He’s always placed him on a pedestal. Jongup’s always watched him place Yongguk on a pedestal. On a pedestal that is so solid, so strong, that Jongup has no hope of ever chipping away at it. The way he stares up at the leader, smiling softly in that shy way of his, the way that he goes just a little out of his way to please Yongguk, the way he brightens up when Yongguk acknowledges him. It’s like the sun has been , and Yongguk is his personal sun. It pains Jongup, he won’t deny it to himself now, can’t deny it, it’s impossible to do so. Not when it glares at him like a torch trained right into his eyes.

Not when his heart races when Junhong laughs at his jokes, not when his heart flutters, skips a beat, when Junhong touches him lightly, a slight tug to his sleeve, to show him a new move. It palpitates painfully in his chest when Junhong links their arms together pulling them towards the footpath, as he is doing now. He feels like his heart could possibly grow wings and fly towards the heavens, and he thinks maybe that’s okay. If his heart can’t be Junhong’s, the next best is the sky, the same sky that Junhong will also be under.

“Jonguppie-hyung! Watch this!” Junhong calls, readying his skateboard. His eyes are bright, cheeks flush with excitement. His irises reflect the speckled sunlight created by the trees on the walkway, galaxies of stars that glow brightly in the brown, and Jongup wants to tell him his eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen, the effortless way they shine with their owner’s emotion, providing a window to the soul Jongup so desperately wants to know. But it’s only a window, not a doorway, and Jongup’s stumped when he meets with the glass and no latch.

“Do you think Yongguk will think this trick is cool?”

Jongup merely smiles and nods at Junhong’s exhilarated expression, because, well, what other option does he have? He can’t exactly blurt out that Yongguk’s opinion isn’t the be all and end all, can’t exactly say ‘you have me’, can’t plead for Junhong to just look at me dammit! So he merely offers a quiet “of course.”

“Then can you fetch Yongguk-hyung for me? I think I’m in the zone right now, so make the most of it and all that, yeah?”

And life marches on just as he’s always experienced it. With none of the pleasant surprises, none of the shock of an unplanned confession in the rain, none of the plot twists that movies have led him to believe when he was young. And he knows this, now, so he fetches Yongguk anyway, sitting at his table writing lyrics. He wears a smile the whole length there.

In his opinion, B.A.P is one mess of a group. He wonders if he’s the only one to see the absolute chaos that six people can be in, and concludes that everyone else is either too blind or just plain oblivious.

Yongguk is blind to Junhong’s puppy adoration since he is fixated on Himchan. Himchan is just an oblivious idiot who’s out to seduce the ladies, ignoring Yongguk and Youngjae who harbours a crush on the visual. It is no coincidence that Youngjae showers Himchan with praise during interviews. As for Daehyun, his attention is divided three ways: food, singing and Youngjae.

But he can see the ending anyway. It’s like those clichéd movies he’s watched a thousand times before, those ones where he can already guess barely ten minutes into the film who exactly is going to win the girl.

Yongguk and Youngjae will get tired of Himchan’s constant flirting ways, Youngjae before Yongguk who will hold out until the last second. Youngjae will go whining to Daehyun, since they’re best friends, and they’ll grow closer, until they’re as close as Daehyun wants them to be. Yongguk would turn his attention to someone who needs it desperately because the leader is the nurturing kind who can’t resist giving anybody exactly what they require. By the time Himchan has realised what he’s lost, Youngjae would be in the arms of another and Yongguk would be doting on the maknae. And Himchan, being Himchan would shrug it off, snag another lady with legs and be satisfied.

See, Jongup knows exactly how it’s going to end. Maybe he should take up a scriptwriting job for Hollywood.

“Yongguk wrote the rap for me,” Junhong announces as he walks into the bedroom where Jongup is, sitting on his bed fiddling with his phone wondering if he should tweet his fans. He doesn’t regularly do such things since he doesn’t know what to say. ‘We’re working hard’ seems just too generic to Jongup.

“He said that he likes my rap more because it came out better, more poetic,” Junhong explains as he climbs the ladder to Jongup’s bed. “So I’ll have to work hard to execute the rap perfectly! I want to make hyung proud.”

