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Seunghyun woke up.

          His eyes were crusty and it took him a moment to register the sunlight coming through the crack in the shutters, the muffled activity in the kitchen. He stretched.

          Seunghyun woke up.

          He’d fallen asleep. And what’s more, he hadn’t even noticed. Or more like he didn’t remember lying in bed for very long before he’d opened his eyes to the unwelcome intrusion of the light on his face.

          But here was the problem; he didn’t want to get up.

          It had little to do with the fact that for once his bed was comfortable. The lack of sleep for a week, scratch maybe a few hour-long naps, was a factor in him wanting to stay feeling like he was melted into his covers. But just because he didn’t have anything on his schedule until later today, didn’t mean he could hide away in his little cocoon. It was already late. From the dull sound of a pot clunking against the sink in the kitchen, at least one person was already up.

          And there was the majority of the problem.

          If it was Youngbae, he’d have to make himself scarce. He’d probably hide back in his room to avoid the disappointment, and whatever Youngbae would have to say to him today. More guilt, more weights added to the dull tug on the upper section of his left ribcage.

          He didn’t want to have to face Jiyong and the possibility that they might make eye contact and the type of stunts his stomach would pull as a result of meeting that pained expression.

          Last night, he’d made the decision to begin moving forward from the standstill he’d come to. That motion had seemed so easy when the path was laidout for him, when the next move was simply logical. How he was supposed to continue trying to offer a flimsy strip of gauze up to the almost tangible wounds he knew he’d inflicted upon his best friend, he didn’t know. The idea of staying tucked into his little ball of warmth was much more appealing than getting up and saying a bright and cheery good morning to all of his problems.

          The choice was made for him soon enough.

          “Seunghyunnie!"Daesung’s bright, singsong voice forced Seunghyun into the real world with a jolt. “Did you sleep well? You’ve been asleep all morning! Seungri already ate your breakfast!” He rapped his knuckles on the door before swinging it open. “It was getting cold anyway. Come join us all for breakfast.”

          Seunghyun’s answer came out as some sort of moan, his voice still dead in his throat.

          Daesung took the grunt for dissent, and he stomped over to his bed and plopped himself ontop ofSeunghyun’s legs. “Youngbae worked really hard on breakfast, and he really wants everyone to eat it – or at least finish it – together.”

          There was the ulterior motive.

          “So wake up and come out quickly!” His lively smile hovered for a few more seconds before he got up quickly and exited the bedroom, eyes lingering on the same shelf that Youngbae had pointed out on his visit.

          Whether Daesung really was that ignorant to come into Seunghyun’s room and demand his presence as if everything was completely normal, orifhe was part of Youngbae’s plan, Seunghyun didn’t know.

          Whichever reason it was, Seunghyun gave up trying to fight the rational part of his brain that was already celebrating its long-awaited victory. He leaned over the side of his bed to retrieve his sweatpants, pulling the soft fabric over the thin pajamas he was already wearing.

          Face flushing as he stood up, eyes blacking out for a few seconds as all the blood fled from his brain, joints stiff from the lengthy and well-deserved slumber, Seunghyun fumbled with his door handle and stepped into the hallway.

          The kitchen table was directly positioned a few meters in front of the archway of the hall. The occupant of the head of the table, the back that Seunghyun was observing from behind, twitched with each thud of the approaching footsteps. The man kept his spine determinedly straight, tilting his head toward his food slightly.

          All Jiyong hoped was that Seunghyun would speak to him again somehow. That one word last night, wait, had been such a tease, such a lie. A bittersweet moment to someone who had expected so much.

          He kept his gaze fixed on his dwindling amount of breakfast; the one Youngbae had worked on with an agonizingly resolute expression. When he’d woken up, he’d been starving. He hadn’t eaten since the lunch outing he’d had with another producer friend two days before. But Seunghyun approached, and he no longer felt like eating.

          Seungri sat opposite him, and his head flew up with the new addition to the room. “Hyung! Thanks for letting me eat your food.” He smirked mischievously. “If you didn’t come out, Youngbae said I could have the second helping he was making for you. You should have stayed asleep.”

          “Maybe I should have,” Seunghyun chuckled, and Jiyong was one of the three that understood the meaning behind that seemingly harmless joke. A plate sat waiting on the table for Seunghyun, and he pulled his chair out before sitting on its edge.

          Jiyong’s nerves stood on end, reading behind every single one of Seunghyun’s motions. It probably wasn’t even that big of a deal for the man to be sitting next to him in that moment, but for him it was like a wild lion had tamed itself and started eating with a fork. He hadn’t been expecting this at all, especially after last night.

          Every few minutes, Jiyong pictured what would be happening if he’d never brought up his affections in the first place. It was a sickening game he’d started playing with himself in the unbearably long week he’d spent devoid of contact with the one person he just wanted to be with always.

                Instead of Youngbae’s empty plate and Seungri, he and Seunghyun would be occupying the bench seat. Their elbows would have been brushing every now and then as they ate. Even if Seunghyun was deadbolt tired and his mouth was glued shut by sleep, Jiyong would have been able to fill the silence with his thoughts.

          Instead of picking at his food, Jiyong would have been eating it ravenously to show his thankfulness to Youngbae for cooking.

          Instead of this awkward space of empty air that hovered over the kitchen, everyone would have been smiling and together and happy.

          Jiyong couldn’t get over the fact that he’d caused this.

          His stupid stomach had to do stupid flips every time Seunghyun showed his stupid face.

          His stupid heart had to be absolutely taken with his band mate, reminding Jiyong of this fact every few moments with stupid tugging and skipped beats.

