses into her slowly. Her hands scramble as he does so, as if she can’t decide what she wants to touch the most. His steady shoulders, his strong chest, his soft blond hair– he knows she loves it all. Like water down a cliff, her hands roam, tantalizing as they commit every line and angle of his body to memory. They don’t get moments like this very often.
It isn’t too long until his hips snap into an unforgiving rhythm. Each thrust punctuated by a high-pitched moan that fills the room like a steady drum beat. Beomie’s eyes flutter shut, but Soobin can’t bring himself to look away. Tears still cling to her dark lashes as he fucks into her, her alabaster teeth sunk into the berry-colored flesh of her bottom lip. Fucking perfect.
“You’re so– ah, so fucking pretty, Beomie,” he groans. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”
“Your good girl!” Beomie screams, but the words are strangled, choked out in a sob. “I’m… I’m your good girl, Soobin.”
Soobin tugs the straps of the baby doll down, pulling at the front just enough to free her small breasts. With one hand steadying himself on the bed, the other comes up to pinch at his rosy nipples.
His perfect girl. His perfect girl with just one fault.
Beomie cums all too soon. Her eyebrows knit together, her perfect nose scrunches up, her back arches and pushes her chest up right into Soobin’s. It’s the most beautiful thing Soobin has ever seen, a sight he’s engraved in his brain to the point where it is the scene his brain plays every night before he finally lets himself drift off to sleep.
No, Soobin doesn’t mind how fast it’s all over. It’s how he sounds when he cums.
The illusion shatters like glass on concrete as Beomgyu cums. The high-pitched drawl he had practiced drops the second his orgasm hits. The cum that spurts from Beomgyu’s cock stains the white babydoll still donning his frame. The dress has risen up, exposing the slim, pink prick that rests against the soft expanse of Beomgyu’s stomach. All that’s left now is Beomgyu beneath Soobin. Beomgyu, Soobin’s best friend, his group member, his dongsaeng.
Of all the secrets Soobin holds, this one he keeps closest to his chest, knowing that it’d fly away from his grasp the second he lets his guard down, the flutter of its wings creating a hurricane that would destroy all five of their lives in an instant.
What a horrible, depraved soul he must be for the way this makes him drive himself further into Beomgyu, hips tilted forward in a way he knows targets his prostate with every thrust.
Soobin’s hands trail down, slipping beneath the baby doll to gather the cum pooled on Beomgyu’s stomach. He chases that fantasy, the faltering mirage. If he can clean up the evidence of Beomgyu’s manhood, he can pretend for just a few more moments that this is okay. He holds his cum coated fingers over Beomgyu’s mouth. The milky liquid drips off his digits, drop by drop, landing on Beomgyu’s extended tongue. It’s torturous, watching white coat pink, until Beomgyu lunges forward to submerge Soobin’s fingers in his mouth. His tongue slips between each digit, and his eyes stare straight into Soobin’s.
A string of spit connects Beomgyu’s mouth with Soobin’s fingers once he finally pulls away. Beomgyu grabs Soobin’s wrist with both his hands, his slender fingers small compared to Soobin’s, and guides it straight to his spent cock.
“Soobin…” It’s Beomgyu who calls his name now. The timber of his voice brings him straight back into reality. “Please, just tonight…”
He knows what Beomgyu is asking for. It’s something he’s never dared to do before. The first time he had ever touched Beomgyu, alone in their shared room, he had enough plausible deniability. He was just touching his chest. They all did it– Yeonjun to Soobin, Beomgyu to Taehyun, Soobin to Kai. What difference did it make if Beomgyu’s hands were shoved down his boxers, if his ass was pressed to Soobin’s clothed cock, if it was Soobin’s name flowing from Beomgyu’s lips with each twist to his nipples?
Beomgyu never asked for more. Even if, the first night they slept in their separate rooms, Beomgyu walked into his room, long hair tied into pigtails and a skirt he had swiped from one of the taller female trainees hanging off his hips.
Just enough distance. Just enough for Soobin to tell himself he’s still straight.
If he was a good leader, a good person, he would have laughed. He wouldn’t have pinned Beomgyu to the wall their bedrooms shared and made himself at home in the subtle curves of his body. Every other night, they’d finish as soon as Beomgyu came, Soobin too scared to blur the lines between fantasy and reality. And yet, here Beomgyu is, begging to keep going. He’s never been like this before. And if Soobin was a good person, he’d pull himself off of Beomgyu now before it all goes too far. But he’s never been good at self-restraint, especially not with Choi Beomgyu beneath him, and that’s why he curls his hand around Beomgyu’s cock, gaze fixed on the way it disappears into his fist.
This shouldn’t make him so hard. Soobin doesn’t like men. He dated plenty of girls when he was back in his school days; he even lost his virginity to a girl back when he was a trainee. He doesn’t like men. He’s never liked men. He just likes Beomgyu.
