A/N: Welcome to the slow burn who isn't actually a slow burn because it's written by an impatient writer. I mean, technically it is a slow burn because it's chronologically been a year and an half since the last chapter, but I didn't write any of it, so that's it. The slown burn has only the burn left.

No, all jokes aside, it's kind of bad, but I told myself that, since no one is going to read this anyway, it ain't that much of a problem. At least I'm spreading my 2leader agenda.

Basically, yeah, it's been like an year but my inability to write stopped me from actually showing it so I just said that. Show don't tell who knows her.

Hanbin is a little slow at understanding things but he's trying his best.

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khb - 2018 

He didn’t know what it was and he didn’t know when it had started. He just knew that at some point he’d realised that he didn’t really go on the rooftop to escape, anymore, but mostly because he wanted to see Seungyoon.

It was only natural, maybe, as he was the only person he could truly talk to, the only person he could reveal the dark thoughts in his mind to; they’d seen each other in their most vulnerable moment, and from there they kept going, without judging each other for what they were feeling, perhaps because they could understand each other better than anyone ever could. No one who wasn’t a leader could understand the responsibilities that came with that position, and, even more, they couldn’t understand the fear that always walked behind them like a shadow, the fear of not being enough, the fear of disappointing their members, the fear of failure they would never admit they felt.

It was relieving, healing, to be able to talk freely to someone, without restraint, getting everything out of their system; to finally breathe into the night air, finally stop to suffocate for a single moment in eternity. Maybe that was what he always looked for, every night, when he climbed on the roof: comfort, warmth, understanding; but he feared that things had changed, over the course of that year and a half. He didn’t know what was happening, anymore, he was extremely confused.
 
He didn’t exactly know when things had started to change, when he’d started to feel those strange emotions bubble up inside his chest every time he opened the door, and the wind hit him; every time he saw the older there, waiting for him, under that starless sky. That stupid apprehension that would build up into his mind every time he was waiting for him, that fear that he wouldn’t come and he would be left alone facing his demons in the darkness; and that even stupider relief that washed over him when he finally reached him, confirming once again that he wasn’t alone, that he cared, just as much as he cared for him.

He didn’t know what it was, but maybe he didn’t even care; talking to him made him feel better, seeing him made him feel better, having him close made him feel better. Being able to voice his concerns always made him feel better, so much that he’d even started forgetting what he still couldn’t say, that stupid unrequited crush; the fact that he was in love with his best friend and that he could end up ruining their friendship and compromising the group didn’t seem important, anymore.

He didn’t even know if he could say he was still in love with him; he was starting to doubt he’d ever loved him in the first place, maybe he’d just fallen in love with the idea of him, he’d fallen in love with love altogether, if that made any sense. Maybe he’d just gotten used to that feeling, that he was able to forget it so easily when he was at least able to alleviate every other burdens he had on his shoulders; maybe the comfort he received was enough to stitch all his wounds together, even those he didn’t talk about.

He’d found the warmth he’d been missing and, perhaps, it was so much more than enough that he’d realised that he didn’t need love, not that kind, at least; he just needed someone, he’d never realised he once used to feel so alone he could barely breathe.
 
He kept going through life, through all hardship, knowing that there would always be someone ready to catch him if he ever fell down, ready to tell him that it was okay, that he shouldn’t have been ashamed if he was scared; someone would always be there to hold him and hold his hand as he revealed all his deepest fears, feeling selfish because he was afraid in the first place. He didn’t worry too much about that change he couldn’t identify, because he didn’t care, as long as he could talk to someone; as long as he could breathe, he didn’t care.

He didn’t ask himself even once why he could finally look into his best friend’s eyes without feeling like there was a storm in his heart he couldn’t control, he didn’t even ask himself why he was suddenly feeling like everything was normal again; he just supposed that he’d been wrong about his feelings all along.

And he was wrong, of course; he just hadn’t realised that he was more wrong than he’d thought he was. It took him a while to realise what was going on, maybe because he didn’t want to accept what his heart already knew was true, or maybe because his mind truly couldn’t catch up with what had happened; it took him about three details to realise everything, realise that he was blind to his own emotions sometimes and didn’t know how to fix the situation.
 
