khb - 2018

He was exhausted. He’d thought being tired had become his normal physical and psychological state and that he could take it as if it wasn’t anything, and keep working for hours, even in the dead of night. But the words had started to change place and the lyrics to be an incoherent, empty mass of letters, and his eyelids kept closing without his consent.
 
He knew he couldn’t allow himself to sleep, he had things he needed to get done if he wanted to be able to produce new songs, and he had no intention of disappointing s and their fans. If they could’ve seen him, now, they would have told him to go to sleep before he collapsed and, rationally, he knew they were right, but he couldn’t halt his work just like that.
 
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, trying to force them to focus for a couple more hours, trying to press lethargy away from them. Looking up at the ceiling and noticing that nothing had changed, he sighed and lightly slapped his own cheeks, to no avail. Reluctantly giving up, he got up too fast and had to support himself on the table, feeling dizzy; it was starting to get a little frustrating but he wasn’t going to go back home until he finished writing that damn song.
 
He stepped out in the hallway, looking for spare change in the front pockets of his pants, hoping the vending machine had been fixed and wasn’t going to keep his money like last time, without giving him the coffee he needed, or he would have to kick it until it worked and didn’t really wish to cause a scene.
 
Stopping in front of it, completely lost in his thoughts, trying to find an adequate word for a certain part of the lyrics and a way to adjust his rap, he noticed that another light was on at the end of the corridor. Without thinking about it twice, he inserted the money, (miraculously) got what he’d asked for and walked right into the other room, without even knocking on the door.
 
He couldn’t help the smile that opened on his face when he spotted a very familiar man bent over the working table, seemingly submerged into what he was working on, with his chin resting on his fist, a faint frown upon his face, his hair pulled back by a headband and his eyes tired, yet determined. He thought he looked stunning even that way, raw and honest, not hidden behind layers of makeup and that idol-façade they were all forced to put on when in public, unaware he was being watched, completely in his own world.
 
He didn’t realise he was staring until he started to feel the heat of the coffee slowly burning his fingers through the plastic of the cups and felt the urge to put them down. Feeling like an idiot and awfully flustered, he walked the few steps that separated him from the other and put one of the cups he was holding on the table in front of him.
 
Seungyoon finally looked at him, slightly startled, as if he really hadn’t noticed his presence until he was right in front of him, and, after a moment of sleepy stupor, offered him a grateful smile.
 
‘Oh, ,’ was the only thing that he could think, as all the air he’d had in his lungs disappeared for a second, leaving him completely breathless and asking himself what he’d done wrong to deserve it. He couldn’t fall in love, and yet, there he was, looking like a damn fool and losing it over something as simple and natural as a smile (he already knew he was a goner, and he didn’t want to be reminded of that every other minute).
 
He drained his coffee in a single gulp, mostly looking for a way to cover his burning cheeks with his hand, even though he knew the older probably wasn’t going to notice anything, seemingly just as tired as he was.
 
He thought back about those past months, about how strange they’d been, almost a lucid dream; they’d gotten even closer than before, and, even though he kept falling in love with him every day more, he felt strikingly at ease with him, almost like he could tell him every little secret he’d always kept hidden in his soul, except that one he was never supposed to reveal.
 
They’d often talked about how they ‘weren’t like other people’ (A/N: the reason why I wrote "weren't like other people" is simply because it's already bad enough that I'm writing this so I didn't want to go around putting ualities on people because it would feel like I'm assuming something and I'm absolutely not; as I've said, this is just a story.), as someone would have put it, and he always felt contented in knowing that he could freely talk with him, who seemed to have gotten comfortable with the fact that he was attracted to other men; he wished he could be like him, but there was always some part of his brain that tried to remind him that it wasn’t in human nature and that he should’ve been ashamed of himself.
 
Honestly, he knew that was all bull, and that he couldn’t help his feelings or control his heart, but he was aware that, if someone else was to find that out, he could get himself into some trouble; he knew that, if the media ever found out, he would drown.
 
