XXX

Chansung looks at the clothes scattered around the floor and sighs, shaking his head as if to say he’s resigned himself to Junho’s inability to keep the room organized for a day. It’s therefore useless to tidy it, but how is he supposed to find the other’s phone without digging through the mess? Since he’s getting his hands dirty anyway, he'd rather not make the effort in vain. Besides, it could be a nice way to get Junho to talk to him again.

After checking pockets and shaking each garment to see if anything is going to fall from it, he separates them into two piles: clean or barely worn (though often wrinkled), which he folds or hangs in the closet, and suspiciously smelling or possibly stained, which he holds away after a quick sniff. The second pile is then taken to the laundry, but that’s as far as he goes. Washing the clothes is definitely not part of the plan, nor is he willing to do that much for his fellow maknae.

Once back in the room, despite the now visible floor, he still has much to do. There’s music gear and computer gadgets mixed up with fan’s gifts on the desk near the bed, and a bunch of papers with lyrics, notes, schedules, and even one of OkCat’s drawings, which he chuckles at. He goes through it all and gets the feeling that Junho might have actually gone to the gym with the phone, even if he stated otherwise. 

Chansung decides to check the closet again. He’s rummaging through the clothes that were already there when he hears a vibrating sound. He pulls a bunch of hangers with clothes to the left, the sound getting more distinct as he pulls the remaining clothes aside, his hands searching until finding the cold and smooth surface that now rings near his face. He chuckles in that almost stupid way of his upon seeing Taecyeon's name on the screen; they should have thought of doing this before. Chansung answers it with another laugh and then Taecyeon appears at the closet door, smug grin and wiggly eyebrows amusing the maknae even more. 

“You’re so dumb,” Taecyeon says, in that non-offensive tone of his, though it sounds half like a matter-of-fact statement. That’s probably why Chansung stops laughing for a moment to shove at him, just to laugh again. They forget about the phone for a while as Taecyeon punches playfully at his arm and grabs for his , and Chansung complains about it being unfair even as he gives another shove, stronger than before, enough to unbalance him so that Taecyeon stumbles to the floor. Distracted by his own laugh, Chansung misses the trip that makes him fall too, almost kicking the other. 

Taecyeon’s snicker is a provocation that Chansung responds by poking at him with his foot, none too lightly, unprepared for his sock to be taken off as Taecyeon tickles him mercilessly, smug smile refueled. Chansung writhes and kicks and punches his thigh repeatedly, half desperate and half roaring. His hyung eventually stops, but it’s just to pull Chansung by the leg, then by the waist and the arm, so the mirth fades slightly when Chansung realizes Taecyeon is leaning into him, a lingering look going from his face to his neck and back to his lips. It’s somewhat unnerving and reminiscing of why they’re stuck in the dorm while the others get to out for a couple of hours. Chansung swallows, unsure of what to do—if he’s supposed to do something at all. He’s almost saying, “Not here,” because this is Junho’s room and he thinks it would be a betrayal, though he doesn’t know exactly why. However, Taecyeon must have sensed his doubts, or he might have some of his own... Either way, they let the moment pass: Taecyeon lets go of him and lies back by his side, motioning at the cell phone that ended up on the floor when they started their silly fight. 

Chansung immediately checks if everything is okay and if it works and if there isn’t a scratch anywhere because Junho will kill him otherwise, that he has no doubts about, but the phone seems to be intact and he sighs, so relieved Taecyeon snorts. 

“I should take a picture of your face and post it to his twitter account.”

“No pics. It’d be too much.” 

The reason why they decided to get Junho’s phone in the first place was to call Jinyoung-hyung. There’s no food at home and Chansung’s hungry and he knows the others won’t buy him anything as a punishment for the scene that he and Taecyeon supposedly made last night. Or early in the morning, depending on how one looked at it. He’s not sure how much of the others’ claims he’s willing to believe, because he doesn’t remember much, but he knows Junho is especially angry at him, and Taecyeon kept sending him amused glances while Minjun reprimanded them both for interrupting what sleep he’d gotten after worrying sick that they were taking so long just to get a couple of beers. It turns out that they not only bought much more than that, but also finished most of it on the way home. He has his own suspicions of what exactly happened, but he dares not ask yet. His head is still fuzzy, but he'll always trust Taecyeon’s judgement less than he does his own. 