The first one was definitely the beginning of his awakening from that comfortable torpor he’d fallen into since the night he’d broken down and they’d decided they would be there for each for as long as they could, that torpor that had made him completely oblivious to things that should’ve been obvious. It was around the summer of 2018, and they were on the roof, the night air just as blazing as it had been during the day; they hadn’t even managed to speak, both seemingly too exhausted to do anything. Seungyoon had fallen asleep with his back against the wall of the balcony’s edge, the lines of his face relaxed as they rarely were when he was awake, always worried about something he had to do or something he had done and needed to repair; the younger didn’t want to wake him up, but he knew he couldn’t sleep either.
 
He remained still, turned in his direction, looking at him and counting minutes watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically; there was something that stopped him from looking away, even though he couldn’t identify what it was. Maybe there was simply something mesmerizing about him, something that charmed him to the point where he couldn’t do anything else but keep staring at him.

And he was left wondering what he would’ve done if he didn’t have him, unable to find an answer, terrified of the idea; he would’ve been lost without him, he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it anymore. He knew he could’ve only talked to himself if they’d never found each other, and it made him insane even to think about it, because he knew he would’ve gone crazy at some point and he would’ve drowned if he’d kept everything to himself, he somehow felt that he would’ve started to disassociate from reality. He couldn’t even express in words how grateful he was to him.
 
He caught himself observing his face in every detail, studying the curve of his nose, the sharp lines of his chin, his dark eyebrows hidden behind a lighter fringe, his eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his plump lips slightly open; he looked stunning even when he was asleep, without any makeup. He wanted to reach out of touch his cheeks, lazily trace his fingers on every inch of his face; he restrained himself, of course, because he didn’t want to bother him.

He didn’t know why, but, only in that moment he realised that it wasn’t the first time it happened; it wasn’t the first time he looked at him while the other couldn’t see him, it wasn’t the first time that he longed to touch him because he wanted to, without any specific reason, his fingertips tingling as if they truly needed it to survive. It didn’t make any sense; the only reason he would have to touch him was because he wanted to comfort him or because he needed to be comforted, not simply because he felt the unexplainable impelling urge to do so. It was unjustifiable, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t thinking about it and that he’d thought about it before. Somehow, it scared him, because he was scared of everything he couldn’t explain, everything he wasn’t sure of; it always seemed like something that would stop him from reaching his goal, since he knew he needed to be certain of everything that he did if he wanted to become someone.
 
They weren’t even supposed to be friends, but they had somehow become confidants and looking at him while he was sleeping wishing that he could touch his face was wrong, so incredibly wrong; he had no idea what he would think if he ever found out, he had no idea what it meant either. He didn’t want to know, he preferred to just stay like that; not knowing and content in caressing his skin with just his eyes, without any need to ask himself why he was doing it. Even something as simple as that comforted him, it made him happy in some odd way, and he didn’t want to ruin everything by asking himself useless questions that wouldn’t bring him nowhere except to more confusion.

But, of course, he should’ve known that something wasn’t right, then; he should’ve stopped himself and he should’ve run far away from that roof, from him, from everything he’d looked for in him. He didn’t, as time passed by, he didn’t, maybe it was already too late to run away from there, he’d already started to spiral into something he couldn’t escape from anymore, for how much he could’ve wanted to. Perhaps that was exactly the problem, though. He didn’t want to leave, he had no intention nor reason to do so; once he finally found a reason, he was too far gone to do it.
 
The second time he noticed something had started to go very wrong wasn’t far away from the first one, strangely enough; things had started to build up and had slowly started to fall back down on him, and he would soon find himself crushed under an avalanche. He didn’t even know why he couldn’t see what was so clearly in front of him, all those things that were adding up and that should’ve let him understand what was going on.

They were on the roof, once again, because there was no other place they could ever be in, when that spot was theirs and theirs alone, it was the only place where they could find some semblance of freedom, away from the eyes of the world, away from the people they were scared to disappoint. He was exhausted, unsurprisingly; he always was, but he somehow always found his way there, because he would’ve rather talk to someone than sleep with one thousand thoughts running in his head that wouldn’t want to leave him alone. Sleep wasn’t as necessary for him as it was for everyone else, he could keep working for a few hours, he could stay awake for a few hours; they were talking about the songs they were currently writing, strangely changing the topic of their discussion, for once, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open, for how much he tried.

