The red lights on top of the cameras flicked off, and with it, a wave of relaxation diffused through the group. No one has entirely taken off their entertainment persona as of yet, but the pressure to seal every crack in it eases for a couple of minutes while they get packed up and ready to go.

At this point, he’s mixed up whether it was a member or a sunbae that emphasized the importance of politeness and networking. Nonetheless, he’s going to try his hand at it. He goes to get the host’s attention, keeping a conversational distance from her to show that the on-camera antics are done.

He sets that character aside in favor of friendly professionalism.

“Thank you for taking good care of us,” he says to the host, getting through a little bit of a bow before he realizes he doesn’t remember whether he should or not. Switching countries and languages all the time gets so confusing.

“It was a pleasure working with you,” she says with a nod of her head. Then, she continues with amusement, “Do you really not know your characters?”

“I’ll study hard in the future,” he says with an impish grin. She laughs, and it sounds only half polite, so he figures he must be doing okay.

“Your mother would be happy to hear that!”

“She really would,” he says, laughing himself. A second’s pause. “I wish you much success and good health in the year ahead,” he says in an effort to wrap up while hopefully not being rude. He doesn’t quite know whether he phrased that awkwardly. He shouldn’t be rusty, but they’re already running on too little sleep and words aren’t his specialty, not without a script to go off of. Then he remembers the more typical thing to say and adds that on, too. “I hope that in the new year, everything will go smoothly and your wishes will come true.”

“Thank you. I hope you all have a busy and successful year,” she says with a smile that’s a touch less stiff than before. They exchange goodbyes, and five seconds later, he’s forgotten what he said because he’s so focused on getting out.

He’d caught a glimpse of Ryeowook’s back when he’d finished talking to the host, following mindlessly, drawn to the promise of something undefinable as if it was an oasis in a desert. It doesn’t make sense, but nothing does right now.

As though sensing his presence, Ryeowook turns on his heel to face him a few seconds before they would otherwise collide. He looks angry. Why angry, of all things? How could something have gone wrong in the last two minutes that no one noticed?

The thought had hardly finished when Ryeowook turns away sharply. Henry only sees his back moving quickly away until the older man stops at the threshold of one curved hallway.

“Camera,” Ryeowook warns him in a tight voice, pointing with his chin. He steps back as if to say you first, crossing his arms and pointedly looking in the other direction.

Oh. There’s one last camera to deal with. Fine. So Henry steels himself, forces a bounce in his step and a big, goofy grin on his face and gets through it. After the last of the bouncing energy is gone, he’s left more drained still when the obstacle’s behind him.

But even then, he hurries through changing because he’s suffocating in here.

-

Until they’re getting into the van, though, he can’t quite place what feels off. When they were getting here, Ryeowook happily squeezed in next to him like he usually did, but this time, he all but drags Kyuhyun with him where he’s up against the window. In the time that it takes Henry to wonder if it means anything, Hyukjae gets in next to Kyuhyun, then Mi takes a tired-looking Sungmin up to the front with him, Donghae following. Like, it’s not actually awkward sitting next to Hyukjae, nothing like that, it’s just that being so far from Ryeowook feels that little bit weird, like he put on mismatched socks or his shirt’s inside out. Ryeowook’s leaning into Kyuhyun. Guess he’s more drained than he seemed.

Honestly, Henry would’ve been content to leave it at that, knowing how particular Ryeowook could be when he’s tired, but a few minutes later, that theory is riddled with holes. Ryeowook shoots up in his seat, honest to god bouncing. “Mi-ge! Mi-ge!” He says in a wheedling tone, reaching over to prod and shake Mi’s shoulder. “Do you know a good club around here?”

“You want to go to a club?” Mi asked, sounding perplexed. His hand the side of Sungmin’s head. It looks so soothing. Some soothing would be really nice right about now, Henry thinks forlornly.

“I want to have some fun,” Ryeowook insists. “Pleeeeease?”

“Ah, that kind of club. Okay, I’ll find something.” This made Ryeowook cheer. Well, he did say fun... “I have comrades,” at least, Henry thinks that’s the word Mi uses, which is really weird, “who know good places.”

