Chapter Text
March, 2024 — JYP Building, Seoul, Korea
The building hums with a too-early quiet, the kind that only exists when the city’s awake but the rest of the world hasn’t noticed yet. The seventh floor of JYPE is washed in cold fluorescent light, the air heavy with the stale comfort of too many all-nighters.
They file in one by one — sneakers squeaking, hair still damp from rushed showers, masks tugged under chins. Jisung yawns behind his fist. Jeongin drags his feet but tries to look bright. Seungmin mutters a sleepy greeting to the engineer. Felix flicks Hyunjin’s cap off his head, earning a soft swear in reply.
In the middle of it all, Chan is already pacing. His hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, a vein twitching at his temple as he flips through sheets of scribbled lyrics, checking his phone between lines, eyes darting to the mixing board, then back to the group warming up at the mic.
“Jeongin — softer on the opening consonants, yeah? And Sungie, can you land that run tighter?” Chan’s voice cuts the warm-up chatter. He crosses the room, snapping his fingers once like a nervous tick. “This part has to hit like a bullet, not a sigh.”
Hyunjin, propped on a stool near the sound booth, lifts a brow at Felix, biting the inside of his cheek to swallow the grin that wants to escape. He leans over, whispers just loud enough for Felix to hear, “Leader’s wound up like a spring, huh?” Felix just snorts, flicking Hyunjin’s thigh with a lazy flick of his finger.
Minho watches from behind the main console, arms folded across his chest, one foot tapping out an absent rhythm on the floor. He scrolls through his phone, adjusting color-coded blocks on their schedule. One look at Chan — the way his knee bounces even when he’s standing — and Minho quietly adds an extra fifteen minutes to the break they’re definitely going to need later.
Across the room, Jeongin hums under his breath — a soft, tuneless thread that tries to fill the crackling air. He catches Jisung’s eye and offers a tiny smile, like maybe if he hums long enough, he can iron out the static tension wrapping around Chan’s shoulders.
But the worry is catching. Even Seungmin’s jokes die halfway to his tongue, replaced by a watchful glance at Chan’s back. The room feels like it’s holding its breath — lights too bright, quiet too loud — waiting for the spark to hit the fuse.
And Chan, eyes flicking from sheet music to mic stand to the clock on the wall, doesn’t stop moving. Not yet. Not until it’s perfect.
The booth is warm from all their breath, the glass fogging at the edges as the track loops again and again — that same beat, relentless, a heartbeat and a countdown all at once. The red recording light pulses in the corner like an impatient eye.
Jisung stands at the mic, hoodie sleeves bunched around his fists. His breath ghosts over the pop filter as the instrumental snaps through his headphones — chk chk boom — but the words catch behind his teeth. He flubs it halfway through the second verse, consonants sticking, rhythm tangled in the tight coil of nerves in his chest.
“Guess my mouth’s got a mind of its own today,” he jokes, voice cracking around the laugh that’s too high, too brittle. He peeks through the glass, looking for a sign that it’s fine, that he hasn’t just wasted everyone’s time.
Chan’s jaw twitches by the console, eyes sharp — but before he can say a word, Seungmin leans forward, calm as a quiet night. He pauses the track with a click, slides the glass door open, and steps inside, the scent of stale coffee and soundproof foam wrapping around them.
Seungmin’s hand finds Jisung’s face, thumb brushing the pink flush creeping up his neck. “Breathe, Sungie,” he says, voice low enough that only the two of them can hear it over the hum of the booth. “One take at a time. We’ve got you.”
Jisung’s lashes flicker. He tries to laugh it off again but it sticks in his throat — so he just nods instead, pressing his cheek a little harder into Seungmin’s palm before he steps back to the mic. He inhales slow — once, twice — then lets the beat hit him square in the chest.
Outside the booth, Hyunjin leans against the back wall, arms folded, head tipped to watch the two inside with a soft smile that he masks with a roll of his eyes when Felix bumps into him deliberately.
