The pain is always there in unexpected ways.

----------

As Kihyun steps out of the van, he knows within two seconds that he's made a terrible mistake.

He supposes that he was just too tired before, still drowsy and half-asleep when they had left the dorm early that morning, to notice how cold it really was outside, but now that he's fully awake, and they've arrived at the broadcast studio for today's schedule, he realizes just how foolish he had been for his oversight. He realizes just how stupid he had been for forgoing a good, warm pair of gloves.

His hands, his poor little hands, are ice-cold and bone-dry, aching, almost burning from the sting of the bitter winter air.

As if to emphasize that point, the wind picks up at that very moment, blows through and bites into the soft, pale skin of his exposed hands, and Kihyun curls them into little fists at his sides in a vain attempt to keep them warm. Of course, his luck, his jacket of choice for the day doesn't have pockets. Or, it does, but they're sewn shut for the sake of fashion. It figures.

The sky is gray, and the light is gray, and he bites down into his lower lip and frowns, eyebrows furrowing as another gust of cold, unforgiving wind swirls by, and he starts stepping lightly up and down on his feet, anything to distract him as he waits for the others and for their manager and staff to climb out of their little parade of vans so that they can all go inside to the studio and get out of the cold.

They had parked quite far away this time, and it'll be a long walk, and Kihyun seriously wonders if he might get frostbite on the way in. He wonders if it would cause a scandal, him losing his fingers to frostbite because management wasn't paying enough attention to how he dressed himself. He wonders if the company would try to play it off as a positive thing, him powering through as an idol despite the hardships, suffering bravely for the fans.

He's busy pondering what seems to be an increasingly inevitable future when, suddenly, he feels a large, solid hand squeeze lightly on his shoulder from behind. The hand is big and warm and strong, and unlike his own, it's gloved in soft, supple leather, and Kihyun knows without turning around that it's Hoseok.

Kihyun smiles a tiny little smile, his heart jumping in his chest.

When he finally does turn around, they make eye contact, and Hoseok grins, wide and toothy, and bringing a tingle to Kihyun's ice-cold fingertips for just a moment. Hoseok's face is pale as milk, and his nose is red, as are the tips of his ears, and the apples of his cheeks, and Kihyun knows he must be ten times worse with his own sensitivity to the cold, but right now he thinks Hoseok looks beautiful.

Hoseok doesn't say a word as he lowers his hand from Kihyun's shoulder and promptly removes his right glove, shaking his head and chuckling softly, the sound oozing with fondness. He then takes hold of Kihyun's bare right hand, and slides the glove on smoothly and quickly, before Kihyun even has a chance to say anything, to protest and to insist that he'll be fine, even though they both know that he loves when Hoseok takes care of him.

Hoseok's glove is a little big on him, and honestly, it's the kind of ugly but high-fashion accessory that only Hoseok could pull off, but it's warm from Hoseok's hand, and it's soft and snug, and it soothes the trembling of Kihyun's cold fingers immediately, as if his body knows instinctively that anything from Hoseok makes everything better. And Kihyun is grateful, so grateful. But now, they both have only one glove each, and Kihyun smirks at his handsome hyung, raises an eyebrow and looks at him with an amused expression, as if to teasingly ask, "What now, genius?"

They're both silent, but Kihyun nearly breaks it, nearly gasps when Hoseok reaches to take Kihyun's bare left hand in his now bare right hand, then guides their hands together to the inside of the right pocket of his coat. Kihyun's mouth falls open and his eyes flutter, because the pocket is soft and roomy, enough space for both of their hands to fit comfortably, and Hoseok's hand is so big and so warm. Their fingers intertwine automatically, and Kihyun can feel Hoseok's heartbeat thumping against his own from the pulse points of their palms pressed together.

Hoseok gives another tiny chuckle, and Kihyun can feel his face heating up, a more pleasant rush of blood to his cheeks than from a reaction to the biting cold. He loves the warmth, lets it fill him up for one sweet moment, the warmth of Hoseok's hand in his, of Hoseok's smile as they walk towards the studio, in silence with their ungloved hands intertwined inside Hoseok's pocket, surrounded by the flurry of activity of other members and their staff, but lost together in their own little world.

