“Yawawoo!”

Jihoon flinches in his chair; already knowing who’s at the door, entering his little studio. “Hyung, do you really have to do that?” He mutters, trying to pretend to focus on the computer screen in front of him.

Seungcheol grins, and grabs a seat next to his dongsaeng. “Just in case you were doing something important. Besides, I didn’t want to scare you, or anything.”

Jihoon doesn’t point out that Seungcheol’s not wielding a camera or something – usually the elder invades his little studio accompanied by weird sounds when he’s broadcasting live; to show the world how producer Jihoon works in the studio. Not to mention the fact that Jihoon doesn’t get scared easily. At least he’s not like Soonyoung, who enters yelling ‘knock knock’, and insists Jihoon to play along with his insanely lame knock knock jokes.

Seungcheol drums his fingers on the table. “So. I need your help. If you’re not busy.”

“What’s up?” Jihoon subtly closes a few windows down on his screen – he’d been online shopping before Seungcheol entered. The older guy doesn’t need to know that, of course.

“Help me write a song?” Seungcheol’s ready with his puppy-dog eyes, and Jihoon makes the mistake of looking at him. No one can resist that pleading look – it you right in, making you forget whatever you’ve been thinking about. Worse, he knows all about the power of his puppy-dog eyes, so he uses it every time he really wants something - like right now.

“Did the company ask for it?” Jihoon asks. Seungcheol shakes his head in response, still in puppy-dog mode. Jihoon’s struggling to ignore his annoyingly cute face – there should be a law where adults should be banned for using aegyo – and words of refusal are already on the tip of his tongue, but he eventually relents. He can’t let his hyung down.

“Fine. What’s it about?” The last time Jihoon had helped someone else write a song; it had been Soonyoung, singing about hurricanes and fire and such. It had been produced well, of course, being his own handiwork; for a song that had stemmed from a joke on a variety show. He’d been going through a creative block lately, itching to write a song, but no inspiration has come to mind. Maybe collaborating with Seungcheol would help him get back into the game.

Seungcheol struggles to find his words. “Uh, I don’t really know how to explain it to you,” The elder says, ruffling his fingers through his thick brown hair. “But I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Any specific genre in mind?”

Seungcheol hums tunelessly. “Maybe something mellow? Acoustic?”

“That’s helpful.” Jihoon says, opening the music software on his computer. “Is it a love song?”

“Maybe.” Seungcheol’s cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, subconsciously inching closer to Jihoon.

Jihoon sighs and glances at the leader, almost surprised by their close proximity – but then, Seungcheol’s never grasped the concept of personal space, especially around him. “You’re so full of maybes. It’s not helping.”

“I don’t really have anything solid planned yet; it’s just an idea.” Seungcheol defends himself; his tone turning sharp. “But I really want to write it so can you please, please, please help me?” It’s like seeing two different sides of him, as he turns soft again, begging for help, with those pleading eyes and a little pout for added effect.

“Okay, then. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Seungcheol pulls Jihoon into a tight hug. “Thanks Jihoonie!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Jihoon pats Seungcheol’s back half-heartedly, almost suffocating in his embrace. “I’m kind of hungry, actually.”

“C’mon, I’ll buy you food. Anything for my little Jihoonie.” Seungcheol smiles fondly at the producer, ruffling his blond hair, as the two of them exit the stuffy studio.

Jihoon catches Seungcheol in the hallways after lunch the next day. They hadn’t seen each other all morning, separated into their unit projects. Seungcheol lights up when he sees his dongsaeng; his lyric book tucked under his arm.

“Ready to work?”

“As always.” Jihoon nods.

The pair enter the small studio and settle down. Jihoon powers up the computer, while Seungcheol flips through his notebook, where he’d written lyrics – some were forgotten, but most were useful – ever since predebut.

“I’ve got the lyrics.” Seungcheol hands his notebook over to Jihoon.

You’ve got the cutest smile; I’ve known you for a while. This is my song for you; to show that my feelings are true.

Jihoon scrunches his nose up, reading the cheesy lyrics scrawled on the paper.

“Boop.” Seungcheol reaches out and touches the younger’s nose. “What’s up?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. It could work, I guess.” Jihoon swivels around in his chair to face his keyboard in the corner. He tries out a few chords, humming to himself.

It takes him about ten minutes to come up with a structured chord progression for the verse that he’d read. Seungcheol watches the younger work diligently, almost methodically; like he’s gotten it down to an art.

Seungcheol has always wanted to write his own songs; only that he’s got no idea where to start. He wants to express himself creatively; putting all his thoughts into song. He’ll learn, slowly, eventually, but it’s much more fun working with Jihoon, who’s already an esteemed composer and producer at such a young age.