He can’t like men. He doesn’t. He’d be torn apart for it. He’s been criticized for his voice, his height, his shyness. He doesn’t need to give anyone any more reasons to hate him. He won’t give anyone any reasons to hate Beomgyu.
“Gyu,” Soobin breathes out. He fucks into him faster now, eyes focused on the twist of Beomgyu’s perfect face, the scrunch of his nose and furrow of his thick, straight brows. “Beomgyu, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
It is never Gyu or Beomgyu when they indulge in Soobin’s fantasies, the names too masculine for the scene they’ve laid out. Since the first night they let themselves fall into this falsity, it has always been Beomie. A screen put up between the life they lead behind these doors and the one they have plastered across billboards and television screens. It comes down in an instant, crashing with all the walls Soobin had built up to hide why he always comes back here.
This is his Beomgyu. The Beomgyu he’s loved since Soobin pulled him out from the crowd of trainees, forced him to talk until Soobin was begging him to shut up. His Beomgyu.
“Is this what you want, Beomgyu?” He sinks his teeth sharply into Beomgyu’s neck. Beomgyu yowls, but his fingers tangle in Soobin’s hair, pinning him there. “You want me to fuck you so hard everyone knows that you’re mine?”
Beomgyu nods eagerly. Soobin trails his lips down Beomgyu’s neck, waiting until he reaches Beomgyu’s chest to suck in dark hickeys and bite so hard he just breaks skin. “I’m– fuck, Soobin – I’m yours!”
There’s no way whoever’s home doesn’t hear Beomgyu. There’s an ugliness that bubbles in Soobin’s chest as he considers the prospect that the others know. That he’s in here, that he’s in Beomgyu, that he likes men. (That he likes Beomgyu.)
He doesn’t even mean for it to happen. One moment, he’s watching Beomgyu’s eyes roll back into his head, and the next, he sees the print of his hand on Beomgyu’s cheeks. His mouth drops open in shock. Sure, he wanted Beomgyu to shut up (he always kinda did), but he didn’t think he himself could take it that far.
The only thing that shocks him more than his own actions are when Beomgyu’s mouth falls open in a loud moan.
“Again,” Beomgyu demands. And so Soobin strikes him once more, blood rushing to the surface of his soft cheeks. They have never dared to let Soobin mark Beomgyu so brazenly, so openly for staff to see. But with the way precum drips from Beomgyu’s cock, adding to the mess already on his stomach, Soobin can’t deny him. “Again, Soobin, again!”
“Everyone’s gonna– fuck, Gyu, ” the sound of his palm slapping Beomgyu’s face echoes through the room, “everyone’s gonna fucking see how much of a whore you are.”
“Don’t.. Fuck, don’t fucking care. Feels… Feels too good!”
“You don’t care?” Soobin laughs a deep rumble, stemming from his chest. “You’re that fucking cock hungry you’d risk your whole career for some dick?”
“Only yours,” he babbles out. “Only for yours!”
It’s that thought, that idea that only Soobin can have him losing his mind that has him reaching down, gripping the hem of Beomgyu’s babydoll and, with all the strength he can manage, tearing it into two, exposing the pale plain of Beomgyu’s stomach and chest. The sound of the fabric ripping is so muffled by the aggressive slap of Soobin’s hips to his ass.
Beomgyu whines once he realizes, but Soobin pays no mind. Instead, he hooks the younger’s ankles over his shoulders, sweeps his arm underneath Beomgyu, and him up so he can take one of his nipples into his mouth.
“I’d… I’d ruin you,” Soobin rasps out. His hand pumps Beomgyu’s cock in quick succession with his thrusts. “I’d fuck you so full of my cum, there’s no way you wouldn’t be knocked up. Fucking ruin this cunt for anyone else.”
“Please– Ah, please, Soobin!” His voice is deep now, no hint of the lilt he spoke with earlier. “Breed me, knock me up, get me fucking pregnant!”
How pretty of a life it would be, Soobin thinks, if he could. If he could hold Beomgyu here on his cock, pump him full of cum for hours, watch the swell of his belly grow as a testament to how much Soobin fucking adores him
“Gonna fucking fill you with my cum,” Soobin moans. “Get these tits all nice and full with me so everyone knows how, ah , how you whore yourself out for me..”
His pleas send Soobin spiraling, free falling into bliss. His thrusts grow erratic, hand sloppy while he cums. Beomgyu follows not too long after, his mess staining Soobin’s hand, matching the hot shame that spreads through every inch of Soobin’s body. His ankles fall from Soobin’s shoulders, and for once, Beomgyu pulls him in for a kiss.