“You know Junho never gets really angry at you,” Taecyeon is saying, and the tone of his voice confuses Chansung for a moment. His stomach rambles for reasons other than food. Why aren’t they making the damn call yet? 

“But he hits me anyway,” he makes himself reply, though there’s the ghost of a grin on the corner of his lips.

Taecyeon flashes him a knowing smile in return, and there’s that tone again. “You two suit each other well.”

Chansung is silent. He thinks he knows what Taecyeon is getting at, but he’s not ready to admit or deny it, because he can’t explain it himself, and he’s not ready to talk about it. Least of all with him, even less after what they've probably done. But the words burn in his mind, the thought glues itself there, and he can’t stop thinking about it anymore. It’s hard denying it to yourself, it’s still hard to deal with it when you’re willing to, but it’s a different kind of difficulty when others notice it, when you hear it from another person. 

By the time the rest of the group gets back home earlier than expected and Nichkhun asks him why he’s still not in the kitchen to share in on the pizza Wooyoung’s ordered for them all, Chansung can’t look at either Junho or Taecyeon. 

x

The unusual smell of pancakes brings him to the kitchen and Junho is even more surprised to see Chansung there, his back to him as he looks concentrated on pouring the dough on the fry pan without making it too thick or deformed. He must have finally gotten permission to go out and get the ingredients, for they didn’t have much of anything left at home last night and they’re not used to making pancakes anyway. Furthermore, he’d expect Taecyeon or Nichkhun to prepare things like that, although one would probably burn the kitchen down before the other could have a chance of trying it. 

“Morning, Simpson,” Junho greets as he approaches the table now between them. When there’s no response—no exasperated sigh at the nickname, no searing look, no dismissive shrug—Junho frowns, his sleepy eyes even smaller than before. “Cat kicked you out of bed?” he tries to sound playful, but he hears the edge in his own voice. It is too early for both of them to be up and Junho wonders if Chansung is sleepwalking—or sleepcooking—, but the plate with sorted fruit the maknae has chopped and placed on the table and his uninjured fingers tell him otherwise. He knows why hecouldn’t sleep well, and he’s now wondering if Chansung couldn’t sleep either. 

“Chansung-ah?” he tries again, hating to use that as a way to get the other’s attention, especially when he’s still angry at him, but the feeling fades slightly when Chansung finally turns to face him after flipping another pancake and adding it to the growing pile next to the stove, which he just turned off. Junho’s sleepiness also goes away under Chansung's stare: it’s searching and insistent and unexpected considering the previous two days, in which their rare moments alone have turned to awkwardness. He’s also been waiting for this though, for so long he doesn’t remember when it all started, or how, or why. He just knows it’s there, but he also knows that Chansung’s attitude towards Taecyeon contradicts what seems to be a meaningful gaze despite all previous evidence Junho has that he should believe it. He’s speechless for a moment, also aware that this could just be his imagination, his yearning playing a trick on him. Nonetheless, his mind screams when Chansung goes around the table, long steps halting just when they’re too close for comfort, no matter how many times they’ve been even closer--but this is different. 

Chansung grabs at the hem of the hoodie Junho’s wearing and Junho tries to disguise his own confused face while his thoughts race to convince him to push the other away, because the maknae suddenly looks annoyed and he doesn’t know why and he’s the one who’s supposed to be mad here. 

“This is mine,” Chansung says, and Junho is not convinced anymore by the irritated look Chansung tries to muster up. “Take it off,” and that has Junho laughing nervously, eye-smile twitching as he almost screams a “What?!” because Chansung is pulling at the sweatshirt with too much strength and he has to fight back while trying to get rid of those hands and the still tempting effects of their proximity. No sooner does he escape than Chansung grabs at him again, this time from behind, and Junho doesn’t know if he should be laughing but that’s what he does. Chansung finally cackles like the idiot he is and Junho is half angry again because whatthejusthappened and Chansung’s breathing against his neck, so now Junho's angry at himself for reacting with an inconcealable shiver. Chansung tries to look serious after dodging Junho’s elbow against his stomach, which at least served to make him undo the lock.