He kept zoning out, catching himself at the last second so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the spot, because he didn’t want the older to think that he was boring him, because he wasn’t. He just—found his voice to be very soothing, so much he could forget all his worries by listening to him speak; he wouldn’t mind falling asleep when his voice was so similar to a lullaby.
 
He realised he’d closed his eyes once again when he heard him chuckle as he stopped talking, and he felt one of his warm hands move away the hair that had fallen on his face. He felt something strange when his fingers came in contact with his skin, something like a mild electric wave that was still enough to shake him to the core; he felt it into his bones, into his veins, into his soul.

But the situation kept getting worse, as he sensed that the other had gotten closer to him, almost dangerously close; he didn’t know what was supposed to be dangerous, he just knew that his mind had produced that thought. It wasn’t the first time that they found themselves so close to each other, they were used to hold hands and to hug, it wasn’t anything unusual. He shivered without a reason when he felt his breath close to his ear, and more a moment he didn’t even realise what he was saying, he couldn’t focus on his voice, anymore, he could only focus on the fact that he was so close; he had to be completely exhausted, that had to be the reason why he was feeling that unexplainable way, his head wasn’t in the right place and didn’t know what it was thinking, and his heart didn’t know what it was feeling.
 
He almost yelped out loud when he sensed an arm slide around his waist and he was dragged back a few inches; his eyes shot open for a moment, as he realised that he was somehow sitting between his legs with his back against his chest. His heart had to have short-circuited, probably, because it was beating impossibly fast, almost to the point where he thought it would break in a million pieces that would scatter in the night sky to replace the stars they couldn’t see.

Without even thinking about it, he leaned back on him, trying to look at his face; he noticed that he’d closed his eyes as well, and he thought that he’d fallen asleep and had done everything while he was still sleeping. The older seemed to sense that he had his eyes on him, because he just quietly told him to sleep; he supposed he was going to wake him up when he had to, so, he didn’t complain, he just did as he was told, letting his eyes fall close once again. But how did he expect him to sleep, when their bodies were so pressed close that he could feel every breath he took? It wasn’t the first time that they held each other, but that was a completely different thing; there was something so intimate in it that it made him feel strange, his heart still beating as crazily as it was just a few seconds before. He’d initially thought that he’d irrationally gotten scared because of the sudden movement, but, apparently, he was wrong, because it didn’t seem that it wanted to calm down.
 
He didn’t know why, but it was almost painful, physically painful to have is heart hammer so furiously against his ribcage; he didn’t know why having him so close suddenly had that effect on him, he didn’t know. Perhaps he didn’t even want to know, because he didn’t have to. He had nothing to worry about, everything was normal, he was just tired.

But then—why did every breath the other took make him feel like that, so weak? Why was he so aware of his arm still around his waist, holding him securely in place? Why did he feel like he was suffocating? He quickly tried to shut down his brain, knowing that asking himself those questions wasn’t going to bring him anywhere. He didn’t need to worry about questions he couldn’t find an answer to; nothing needed to change, he was okay. It was okay just like that; he was okay just like that, without knowing. That was what he wanted to believe, that he okay, that nothing had started to change in him; but he was wrong, of course.
 
The third time, was when he finally realised everything, why he’d started reacting to things in such strange ways, why his heart had started to hurt so much. He realised that he was an idiot, that he was stupidly blind; that he should’ve known better, that he should’ve been careful, that he should’ve run away when he still could.

There they were again, on that roof, close but farther apart than they thought they were, just talking, like every other night; it was extremely early for them, the sky wasn’t even dark yet, there were still remains of the sunset on the horizon. He didn’t know what they were talking about, he kept getting distracted, just to change things a bit; he was always getting distracted lately, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t even tired, for a change, so he didn’t have any reason to continuously having his mind elsewhere; not that it was elsewhere, per se. It was right there; it just wasn’t focusing on the right things.