Ryeowook says, in a tone that sounds like a leer, “You have some great comrades.” There’s that word again. A nap would be so much easier than dealing with whatever this is.

“Oh! If it’s that kind, I’m going too,” Hyukjae chimes in. Something really feels off now.

“Then I’m going!” Donghae too? What-

“I haven’t been to that kind in a long time. Since Donghae is going, I want to go too,” Kyuhyun drawls. Though the conversation is all a jumble of Korean and Mandarin, Henry feels like they’re speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

“You’ll have to dress nicely,” Mi admonishes, laughter hiding in his voice.

“Then pick something for me,” Kyuhyun says, still calm amidst all the excitement. He smirks, tap-tap-tapping his phone with his thumbs.

“Brat.” Mi doesn’t sound a bit unhappy when he says it, though. His smile is practically audible.

“What kind of club are you talking about?” Henry finally summons the courage to ask. He swallows hard, the awkward pause he’s inserted swallowing him up as Mi slowly turns his head to give him an appraising look. For the briefest instant, his mouth seems to curl with disdain, his jaw held tight, before it smoothes out into careful blank.

“Not one you would like,” Mi finally says, his voice suddenly unnaturally even. Chilly. “Actually, you and Sungmin-hyung both look very tired,” he adds pointedly. “Why don’t you stay in after dinner?”

“I’m-” A flash of anger lights up Mi’s eyes. Henry couldn’t quite tell what kind of expression Mi wore, but it looked just upset or reprimanding enough that he gets the hint. His shoulders slump. No one argues or insists that he come as well. Like they’re on an island and he’s invisible. Or something. “Tired, yeah. Staying in sounds great. Sungmin-hyung, how about a movie?”

“Sure.” Sungmin sounds on the verge of yawning already. A few terse seconds later, he follows through. Henry tries really hard to focus on that instead of the chatter in twos and threes that he can’t make any sense of, that has his head spinning and his heart sinking.

He feels so different, he’s been made different somehow and he doesn’t understand why he’s been pointedly uninvited to their plans. Did he say something? Has some unconscious mistake broadcast some terrible fact about himself that he doesn’t know about? Left bereft, he bites his lip, wringing his hands together and trying to look forward to the prospect of spending some time with Sungmin instead of staying stuck on the stark knowledge that, from the moment they left the building, Ryeowook hasn’t looked at him once. Not once. Nothing.

-

The movie playing on Henry’s laptop is a quiet murmur in a still room. Sungmin lies next to him, the machine warming part of both their sides, and Henry’s got one leg flung to half rest between Sungmin’s. It’s kind of cute how Sungmin’s nodding off with his fingers crossed together, laying on his chest.

Better than the heavy sadness casting a pall over him when they’d split off from the rest of the group.

It’s pretty obvious that he’s not paying attention. That’s fine. Honestly, Henry isn’t either. Just the same, he’s not ready to be alone, so he hits pause and closes the lid of his laptop before placing it out of the way on the nightstand.

“Hmm?” Sungmin blinks rapidly. “Did it finish?” He wrinkles his brow, patting his side where it’s no longer being warmed.

Henry chuckles. “Hyung, we weren’t watching it anymore. Come on,” he finishes in English.

“You come on,” Sungmin snipes back, all grumpy.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, do you.”

Sungmin shoves his shoulder, but doesn’t answer. He sits up, yawning and stretching his arms. Rolling his legs off the side for leverage, Henry joins him, searching for the right words to say and coming up empty.

“Hyung, are you okay?” He asks, scooting closer.

“Ah... Hm.” Sungmin’s arm wraps around Henry’s shoulders then, and he leans into it without a second thought. “It’s just...” It’s a minute of deep breaths until he continues, in a quiet, sad voice, “Do you know what it's like to love someone so much, be right next to them, but feel like you couldn't be farther apart if you were on opposite sides of the world?”

And doesn’t that hit too hard. Henry curls his arm around Sungmin’s waist and squeezes him. His free hand reaches in where the clip is tucked away in the coin pocket of his jeans, running his fingers over it. He squeezes Sungmin tighter still and says nothing.

He can’t say anything. Really, he understands all too well, and there isn’t a single thing he could say here to make Sungmin feel any better.