“Careful, sunshine,” Hyunjin drawls, voice sweet and sharp all at once. He reaches up, taps a finger at Felix’s collar where a faint bloom of purple peeks out — just under the loose neckline of his T-shirt. “Someone’s gonna notice your souvenir.”
Felix follows Hyunjin’s finger in the reflection of the booth glass, smirks slow and shameless. “Might let them,” he murmurs, close enough for only Hyunjin to hear. His teeth flash in a grin, but his eyes are soft — soft enough to make Hyunjin look away first, cheeks warm.
When Seungmin and Jisung emerge from the booth — Jisung flushed but grinning this time — they all collapse onto the ratty couch shoved against the far wall. Chan’s still at the console, mumbling half-commands to the engineer.
Felix stretches out like a cat, ignoring the lack of space. He sprawls sideways until half his weight drops into Changbin’s lap with a dramatic sigh. “Your turn to carry me today,” Felix says, voice bright, mischief tucked in the corners of his grin.
Changbin snorts, one broad hand landing on Felix’s thigh out of reflex. He gives it a playful squeeze before swatting him away — but not really pushing him off. “I’m not your manservant, Lee Felix.”
Felix just hums, draping heavier, all warm limbs and sleepy laughter. Changbin shakes his head but his smile betrays him — soft and stupidly fond, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to pull Felix closer instead of nudging him away.
The studio lounge is a pocket of stale warmth and muted chatter, blinds half-drawn against the harsh midday sun. Someone’s left empty water bottles on the low table, scribbled lyric sheets scattered like confetti across the couch cushions. The hum of the building’s AC is the only thing soft enough not to grate on Chan’s already frayed nerves.
Minho stands near the kitchenette, arms crossed, weight braced like he’s holding the whole room steady with his spine alone. He watches the way Jisung’s knee bounces, the way Hyunjin’s thumb drags lazy circles on the rim of a cold coffee cup — all the little tells of a group that’s burning out too early in the day.
“Okay,” Minho says finally, voice level but sharp enough to slice through the static tension. He doesn’t raise it — he doesn’t need to. His calm is what pulls them all back from the edge. “Let’s reset. We’re losing focus.”
Felix glances up from where he’s sprawled half on Seungmin’s lap, eyebrows lifted. Seungmin only sighs, pressing a hand to Felix’s chest to keep him from sprawling more.
Chan’s head snaps up at Minho’s tone. He’s still perched on the arm of the couch, phone clutched tight enough that the corners bite into his palm. His knee bounces twice, then freezes. He nods, jaw working as he swallows whatever sharp retort was about to tumble out.
“Yeah. Okay. Reset. Let’s take 10.” Chan’s voice is low, rough around the edges. He drags a hand through his hair, strands sticking up when he drops it.
The quiet after is thick — the beat of their own breath and the hum of the studio monitors through the wall. Jeongin shifts where he’s perched by the window, his shoulder bumping Hyunjin’s lightly.
“I’ll grab coffee,” Jeongin says, trying too hard for breezy but no one calls him on it. He pushes off the ledge, brushing invisible lint from his jeans. “Better than letting hyung combust and take us with him.”
Hyunjin barks a laugh, quick and too loud, but it’s the sound they all need — that flicker of mischief that cuts the tension for half a second. “I’m coming too. Can’t trust you not to poison the coffee with sugar packets, maknae.”
Jeongin shoves Hyunjin’s shoulder with a grin, and they vanish through the lounge door, the echo of Hyunjin’s soft humming trailing behind them down the hall.
Minho leans back against the counter, eyes locked on Chan. He doesn’t say anything — just watches, lets the silence settle like a hand on Chan’s shoulder. A promise: I see you. I’ve got you. Chan doesn’t meet his eyes, but his shoulders drop a fraction, breath easing.
He flicks his phone open on reflex — and there it is: a fan tweet, blowing up. A grainy backstage shot — him and Changbin, too close, Changbin’s hand hovering behind his back. The caption: ‘🥺💖 best duo.’