Watching Jihoon compose is fascinating – he has unique little tunes tucked in his head, just waiting to be played out for the world to hear. How he easily matches the beats to those melodies; how he knows to layer secret ad libs into the songs. Seungcheol isn’t as half as musical as Jihoon; and every time he watches the younger man play the piano, he’s in awe. How his slender fingers fly over the black and white keys; producing notes that harmonically blend into each other.

Seungcheol thinks that Jihoon has magic fingers to create such beautiful music – how he’d like to kiss them tenderly, one by one. He hastily adds that into his lyrics, a smile forming on his lips.

“Maybe I could add a rap in it somewhere.” Seungcheol suggests, absently pressing one of the lower keys on repeat.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Y’know, the kind of soft, gentle rap. Goes with the whole vibe.”

Seungcheol’s already scribbling into his notebook; his lips pursed in concentration. Meanwhile, Jihoon continues to tinker on the piano, experimenting with melodies.

“Done!” Barely fifteen minutes have passed. Jihoon’s been playing the same tune, humming to himself, trying to figure out the harmonies.

Usually Seungcheol needed at least a day to write his lyrics; so Jihoon’s surprised. “If you keep this up when we’re writing songs for our albums, that would be great.”

Seungcheol smirks. “I’m feeling really inspired right now.”

“Show me what you’ve got.”

Seungcheol clears his throat and starts rapping softly. “’Pink hair, don’t care. You look good in whatever you wear. I wanna touch your magic fingers; and give you a kiss that lingers…’”

Jihoon balls his hands into fists on impulse, and immediately sits on them so that Seungcheol won’t see him cringing. “Wow.”

“Witty, eh?” The older guy nudges his dongsaeng, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jihoon reaches over for his guitar, resisting the urge to slam some sense into Seungcheol’s head using the instrument. His hyung must be blinded with love to write such cheesy (not witty) lyrics. He plucks a couple of strings, checking its tone, before launching into the same melody he’d experimented on the piano; fingerstyle. He sings the first two verses, seamlessly fitting them into the bright melody he’d created.  

Seungcheol watches Jihoon sing the words that he’d carefully crafted, right back at him. To give life in the form of song to these words gives it an even deeper meaning, especially when the person who inspired it all is singing it. A smile adorns his face – if only he could play an instrument too, so that he can write all the songs that he wanted, and serenade them anytime. But it can’t get any better than this; working alongside his muse, enjoying each other’s company.

The two of them spend the rest of the afternoon polishing up the song; Seungcheol singing and rapping on it, with Jihoon providing backup harmonies and playing the guitar accompaniment.

“Can we record this? I feel confident.” Seungcheol requests, after practicing the finalised version several times.

Jihoon checks the time on his phone. “This is the fastest that I’ve ever written a song.”

“We.” Seungcheol corrects, taking a swig from a water bottle.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Alright. We’ve ever written.” It had only taken them one afternoon to create the song, with pre-written lyrics from Seungcheol’s notebook.  

“Thank you.”

“One last thing. Is it necessary to have ten ‘you’s’ as the last chorus?”

“Yes.” Seungcheol insists.

“I guess we’re ready to record, then.”

It’s been two days since they’d completed the song. It would seem like Jihoon’s giving himself too much credit, but the song had turned out really well, despite its incredibly cheesy lyrics. It had been on loop in his mind ever since; and he’d secretly downloaded a copy onto his phone, listening to it right before bed.

Jihoon suspects that Seungcheol must have someone special; for him to write a whole song. It’s been plaguing Jihoon’s mind, wondering who could it be. It had always been Jihoon and Seungcheol; Seungcheol and Jihoon from the start – they were practically joined at the hip, especially during their trainee days. Seungcheol never snuck out for secret dates, or anything – not that he knew of – but it’s driving him mad, knowing that his closest friend of almost seven years harbours a secret love that he doesn’t know of. Probably a girl in Daegu, with impossibly long, shiny pink hair, and equally long legs; those model-types who towered over Jihoon. Seungcheol went gooey eyed over them; at least that’s what Jihoon assumes. Unless the song was about Carats - their fans - but the lyrics proved otherwise: there were intimate references, those inside jokes that nobody knows – though even those were achingly familiar.

You entrance me every single way; would you teach me how to dougie someday?

The girl must be a really great dancer, since Jihoon knows no one else who owns the dougie but himself. From the explicit description in the song, she’s basically a pink-haired goddess, with magic fingers, whatever that means. Could it be someone he knows?  

Jihoon snarls in frustration under his covers; kicking the mattress above him as hard as he can.  

Mingyu pops his head from the top bunk, glancing down at Jihoon. “You okay, hyung?” Jihoon covers his face with the blankets so that Mingyu would get the hint and stop asking questions before he gets the urge to kill him in his sleep.

“Go to sleep, Jihoon.” Jeonghan mumbles from the other bunk.

Jihoon holds his breath, until he’s sure that Mingyu and Jeonghan are both asleep, listening intently for their rhythmic breathing. He’s bubbling with jealousy, gripping his blankets so hard that his knuckles turn white.