The other man sighs. “Sorry, it’s hard sometimes.” He extracts himself from Henry’s hold, telling him as he walks over to put his shoes on, “I’m going to head downstairs for a while. Get some sleep, hm?”

Henry stares for a second at Sungmin’s hunched-over back, his sad-tired stance, confused and aching in some undefinable way. His brain catches up after a bit, putting together that the implication of those two things combined is that Sungmin wants to be left alone. With the way he’s hurting, that has to be more important than Henry’s own loneliness, no matter how hard that is.

“Yes, hyung. Good night.” Once he’s got his shoes on as well, they hug one last time. He knows he clings too hard, but it’s okay, because Sungmin lets him without complaint. He rubs Sungmin’s shoulder briefly before they part ways and he trudges back to his own room, painfully alone. How am I supposed to get any sleep?

-

It wasn’t even a long night, but however briefly he was awake before the overwhelming feeling of deadweight eyes took over, it was probably one of the worst. No, definitely, it was in the top three worst nights. Definitely.

When Henry woke up, it was surprisingly on time - no grief sleep, no sorrow lingering as his eyes opened to six AM light. It was possible that his body simply wouldn’t afford him the luxury of oversleeping, the way schedules were drilled into his nervous system, but it felt that his memory couldn’t let go of the cold of being dropped and left out and ignored.

“Ah,” comes the dry groan from his half-asleep throat, waking up and rolling over to search for his phone. He checks the time on the wall but quickly peruses over his home screen - instagram messages, a good morning text from Sungmin, an apologetic invite to drink that Mi sent in the early AM in all his soft-heartedness, some work texts, but nothing from Ryeowook...

It was wishful thinking that Ryeowook would turn around and soothe the hurt, and hopelessly hopeful he might have wanted to apologize.

Henry looks around his room in a sleepy haze, the blinds-open slots shining over his TV, his wallet on the table, his phone, trying to figure out what he wants from Ryeowook. He wants something, yet is there even a reason to want it? To feel like he deserves it?

He shakes his head.

Yeah, maybe a bit unrealistic, he thinks with the knowledge of seven years, rubbing the blur away from his eyes. He tries to exhale to let go of the tensions holding onto his shoulders and neck - tries to roll it out with a sharp, punctuated groan, but the stress is lodged there for good, certainly for the rest of the day.

Luckily for him, he has a cramped plane ride to tough out and cheerful bandmates full of innuendo to tactlessly avoid. While there’s something to be said for talking your feelings out, he doesn’t feel that applies to him at the moment. Because that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? But they don’t usually leave him out of their jokes and stuff...

He’s brushing his teeth, and the replay of Ryeowook’s bouncing-excited voice is there. It’s not exactly haunting, but it’s annoyingly persistent, nagging in the way it pops up between every morning activity. The contrast is too much to take.

It’s a relatively quick wrap-up Henry has around his room, and yet it always seems unending when each task is punctuated with fresh reminders.

Flossing? The leer of comrades.

Looking for his charger? The feeling of steadfast disappointment of Ryeowook’s back and swaying hips walking away, his hand resting on the small of Hyukjae’s back.

He’s trying to flatten out some misfolded clothes, and the remnants of giggling are there.

He spends ten extra minutes on matching his socks with the conscious effort to scrub his mind of the unwanted feelings, and in his last minutes in his room, just a few minutes late to schedule with the feeling of his phone vibrating from what is likely his manager’s chiding, he looks at the door handle and wonders what he’s supposed to do now.

Is he supposed to be nonchalant - some of this is normal, surely? You laugh about it, you tease about it, you shove their arm about it and make a dirty joke before you board your plane. You don’t wallow about it, even if you love them. Most often times, you can even summon the courage to ask them out.

The one thing he can’t do is the one thing that probably hurts more than any insensitivity Ryeowook might display: he might be destined to pass by love because he cannot give it as others want. His currency and theirs do not convert.

Henry is down the hall by the time this registers, the time it took for him to decide a crappy and distant mood is better than snapping, and when he’s done digging through his travel bag’s side pouch for earbuds, he’s already at the bottom floor.

An earbud goes in and he’s walking to the staff corridors, the ones free of press and possible sasaeng fans.

His manager is the first to greet him, but has little to say since he’s only a few minutes late and the car was still being filled with luggage.

