Gongchan talks in his sleep.

It’s something that the other boys discovered not long after they moved into the dorms.  Baro had appeared in the other boys’ room bent double with laughter, managing between snickers to say he had something they had to see.  It was Gongchan, curled on his side with the blanket almost covering his head, and he was mumbling into his pillow. 

“So he talks in his sleep,” Shinwoo said.  “Big whoop.”

“No, no.”  Baro crouched down next to Gongchan, grinning at the others before leaning over and whispering, “Gongchan, what do you think of your mother’s cooking?”

Gongchan’s eyebrows furrowed together into a frown.  “You’re leading me on,” he mumbled.  “Stop trying to tear us apart.”

This was met with a bunch of stifled snorts, and Baro continued, “You like her kimchi, right?”

Gongchan’s face relaxed into a smile.  “Love.”

Jinyoung waved a dismissive hand as his other went to his stomach.  “Stop, you’re exploiting him.”

“You’re exploiting him,” Gongchan returned, and Sandeul cried out, unable to stay quiet any longer, earning him a smack on the shoulder from Shinwoo.

There wasn’t much besides that, and Gongchan never found out about his habit.  Once it lost its novelty, the other boys seemed to forget.  At least, until there was someone new to show the maknae off to.  Gongchan was charming even in his sleep.

For Sandeul, it only helped him fall for Gongchan faster.  Once the other boys realized those two were the loudest, they were quickly bunked off in their own room so the others could get some sleep.  Sandeul and Gongchan didn’t mind, the latter commenting on how it made every night like a sleepover with his best friend.  They stayed up way too late the first few nights sharing Sandeul’s upper bunk just to talk, sharing everything with each other without even thinking about it, their secrets spilling out of their mouths unbidden.  Gongchan admitted to the severity of his homesickness while Sandeul confessed his insecurities concerning his weight, and each of their burdens was lessened by the helping shoulder lent by the other.  More often than not, they fell asleep sharing the same pillow, waking up with their faces only a few inches away from each other.

Gongchan was always the one to fall asleep first, and Sandeul would patiently wait for his breathing to even out, for the first mumbled words to ease out of his mouth.

“Gongchan,” he’d whisper, his heart in his mouth.  “Channie.”

“Duck,” Gongchan would mumble, smiling at his own cleverness.  “Quack.”

“How do you feel about Sandeul-hyung?”

“Cute,” he’d sigh.  “Warm.”

“He’s warm?”

“Comfy.  Like a teddy bear.”

He’d always refuse to stay on the topic for long, usually insisting they move on to something like the new dance they were learning or the new song Jinyoung was composing. 

Sandeul cherished these shared nights, and he felt that maybe Gongchan did, too.    He was disappointed when Gongchan spent more nights in his own bunk, even though they still stayed up after the others had no doubt fallen asleep whispering secrets into the dark.  Sandeul felt bereft, missed the reassuring warmth of Gongchan’s body next to his, the comfortable weight on his pillow, the way Gongchan’s feet would sometimes tangle playfully with his under the covers.  It felt as if someone had stuck a fishhook in his heart, and every time he remembered the feeling of Gongchan’s whispers against his cheeks, of Gongchan squirming to get comfortable, the fishhook twisted itself deeper into his flesh.

Gongchan still talked to him in his sleep, and he still asked him, “How do you feel about Sandeul-hyung?”

Every time, Gongchan would answer something complimentary, but every time it left something hollow within Sandeul.

At first this feeling only came at night, but when Gongchan briefly squeezes his hand during dance practice, smiling at Sandeul like he’s the only thing that matters, the fishhook digs in deeper, tearing his heart as Gongchan rests his head on Sandeul’s shoulder and sighs contentedly.  When Gongchan reaches over and gently brushes his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, it tugs; when Gongchan fusses with his tie, it twists; when Gongchan smiles, or laughs, or hugs him, it all but rips an unfixable wound right through the middle of his heart.

They’re taking a break from practicing for a TV show appearance when Gongchan suddenly picks Sandeul up to carry him around bridal style, cackling maniacally as Sandeul desperately cries out for help.  Gongchan only squeezes him closer, runs faster, and laughs louder as Sandeul tries to fight his way out, screaming at Baro to help his hyung out.  Sandeul’s close to tears, the fishhook gouging an even deeper gash when Gongchan slows down, frowning.  “Are you okay?” he asks, a leftover laugh spilling unbidden out of his mouth.

“Please just put me down,” Sandeul says, wincing at the way his voice almost breaks.  “I – I feel dizzy.”

Gongchan immediately complies, putting a steadying hand on each of Sandeul’s shoulders.  Unconsciously, Sandeul reaches up to cover them with his own.  “Thank you,” he sighs.

