Human

He is busy to extenuation, which puts a smile on his face. He has born out of responsibility and, like this, he enjoys being occupied, no time to rest and Seunghoon treasures the little moments they manage to see each other – early in the morning on his way to work, and he celebrates his success, so hard-earned, so well deserved, even if that means that he is left alone, the brief in between shifts, when Seungyoon comes all sweaty, make-up smudged, his lips stretched in a happy smile because he has something to do. He snatches the conversations, when others drop his name in between praises and he memorizes them just to tell it to him later, he notes them down and grins, proudly of what he has achieved, of all the goals he has attained – the fame, the name, the glory he craved for and that now belongs entirely to him alone.

He calls it a day at 4a.m. He has come to his studio after filming to practise for his new collaboration. He always reaches for perfection, hands touching the stars, pouring all he has on everything he does.

The song lingers in his mind, his fingers touch the air as if pulling strings and the guitar melody is all he can hear. And, if he closes his eyes hard enough, in the distance, he can see it, a silhouette dancing, telling the story that his voice tries to convey – he has his way to express himself in fluid movements, to translate lyrics into dance, floating like lines of the fine art that his body is.

Seunghoon, who has given up so many things but them, has stopped purchasing his own dreams to fight for the four to stay together, has pulled them even closer, the one that keeps Winner knitted, united. He is now taking a well-deserved rest from all his activities that have been always lesser – he has done more than enough to be merited with far more but never complained despite having all the rights and all of his support. Now he is living a life of another person, away from the spotlight, but always rooting for them just the same, cheering from the side, making sure that they keep on shining, that they bright on-stage, their name enduring in the distance of the wavering time. And he keeps him grounded, save.

He opens the door to the joyful sound of Thor trotting, his paws up reaching his knees – his snout ready to be rubbed. He barks, delighted with the attention but Seungyoon is distracted by the lack of response from Seunghoon – the door of his room is open and his bed is empty, and, at this late hours, Seungyoon can only wonder where he has gone.

Seunghoon is nowhere to be found inside the home and Seungyoon doesn’t want to ring Jinwoo to ask about his room-mate whereabouts but has the feeling that, perhaps, they are together, as always – they are an indivisible pack.

The light from the phone illuminates his face with gleaming shadows when he comes in smelling of wind and nightmares. He smiles softly, takes a seat near Seungyoon on the couch, sinks his fingers on Thor’s fur, rubbing him while missing Haute – who is back at Busan for the week.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says and, up close, he looks exhausted – more than Seungyoon feels, little bags under his almond-like eyelids, his skin crawling, cracking with marks of late scratches of uncertainty.

“What is clouding your mind, hyung?” Seungyoon asks, in a vain attempt to reach for him – but, as always, Seunghoon brushes it off, keeps it to himself, all that lingers in his mind and that is eating him, burdening his soul, breaking his spirit. Seungyoon might not say it aloud, but he sees how, every day, he is becoming smaller, silent, all thought and no words – Seunghoon who used to be a chatterbox, the mood maker that is now permanently dim and gloomy. Seunghoon, who was shooting-star now has crashed, dwindle. Seungyoon rested a hand on his thigh, tentative, slowly rubbing it in circles of assurance, trying to get him to open up because he is worried, his heartaches seeing Seunghoon like that, so distant when they have gone through so much together, them against the world – when Seunghoon taught him how to fight for what is right, stand up for himself, against injustice and unfairness. It is due to him that Winner has come this far, it is all thanks to Seunghoon and his perseverance, his resolve, his will. And nowadays his wits are blear and his moods are sour and Seungyoon doesn’t know what to do with him, how to break the shell, how to push him out of the pitch he is hiding in. “Hyung...” he says, his voice a whisper that get lost in the universe of stars that are Seunghoon’s eyes looking at him with so much care. And it’s too much: the pressure in his chest, the words that he has silenced and that now are yelling loud that it’s all his fault. “Hyung,” and this time is more a whimper than something meaningful – but Seunghoon understands, he reads him, clean as the morning that is coming for them. He holds Seungyoon, presses him against his chest, kisses the bunch of curls escaping his head-band.

“It’s not because of you. It’s never because of you. I love you and that won’t ever change,” he promises, swaying a shaking Seungyoon between his arms, peppering with affection his soft skin, hands rubbing his fears away with every new sentence, “don’t you ever think that it’s because of you, OK babe?” and Seungyoon looks up, locks his eyes on him, nodding, letting Seunghoon’s attachment and tenderness bathing him with light, erasing the monsters that, seeing Seunghoon so down brings to live.

“Then, what is it? Tell me so I can do something, so I can help you as you always do...” he implores, latching him to Seunghoon, his hands grabbing the hem of his shirt, his cheek imp, listening carefully to his heart-beats and Seunghoon rubs his back, brushes away the fears and his sticky hair and smiles poky.

“It’s really nothing. I’m sorry you have been wondering and filled your mind with preoccupation. You should only worry about your work and shifts, not about me,” he says reassuringly. But that’s not enough because that’s not the answer Seungyoon is looking for.

“Tell me,” he says, jerking out of his embrace. “Tell me hyung, please,” and his voice drowns inside Seunghoon’s core, lips brushing, eyes colliding with the force of the stars. “Please,” Seungyoon repeats, now lips chasing, collapsing together in a mess of flesh and tongues seeking for some solace, for some company. Seungyoon drinks Seunghoon’s thoughts away like shoots of alcohol and gets dizzy with the passion, with the heat, with hands exploring, touching unclaimed territories, travelling, adventurous and he laughs, his head falling on Seunghoon’s shoulders, kissing his Adam Apple gently, snuggling closer to him.

It’s not until much later, with Seungyoon clinging on him, all their clothes are forgotten on the floor, scattered in a pool of love and lust that drove them insane at dusk, his skin covered by his hands and his lips bruised and abused, when he is sure that Seungyoon is sleeping, that exhaustion has broken in him, finally, that he musters the courage to speak up the truth that has been lingering inside his mind.

“You are getting the recognition that you deserve and I’m afraid that, one day, soaked in this victory you are commanding now, you will forget me, forget the place you belong,” he says, his lips shushed against the soft material of Seungyoon’s dreams, smiling amidst the tears.

Seungyoon stirs, tosses around and clasps closer, his lips dangerously near his ear.

“Silly hyung, fame can’t delete you from my heart. And, one day, you ‘ll be back with us, we will be Winner and you, too, will have what you deserve. We will make those forgotten dreams of yours come to live,” he promises, holding his hand, kissing the reverse of his palm, lashes drawing on his skin. “You will dance again to my songs,” and he presses yet another kiss, reverently, to his wrist. “And you will never be alone again.”