His attention should’ve been on what the older was trying to tell him, but he really couldn’t stop observing his face; things had just gotten worse from the moment he’d noticed that he did that a lot more than it was reasonable. He looked stunning like that, with the light blue sky progressively getting darker behind him, surrounding him like a halo, his hair swept by a soft breeze, his voice quiet and cautious; but, lately, he always looked beautiful to him, he didn’t need anything more than just himself to be beautiful to him. He was beautiful because he gave every piece of himself for his dream, he was beautiful because, even with everything that life had thrown his way, his eyes were still kind; his eyes seemed full of stars sometimes, full of unexplored galaxy he wanted to see.
 
He was so lost into his thoughts that he didn’t immediately notice that he’d moved his gaze from his eyes to his lips; and, when he realised, he didn’t look away. He didn’t want to, he kept staring at them, and time started to slow down without explanation. They were just as beautiful as he was, moving along with his words, almost similar to cherries. Out of sudden, a thought crossed his mind and he didn’t even try to chase it away, because it was already there and pretending it’d never been wouldn’t help him at all.

‘Kiss me.'

He didn’t say it out loud, thankfully, but it was enough that he’d thought about it; his mind had to had short-circuited again, because he had no reason to be thinking something like that of him. He didn’t. And yet he wanted it; he wanted it like he’d wanted few things before in his life. It was a strong feeling that hit him unexpectedly, leaving him completely breathless for a moment; why did he want that so much? He was his friend; he shouldn’t have thought something like that about his friend.
 
Slowly, he started to realise what was going on, what had probably been going on for a long time without him accepting it; he was an idiot, he was a complete fool. Of course, of course that was the reason.

He wasn’t his friend anymore, maybe he’d never even been in the first place; it finally made sense why he had started to yearn for the night every day, because he knew he would see him. He’d started by being his confidant, the person he could tell anything to, he should’ve known that would happen; he should’ve known that he would become more.

He had been in love with his best friend, and the reason why he had forgotten him wasn’t that his feelings had never been real in the first place: he’d gotten over him because he’d fallen for someone else. He didn’t need love, but love always found him, somehow.

He was in love with the warmth he’d been missing. He was in love with him. He was in love with Kang Seungyoon.
 
He ran. He ran as far away from the roof as he could, as fast as he could, so much his legs started to hurt incredibly, as he rushed down the stairs, desperately looking for the right way home; he didn’t stop once to look back, even though he knew that the older was calling him, that he couldn’t understand why he was suddenly acting like that.

He was going to come up with an excuse the night after, he was going to say sorry and everything would go back as it had been, he hoped. But he simply couldn’t face him in that moment, it was too much. He didn’t even know why it’d taken him so long to realise what was actually wrong with him. He should’ve known that was the reason why he could spend more time than it was sane looking at his face, why he’d suddenly started feeling that way when they were too close, when he once only felt comfort, why his heart always started to beat faster when they were together.

It’d been obvious for a while, it was obvious that something had changed in his soul, and he hadn’t seen it because he was an idiot; and idiot who liked to pretend that he didn’t need that kind of love. Apparently, his heart knew better than him and always dragged him down a ravine, always making him fall for the wrong people, those who were never going to love him back. And it was killing him.
 
He’d finally found comfort, he’d finally found a person he could talk to without worrying about anything, and, now, everything was over; he had no intention of stopping going on the roof, because he still needed him, but he knew that everything would be different from that moment on.

His heart was never going to allow him to see things like they used to be; the older wasn’t someone he could tell anything to, he was the person he was in love with, and he had to be scared every day, scared that he was going to leave him, scared that he was going to find out and consider him disgusting. He had to be as positive as he could, though; he couldn’t ruin anything.

He wasn’t putting his own group at risk, he wasn’t even putting his entire career at risk; he was just in love with him. That was something that was his and only his, and no one could take it away from him or blame him for it; he just needed to keep those feelings tucked into his heart and be careful. He could still stay beside him, he just needed to be careful and not do or say anything stupid, anything that could reveal his secret. He always was only who he wanted to be when he was with him; he didn’t have any expectation on his shoulder; he’d been a boy that needed someone to hold him and, in that moment, he was just a boy in love.

He persuaded himself that everything was going to be fine, that he was going to be fine, that they were going to be fine, as long as he could keep that secret into his heart; he didn’t know anything, anymore. He just knew that he was in love. And that he was scared.