The comments sting more than they soothe. He shouldn’t look but he does anyway, thumb scrolling until his vision blurs. His mind leaps to rumors, to Dispatch’s long lens, to management’s quiet threats.
He flinches when Minho’s voice cuts in again, soft but steady. “Hey. Eyes here.”
Chan swallows, locks his phone, shoves it deep in his pocket like it might burn him if he holds it too long. He drags in a breath, tries to smile at Felix who’s pretending not to watch him too closely.
“Right. Reset,” Chan says again, mostly to himself. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, then pushes off the couch. “Let’s get this right. One more run.”
Minho pushes away from the counter to stand at his side — not touching, not crowding — but close enough that Chan doesn’t feel like the walls are closing in. Felix hums, stretches his legs across Seungmin’s knees with a grin.
Somewhere down the hall, Jeongin’s laugh drifts back through the cracked door, Hyunjin’s voice warm and sweet over it. Outside the room, the world might be watching — but in here, for a moment, it’s just them again.
The door clicks shut behind Felix with a gentle thud. He stands for a moment, taking in the sight: Chan perched at the edge of his unmade bed, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a blow that won’t come. The glow from his laptop screen flickers against the wall — lines of the new track looping in relentless waves.
Felix pads across the floor, barefoot, hair still damp from a quick shower. He stops in front of Chan, waits for him to look up.
“Hey,” Felix says, voice warm, soft around the edges. He nudges Chan’s knee with his own until Chan glances up — eyes rimmed red, jaw tight. “You’re worrying too much. We made it this far. Trust it.”
Chan huffs a laugh that isn’t really a laugh — more an exhale of every bad headline, every side-eye in the hallway, every late-night fight with management echoing in his chest. He lifts his hand like he wants to argue, then drops it uselessly into his lap.
Felix slides in closer, toes nudging Chan’s foot. He curls a hand behind Chan’s neck, thumb brushing just below his ear — grounding, gentle. Chan leans into it, eyes slipping shut for a heartbeat like he’s afraid to see how soft Felix’s smile is in the dark.
“Trust it?” Chan murmurs, voice hoarse. “What if it all blows up tomorrow, Lix?”
Felix’s fingers slip down, drag slow across the line of Chan’s shoulder. He climbs into his lap without asking, knees bracketing Chan’s thighs on the mattress, soft cotton shorts riding up. He smells like soap and sleep and something warmer underneath.
“Then it does,” Felix says simply, close enough that Chan can taste the toothpaste on his breath. “But right now, it hasn’t. Right now, it’s just us. You and me.”
Chan lets out a breath, something raw loosening in his chest. His hands find Felix’s waist without thinking — thumbs brushing the warm sliver of skin where his t-shirt rides up. Felix hums at the touch, leans in until their foreheads bump.
“Feels real?” Felix whispers.
“Yeah,” Chan rasps. He turns his head just enough, catches the corner of Felix’s mouth. The kiss is soft at first — barely there — but Felix sighs against him, fingers threading into Chan’s hair, tugging just enough to pull him deeper.
The laptop lid snaps shut behind them, forgotten. Felix shifts, presses closer, the weight of him warm and grounding. Chan’s hands tighten at his hips, sliding under the hem of his shirt — fingertips skating over soft skin, tracing the curve of his back.
Felix pulls back just enough to look at him, lips flushed, breath caught between them. He drags his mouth along Chan’s jaw, a teasing scrape of teeth at his ear. “Focus on this. Not the bullshit outside.”
Chan laughs, a real one this time, half-strangled as Felix’s hips roll down, just enough friction to spark heat low in his belly.
“Yeah?” Chan murmurs, his hands wandering — over Felix’s ribs, the dip of his spine. “And if I lose my mind over you instead?”
Felix grins, wicked and sweet all at once, breath warm at the shell of Chan’s ear. “Then we’ll call it even.”
The next kiss is rougher — Felix biting at Chan’s lip until Chan growls low in his throat, pulling him closer, chasing more. Felix rocks down again, a deliberate press that draws a quiet gasp from Chan, the sound tangled between their teeth.
