“I told you not to come.”

“I know,” Hyukjae says, one of his usual annoying grins plastered on his face. Yesung frowns at him, but steps aside to let him inside his room regardless. Hyukjae’s next move is, of course, to gloat. “Or did you?”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Maybe.” He walks right up to Yesung’s bed and plops down on it with the grace of an adult gorilla with four full course meals inside its stomach. Yesung flashes him with a glare that Hyukjae pointedly ignores. “Are you gonna kick me out?”

Yesung rolls his eyes, though it’s already significantly less determined than his previous attempts at looking annoyed.

“Obviously not.”

Hyukjae offers him a stupid, tight-lipped smile. The resemblance lies somewhere between the colon plus square parenthesis emoticon and a , but Yesung’s heart instantly reacts to it all the same.

“Hyung, I have you wrapped around my pinky finger,” Hyukjae says, his head slightly tilted to the side while he raises his arm and folds his fingers down until only his pinky is showing. As if Yesung doesn’t know what a pinky finger is. Then, he waves it in the air and puts his hand back down on the mattress. “Cute.”

Yesung lets out his heaviest sigh of the day.

“What did you tell my mother?”

Hyukjae’s eyes widen, his lips busy in a slight pout that’s not completely there yet—both making him look way younger than he actually is, which never really fails to make Yesung’s chest ache. At least a little.

“Nothing. I’m innocent.”

“You’re telling me you barged in from the front door and she didn’t question why?” Yesung crosses his arms on his chest—maybe somewhat higher than that, and if it makes him look like a sulking child, so be it—and stares at him through narrow eyes. “Liar.”

“I mean,” Hyukjae says, and that’s enough to let Yesung know he’s about to say some bull, “you know she doesn’t really ask questions once anyone uses the work excuse. One must not get in the way of idol Yesung and his duties.”

“You’re an idiot,” is Yesung’s diplomatic response. He’s well aware that once Hyukjae puts something into his own head, be it an idea or a soon-to-be disaster, there’s no stopping him. He certainly didn’t expect him to behave and go to bed once he suggested coming over and Yesung told him to shut the hell up and get some rest, but still, deep down, he had some hope. Very foolish of him. “Now you know what’s gonna happen? I’ll wake up to a lecture on how I’m overworking myself, because you literally just had a concert and now you’re working again literally the same day, why couldn’t it wait until tomorrow—”

“Hyung,” Hyukjae says, and Yesung cuts himself off almost on command. Stupid reflexes.

“What,” he says, putting in effort to make it sound as lifeless as possible, just so Hyukjae will realize he’s annoyed. To some degree. Well, not really, because is he really ever when it’s Hyukjae, but he’s trying. That has to count for something.

“Shut up.”

Yesung opens his mouth, not really knowing how to react, then closes it again.

Fine.

“Are you gonna stand there for much longer?” Hyukjae adds, making it sound like an afterthought that came in a little too late. “You’re stressing me out.”

“I’m stressing you out?” Yesung says, perhaps sounding on the edge of a screech. He still walks up to him to claim a spot on the bed on his side, though, so Hyukjae doesn’t even look fazed. “You literally came all the way here in the late evening, and for what? I told you I’m fine.”

Hyukjae shakes his head.

“I was around here already. I didn’t come for this.”

Yesung turns around, another glare already on his face.

“On a weekend? In the evening? You were definitely at home with your family, then you got one of your dumb ideas and dropped everything. You’re so full of .”

Hyukjae tilts his chin up, slightly—not enough to make much of a difference, but enough for Yesung to take notice.

“Got a problem with it?”

“You’re an idiot,” Yesung says, his tone unmistakably lower.

“You already said that,” Hyukjae shoots back, as if Yesung doesn’t know. “What if I came just for you, then? Sue me.”

Against literally every single one of his instincts, Yesung finds himself cracking a small, definitely amused smile. It becomes clear pretty quickly that he shot himself in the foot with that one.

“See?” Hyukjae says, gloating again. “Pinky finger.”

“You’re so annoying.” Yesung tears his gaze off Hyukjae’s face, determined to look literally anywhere else. His DVD shelf looks like a good choice. “Go home.”

“Nah,” Hyukjae says, shrugging. Yesung kind of hates that he’s still able to notice in his peripheral vision. Maybe he just has to leave the room and lock Hyukjae inside. “I’m here for you.”

“You don’t have to be,” Yesung says, then bites his lower lip, very tempted to do the same with his stupid tongue. “I mean, you don’t need to. I told you I’m fine, you idiot.”

“Hyung.” When Yesung doesn’t react, Hyukjae reaches out quietly, until the palm of his hand touches Yesung’s wrist. “I’m not leaving no matter what you say.”

Yesung swipes his tongue across his lips, something heavy he’s not quite sure what to name in his throat forcing him to swallow.

“I know,” he mumbles, closing his hand up in a loose fist.

Hyukjae shifts slightly towards him, his hand now fully enveloping Yesung’s. He gently rubs his thumb on the back, then eases his fingers back into their regular position. God, he hates how large Hyukjae’s hands are compared to his, sometimes.

“I just got emotional,” Yesung says, quietly, barely above a whisper. It was enough that he’d let himself do that in front of thousands of fans, especially during a performance that was supposed to be a nice moment, at least. Now Hyukjae is of course determined to go through it all over again, as if it’s in any way necessary. “It’s a sad song.”

“It’s not a sad song,” Hyukjae murmurs, his fingers casually interlocking with Yesung’s until their hands are effectively joined. Yesung squeezes back on instinct, though he’s still not returning the eye contact. “I don’t think it is, at least.”

“Maybe not,” Yesung admits, closing his eyes for a moment that prolongs itself for a few seconds too long.

“Hyung.” Hyukjae lets go of his hand, mildly startling him. He doesn’t have the time to miss the skin contact that Hyukjae is already touching him again—on Yesung’s arms this time, gently leading him into turning around in his direction. When their eyes meet, Yesung can instantly tell he’s not escaping this. “Are you actually upset that I came here?”

Yesung hesitates. It might look like he’s thinking about it, but he already knew the answer the second Hyukjae barged in. Of course he’s not. It’s Hyukjae.

“No,” he admits, at last, holding Hyukjae’s gaze