“It’s enough that I clean your room, you don’t have to wear my clothes just because you’re too lazy to do your own laundry.” Although Chansung laughs because of his own double offense, Junho probably does look pissed right now. At the same time, he’s trying to make up an excuse for wearing Chansung’s hoodie that will not hint at jealousy of him and Taecyeon or the fact that he slept with the frigging thing on because he wanted to feel Chansung around him, and that smell against his skin. Junho could say it’s because it’s so comfortable and he can bury both his hands inside and hold them together when it’s cold and put anything inside the joined big pocket and cover his face on the street so none will recognize him, but that’s probably why Chansung likes it and doesn’t want him to borrow it.

Junho's mind hurries to smash what could become an embarrassed eye-smile by his current inability to give quick and witty reply, but he dares something else. “You want this rag? Come and get it!” And he stands as if ready for a fight. 

Chansung bursts out loud at that, tries to settle things with a sweet “Nuneo-ah” that makes Junho want to punch and kiss him at the same time, but the older one shakes his head, making it clear that it’s not going to be that easy. Thus, Chansung tries to get hold of his arm, but Junho hits his wrist away, and at the other’s outraged look he knows they’re fighting. 

It’s stupid and childish and full of laughter and the goddamn sweatshirt is almost ripped apart, but Junho loves every minute of it. In the end, he’s the one on Chansung’s back, panting, an arm firm around his neck as his other hand pokes him everywhere. Chansung tries to tell him to stop—for some reason, he’s got his arms around Junho’s legs to prevent him from falling instead of doing the opposite—but he’s laughing and Junho punches at his shoulder a little too strongly and Chansung curses loudly at him—and that’s when a bedroom door bursts open and someone’s throwing big stuffed bears at them, and Junho almost falls, but Chansung strengthens his hold at him as he runs back to the kitchen. 

“YAH! COME BACK HERE, YOU RASCALS! STOP THIS MADNESS AND GO BACK TO SLEEP!”

It’s almost time for them to get up anyway, but Minjun bangs the door closed again before they can tell him that, which is probably good because he sounded furious. They must have been making a bigger fuss than intended, so that’s why Junho slides off Chansung and punches at his back for good measure before sitting down at the table.

“Make me pancakes.”

“You can have this.” Chansung puts the pile of pancakes he's already prepared in front of him.

Junho shakes his head. “I want them hot.” 

Chansung rolls his eyes at him. “You steal my things and try to order me around?”

Junho raises an eyebrow at that. “I’m your hyung.” Chansung just snorts instead of correcting that statement. Why was he complaining all of a sudden, anyway? It’s usually Junho who doesn’t like it when people go bossy at him. “Besides, you still owe me an explanation for what happened the other night. And I know you’ve been to my room without permission.”

“I cleaned it!”

He shrugs. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Chansung looks at him for a long moment. Junho can almost see the gears turning in his head. “Fine. Keep the sweatshirt. I’ll make more pancakes.” He pauses. “But that’s all you’re getting.”

However, that’s not what Junho wants. He opens his mouth to try and make Chansung talk, but Nichkhun emerges from his room, bushy eyebrows becoming one as he spots what the maknae is doing. He manages a good-morning smile at Junho and goes to wake the others up. Junho sighs, chews at a piece of apple and bangs his head on the table, though he won’t accept defeat.

x

122… 123… 124…

Taecyeon does another sit-up and lets the tension go through a groan, pure frustration written on his features. He can’t focus and he’s tried everything, from the treadmill to weight-lifting to joining Minjun in skipping and helping Nichkhun stretch. The latter seemed eager to ask questions about his ruffled behavior, though, so he turned to other options until not even music seemed to help. He’s even counted out loud, but that disturbed the others, so he’s left with silently comparing his body to theirs. He doesn’t know why he thought that would be a good idea since a certain someone’s body is what brought him to this state, but it was all going well until what he’s seen the fans refer to as “happy trail” became way too vivid on his mind. 

Of course said happy trail owner would be stretching and exposing said area of faintly hairy skin the moment Taecyeon dares look at him, which brings out another groan as he gets up to leave. He feels the others’ gazes on his back with different levels of curiosity or indifference, it’s too soon to call it a day but he might as well call it a week and wish for Monday already. Weekend or not, they’re always busy, but he should be looking forward to the next few days, because they meant doing photoshoots, and photoshoots meant a few moments of rest, however tiring it still may be.