The space between them, what little space there is now, is thick with a distinct cloud of unspoken words, unspoken feelings that are just as lovely as they are troubling.

----------

It had been the worst day of Kihyun's life when the company had found out about him and Hoseok.

It wasn't a complicated story. As trainees, they had become fast friends, then best friends, then something more. They had become each other's everything, inseparable to the point of codependency, and they had hoped to continue on their path together, to live out their dreams and to pursue their careers as idols together.

But it wasn't long after they had debuted that the dreamy, rosy fog of euphoria had cleared, and their manager and CEO had called them both in for a talk, a long, serious conversation in which nothing was outright said, but it was implied, it was "strongly encouraged" that they end their relationship for the good of the group, for the sake of their fellow members, who, like them, had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to get to where they were now. It was selfish of the two of them to put that all at risk. That was what they were told, over and over again.

Later that day, Kihyun and Hoseok had sat together, alone on Hoseok's bed, the other members staying far away, having left the dorm for the afternoon out of respect for their privacy. Kihyun still remembers how soft and warm the blankets were, how sweet the room smelled, how he and Hoseok had slept there together just the night before, all tangled up in each other's arms, how they never would have guessed that it would be the last time.

They had talked for hours, about how it was the right thing to do, and about what it would mean for them going forward. Though they were both heartbroken, though they were both devastated, they both valued their friendship immensely, more than anything else in the world. After all, it was their friendship that was the bedrock, the foundation of what had evolved into that "something more" in the first place, and as long as they still had that, they would be okay. And though things would be different now, more difficult, they promised each other that they'd do everything they could to protect it, to keep their friendship strong and unconditional as always, even if it meant that they could no longer think of each other in that special way that they once had.

And they had embraced at that moment, tearfully, crying and clinging onto each other, and they had stayed like that for a long, long time, neither wanting to let go, because once they did, it really would be over. Kihyun remembers how he had felt small and safe in Hoseok's arms, like always, and desperate to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible. And Hoseok had clung onto him so tightly, his hands gripping onto the fabric of Kihyun's shirt, their hot cheeks pressed together like maybe, if they held each other close enough, they might not ever have to separate.

But, despite the promise that they had made, things had never quite gone back to the way they were, before the "something more" had taken shape. After all, how could you go back, how could you pretend that nothing had ever happened, when you had once held each other and kissed each other, touched each other and shared everything with each other, mind and body and soul?

Even so, they had tried their best, done whatever they could to save their treasured friendship, to try to preserve it even when it hurt to know what they had had and what they had lost. Their friendship was all that was left of it, and it was the most important thing in the world to them, and though they had mostly succeeded in protecting it, there was always this tension between them now, this unspoken thing that was always there, that they both pretended to ignore but both felt all too deeply in their bones, a yearning that they both knew would never entirely disappear.

And it hurt, it hurt more terribly than they could have ever imagined.

----------

Holding Hoseok's hand now like this, Kihyun feels the all-too-familiar ache in his chest, lovely and painful and overwhelming all at once, and he knows that Hoseok feels the same way by how Hoseok squeezes every now and then, by the way they can still read each other perfectly even after everything that's happened.

Neither of them has been able to move on, to let go, but it doesn't matter. They don't have a choice, not really.

They don't look at each other, are unable to look at each other as they walk together to the studio, trailing behind everyone else, in silent agreement to draw out this precious, secret time together as long as they can. But they're both feeling it, and it's almost palpable, almost a physical thing, the melancholy and heartache between them when they finally have to release hands to go inside the building. And it's with great reluctance that Kihyun withdraws his hand from Hoseok's pocket and reaches to remove the borrowed glove from his hand, giving it back to Hoseok without a word and without looking up.

And even as he's hit with a rush of warm air from the building's central heating, he feels colder and emptier inside than ever. He dashes forward, ahead of everyone else, far away from Hoseok, and doesn't look back, though he wants nothing more than to turn around, to go back out together into the harsh winter morning, to take back just a little bit of what was lost.