When Junhong reaches Jongup’s bed, he lies down, hands clutching a piece of paper with handwritten words over it, head in Jongup’s lap. The dancer’s heart leaps, beats frantically at the touch, but he does nothing. He desperately wants to card his fingers through Junhong’s hair, but he does nothing. He merely smiles and goes back to his phone, eventually deciding not to tweet. Not today.

He’s never told anyone, but the reason why he always plays around with a sleep-talking Junhong is to maybe elicit a confession from the taller, always urging the maknae to say more, hoping that maybe, in his subconscious, Junhong thinks of Jongup as something more that friends.

But it never comes. Obviously.

The dance studio is his second home, a place where he can let everything out, a cleansing ritual of sorts. He doesn’t need to think, merely move, the music, the melody, the harmonies, the beat guiding his movements, a puppeteer to his willing body. It’s blissful, numbing, and he wishes that humans could never get tired so that he can dance his life away, unfeeling of any pain, of any sadness or grief. When he’s sweeping the floor with his legs, his full weight balanced on his arms, or when he’s performing handstands and flips, he feels powerful, like he could lift the sadness away from the world and throw it into the nearest blackhole.

But he’s not superhuman. He’s reminded exactly of that fact when he sees Yongguk step into the studio, his arm slung over Junhong, engaged in the discussion of rap execution, which syllables to stress, which word is to be said offbeat. He’s reminded that sadness has to exist for happiness to have a definition when Youngjae slips in, eyes puffy and red-rimmed, with Daehyun wrapping his arms around him, his back and whispering comforting sweet nothings into Youngjae’s ear. The culprit walks in seconds later, on the phone to some girl.

See? Half of his prediction is coming true. It wouldn’t take long for the other half.

But the music is still playing, so he thinks he can handle this. He’s superhuman enough to endure this, right?

+++

+++

And just like that Jongup smiles blankly at Junhong who pulls Yongguk to the dance floor and away from Himchan.

He doesn’t realise that, while Junhong has placed Yongguk upon a pedestal of concrete, metal and all things strong and durable, Jongup has already earned a place that is far more solid than anything tangible.

+++

+++

Junhong has only mentioned one tiny little fact about himself to one person, not Jongup-hyung who is his best friend, not Himchan-hyung who is his substitute omma, and not Youngjae-hyung who is the most caring of his hyungs. He’s only said it once to Yongguk-hyung who had caught him one day sitting despondently outside the room where they practise their raps away from everyone else, especially Daehyun-hyung’s loud belting.

“What’s wrong, Junhong-ah?” Yongguk had asked, worry lacing his tone, making his usually gruff voice warmer. “Please tell appa.”

Junhong had been silent for a few seconds, then decided that he’ll trust the person he’s placed upon a pedestal. “Do you think Jongup-hyung likes me?”

“Of course.” Yongguk had slid down the wall to join him on the ground, confused and concerned at the question.

“We didn’t fight, if that’s what you’re thinking, hyung.”

“Well, thank heavens. I don’t think anyone in this building will be able to cope without you two bright rays of sunshine.”

It had been quiet, and Junhong had been glad that Yongguk isn’t the type of person to push. His presence had been reassuring, solid and strong, a pillar of support. “Do you think Jongup-hyung could ever like-like me?”

“Why? Do you like-like Jongup-ah?” Yongguk had glanced at Junhong, confused and mimicking the exact stressing Junhong had used.

The younger had looked down at his fingers fidgeting with each other. “I don’t know,” he had whispered into the space between the two, the space which had seemed to expand with every second that Yongguk had remained silent, until it had been a gulf as wide as the Pacific Ocean.

“I like-like Channie, but he doesn’t see me. We’re in the same boat.”

In the same boat that is being rocked by tides so strong, hurricanes so fierce that both Junhong and Yongguk can only cling to it, their heads buried into their arms to protect their faces from the unforgiving forces of nature.

“I guess we’ll stick together then,” Junhong had said tentatively. “As two broken men.”

Argh. I'm not even studying anymore. TT^TT 2 more weeks before toture hits, and I'm still procrastinating. Someone slap me.