On the other hand, photoshoots also meant taking off clothes and exposing muscles and looking hot and--Chansung's always curious eyes, and his perfect teeth, and that big nose, and that haircut that looks so nice, and that narrow waist, and—

Taecyeon tells himself not to holler as he heads for the locker room, but he puts too much strength into opening his own locker. He takes his bag out and bangs the door closed, so even at a distance everyone might have heard the noise. It leads to more vexation at his own lack of control, but this time he fights it. 

Breathe in, breathe out, undress, go to the shower, relax… yes… 

And there it is again, the way his fingers would walk around the belly button if he had the chance... He would trace the slightly dark way to heaven… go down... 

His breathing changes, hands working as an unconscious reflex to his imagination, the fog from the shower also mirroring the one in his head...

“Hyung, you okay?”

He almost jumps at that question. The voice makes it clear that this is not the first time he’s been called. Taecyeon is immediately grateful for shower stalls, and hopes his mouth hasn’t betrayed him without notice. He tries to answer, but his throat makes a weird noise and he tries to clear it, not missing the low chuckle that reaches him from the other side.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” He answers almost too quickly, despite that tone in the other’s voice telling him he knows what he’s been doing. 

Taecyeon tries to ignore the way his body reacts to that possibility, but it's no good when he can easily recall what he's already tasted, however briefly.

I said I could barely stand your smell and then you told me I smelled much worse and my breath was horrible and I dared you to prove it—I kissed you and you looked shocked, they said... Junho almost jumped on me while shouting that that’s enough and Nichkhun and Wooyoung were laughing so hard but then you kissed me back and Minjun screamed at us that we were crossing the line and we would regret it and I think—part of me did that because the others were there and I wanted to tease them, but it’s exactly the fact that they were there that I had the courage to do it because I could blame it on alcohol and weird pranks and I knew you’d pass out the moment you laid in bed because you’d drunk much more than me so I’m betting you forgot it all but I can’t, I can’t forget it.

The words are stuck in his throat, the rushed thoughts swirling and adding to the heat. Taecyeon doesn't like putting things off, but he doesn’t even know if Chansung remembers, and if so he doubts Chansung is willing to discuss their drunken stupidity. 

He hears the rustle of garments and for a crazed moment thinks it’s his own shower stall that’s been opened, but there’s the noise of another rusty faucet and more water running to smack him back to reality. Sighing, Taecyeon turns his shower to cold and finishes it in a hurry, rubbing angrily at his scalp with the towel. His body is treated the same and he almost enjoys the silent complaint of his skin. Then, he puts on some old, comfy sweat suit, the dark blue almost matching his current mood.

He’s heading back to ask the others if they want to grab something to eat before heading to their schedules for the day, but Wooyoung and Minjun are already getting something from the machine down the corridor. Nichkhun waves a treasured package of dried mangoes at him that makes Taecyeon gape for a second or two, and Junho is coming towards him, frowning as he heads to where Taecyeon just came from. 

Taecyeon looks back, unsettled by something in Junho's stare, but Nichkhun is basically stuffing a bunch of that treasured food in his mouth, and he forces himself to chew and swallow.

x
x
x

Chansung takes another pill and washes it down with huge gulps of water. The pain, no matter how used he is to feeling it, is still too much for him to take. He slumps down on the floor and drapes an arm over his face, predicting the relief to be long-coming if it does. 

A soft meow preludes the furry weight jumping over him to walk up his torso, and then Jeonggam is pawing at his chin, demanding attention. He smiles for a fleeting second and scratches at the cat’s year, so Jeonggam settles over his ribcage, probably satisfied. Chansung pats him as a distraction from the ache in his teeth, his jaw, spreading through his head. He should just relax, but he can’t keep the tension of their upcoming comeback away. Add two fellow members to the equation and his teeth are gritting so hard and naturally, he wants to kick himself for the unnecessary pain. His lips part and he tries to focus on keeping them like that, gently biting at his tongue so it will keep the teeth apart. 

