Predictably, his confidence didn't last. Just as clockwork-regular was Kyuhyun needling him with every "quick update", always making sure to sneak in something about Ryeowook spending a lot of time with Hyungsik, or talking about him, or buying something or other he liked. Maddening is what it is. Kyuhyun won't ing leave it alone!

No, seriously. At the moment, Henry's really regretting that the company added Kyuhyun to his song. The MV shoot has gone on for hours, as it always does, and his patience is running thin, especially knowing that hours more lie ahead. Taemin's fine, knows how to mind his own ing business, and the two of them stayed in the same apartment so long ago that there was no way to let slip anything hinting at Henry's burgeoning feelings because of the whole barely speaking five words of Korean deal. Not a single one of those things applies to Kyuhyun, who has decided to corner him when he can't make too much of a fuss with all these people around. Goddamnit...

"I told you years ago," Kyuhyun says in that imperious tone he takes on sometimes. He no doubt thinks it makes him sound like a teacher, when it really just makes him sound like an . At least he lowers his voice some more when he continues. "You need to make your move before someone else does. I’d never seen him protective of someone before you, you know.” Guilt guilt guilt. “And he's kind, cute, great in bed." While Henry's stomach turns and churns, Kyuhyun mutters under his breath, "Isn't that why people date in the first place?"

"Hyung, please stop." Though Henry doesn't know if it'd be rude to tell the older that he's heard all this when he and Kyuhyun roomed together and hasn't forgotten, he decides not to risk saying anything lest it extend this stupid lecture any longer. All Kyuhyun's lecturing ever did was make Henry realize he had to hide his feelings more thoroughly. Instead, he goes for nearly hissing, "There are a lot of people around."

"Fine," Kyuhyun says, waving him off, "but you and I are going drinking soon and you'll listen to hyung."

"Okay, okay," Henry says, ill-tempered, not to mention freshly determined to end this conversation. He pats Kyuhyun's shoulder and smiles (admittedly stiffly) to sufficiently keep up appearances before going towards the closest laughter he hears. Thank god this break is almost over. Now there’s something I never thought I’d say!

-

Tonight's concert is going great. He's not stuck in the back of the venue basically the whole time, he found a cool hat and the audience cheered loudly when he put it on, and Ryeowook's being so wonderfully touchy that Henry knows he's free to send it right back at him.

Life is good.

Once it's time to change outfits, he can turn off the hyperawareness for a little while. As soon as they’re out of view, he throws his arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders when they get backstage. If he weren’t sneaking in a wholly unnecessary look at the other, he would’ve missed the cute way Ryeowook wrinkles his nose.

“Ugh, you’re sweaty and gross!” The older man sounds displeased, though nothing too bad.

“You could easily push me off with those big muscles you’ve got now,” Henry teases him. Not like he missed those being shown off earlier, since the other wouldn’t let him be until he looked.

“Maybe I will,” Ryeowook says haughtily, but makes no move to do so. They soon break apart naturally to go change. Kinda have to, jostled this way and that, pulled and tugged and arranged by stylists and staff.

Thing is, he doesn’t think anything of it until Mi messages him to come talk over lunch in his room. A manager brings over some takeout, leaving with his own portion after quick niceties. Strained conversation, hardly able to be called that, passes between them while they eat.

What is happening here? They’re not particularly close, true, but they’ve talked easily enough for a long time now. What Mi says next makes nothing whatsoever any clearer.

“You and Ryeowook are both my friends,” Mi starts, pauses. Henry nods twice, slowly, unsure where this is going. Then Mi sighs, looks to the side and back, and doesn’t look a bit happy about it when he says, “You need to stop messing with his feelings, okay?”

Some part of Henry mentally flicks through all their interactions, lightning-fast and half-conscious at best; most of him decides to freeze up. The words take a couple of seconds to sink in, but when they do, he reels back. Literally. He finally blurts out, too dismayed to hide it, “I’m not, I swear!” Wow, he’s really put his foot in his mouth now, just admitting to things like that, but he’s so scared and hurt that he can’t clamp down on any of it or even think. He looks down at the table. “Just... It’s complicated.”

Letting out one long breath, Mi says, “Okay, I believe you.” He sounds at once relieved and disappointed. They continue to eat in silence for a minute after that.

As out of nowhere as the last shock, he then says, “You know you can talk to me about... those kinds of feelings, right?”

God, this is awkward. Henry tells him, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” because that’s the polite thing to say, though he has no intention of doing so. He bites his tongue keeping a meaner retort in - even if it was somehow a good idea to snipe that the king of hookups has no idea what his ace is going through, even if that was helpful or brought them closer to an understanding, the mere thought of explaining all of it exhausts him in and of itself.

“,” he whispers without a trace of irony. He’s so busy trying to figure out how to end this godawful lunch that he barely registers the implications of ‘messing with his feelings’. Not until much later, when he’s extracted himself, giving the words time to churn through his mind, bounce, echo, leave him no better off than when he started.

Why would Mi say something like that, though? It can’t really be what he hopes... can it?