No words were needed between Jihoon and Seungcheol, especially with his secret crush of who knows how long!

He throws his covers aside and storms out, past the living room where Seungcheol and Wonwoo are playing some video game.

“Jihoonie, where are you going? It’s late.” Seungcheol calls out.

Jihoon doesn’t respond, grabbing his jacket and slamming the front door. He wants to be alone and rage at the world, but at the same time, he secretly hopes that Seungcheol would stop him. But mostly, he wanted to be alone.

“Jihoon!” Jihoon heeds no attention to Seungcheol, and huffs down the street in the cold night air.

For a small guy, Jihoon walks really fast, but Seungcheol still manages to catch up with him, grabbing the younger’s wrist.

Seungcheol spins Jihoon around, examining the younger’s expression – Jihoon tended to bottle up his feelings, but it only takes one glance for him to know something’s majorly wrong. “You’re not going to the studio, are you? I thought you were already asleep.”

Jihoon doesn’t reply, staring at the ground instead.

Seungcheol gently nudges Jihoon’s chin up so that their eyes meet. “Jihoonie, look at me. What’s wrong?”

The blond keeps quiet, pursing his lips, avoiding Seungcheol’s concerned gaze. The streetlight flickers; a siren echoes in the distance. The tension is thick; and the silence is painful.  

“You know that you can tell me anything, okay?” Seungcheol pulls his dongsaeng into a tight hug.

“Your song.” Jihoon mumbles into Seungcheol’s shirt.

“Why?”

“The girl you like…she’s lucky to have you.”

“Eh?”

Jihoon’s already choking up, fighting back tears. “She must be really special and amazing, for you to write a song for her.”

Seungcheol tries to stifle a snicker and rests his chin on Jihoon’s head. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. You’ve never told me.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” His playful tone is almost mocking, and Jihoon doesn’t like it one bit.

Jihoon shakes his head. If Seungcheol can keep it a secret from him all this while, then he can keep it as a secret forever. It’s none of his business anyway, why would he get jealous in the first place -

Seungcheol gently kisses Jihoon’s head. “It’s you.”

Jihoon freezes in Seungcheol’s warm embrace. Did he just hear that right?

“You, you, you, you, you.” Seungcheol sings. “You, you, you, you, you.”

Those ten ‘you’s’ as the ending of the song they’d written. The melody bursts into his head; too loud, his own voice singing those cheesy words he’d thought were intended for someone else. The exact song that had lulled him into troubled sleep for the past two days, trying to dissect the meaning behind each syllable.

All that worrying – for nothing? Jihoon doesn’t know whether it’s all a mean joke, but those words – the lyrics – it had all been sincere; straight from Seungcheol’s heart. Now all the references made sense, they’d been describing himself in one way or another. To see it from Seungcheol’s point of view made it even more endearing; he knew that his hyung cared, but to this extent, is simply beyond imaginable.

You’re my best friend, my seoulmate.

Best friends, who tell each other (almost) everything. Seoulmate, a wordplay, because they met in Seoul.

“Jihoonie?”

I wanna be with you for the rest of my life.

“Me?” Jihoon whispers, overwhelmed at the realisation. I’m not crying, he tells himself.

Seungcheol holds Jihoon at arms’ length, gazing deeply into his eyes. “What makes you think that it’s someone else?”

“I-I don’t know…” Jihoon stutters, blinking his tears away. He’d been wrong. Terribly wrong, in fact, to assume that Seungcheol has a secret girlfriend somewhere.

“Those lyrics are all about you; that song is just for you and no one else.” Seungcheol says firmly, gripping the younger’s shoulders tightly.

A million thoughts run through Jihoon’s mind. “But I don’t have pink hair anymore.” He blurts out randomly.

Seungcheol laughs heartily. Of all things, his dongsaeng is worrying about the accuracy of his hair colour represented in the lyrics! “It would be boring if I changed the lyrics to ‘blond hair’. People might think it’s about Jeonghan, or worse, Seungkwan.”

Jihoon manages a small smile at the light-hearted joke.

“Besides, I think you look cute with pink hair. Like a cherry tomato.”

“Shut up. Don’t call me cute.” A blush creeps up the younger’s neck. How could Seungcheol compare him with a common vegetable? It’s obvious that cherry tomatoes are red, not pink. Jihoon doesn’t point this out, afraid of killing the mood.

 “Cutie.” Seungcheol steals a kiss on Jihoon’s cheek. “C’mon. Let’s go home.” He slings an arm over the younger’s shoulders, heading back to their dorm.

“One thing.” Jihoon stops in his tracks.

“Yes?”

“Never, ever write a cheesy song like that for me again.”

Seungcheol laughs, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No promises.”

Inseparable, that’s what we are. No words needed between us.

끝