“It’s okay, Hoya.”

Hoya clearly does not think it’s okay.

“It’s okay,” Sungjong repeats, reaching over to smooth down Hoya’s sideburns.

Hoya’s ears flame and Sungjong laughs. He stands up and trots towards the kitchen. Hoya watches him move, free and graceful in sweatpants and a loose gray t-shirt.

---

It had started with Dongwoo. Five years ago, the two of them had auditioned for Woollim Entertainment on the same day as specialists in dancing, had been accepted, and had walked into the practice room. There they met five boys who were arranged to become their roommates, bandmates, and closest friends for the foreseeable future. But from the beginning, Dongwoo and Hoya were paired together.

Hoya, who was never one to express himself much, found it easiest to bond with Dongwoo in a shared dance practice room. And Dongwoo, who had no problems expressing himself much, and talked enough that Hoya never felt awkward about silences he wasn’t filling.

They would practice dance in the morning, Hoya’s style all hard hits and sharp angles and Dongwoo’s all flowing limbs and smooth footwork. On pearly mornings they would walk back to their dorm and Dongwoo would point to things—a dog in a yard or sign in a shop window—and he’d find something delightful in them and, laughing, launch into a web of associations and related stories. Hoya would occasionally add his own thoughts into the mix, but mostly he let Dongwoo fill the space.

This went on for about a year and then, perhaps after seeing Dongwoo’s sleep-softened face illuminated by the pale morning light too many times, things abruptly became much harder for Hoya.

Walking back from a convenience store late at night with a bag of sweets in hand, Dongwoo would say, “A man cannot live by constantly denying himself.”

Hoya, silent, would disagree.

--

Hoya, who was never one to express himself much, found it easiest to bond with Woohyun when a soccer ball was passed between them.

Hoya had an ability to keep a very straight face, but when he was embarrassed his ears would flush bright red. Dongwoo would always point to his ears and laugh when this happened, but Woohyun never seemed to notice.

Woohyun was one of the five boys Dongwoo and Hoya had met during their first day at Woollim. Impressed by Hoya’s dancing, Woohyun had asked Hoya to give him individual lessons. There never seemed to be a question in Woohyun’s mind that Hoya was the man he presented himself to be, so whenever Woohyun wanted to work out, or play a game of soccer, or got a message from his friend about a group of three girls in Hongdae—he would ask Hoya to come along. Hoya would always say yes.

--

Hoya and Sungjong are sitting in the living room of the apartment they share with the five other members of the group. Everyone else is out that night—with friends, visiting family—and the two of them drink beers quietly in the dark.

Over the last four years, Hoya and Sungjong had spent a lot of time together like this. Sungjong is sitting with his legs crossed, his back curled forward and slender fingers curved around the neck of his bottle. Seeing Sungjong like this soothed Hoya; Sungjong, always holding himself delicately, never seemed preoccupied with how Hoya should hold himself.

Moonlight filters through the blinds of their windows to beautifully outline Sungjong’s profile—his eyes downcast, contemplating the contents of his bottle with a small smile on his lips.

Hot tears well up from Hoya’s eyes and flow down his cheeks.

Sungjong quickly grabs a couple tissues from a nearby box and crawls over to Hoya, wiping the tears from his face and, tutting and trying to soothe him.

“What’s wrong, Hoya?”

There is no way that he will ever say what is wrong, what is so wrong with him.

“Oh Hoya,” Sungjong continues to coo, using the tissues that are wet with Hoya’s tears to blot his own. “Hoya, I know, I know. It’s okay, Hoya.”

Hoya clearly does not think that it’s okay.

“It’s okay,” Sungjong repeats, reaching over to smooth down Hoya’s sideburns.

Hoya’s ears flame and Sungjong laughs. He stands up and trots towards the kitchen. Hoya watches him move, free and graceful in sweatpants and a loose gray t-shirt.

Framed by the gentle moonlight, the movement almost looks like dancing. It is perhaps the most beautiful thing Hoya has ever seen.