Gongchan leans down to touch his forehead to Sandeul’s.  “You okay?” he whispers.

Sandeul looks up and finds warm eyes twinkling over a smile that makes his stomach melt, and he feels faint.  “Yeah.”

“Oi, Gongchanshie, leave hyung alone,” Baro quips, flicking the back of Gongchan’s head.  “Let him sit for a bit.”

“I was just playing,” he mutters glumly, taking his hands away from Sandeul’s shoulders.

Sandeul gently pushes him away.  “He said to get away from me,” he teases, the fishhook stirring as Gongchan looks up at him with a half-formed smile crinkling his eyes.  Sandeul pushes him again.  “Get away.”

Gongchan pushes back.  “You get away.”

Sandeul pushes with two hands.  “No, you!”  He laughs as Gongchan returns the gesture, the fishhook twisting.  He yelps when Gongchan suddenly grabs him and pulls him into a hug, squirming to get free as Gongchan only squeezes him tighter.

“You’ll never escape!” he laughs as Sandeul pretends to try and bite him.  “Never!”

The other boys look on, none of them impressed by their roughhousing. 

“Gongchan,” Sandeul whispers that night, about to fall off of his bunk as Gongchan answers with a grunt.  “How do you feel about Sandeul-hyung?”

“He’s heavy,” Gongchan mumbles, and Sandeul nearly falls to the ground as he jerks in shock.  “But nice.  Very nice.”

Sandeul’s heart flutters.  “N-nice how?”

“Dunno,” Gongchan sighs.  “His laugh is funny.”

Sandeul rolls onto his back to stare at the murky ceiling, his heart thudding.

“He’s funny,” Gongchan continues.  “I want to make him laugh.”

Sandeul rolls onto his side to face the wall.

“Want to make him happy.  His eyes are sad.”

“Channie,” Sandeul whispers, the fishhook quivering.

“Mm?”

“Talk about something else.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Please.”

A giggle.  “Quack.”  The fishhook digs.

“Go back to sleep.”

Gongchan mutters something incoherent, and Sandeul closes his eyes, willing the fishhook to stay still.

It stays stuck in his heart, though, and it moves when Gongchan wakes him up the next morning by blowing on his ear.  Sandeul shrieks, and Gongchan cackles, dropping to the floor with a thud. 

“You’re cute,” he says, that stupid smile of his still on his face as Sandeul gingerly steps down from the ladder. 

“You scared me,” he chastises, ignoring the urge to kiss the smile off of Gongchan’s face.  “I almost had a heart attack.”

“Yeah, but a cute one,” Gongchan says, and Sandeul feels guilty when his smile dims.

“Hey, I just – I mean – just don’t do it again!”  Sandeul hurries to the bathroom then, locking the door behind him so his heart can have a chance to calm down.  Why does he insist on torturing me? he thinks.  It’s like he knows.

And it is, because Gongchan continues to act like an eight year-old with a crush, pulling on Sandeul’s pig tails when he pokes him in the stomach without warning, when he tugs on Sandeul’s arm to pull him closer, when he puts his feet in Sandeul’s lap when they’re watching TV with the others in the evening. 

“We should have a sleepover tonight,” Gongchan says once they’re both in their pajamas, ready for bed.  “Like when we first started rooming together.”

The fishhook twitches.  “T-tonight?”

“Do you not want to?” Gongchan asks, his face falling in dismay.  “I mean, we don’t have to if you think it’s stupid now or whatever.”  He shrugs.  “I just thought it’d be fun.”

“N-no, we can,” Sandeul says, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out.  “For sure!  Yeah!”

“Are you sure?”

Sandeul climbs onto his bunk and pats the mattress beside him.  “Come on up.”

Gongchan scurries up like a squirrel, and Sandeul’s stomach twists when he sees the grin lighting up his face.  They quickly get settled under the covers, a giggle escaping from Gongchan’s mouth as they make eye contact.

“I feel like I have a bunch of butterflies in my stomach,” he admits, his toothpaste-flavored breath washing over Sandeul’s face and leaving his gut in turmoil.  “Weird, huh?”

“You’re always weird,” Sandeul teases, hoping that if he keeps talking, the fishhook won’t move too much.

“You’re weirder,” Gongchan says, his face serious.  “Your laugh is louder than my grandmother’s.”

“You look like a dinosaur.”

Gongchan’s foot collides with Sandeul’s leg.  “At least I’m a cute dinosaur.”

Sandeul kicks back.  “You’re ugly.”

Gongchan gasps.  “Says the ugly duckling!”

“Take that back!”

“Isn’t it time you lose weight again?”  Gongchan laughs as Sandeul reaches out to poke his stomach, doubling over to protect himself.  “Been eating too much stir fry lately?”