As Soobin pulls out, he feels the warm rush of his own cum follow. It sullies the satin sheets, the supple skin of Beomgyu’s ass. Soobin ducks his head down, watching as the translucent liquid peeks at him through the fucked out ring of Beomgyu’s ass. He can feel the guilt rising up his throat. He shouldn’t have done this. It’s what he says to himself every time he does this. He has to bury the evidence.
He dips his tongue back into Beomgyu’s hole. Beomgyu whines, his body writhing under the touch, already too fucked out to say anything more than incoherent babbles. He tastes like salt and sweat, like the tears that run down his cheeks. In another world, he’d lavish Beomgyu with his tongue, take his time running his tongue along his rim, like a needle under thread, pulling him apart at the seams. But he’s trying to clean up here.
Soobin shoves two fingers into him, watching as his own cum gushes out around them. He holds his tongue flat beneath his fingers, catching all that drips out of his lover. He peeks up to watch Beomgyu’s face. He’s a work of art, tear tracks layered over the imprint Soobin’s hand left on him. His eyes are clenched shut, his chestnut hair is matted to his forehead, and it’s all because of Soobin. He crooks his fingers, just to watch the way Beomgyu’s pink lips part. God, his boy was born to be a performer.
Soobin steadies his pace, purposefully pressing into his prostate and to hear the breathy moans Beomgyu lets out. Even as he’s sure he’s milked every remnant of himself out of his lover, he continues. He presses his lips to Beomgyu’s thigh, feels the way his body vibrates under his touch, until his mouth is brushing Beomgyu’s overworked cock.
“Stop,” Beomgyu says, and yet his hand tangles into Soobin’s once more, making sure he never moves too far away. “I’m so fucking sensitive right now, you jackass. So… So fucking sensitive…”
Soobin can’t respond. He carries his own cum on his tongue, too stubborn to swallow it down. His other hand wraps around Beomgyu’s cock. It’s pretty. Beomgyu’s pretty all over, but between his pink, twitching cunt and his slim, veiny cock, Soobin can’t help his obsession.
“You’re– fuck, you’re fucking insane.” He’s so mouthy when he’s desperate. Soobin almost wishes he had a third hand so he could shove his fingers into his mouth in the way he loves so much. No, instead, he jackhammers his fingers deep into him and watches the rapid rise and fall of Beomgyu’s chest. “Choi Soobin, you fucking… you fucking… fucking– ah!”
It’s only then that Soobin opens his mouth to take the tip of Beomgyu’s cock. Beomgyu’s weak, only a few pathetic squirts of cum hitting Soobin’s tongue, but he doesn’t mind. It’s enough to get the point across as Soobin withdraws his fingers and scoots up the bed. Beomgyu’s panting, looking up at Soobin with dilated eyes, mouth agape in an attempt to steady his breathing. Soobin parts his lips, and the mixture of their cum drips down. He watches it coat Beomgyu’s lips and drip into his mouth. It’s a culmination of every wet dream Soobin’s had for the past five years. He surges forward, pulling Beomgyu into a searing kiss.
He tastes like cum, quite frankly. Beomgyu is a desperate, sloppy kisser. He’s all tongue and passion, no technique, pushing into Soobin’s mouth as if it’s been three days and this is the only hydration he can get. His tongue pushes into Soobin’s mouth, and each time he tries to withdraw, Beomgyu’s teeth have caught his bottom lip, pulling him back in.
“I love you,” Beomgyu whispers. Soobin stills. He’s heard these words from Beomgyu a million times. Across hallways, in front of cameras, over the phone, and yet, here, noses nudged together, they take on a new life. “Soobin-hyung, I love you.”
Soobin says nothing.
I wish you were a girl, he wants to say. I wish you were a girl so I could love you.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say it because he doesn’t mean it. He loves Beomgyu like this. He loves Beomgyu’s motormouth in the morning and the silence that falls over him like a blanket once the clock hits 2AM. He loves his incessant teasing, the soft curve of his nose, the delicate point of his chin. He loves the way Beomgyu yells at him, his words just hot air, never full of any real edge.
What an awful, selfish leader he is, throwing his group to the gutters as he chased the flutter of his heart straight into Beomgyu’s arms each time the others were out of sight. What a cowardly, selfish lover he was for forcing his Beomgyu into this scene to ease his own guilty conscience. It should be enough to have the dream he had chased for years, to be friends with someone who sparks like a firecracker on New Year's Eve.
But it isn’t. All he wants is to hold that spark to his chest, to let it burn its own cavity into his already hollow chest. But his hands are too big, too clumsy, that he’d snuff it out, killing them both once and for all.
This is his fault. He had never been good at hiding how soft he felt for Beomgyu. The longing stares, the murmured “you’re pretty”’s for everyone to hear, the hands that always lingered near Beomgyu’s waist. “Roommates, to best friends, to lovers,” one of his seniors had told him at the company picnic, “to nothing. It’s the natural progression. Don’t make my mistake.”