          His stupid thoughts had to be constantly occupied by that idiot. The stupid way he talked. His stupid eyes. The stupid way his stupid lyrics made his stupid heart wish his stupid songs were dedicated to him. His stupid modesty and his stupid manners.

          And that goddamn voice.

          Jiyong didn’t know when he realized his feelings were amplified. Because Seunghyun was another man, it didn’t cross his mind for a long time that he loved him in a different way than he loved Youngbae, or Seungri, or Daesung. It wasn’t just the brotherly connection he shared with the other members, but this unstoppable magnetic pull that created this palpable hole every time the pair was separated.

          And now everything was so totally wrong, Seunghyun wouldn’t even look up from poking at his eggs and Youngbae watched from sponging the counter with an expression that was almost fierce, Daesung chuckled awkwardly at a bad joke Seungri had forced, and it was all Jiyong’s fault.

          He was the first to get up from the table, scraping the remains of egg yolk and toast crumbs off of his plate into the garbage before breathing a thanks to Youngbae. He decided he needed to organize his shoes, or clothes, or maybe just his entire closet, to give everyone else in the room a chance to get out of the horrible all-encompassing smog.

          His room was cold. He shut the door behind him, a first. His door was always the one in the hallway that was cracked open as an invitation. Today he was already exhausted by his minimal interactions at breakfast.

          There were a few socks strewn around the floor that he’d kicked off in his sleep sometime. He picked them up as a starting point, taking small steps around the room and bending over stiffly to scoop them off the ground. So this is what Seunghyun would spend his time doing.

          It was nice. Socks were plain and white; they let Jiyong focus on the small task at hand.

          He dumped the small congregation he’d gathered into his hamper.

          He realized the potential problem as he pulled the studded chord that lit up his walk-in closet. So many colors. So many memories.

          He picked up a blue jacket that had fallen off of its hanger and hung it back up slowly.

          Blue. Seunghyun. Wonderful start.

          He pulled open the drawers in a dresser to fold everything in it that had gone into a state of total disarray. More socks, easy. He found each one its pair and gave them their own designated drawer. Accomplishment one.

He moved aside a pile of accessories, and there’s the beanie he wore to Strong Heart. He threw it out of the closet over his shoulder, trying his hardest to suppress the growing picture of the orange extensions he’d worn with it, the faded pants, the memory of the outfit flooding back with the rest of that night’s events.

          How Seunghyun found solace in cleaning, he had no idea. This wasn’t exactly working out.

          But this place was a mess; a session of organizing was long overdue. A day of cleaning was just what it needed. So he pressed on.

          He finished the work on his drawers, untangling a few necklaces before giving up and dumping the hopeless knot of metal on his bed for later. Some earrings found their long-lost matches; his favorite pajamas that he hadn’t seen for months were finally excavated.

          Plopping on his floor next to his own little mountain of shoes, he set to work on matching them and laying them out neatly, giving his shoe rack an actual use.

          Underneath the first layer of soles were the camouflage pants he’d worn to Running Man. More pain.

          There he was, thinking about how he should have spent that time chasing everyone around with Seunghyun while he still could, and just like that, in a single instant, Jiyong was full of regrets and what-if’s and could-have-beens, cursing every second he’d spent dancing that he could have had Seunghyun by his side. Every schedule that kept them apart, resisted their magnetic pull.

          Now he wasn’t sure how much time he’d ever get with Seunghyun again.

          Because nothing had improved last night. Nothing. It had already been a week, and their first attempt at a connection had been a failure. How were they supposed to call themselves friends if all of their interactions were going to be awkward?

          He folded the baggy pants gingerly and stood up, laying them on a shelf with more pants. He busied himself with folding the rest of the patterned denim, recognizing certain pieces and immediately pairing them with a performance, an interview, a day in the studio.

          But wait, these ones weren’t his size.

          No, the waistband on these sweats was definitely a little bit larger than the ones he’d just finished folding.

          He squinted at them for a moment before remembering why Seunghyun’s pants were in his closet.

          His favorite sleeping pants had been tucked away, lost in the depths of his closet. Being a very vocal person, of course he’d complained. So Seunghyun gave him his softest pair of sweatpants to wear for that night, and Jiyong completely spaced on returning them.

          He hugged them to his chest as he thought about what he was going to do with them. Yes, they had to be returned. He could just leave them outside of Seunghyun’s door.

Or if Seunghyun had stayed out in the living room with the group, he could leave them in his room, and see what was so wrong with his figurines. Youngbae had been mumbling something about them to Daesung, and Jiyong couldn’t hear what the problem was. Maybe one of them was broken.

          No, but what if Seunghyun was in his room? Which was of course more likely.

          Simple, he’d come back later.

          No.

          It would look like Jiyong was ridding himself of what reminded him of Seunghyun.

          And if he was going to do that, he might as well take every single article of clothing out of this closet and give it to charity. Maybe move to America while he was at it.

          Instead, Jiyong made a bundle of the sweats, two of Seunghyun’s t-shirts, and three pairs of earrings that he’d also come across in his archaeological dig. A shelf was hidden behind the coat rack for his heavy winter jackets, and he squeezed between the waterproof fabric to lay the tightly rolled parcel in the corner between the end of the shelf and the wall.

          The sweats still smelled like him, after all.

A/N: I MEANT TO GET TO A CHECKMARK BUT THAT CLOSET SCENE HAPPENED BEFORE I COULD STOP IT
This is going to drag on forever oh my g o d
I think I like the old banner better. I DON'T KNOW.
And another early update what has GOTTEN INTO ME usually I procrastinate so badly