Sandeul rolls over so his back is to Gongchan.  “You’re horrible.” 

His blood freezes when Gongchan scoots up until he’s practically spooning him.  An arm goes over Sandeul’s waist, pulling him closer.  “Say that again,” Gongchan says lowly.  “And I’ll tickle you until Shinwoo threatens to beat us up for making so much noise.”

Sandeul can’t breathe, the arm hugging him close smothering him as he tries to stay calm.  “P-please don’t,” he wheezes.

Gongchan presses his chin into the nape of Sandeul’s neck, snuggling closer.  “Like I’d invite that kind of wrath upon myself.”  He laughs, the vibrations from his chest reverberating through Sandeul’s back.  “Only if I wanted to die.”

Sandeul feels like he’s going to die as one of Gongchan’s feet slides against his calf.  “Goodnight, Ducky,” Gongchan murmurs, settling down with his nose in Sandeul’s hair.  “Sweet dreams.”

Sandeul can’t sleep, not with this stifling presence behind him, and he utters a pathetic squeak when Gongchan’s grip suddenly tightens before he lets go, rolling onto his back with a content sigh. 

“Channie?” he whispers, wincing as his voice cracks.

“You’re Channie,” Gongchan grumbles, and Sandeul breathes a sigh of relief; he’s asleep.

He rolls onto his side, watching carefully as Gongchan’s chest rises and falls with a steady rhythm.  “Channie,” he whispers.

“What.”

He can’t help it.  “How do you feel about Sandeul-hyung?”

“How do you feel?” Gongchan asks, frowning.  “Always asking about him.  Annoying.”

Sandeul jumps, as if he’d been shocked; the fishhook twists.  “W-what do you mean?”

Gongchan’s frown deepens.  “Do you like Sandeul-hyung?” he asks.  “’Cause I think you do.”

“I don’t – ”

“I like Sandeul-hyung,” he continues, and Sandeul feels the fishhook pierce the center of his heart.  “My Sandeul.”

“Your Sandeul?”

“Wanna kiss him.” 

Sandeul’s heart stops. 

Gongchan stirs, and his eyes flutter.  He makes a noise like a question, and Sandeul panics, unsure if Gongchan knows what he’s just been discussing.

“San-ducky,” he mumbles, rolling towards Sandeul and pursing his lips.  “Closer.”

“Ch-Channie – ”

Gongchan continues to surge forward until he has an arm and a leg draped over Sandeul’s body, effectively trapping him.  Gongchan hums contentedly before burying his face in the pillow next to Sandeul.  “Comfy,” he mutters.

“Gongchan.”  Sandeul says it at a normal volume, shaking Gongchan until he blearily lifts his head.  “I’m never going to be able to sleep like this.”

“Wha’?” 

“Please get off of me.”

His eyes go wide when he realizes what Sandeul is talking about, and he all but jumps over the railing to the floor.  “S-sorry,” he mumbles, and the fishhook tugs again at the pink hue of his face.  “I don’t know what I – ”

Sandeul rolls closer, pressing part of his face into the pillow.  “You like me?” he whispers, his stomach clenching as the fishhook prepares its final puncture.

Gongchan stares at Sandeul with big eyes, afraid.  “Do you hate me?” he asks, his voice tiny and miserable.

The fishhook wiggles.  “No,” Sandeul murmurs.  “The opposite.”

Gongchan starts to relax.  “The opposite…” 

“The opposite of hate.”

He edges closer to Sandeul.  “That’s love.  You don’t love me like that.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“Logic says.”

“Well, logic’s wrong.”  With that, he shoots forward to press his lips to Gongchan’s, and the fishhook dislodges itself.  Sandeul lets out a relieved sigh as Gongchan watches him, bewildered.

“Y-you just – ”

Sandeul rolls over so his back is to Gongchan.  “I liked it when you were spooning me,” he says, his chest burning when Gongchan catches on and scoots closer, an arm snaking around his waist. 

“Like this?” he breathes.

Sandeul nods.  “Yeah.”

Gongchan presses even closer, nuzzling the back of Sandeul’s neck, his breath hot on his skin as he exhales.  “Has anyone told you you’re really comfy?”

Sandeul breathes a quick laugh.  “Yeah.  You.”

“Me?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“No, now.”

“Later.”

Gongchan squeezes.  “Now.”

Sandeul wriggles in protest.  “No.”

Gongchan kisses his neck.  “Please,” he murmurs against the skin.

Sandeul shudders.  “N-no.”

Gongchan extends his neck to drag a lip over Sandeul’s ear.  “Please.”

Oh, it’s hard to resist such a charming boy.