He wasn’t completely stupid, and he knew that acceptance was still a long way away; funny how their industry even encouraged groups to pretend to kiss each other on stage or touch each other in to please fans but certainly wouldn’t think twice before kicking them out if they ever found out they were actually catching feelings for someone of the same . Fan service was fine enough, it was amazing, the perfect way to catch attention, and it was love that actually needed to be stopped; he’d seen the media and even fans turn against idols for merely rumours, let alone what happened when those rumours turned out to be true.
 
That was something he preferred not to think about, but it was the sheer truth, and he didn’t like to admit that it hurt; he didn’t know what his own family would say if he ever told them, and he was too scared to try. Having someone to talk to about that fear was soothing, he felt like the scars in his mind were briefly healing and he could, just, breathe, because no one was going to judge him, no one was going to blame him for being ‘different’; instead, he had someone who understood him.
 
Of course, he’d also found out that Seungyoon and Taehyun had been together for almost two years and all the pieces had put themselves together in his mind, making him realise that, working so closely to them, he should’ve noticed. It made perfect sense, after all, he knew that getting over an unrequited crush was different than getting over someone you’d been with that long and he understood why the older had been so heartbroken and somehow still was.
 
He’d told him how difficult it’d been for them, especially at the beginning when both of them didn’t know what to do with their feelings and were afraid of ruining their friendship, how they’d often been crushed by insecurities and by the fear of being exposed, how much it’d hurt, knowing that they would never be free and would always have to hide in the dark; what he avoided to talk about was the way they’d broken up, and Hanbin had never pushed for an answer.
 
What he often asked for was if Seungyoon ever regretted getting into a relationship with him, thinking that maybe it would’ve been better if they’d kept their feelings for themselves and hadn’t been forced to be scared of their love. The answer was always that, if he could go back in time, he would make the same choices over and over again, because he knew that, behind the painful and difficult memories, there were more that were happy.
 
Sometimes he’d even thought about telling him the true nature of his feelings, because he’d realised that maybe it was better to say the truth and face the consequences instead of regretting not saying anything at all and wonder what could’ve happened if you’d found the courage to speak up. Mostly because he now had proof that it wasn’t impossible to pursue a relationship with someone you were so close to, who you weren’t supposed to love in the first place. Every time he remembered that his feelings had to be reciprocated to do that, he spiralled back into his misery.
 
He couldn’t delude himself and pretend that Seungyoon could have feelings for him just because he’d had a boyfriend once; that wasn’t how it worked, and he knew it perfectly, he wasn’t going to fall for him just because he was a boy.
 
Well, he didn’t want that, either: he wanted the older to fall for him for who he was, he wanted him to see him, to love him because he was Kim Hanbin, because he was determined, because he liked to write songs, because he wore hoodie that were too large for him, because he taped cute band aids on his face, because he would’ve done anything for his brothers; he wanted him to see past his outer appearance and fall in love with his soul.
 
He didn’t know when it’d happened, but he knew that, at some point, his longing had gotten stronger than anything he’d ever felt for Jinhwan, to the point where, instead of being suffocating, it was almost liberating; those feelings had settled themselves comfortably into his heart and he didn’t want them to leave. Maybe, because he knew that those emotions weren’t actually a threat because they weren’t going to break his group apart, whatever happened; they were dangerous, surely, almost devastating, but he didn’t need to stop feeling them.
 
Seungyoon’s voice brought him back from the depths of his mind, and he unfocusedly heard him ask if he was okay, but couldn’t bring himself to answer, because his voice had died somewhere in his throat; he felt dizzy again, and only the older’s hands grabbing his shoulders stopped him from collapsing to the ground.
 
He sensed himself being guided to sit down on a chair and realised that he couldn’t keep his eyes open and his legs felt so weak he knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand up by himself easily. He claimed he could take exhaustion as if it wasn’t anything, but his body knew better than his head and always protested when it was getting too much.
 
A hand dropped on his forehead, moving away his dishevelled hair, probably to check if he had a fever; he didn’t think he was actually sick, he was only lovesick.
 
“Go home, Hanbin-ah. You need to sleep,” his whisper sounded so concerned that, instead of making him want to leave, it made him want to stay there with him forever. He shook his head, because he knew he had things he needed to do, because he couldn’t let his bandmates down and because he didn’t want to leave him alone.
 