Chan’s grip shifts lower, hands spanning Felix’s thighs as Felix keeps rocking down in slow, teasing rolls. The bed creaks softly under them, the only sound besides their ragged breathing and the hush of cars far below the window.
“Fuck, Lix…” Chan breathes, voice caught halfway between a plea and a warning.
Felix just smirks — that sweet, wicked thing that always breaks Chan’s resolve wide open. He shifts his hips forward with more purpose this time, the friction dragging a quiet groan out of Chan’s throat.
“Yeah?” Felix murmurs, mouth brushing Chan’s jaw, down his neck. He nips lightly at the skin just under Chan’s ear, laughing breathlessly when Chan’s fingers flex, digging into his thighs.
“Keep quiet,” Felix teases, his voice low, amused. “Walls aren’t that thick.”
Chan huffs out a sound that’s half a laugh, half a curse. “Like they haven’t heard it before,” he shoots back, but the edge is gone — his voice gone soft and shaky as Felix leans back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head.
The lamplight hits the fresh mark Hyunjin left earlier, half-faded under Felix’s collarbone. Chan’s eyes catch on it, linger. He lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over the bruise. Felix’s breath catches — the way it always does when Chan turns soft under all the heat.
“Pretty,” Chan murmurs in English, and Felix’s laugh turns into a soft sound, his hips pressing down again, searching for more. Chan’s hands slip under the waistband of Felix’s shorts, fingers skimming skin he’s memorized a thousand times but never gets tired of claiming again.
Felix leans down, mouth hungry now — no more teasing. He catches Chan’s bottom lip between his teeth, kisses him deep enough to steal what’s left of his worry. The kiss goes sloppy fast — Felix’s tongue slick against Chan’s, their breaths gone rough and needy.
Chan shifts them higher on the bed, back hitting the headboard with a quiet thud. Felix follows easily, thighs bracketing Chan’s hips now, pressing close enough that there’s no space left between them.
“Bed’s gonna squeak,” Chan manages, the words muffled against Felix’s mouth.
Felix pulls back just enough to grin, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “So? Let it.”
Chan huffs out a laugh that dissolves into a groan when Felix rocks down harder this time — the heat, the pressure, the sharp scrape of teeth when Felix kisses his neck. Chan’s fingers dig deeper into Felix’s hips, guiding him, urging him on.
Felix’s hair falls into his eyes, sweat-damp already as he works his hips in a slow, punishing rhythm that has Chan’s head falling back against the wall.
“God, you’re—” Chan’s voice cracks. He catches Felix’s face in both hands, drags him back down for another kiss, messier now, all tongue and teeth and quiet bitten-off sounds.
Felix hums against his mouth, hips stuttering just a little when Chan shifts his own up to meet him, grinding into the friction. It’s too much and not enough at the same time — their clothes in the way, breaths catching every time their hips align just right.
“Take this off,” Chan pants, tugging at Felix’s shorts, voice wrecked now.
Felix laughs, breathless, kisses him once, quick, before bracing his hands on Chan’s shoulders and lifting his hips enough to drag the fabric down. It catches on his thighs, Chan’s hands helping, too hurried to be neat.
Chan’s palms slide up Felix’s thighs again, thumbs brushing the soft, sensitive skin just where it makes Felix shiver. Felix groans low, head dropping to Chan’s shoulder as he presses in again, bare now, heat sparking when their skin meets.
“Missed you like this,” Felix whispers, words muffled into the skin of Chan’s neck. “All yours. Just yours.”
Chan’s breath stutters out — a raw, broken sound as he lifts his hips, drags Felix down harder. One hand cups the back of Felix’s neck, the other slides low, fingers splayed possessively at his spine.
“Show me,” Chan rasps. “Show me you’re mine.”
Felix lifts his head, eyes glassy in the warm lamplight — all that teasing edge stripped down to something bare, something true. He kisses Chan once, twice, mouth lingering like a vow.