The door opens and he hears cautious steps approaching, Jeonggman's tail moves as if to tell Chansung who it is. Part of him has been expecting Junho to come and check if things are alright, so he’s grateful when the other sits down and pulls him close, not asking how he feels or why Jeonggam is out of the cage nor why he’s still not wearing the clothes for the MV they’re supposed to have started recording. Chansung rests his head on Junho’s lap as his hair is combed this way and that, fingers sometimes putting a gentle pressure to his scalp. Junho is always praising Chansung's skills as a do-it-or-you’ll-regret-it massager, but his own unsure hands feel like a blessing right then. 

Jeonggam does something out of his line of view that makes Junho chuckle and Chansung peers at them in time to see the cat trying to climb on the other’s arm, as if his owner’s attention wasn’t enough. He also catches Junho biting at his bottom lip a second later, the worry shadowing his features when he thinks it won’t be seen. Chansung files it away as another one of their unspoken exchanges, closing his eyes to better enjoy the continued caress. The pain, if not quelched, is soothed so he won't think too much about it.

x

It’s dark. He’s still half sleeping, though he can’t call this sleepwalking because Chansung is the one who does that, and he’s very conscious of what he’s doing. More conscious than usual, he admits to himself. He doesn't care, though, or tells himself he shouldn't. His footsteps take him to the maknae’s bedroom, so used he is to the way there he reckons light won’t be needed. He finds support on the wall and is careful not to bump his feet anywhere because waking the others up is the last thing he wants right now.

The door to Chansung’s room is open, but Junho pushes at it after he enters, leaving just a crack that he makes sure won’t increase easily by sliding a slipper under the door. Maybe he should just close it, but that might be suspicious. And noisy. So he goes straight to the bunk and tugs at the covers.

“Chansung-ah.”

No response.

“Chansungie…! I can’t sleep.”

There’s the sound of a body moving under the covers, but that’s all. 

“Chansung-ah, please. My room smells of sweat.”

“Hmmm.”

“My muscles are all sore from today’s practice.”

An unintelligible grumble escapes the sleeping maknae, and Junho tugs at the covers again, also poking at what he thinks might be the other’s shoulder.

“Jeongmman and Kkomaeng are making weird noises.”

That has the covers being pulled back, just enough for Chansung to peek at him, not quite awake, so that’s probably why he doesn’t question what’s obviously a lie beyond a confused, “Huh?”

Junho pouts, though the other probably can’t see. The pout is still audible in his whisper. “Let me sleep here.”

A moment goes by in which Junho thinks the other might have fallen asleep again, but then Chansung lifts the covers. He's moving back against the wall for Junho to fit in the bed that is big enough for a tall maknae, but not quite for two people with well developed bodies and butts that occupy a lot of space.

Junho takes advantage of that to press their bodies close, and Chansung is either too sleepy or too tired or—well, what matters is that he doesn’t complain about it, and even rests an arm around Junho’s back. But then Chansung's pulling him closer, and Junho suddenly finds their faces less than an inch apart as Chansung pulls the covers over them both, and then the arm is there again, finding its place at the curve of Junho's spine. 

Chansung’s voice is barely audible, and his breath tickles Junho’s nose. “You don’t have to be jealous, Nuneo.”

It’s too short and not enough and leaves room for too much interpretation, but at the same time it’s more than Junho’s expected to hear. It’s so much, and he doesn’t dare ask for a further explanation—not now, when he can just touch Chansung’s face and hair and neck, and Chansung responds by finding the hand between their bodies and entwining it with his own.

Junho closes his eyes. He savors the moment, basks in the thrill, considers the risk of taking another step… He sighs, looks at Chansung again, and the maknae relaxes against him, breath soft, peacefulness that even the dark can’t hide.

Junho almost smiles at him. The feeling is still there, though. In his eyes.

He closes them again, and wills the sleep to come.

x

Minjun is helping Nichkhun with his high notes while Wooyoung also listens, an arm around the Thai’s back. When the latter moves away to demonstrate the dance move that matches the line being discussed, Wooyoung’s eyes are momentarily drawn to the trio closest to the mirror, but Nichkhun leans back into him soon enough and Minjun gives him a secret smile before getting impatient with Nichkhun’s tendency to sound like a strangled cat, though they all make fun of it, even the Thai himself. 