-

Everything gets easier when Ryeowook’s actually there, though, supporting him at as many music shows as he can make it to, his first solo fanmeeting... His little talk there was so sweet! And the fans, Henry’s fans, there for him, he was overcome with joy and just, all the emotions!

Oh, right, and sneaking in the occasional bit of flirting on the radio’s been a lot of fun, too. He can tell how hard Ryeowook’s been working on his English now, and if it’s a little too easy to mistake the happiness and pride about that with the little flutter every time he says ssaem all cutely like that, that’s no one else’s business.

Things kinda just... work. And with everything going on, he leaves it for a while ‘cause of that.

Seriously, he does, to the point that it doesn’t bother him that Ryeowook mostly chats with Eunhyuk in the waiting room for Hello Counselor. Every once in a while, Ryeowook’s foot swings like a pendulum to tap Henry’s, and he’ll tap back while chatting with staff or the Exo guys, bouncing between languages. His hair looks great, too. What more does he need? (Though he could do without the neckerchief. Fashion is weird. He’s had to stop questioning it, for his own peace of mind.)

His only mistake, if it can be called that, is wrapping his fingers firmly around Ryeowook’s wrist. Damn, but that bit of stolen warmth had him craving a good cuddle so bad.

When they’ve wrapped up, he goes to take his phone off silent, which is how he finds out that Kyuhyun is insisting on that drinking session he agreed to back during the MV shoot. Like, has been blowing up his phone while it’s been on silent level of insistent. Ugh, that means he won’t let it go like ever - sure, fine, might as well. He sends back an affirmative reply before he puts the volume back on.

He waits with Ryeowook for his and Eunhyuk’s ride to pull around. All the while, Ryeowook keeps looking at him with this expression like he’s expecting something, but Henry doesn’t know what.

“Kyuhyun-hyung is really persistent when he wants something, huh.” The corner of Ryeowook’s mouth curls downward. “I promised him I’d go out for drinks with him, and he decided it’s happening tonight.” Henry wiggles his phone with a half-amused, half-resigned smile. The entirety of Ryeowook’s expression, whatever it was, falls flat immediately.

“Right,” he says, looking away.

“Oh, did you want to come too?”

Ryeowook huffs. “No, it’s fine. I’ll have dinner with Eunhyuk-hyung and manager-hyung.”

Said manager pulls up conveniently soon after. They exchange terse goodbyes; Henry can feel the pain of it squeezing his chest. He’s never gonna get the hang of this, is he...

On the drive over, he spaces out for a bit on whatever Kyuhyun is saying. It’s a night off for Ryeowook, he’s realizing, with Sukira being prerecorded or maybe someone’s guest hosting, he forgot which it is this time, but, like, maybe Ryeowook wanted to hang out, just the two of them? But if that's the case, why didn't he say so?! Something's not adding up.

Uh-oh, Kyuhyun is looking at him funny now, so, not the time.

-

“You’ve been distracted the whole evening.” Then the older's wearing a sly grin all of a sudden, growing as Henry looks on in confusion. "Thinking about your sweetheart, hmm?"

"Stop it," Henry groans. "Can't you just tell me about a game or something instead?"

"You're terrible at strategy," Kyuhyun fires back with a Cheshire smile. "You don't know how to use your-" Kyuhyun said an unknown word. He sighs right at Henry's confused face. "When you have something? Metal, food, soldiers?"

"Ah, I see," Henry says, even though he only sorta does. He's guessing the word means something like resources. No clue if it's one of those words only used in games.

He's for sure not calling his mom tonight, 'cause he's got a feeling he's gonna need a drink or two, and neither of them are gonna be happy about that.

He knocks the first one back all at once, the way Kyuhyun’s stupid face goads him to.

“Oh, you did good!” Kyuhyun praises him with a slap to his shoulder.

“Ow! You learn all the wrong things from Donghae-hyung.” Henry sticks out his tongue. Kyuhyun just chuckles.

“So disrespectful,” he shoots back, then downs his glass in turn.

Before long, Henry can feel the itchy flush coming on, but he’ll deal with it just this once. When they’re not sniping at each other, Kyuhyun’s been really good to him, and most of that is in good fun anyway.

Two drinks in, Kyuhyun presses him for details about the recording. They switch to sipping for their third, slowly tipping the balance from mostly ribbing each other to mostly Kyuhyun complaining about Henry’s ineptitude and goading him to make an effort to woo Ryeowook the way he insists he knows Henry wants to. By the end of the third, it’s starting to sound like a good idea.

“You gotta! Dude!” Kyuhyun says clumsily. “You keep telling me all this stuff you like about him, but don’t tell me! Tell him! Right now, seriously.”

“What?” Henry says. “You mean, um, you mean...”

Kyuhyun groans. “You have a phone. Call him.”

So Henry does. He’s ready. He’s so ready. But it goes to voicemail, causing him to no longer be ready, so he hangs up. “No answer,” Henry wails, drinking some more. Then perks up. “I’m gonna text ‘im.” Kyuhyun’s smirking at him now, sipping across the table. Whatever. With all this courage he’s built up, Henry types lightning fast about how nice Ryeowook is and all the kind things he’s done and his pretty face, and like, lots more. Tons more. He’s typing faster than he’s thinking and keeps hitting send.