He tried to get up (at least, he thought about it), but his legs refused to move; Seungyoon let out a chuckle and somehow managed to help him get to the couch and forced him to lie down, because, if he didn’t want to get proper sleep, he wasn’t going to let him wander like a ghost through the hallways. He was persuasive enough and Hanbin was tired enough that he needed to do barely anything at all to convince him; he could feel himself slipping into oblivion and he acted without realising what he was doing.
 
Catching the older’s sleeve before he could walk back to his working table, he tugged at it, like a needy child looking for attention. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but felt his heart become as light as a feather when he sensed the couch dip slightly and he couldn’t help but smile.
 
He tried not to gasp (mostly because he didn’t expect it) when his head was slightly lifted to be immediately laid back onto Seungyoon’s thigh; forgetting how intimate that position actually was, he turned around and quietly pressed his face into his stomach. One of the other’s hand found its way into his hair, softly playing with the strands.
 
“Sing for me?” he heard himself say, completely unaware of where that request had come from; he pretended he wasn’t blushing for being a sleepy idiot and closed his eyes tightly, glad the older couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t thought he would actually do it, but he indistinctly heard him gently singing the chorus of ‘It Rains’, his voice somehow soft and rough at the same time, enveloping him into a pleasant warmth that lulled him to sleep.

When he woke up, he felt cold and couldn’t open his eyes for a few seconds; he didn’t feel better at all, he felt more tired than before, if that was possible.
 
He slowly sat up, trying to adapt his eyes to the low light of the room, trying to see where Seungyoon had gone to; for some reason, he was afraid he’d left him there alone, and felt colder. He wished he didn’t need him that much that sometimes when he was gone he found himself gasping for air, as he sunk further down in the darkness of his mind.
 
“Seungyoon-ah?” he called out, forgetting all formalities, only desperate for an answer. He heard some movement somewhere in front of him and shortly after, two hands slipped on his cheeks, softly holding his head up. Looking at him, he sensed his breath catch in his throat yet once again and almost felt like crying, asking himself how it was possible for someone to be so—everything, he didn’t know how to explain it properly.
 
It was extremely easy to get lost into his eyes: they were dark and deep, and, somehow, he always felt warm whenever he laid his irises on him, almost as if they were a bonfire keeping him from freezing in the dead of night; they always had a gleam of tenderness in them every time he looked at the people he cared about, and Hanbin was pleased to know he was one of them. Sometimes he could swear that he saw galaxies into his pupils, and wanted nothing more than roam among those stars, without a worry in the world; every time he fell in love with him all over again.
 
“Why didn’t you go home?” the older asked after a while, caressing his cheekbones ever so lightly it almost hurt; he didn’t really know what to answer to that question, even though the reply was clear in his mind, as it had always been.
 
Logically, he knew he should’ve went back to sleep before he died of overworking, or, at least, that he should’ve kept working in his own studio. Instead, he’d fallen asleep there like a damn idiot, only because he didn’t want to leave him alone, somehow wanted to have him near.
 
He should’ve run as far away as possible from him, but always found himself coming back because he couldn’t bear the thought of living without him; he almost thought it was funny to think that he once believed love wasn’t something he would ever want, how he wasn’t made for love.
 
Love had taken it as an affront and was now laughing at him for his arrogance; he’d been trying to catch a star all his life and, in the end, that wasn’t what he’d caught. He’d caught a damaged boy (a falling star) and had hurt himself, both literally and figuratively speaking.
 
A bittersweet smile opened on his face as he thought about what he wished he could answer, while knowing perfectly that weren’t words he would ever say, because being with him without being able to love him was better than not being with him at all.
 
‘I didn’t want to leave you alone. Maybe it would be easier if I wasn’t so painfully in love with you.’
 
The air between them stilled for a second, it became almost electric, and he didn’t know why; then, slowly, sleepily, he noticed how Seungyoon’s fingers had stopped rubbing tiny circles on his cheeks and noticed how his eyes suddenly became overcast and it felt like looking into a black hole, starless and cold.
 
He felt as if he’d suddenly turned into the main character of a drama and that had happened just to cause, well, drama, as he understood that, in his exhausted and drowsy state, he’d said it out loud.