“Good morning,” he greets everyone, helping to load his luggage. Kyuhyun mumbled a hi (visibly too groggy to manage anything else), followed by an equally unenthusiastic Donghae as he peeked his head around Mi. Siwon simply gave a nod of his head. (When’d he get here?) Mi rummaged around in the back of the car, under the lifted trunk.

He notices that Ryeowook doesn’t appear to be there, nor does Sungmin.

“Where are-”

“They’re later than you are,” Mi says with a trace of humor, stooping and shoving one arm farther back in the trunk to reach for something, groping aimlessly. “I - oops - I called and they were on their way. Long nights for the both of them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Irresponsible.”

“What?”

Mi pulls a tapered manila tube out. “There it is! Always moisturize on the go, especially when travelling to different climate zones.”

Donghae stares at him, almost in awe (maybe at the fact that he seemed to have energy at all at this early hour) before heading to sit in the back seat of the shuttle.

“Wait, Mi, did something happen with Sungmin?”

“Well, I don’t know about it, but when I texted him, he wasn’t in his room. And god I already know where Ryeowook was last night, definitely in the room right next to mine.”

Henry sighed. “What, you think they-”

Mi’s expression morphed to appalled in under a second.  “Heavens, no! Sungmin doesn’t even seem ready for that yet, does he?”

“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean it could stop him, right?”

“Well I’m pretty certain that’s not the case. But I think he was drinking, ‘cause his texts made no sense.” Mi then tsked, rolling his eyes and rubbing lotion on his hands. “Ten bucks and Gucci slippers says Minnie walks through those doors with tinted glasses.”

Henry snorts at that. “Fine, you’re on. Note that I don’t own anything Gucci, and if I did, you still wouldn’t get it.”

Mi sighs. “No fun.”

“My specialty.”

Mi might have been a psychic, as five minutes later (and now ten minutes dangerously past schedule), Sungmin walks through the back doors with tinted glasses on, lips a confused and slightly hungover shape of constant exacerbation.

Henry pursed his mouth, a little bit - no, a lot bit like a concerned but not quite surprised mother would. He and Mi leaned against the side of the shuttle, unspoken in the way they were waiting for their fake bets to come true (or not).

His clothes are hilariously mismatched, even for him. When Mi looks up from his phone, he tilts his head up and down to look at the mess in front of him. “Can you at least try to color coordinate.”

Sungmin smiles unrepentantly. “Nope.” Under his arm is a very familiar laptop. Henry nearly facepalms when he realizes. “Henry-ya, here you go,” he says, handing it over with the care he does everything else. “You forgot this.”

For some reason, this makes Henry emotional. “Hyung is the best!” He exclaims, feeling his face contort into some sort of sad puppy expression, but he can’t help it. He puts his laptop down on someone’s luggage for a second so that he can fling his arms around Sungmin, holding on regardless of the older man’s surprised “oh!”

It’s not until he feels ready to let go that a second set of arms wraps around him. He looks to see Ryeowook backhugging Sungmin, extending his reach to Henry as well, eyes twinkling. “Hi,” he says so cutely it’s painful. “I wanted a hug too.”

That’s when Henry knows for sure he’s an idiot, because all he does is smile back. Relief sweeps a tidal wave through him, leaving him feeling on top of the world.

-

They get moving later than they should. Donghae and Kyuhyun are obviously asleep on the other half of this row of seats, heads perched on each other awkwardly.

Now’s the perfect moment. Henry leans in just far enough so he can speak quietly to Ryeowook next to him while everyone else is dozing. “Hyung, are you... feeling better?” He ventures.

In return, Ryeowook threads his fingers through Henry’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Mm, much better.” He sounds it, too - relaxed and a little floaty, somehow.

Henry smiles and squeezes back. “That’s good.” Relaxing somewhat himself, he scoots down in his seat so that he can half rest his head in the crook of Ryeowook's shoulder, half press his face into his neck. It's a habit from his younger years, not to mention having been shorter than the older man, not long after Ryeowook helped him gain confidence that touch would not be misunderstood as a come-on, still bringing him comfort and a sense of safety after all this time. But then- it smells wrong.