At the other corner, Taecyeon watches as Junho demonstrates yet another time how his right leg should move in synchrony with his hips, and it seems pretty easy until Taecyeon tries it out and succeeds at looking like a robot, again. Chansung is wearing those damn tight jeans that make his thighs and hips stand out, so Taecyeon is both thankful and regretful when it’s Junho that comes in front of him to see if he can follow. Junho has some pretty nice curves working there as well, but at least the clothes he’s wearing today are not so revealing.

Taecyeon tries it once more and Junho finally snaps, “You’ve gotta be doing it on purpose!”, and though that’s not the case, Taecyeon also won’t admit that he’s too tired right now. So Junho orders Chansung to deal with him since they’re both giants and Chansung just laughs as the other walks out of the room, and Taecyeon is left to deal with his frustration until Chansung snaps as well, but it sounds suspicious—one might even say he just wants some time to rest; god knows they’re all stubborn enough not to say so out loud until someone confesses. Taecyeon can’t even try to win him over with an apologizing grin, because Chansung is already leaving too, and Taecyeon’s dumbfounded at what seems to be a double overreaction from their youngest pair. He glances at the remaining members and Wooyoung shrugs, looking amused while Nichkhun seems lost, but Minjun gestures impatiently for him to just go after the other two.

After a sigh and a muttered “geez,” Taecyeon finds them in the corridor, Chansung leaning against the wall while Junho fills a cup of water, both finally looking as tired as the Taecyeon feels.

“I want to sleep,” Chansung whines to none in particular, and Junho simply looks at him without having to say that he feels the same, but they’ve had worse, much worse than this, and they can endure anything as long as they keep growing. 

The duo seems unaware of his presence until Chansung looks his way and reaches out in a silent invitation. Taecyeon goes to his side and lets the maknae lean against him, head half supported by his shoulder. Junho frowns at the sight, the now empty cup cracking in his fingers. Taecyeon recognizes easily the conflict there, and frowns back at him, in as much a challenge as a display of his own thoughts. There’s tension in the air and then it’s Chansung whose knitted eyebrows and exasperated sigh calls their attention: he grabs Junho by the arm and pulls until he caves and comes to his other side. Chansung links arms with both of them, so casual and comfortable that Taecyeon almost laughs, though he can’t say why. Maybe it’s because Chansung is basically stating, Don’t make me choose, and Taecyeon gives up on trying to understand how fair or unfair that is.

“Jinyoung-hyung wants us to record the dance practice today,” he hears himself saying, after what feels like some minutes have passed. They all know this is actually the only day available for this amidst their tiresome schedule, thus want implies need. 

Junho laughs. “Remember when we had to learn Hate You in a day?” and they all get lost in a short moment of nostalgia and reassurance. They’re much more used to it now than they were four years ago. Taecyeon would say the choreography this time is not exactly easier, but that’s probably just him.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he says, ready to go back inside, but Chansung holds him in place. He looks questioningly at the maknae, and he's not the only intrigued one. Junho’s stare goes from Chansung to Taecyeon until settling on Chansung’s face as well, and the latter chews at his lower lip before answering.

“We can show you how to do that,” Chansung whispers, and his reticence says this is not for the others to see.

Taecyeon looks at Junho, and an impossible, sinful thought dawns on them.

x
x
x

The hand that slides down your side is not yours. Its caress is slow but confident, deliberate in its provocation, precise in what it stirs within you, and within who’s watching—soon to join in. There’s another hand holding you by the hips, guiding them in a languid sway. You feel yourself moving down and up in a fluid motion that matches that of the body against yours, closer and closer. 

Fingers dig at your thighs and move towards dangerous places. There’s nothing to do, nothing you want to do but surrender to the heat, inside and out, front and back, all around you. Your skin burns and there’s a pair of lips tracing lines from your neck to your chest, just as another mouth breathes against your spine, and your own mouth waters until it’s on by a hungry one, teeth digging into your flesh as your hands dig into the of the one behind you. 

You’re turned around, you’re pushed and pulled and pressed and bruised, but you do it all back, twice as hard, unwilling to stop. You keep wanting more, giving more, not sure if losing yourself or winning a battle, but you’re thrilled either way. 

You’re dancing, and you’re still fighting, and you fly high as you’re taken.

XXX