Then he rolls his hips down, slow but relentless, and the next sound Chan makes echoes off the bedroom walls, louder than either of them care to hush.
Felix keeps his pace steady for a moment longer, hips rolling slow and deep, the drag of skin and heat making Chan’s thighs tense under him. Chan’s head tips back against the wall, throat bared, eyes glassy with it — all the tension, all the perfectionist knots unwinding with every soft sound Felix drags out of him.
Felix kisses along Chan’s jaw, mouth warm and open, teeth scraping at the hinge just enough to make Chan’s breath hitch. He feels Chan’s hand slide up his spine, pressing him closer until their chests are flush — heartbeat to heartbeat.
“Look at me,” Felix whispers, breath tickling Chan’s ear, hips giving one sharp grind that pulls a broken moan out of Chan’s throat.
Chan does — eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide. He lifts his hand to cup Felix’s face, thumb stroking his flushed cheek. “You’re too good to me,” he murmurs, voice rough and warm at the edges. “Too good.”
Felix laughs, breathless, the sound dissolving into a soft gasp when Chan shifts, bucking his hips up to meet him. “Yeah? And you’re mine, aren’t you?” Felix pushes, a wicked edge flickering in his voice even now — the tease never fully gone.
“All yours,” Chan growls, fingers sliding down to dig into the curve of Felix’s ass, guiding him harder now. Their bodies move together — a slow, relentless grind that makes Felix gasp into Chan’s neck, breath turning shaky.
They’re still half-clothed, Felix’s shorts kicked to the floor, Chan’s sweats shoved low enough that the friction burns perfect — skin slick, every shift sending sparks under Felix’s ribs.
Felix leans back just a little, palms braced on Chan’s chest, riding the rhythm with steady, rolling hips. His hair falls into his eyes, sweat damp at his temples. Chan watches him like he’s something holy, hands spreading wide over Felix’s hips, guiding, grounding.
“You look…” Chan can’t finish — the words breaking on a gasp when Felix shifts his hips just right, slow circles that make Chan curse low and soft.
Felix smirks, pink tongue flicking over his swollen lips. “Look what?”
“Perfect,” Chan pants. “Fucking perfect. All mine.”
Felix’s laugh catches in his throat — it turns into a soft, needy sound when Chan lifts a hand to his throat, not to squeeze, just to feel his pulse fluttering wild under his thumb.
“Keep going,” Chan urges, voice low, words half-mumbled into Felix’s mouth when he drags him down for another kiss — all tongue and teeth and quiet, desperate sounds. Felix’s hips never stop moving, grinding deeper, slower, then faster when Chan ruts up into him, pace slipping messy.
Their rhythm breaks, grows frantic. Felix’s fingers scrabble for purchase on Chan’s shoulders, nails biting into skin as he shudders with it — head dropping to Chan’s shoulder as a quiet whimper breaks free.
“Chan—” Felix’s voice cracks around it, muffled against Chan’s neck, heat spooling tight in his belly, sweat beading down his spine.
“Come on,” Chan growls, voice wrecked now, breath ragged. He cups Felix’s face, tilts it up, kisses him deep — swallows every soft moan as he rocks them both closer, faster, everything too much and not enough at once.
Felix’s thighs start to tremble, breath hitching, soft gasps turning into bitten-off cries that Chan hushes with sloppy kisses. He shifts one hand down, wraps it around them both where they’re pressed hot and slick between Felix’s thighs.
Felix gasps — a sharp, broken noise that echoes in the quiet room — hips stuttering forward helplessly into Chan’s hand.
“Good boy,” Chan murmurs, voice low and wrecked in Felix’s ear. “Come on, baby. Let me see you.”
That does it — Felix shudders, eyes squeezing shut, a soft sob of pleasure muffled into Chan’s throat as he spills, warmth slicking Chan’s knuckles, hips jerking as he rides it out.