Nothing.

He pouts. “Why isn’t he answering? Huh? Why nothing?” He grimaces and scratches at his chest. Kyuhyun laughs at him.

“You have to give it a minute.” He sounds pretty unaffected, looking it too. “Trust me, you’ll see. He’ll be so ready for your confession. You just need to get him face to face now.”

“Okay,” Henry says through a yawn, scratching some more. Pushing away his glass, Kyuhyun only chuckles at him and shakes his head.

“Ah, you’re a lightweight. Come on, let’s get you home and then you can prepare properly, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then Kyuhyun leads him to the taxi, and makes him sit up whenever he starts tipping over, and goes with him up to his door, but that’s it. Henry’s pretty sure he muttered back a quick good night, but he’s too busy fumbling to get the door open to be certain.

Oh god. Shoes are too hard. Shoes are so hard, why? And his room’s all the way over there. The couch is right here. No!

No, he has to make it to his room to call Ryeowook. He has to give that another go. Yeah. , it’s so damn far. So damn far after his shoes fought him.

He made it. Whoo! Door’s closed. No more pants time.

Right, call. Okay. “Okay,” he says out loud. In the dark. Oops. It takes him a couple of tries, but he turns on his bedside lamp. “Okay,” he says again, then, “I can do this.”

Wait, where’s his phone? He groans. Pants. “Stupid pants. Come back here,” he grumbles while going to the pants and getting his phone out, then jumping back onto his bed. He needs a second for his head, but he’s got this.

He quickly forgets that because he feels grimy, like he’s got bar gunk on his face. Or something.

Henry washes his face and feels a strange sort of radiating calmness and it was enough to make him smile to himself, to remember the warmth of earlier and then remember how lucky he is to be in this group, to have met possibly the love of his life...

“I can do this,” he says, his head clearing a bit as he got some water down. He stepped on his belt getting back, the sting focusing his attention. Sure, a whole lot of “, , why, ,” and other things came endlessly afterwards, almost too much for what the belt buckle warranted, but he’s got his balance back now.

It feels a bit elementary, pining over a crush at some late hour that he should be asleep, after having talked about them the entire time with a friend, wondering where they are and wanting to be wherever that is...

It is elementary. Not doing something about it.

He’s getting kinda sleepy physically, but the thought that boomeranged to him might as well have hit him in the head, it was so suddenly that he felt wakefulness sharply return to him. His phone is down to 18% and he takes it and calls Ryeowook, because he’s not gonna let that stop him.

There’s one, two, three, four five six rings and on the seventh, the ringing stops and is replaced with the static of a dark room, a breath, then finally, a shockingly deep voice says, “Hello?”

Before he can say anything, he hears the crackling thumps of the phone being jostled, amidst a yell of Why did you answer my phone?!

“Hello?” This time, it’s unmistakably Ryeowook’s voice.

“Hey,” is oh so cleverly Henry’s response. Never mind he’s not thought this through - what’s his plan? What would he have done if Ryeowook was maybe asleep already? Why is he overthinking? - Too late now, just gotta go with it.

“Henry? Are you okay?”

“Oh, oh, yeah, just... Couldn’t sleep,” he says, and he wants to chide Ryeowook for the breathlessness seeping into his voice. Why work out at this hour? Did a friend answer his phone, or a nosy trainer or something?

“Oh, I’m sorry- Ah, cut it ouuuuut!” Ryeowook suddenly breaks off in a laugh, then muffled, muffled sounds, the sheets and the phone dropping to them in what sounds like a soft, ruffled thup.

Sheets. Henry suddenly feels all the breath inside him vanish. Oh.

“Hey, I’m really sorry to do this,” a giggle, “but, uh, I have to go... I would normally say I’ll call back but, uh, that-” Another laugh, a shht, “-would be tasteless. Please try to sleep and put away your phone, okay? You always keep yourself up.”

“Ah, I...” He says, trying to grasp at something logical and natural and blah blah blah. , his brain’s not processing.

“What?”

“Yeah, ah, uh - sounds good.” And he hangs up before the shock, the sadness welling in his eyes, finally takes its place in his heart.

Amazing. Him answering was so much worse than nothing.

It’s one thing to know he has partners. A fair amount of them. It’s one thing to love him. To love him, even as friends. It’s another to talk to him, to know where he is and who he’s with, to know that that life, that privilege was reserved to others.

He felt pretty ing other right now, in the middle of the night with the world shrouded in darkness and having left him behind.

There’s no way he’s letting Kyuhyun convince him of anything ever again.

He sat on the edge of his bed, in the dark, shades pulled, for a while. Time passed him by on the clock at his bedside, told him it was only ten minutes, but his life felt like a tiny specimen, felt like suspended years that had no real time or value as he looked through them, sifted through them, looked at them with some sort of anger, mostly sadness.

They all looked, felt, seemed, whatever-ed, better than this moment. Felt like a place already predestined to be perfect, in some aspects, and when Henry finally takes to his pillow, wraps himself up in light sheets that could never be warm enough, he falls asleep wishing to spend the rest of his life somewhere else.

As someone else.