It’d be bad enough if what he picked up was the scent another member wore, though they all traded stuff around all the time, but... it was none of those.

No, it was yet another stranger. Another man out there who could, and did, give what he can’t. Easily and happily.

Did he think it would be any different this time? That’s stupid, he berates himself. He takes in Ryeowook’s relaxed posture where he’s sinking into the seat of the van, his small, closed-eyed smile as he dozes, and Henry doesn’t want it to make sense.

A traitorous voice whispers in his mind, But he’s holding your hand. Fingers intertwined, like lovers do. That can’t be nothing. To make matters worse, Ryeowook’s thumb starts the back of his hand gently right then. See? Just like she used to.

, that hurts. Would it be stupid to try? To take that risk? To be rejected that way again-

Jolted up by a bump in the road, he holds Ryeowook’s hand all the tighter, not sure of anything but falling back to doze alongside him anyway.

-

Despite that, Ryeowook pulled back, for the most part. Their messages were few and far between, and he’d go hot-cold, hot-cold unpredictably.

About a week after that, at least, they’re back to their normal, joking selves. Normal’s maybe a weird thing to say when the day involves Ryeowook wrapping him in plastic wrap, but variety shows are like that sometimes. Still, they whisper, they joke and laugh, Ryeowook takes care of him and pays so much attention to him, Henry even (nicely! cutely!) messes with Hyukjae, he’s full-on in his element. Everyone’s in high spirits and he feels like everything’s gonna be okay.

(Ryeowook eventually unwraps him. It’s fine.)

Henry hopes that’ll set the tone from then on, but some sort of distance remains between them up through the post-Sukira-concert dinner. He’d seriously considered making an excuse and bowing out after all... But in the end, no matter what he thought Ryeowook might or might not want, Henry at least wanted to check up on Sungmin in person, see if he’s healed any more.

Maybe even reached that okay place that he caught sight of on the horizon at the ramen joint.

Other than Ryeowook being a bit snippy and withdrawn, the three of them chatter normally enough. It’d be easy enough to think he used up all his cheer on the audience. As the evening goes on, he thaws out, arms uncrossing and his entire body slowly shifting from leaning away to upright and neutral to leaning forward. At the same moment that Ryeowook’s feet start hitting the leg of his chair and he starts drumming his fingers on the tabletop, a thought breaks the surface into Henry’s awareness.

“Hyung! Did you not wear gloves?!” He half-asks, half-shouts in exasperation. Ryeowook looks shocked, almost taken aback.

Seriously? Henry grunts, shaking his head. Both of his hands envelop one of Ryeowook’s before he realizes what he’s doing. “Honestly.” Just like he thought: ice cold. “You’re going to get hurt one of these days. You know how cold your hands get, don’t you? Sheesh.” He rubs Ryeowook’s hand in both of his own, perching over the table to exhale warm breath on it as well. He repeats with the other one; by the time he looks up, Ryeowook’s fidgeting in his seat, his gaze swiveled off to the side, and he’s gained a pretty pink tinge staining his cheeks, framing a shy smile.

The full force of what he’s done hits Henry then, but he doesn’t regret a thing. Ryeowook looks touched, and gorgeous beyond description.

“Thank you, Henry-ya,” he says quietly. At last, he meets Henry’s eyes, and behind the reserved façade is the softness he’d missed so much. Then Sungmin coos at them, breaking whatever spell had been cast for that brief moment in time.

“Aigoo, too sweet! Ryeonggu’s getting a taste of his own medicine,” Sungmin says, snickering to himself. Ryeowook groans, slipping his hand out of Henry’s.

“Hyung! Why are you like this?” He smacks Sungmin’s arm, then hides his face in Sungmin’s coat, grumbling unintelligibly and fiddling with one of the buttons. The eldest among them looks tired, yet content.

Something uncoils in Henry’s stomach. He’s... happy. Spending time with two people he cares about so much is easy right now, and it makes him happy. He’s grinning so wide that it’s hard to get the dumpling in his spoon to go into his mouth.

Ryeowook’s foot bumps into his, and the other man picks up a napkin to wipe off a stray bit of broth dampening Henry’s cheek with an amused, fond grin of his own, subdued though it may be. Henry couldn’t be happier.