Chan follows moments later — a low, wrecked sound torn from his chest as he thrusts up once, twice, lost in the heat of Felix’s mouth on his neck, the tremble of Felix’s thighs around him.
They stay like that after — breathless, trembling, sweat cooling on flushed skin. Felix slumps forward, pressing his forehead to Chan’s collarbone, giggling when Chan kisses the top of his head.
“You’re impossible,” Felix mumbles, breath still ragged but soft with a smile.
Chan huffs a quiet laugh, one hand buried in Felix’s hair, the other tracing lazy shapes on his bare spine.
Felix sighs into Chan’s chest, fingers drumming light patterns over his ribs as their breathing evens out. Chan hums, presses a soft kiss to Felix’s damp hairline.
“Come on,” Felix murmurs, voice sleep-rough but fond. He taps Chan’s side. “We’re sticky. You hate sticky.”
Chan grumbles — doesn’t move for a second — then lifts his head and groans dramatically when Felix laughs at him. He swats Felix’s thigh, gentle. “Bossy.”
Felix grins, climbs off him carefully, tugging Chan up by the wrist. They stumble into the small en suite, the light bright and sharp for a moment until Chan flicks it back to the softer setting. They strip off what’s left of their clothes — sweatpants, crumpled tee — and step under the warm spray.
It’s lazy. Slow. Felix leans into Chan’s chest, humming when Chan lathers his hair with careful fingers, pressing kisses behind his ear between rinses. Felix’s eyes flutter shut, body loose and pliant under Chan’s hands. The water pools warm at their feet, rinsing away the last messy proof of the studio’s stress.
“Better?” Chan murmurs, low in Felix’s ear, and Felix only nods, tipping his head back for another kiss — sweeter now, soft and deep, nothing but clean warmth and the steady drip of water down their spines.
When they step out, Felix wraps Chan in a towel first, arms slung heavy around his waist, forehead pressed to his shoulder as they sway there for a second, reluctant to let the moment slip back into reality.
But the hallway’s quiet — lights dim, dorm hushed at this hour. Felix pads barefoot to Chan’s bed, drops into the soft sheets with a content groan. Chan flicks off the lamp, crawls in behind him, arms sliding around his waist. They tangle legs instinctively, Felix burrowing back into Chan’s chest.
“You’re warm,” Felix mumbles, nose buried under Chan’s jaw.
“You’re clingy,” Chan teases, kissing his temple. He tightens his hold anyway, chin tucked over Felix’s shoulder, their breathing syncing in the dark.
A quiet knock breaks it — tentative. Then the door cracks open, soft shuffle of bare feet on the floor.
“Hyung?” It’s Jisung, voice quiet, already half-apologetic. He stands in the sliver of hallway light, hoodie too big, hair sticking up like he’d fallen asleep and woke again.
Felix lifts his head, blinking, grin already forming. “Come here,” he calls softly, patting the empty side of the bed. Chan’s eyes crinkle — he shifts to make space, pulling the blanket back.
Jisung hesitates just a heartbeat — then crosses the room quick, slipping under the covers. He burrows right against Chan’s other side, sighing out when Chan’s arm loops around him too, pulling him close.
“Bad dream?” Felix murmurs, gentle, brushing Jisung’s hair back from his forehead.
“Mm,” Jisung hums, noncommittal — but his fingers curl into Chan’s shirt, grounding himself there in the warmth between them. “Too quiet. Needed noise.”
Chan presses a kiss to the top of his head, hums low in his chest — steady, soothing. Felix reaches over, takes Jisung’s hand under the blanket, threads their fingers together.
Three heartbeats sync in the hush. The hallway light goes out. Somewhere across the dorm, another door clicks shut, someone else settling for the night.
Here, it’s just them — tangled limbs, soft breathing, the echo of laughter from hours ago still warm under their skin.
Tomorrow the world can knock again — the rules, the cameras, the secrets.
Tonight, there’s only this: soft hair brushing Chan’s jaw, Felix’s quiet snore against his collarbone, Jisung’s hand warm in his own.