He wanted to listen. But how could he? When Beomgyu had to use his whole hand to hold just one of Soobin’s fingers, when Beomgyu comes to only his room to sob into his chest, when Beomgyu has carved his name so steadily, so slowly into Soobin’s heart. All this love Soobin has for Beomgyu, all this love Beomgyu has for Soobin, all of it for nothing because they could never be together outside of these dorms.
And so Soobin pulls out of Beomgyu. The sheets rustle as the younger scrambles to find his hand and pin it to the mattress. When Soobin looks over his shoulder, Beomgyu’s crying once more. His small fingers clench Soobin’s hand, his knuckles white in contrast to the flush that covers every inch of the rest of his body.
“They all know,” Beomgyu whispers. “You don’t have to go. Don’t go.”
“I can’t stay.”
“You can.”
“You know I can’t.”
“You can.” Beomgyu’s nails are digging into the flesh of Soobin’s hand now. He’s crawling forward, and his hands release Soobin’s hand just so he can cling to Soobin’s arm, holding him to his spot like an anchor. “But you don’t want to. Say that you don’t want to, if that’s what you feel.”
“You know that’s not it.”
Beomgyu leans his forehead against Soobin’s shoulder. He can feel the snot and tears soak his bare skin, can feel the shake of Beomgyu’s body as he sobs, throwing his entire being into the crying as he does with everything he does. “Please, Soobin. Soobin-hyung, please love me. Please let yourself love me. Let me– Let me love you, and it’ll be okay. It’ll be a secret. Our secret.”
There’s a crack in Beomgyu’s voice like the crackle in a fireplace. How Soobin wishes he was that warm.
But he’s cold. It’s why he circles Beomgyu like a satellite. It’s perhaps his worst kept secret of all.
(“Fanservice is fanservice,” one of the protocol team had said to him once. “All the big groups do it.”
There’s an unaired but that he doesn’t dare say. And Soobin knows. It’s why he’s always teamed up with Yeonjun or Kai, or why one of the others has to tag along on the rare chance he and Beomgyu are paired together. There were so many times he had almost given them away, staring at Beomgyu’s lips a beat too long, his hands lingering on Beomgyu’s hips too tightly.
“You’re a good leader. But you know how it is here. The public wouldn’t take too kindly to it.” He had paused then and looked away. “Some of you might have it harder than others.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. He knew he meant Beomgyu. Beomgyu, who took every words, every stab to his already bleeding heart. Beomgyu, who had already been on that ledge, so close to giving up so many times. Beomgyu, already criticized for his softness, for his loudness, for that storm that tormented his tortured heart. Soobin knows if he ever suggested it, Beomgyu would give all of this up just to be with him. But Soobin can’t ask that.)
“I can’t.” He tugs his arm away from Beomgyu so hard he feels it ache.
Immediately, Soobin stands up. He grabs a shirt and pants off the floor of Beomgyu’s floor. He doesn’t bother checking to see if it’s his, only pulls it on as fast as he can. Beomgyu wraps the sheet around his bare body, as if it matters now. As if his body isn’t covered inside and out with reminders of Soobin’s claim to it. Beomgyu scrambles to get up, his long legs tangled in the sheets, forcing him to fall to the hardwood with a loud thud.
“I’m in love with you,” Beomgyu whispers.
Soobin turns his head. He tries to capture the image in his head. Beomgyu’s downcasted doe eyes, the gleam of candlelight on his collarbones, the contrast of the dark sheets against his pale skin.
I’m in love with you too, he wishes he could say. Fuck this life. Fuck the schedules, the contracts, the music, the shoots. I love you more than that, and then some.
He looks over the frailty in Beomgyu’s arms, the dark circles that frame his pretty eyes, the bruises on his knees from practice room floors, and Soobin knows Beomgyu gave his life for this. Even if all he can have are these glimpses into another life, into what they could have, Soobin would do it if it meant that Beomgyu could keep all he had worked for. Even if Beomgyu’s sullen tone makes him want to fall to his knees, to bury his face in the crook of his neck and sob for all that they could’ve been if they hadn’t been doomed from the beginning, he can’t. He won’t ruin this for him.
And so he says, “Give it time.”
Soobin slips out the door and back into his own room in an instant. Within moments, a loud wail shakes the dorm. He should turn back, check on Beomgyu, but he can’t bring himself to. He hears the sound of doors rattling open, footsteps rushing down the halls, concerned shouts. Soobin looks down at his shirt. It’s that stupid black flannel Beomgyu always wears, clinging to his large frame, squeezing him in all the spots where Beomgyu is small and frail.
Soobin curls himself into his sheets, pulls the comforter over his head, and tries to pretend this is enough. It’s enough to still feel the slick of Beomgyu’s sweat on his skin, to still smell the cucumber of his shampoo, to have these memories circling his mind like an 8 track on repeat.
They never stood a chance anyways.