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Everything about the Europe tour had been surreal.
From the moment they had received the news to now, experiencing the high fresh off the stage, it was all just so much.
Not that Soobin was ever for one second ungrateful for it. He’d never been more proud of his team, his family—they’d come so far and it was often difficult to keep the well of emotions secured tightly in his chest.
He knows he’s not alone in his feelings at least, which is a relief and a comfort. He sees it so plainly on all of their faces, shining and brilliant underneath the layer of sweat and makeup and exhaustion. it’s ever present, a simmering exhilaration that is infectious and wild—he wants to hold on to it for as long as he can.
The time away had done them all well, and as he gets ready for bed, the night after their Barcelona concert, he thinks about it. He tries not to, but it’s so integral to him—he’s a bit of an over-thinker, an entertainer of the what-ifs and could-have-beens. He’s trying to be better. but in moments like these, when the adrenaline and the rush leave him with a bone-aching exhaustion, he’s a bit vulnerable.
The others have commented on it, of course they have. nothing but support and praise and gratitude because that’s what these four hold so dear and why he regards them so highly as well.
“We missed you so much hyung, but I’m so happy you look healthier now.”
“Let us know if the burden ever becomes too heavy again. we’re a family now—lean on us.”
“Hyung don’t ever leave my side like that again—take me with you next time.”
He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, feels the cold tiles beneath his feet and the soft yellow light of the bathroom he shares with Yeonjun. He can hear the older getting ready for bed too, and the quiet shuffles are grounding.
Yeonjun is grounding.
It's hard to envision their oldest falling apart in his absence, when it seems like Soobin was the one constantly relying and burdening him—especially leading up to his break. He’d always known that Yeonjun relied on him as well, he’d have to be blind, and a terrible partner, to ignore it after so many years and so much shared trauma. But still, the voices are there, the exhaustion is a little heavy, and the absence of adrenaline makes it so easy to just..doubt.
Yeonjun was strong in a way that Soobin wasn't. He'd envied Yeonjun for it, shamefully, especially at the beginning. the top trainee, the constant high marks, the confidence and aura that the older exudes, how could Soobin ever hope to compare?
But Soobin had learned that beneath it all, Yeonjun was just as vulnerable as he was. Perhaps even more so. A man who seemed so much larger than life, a star waiting to be reborn on earth, Yeonjun was his guiding light, the shade that he took refuge in when the spotlight burned too much.
It was hard to believe that Yeonjun missed Soobin the most when Soobin was constantly taking, taking, taking. A voice in the back of his mind, a nasty, loud thing in the first few days of his break, kept telling him that their oldest would be relieved. After all, shouldn’t he feel lighter now that he didn’t have to lug around Soobin’s dead weight?
He was wrong, of course. So utterly mistaken that he doesn’t think he can even entertain the idea of admitting such thoughts out loud—not even to Taehyun, his trusty right hand. This was something he would take to the grave. The truth about stars is that they eventually burn out too, no matter how bright they are.
A little dramatic, he knows, but Beomgyu’s not the only one with a flair for theatrics.
“Soobinnie? Are you still in there?”
His eyes snap open, heat crawling into his cheeks as he realizes just how long he’s been standing there. He clears his throat softly, straightening up before opening the door.
It takes him a moment to find his voice. Yeonjun stands in front of him, baggy t-shirt—one of his— and old worn pajama bottoms making him look so soft and comforting, that all he wants to do is melt.
Out of all of the Yeonjuns he knows, this one is his favorite. No makeup, no bravado, no lights and cameras…no barriers between them.
He swallows.
“Sorry hyung, I didn’t mean to take so long,” he says.
Yeonjun smiles gently, eyes bright even in the lowlights of the hotel room. He has to look up a bit to fully meet Soobin’s gaze. Soobin tries not to think too hard about how much he loves it. Loves the way Yeonjun looks like this. his heart flutters regardless of his efforts, though, and he doesn’t realize he’s staring until yeonjun’s smile turns teasing.
“Like what you see, Binnie?”
Soobin flushes, moving to shove the door closed again—Yeonjun can pee his pants for all he cares— when the older laughs, hand darting out to stop him.
“Aigoo, you’re so cute. Hyung likes what he sees too, by the way.”
Soobin wants to be petulant, but he’s a weak man when it comes to the whims of Choi Yeonjun. He’s no better than anyone else, really, and he doesn’t want to be.
“I’m literally in sweats right now hyung.”
Yeonjun shrugs, smile never fully leaving his face, but it turns shy as his cheeks turn rosy.
“You’re always beautiful to me, Binnie.”
His breath hitches, hand falling away from the door and letting it swing open on its own.
“Hyung—“
He should say something too. Something to let Yeonjun know just how beautiful he is, how breathless and starstruck he leaves Soobin with every movement, but he can’t seem to find just the right words for it.
It’s still overwhelming, to have Yeonjun’s eyes on him, to have all this attention centered on just Soobin. Plain, simple, Soobin. He wonders how it can be so easy on stage, dancing and singing the most suggestive, provocative lyrics, having Yeonjun that close with all the lights and skin showing and now…
Perhaps it’s because all those things are crutches, at the end of the day. He feels terribly wobbly now without them. The break has been good and he doesn’t regret it for a second, but it didn’t fix everything--it would be presumptuous to think that way. But it means he's still trying to find his footing again, bare feet cold and aching. He wonders if he’s ever going to.
But whatever he still needs, he knows that he needs his Yeonjun hyung the most, if the ache in his chest is anything to go by. He missed Yeonjun. He missed this Yeonjun. He doesn’t want to bestow his weight so heavily on the older just yet, even if it is lighter now.
And it helps, in a strange, sick kind of way, to see the flicker in Yeonjun’s gaze—the doubt that lingers behind it. A kinship that Soobin is so ashamed to admit to wanting but relishing in it nonethless. Yeonjun is barefoot too. The creases of tiredness are so visible underneath his pretty eyes, and Soobin gets to see it all. His hair is still a little stiff from all the product the styling noonas used on them, but Soobin’s fingers twitch with the visceral need to touch.
“I can’t believe you’re back still sometimes,” Yeonjun says, a whisper that he can feel on his own lips. When did they get so close?
“I’m here, hyung. I’m sorry for leaving.”
Yeonjun shakes his head, empathy and sadness and something else making his eyes glossy—a hazy fog that Soobin wants nothing more than to get lost in.
“No Binnie, that’s not what I meant.”
His arms are wrapped around himself, but Soobin still shivers as he holds his breath while Yeonjun speaks again.
“I knew you’d come back, I always have. I trust you, to know what’s best, not just for the team but yourself too. You’re capable. A lot more than you give yourself credit for. But I meant...I mean I can’t believe I get to have you here, so close to me. I can’t believe we get to have this—us. The kids, the tour, all of it—“
Yeonjun cuts off with a sharp breath, eyes wide, a mirror of Soobin’s own, like he can’t believe the words are tumbling so freely like this.
“I don’t know why but it’s just..a lot?” Yeonjun’s voice trembles.
Soobin stares, heart hammering so loudly in his chest he almost misses the small hitch in his hyung’s breath. The first tear slips and suddenly his arms are moving, fire flushing his veins and he reaches.
The one good thing about being so tall is the way Yeonjun’s head slots so perfectly into the crook of his neck. Yeonjun is tall enough in his own right, but something about this, the way the two of them fit together, feels like it was always supposed to be this way.
“It feels so good to have you back, Soobin-ah,” Yeonjun says into his neck with a small sniffle, and the feeling of his lips against Soobin’s skin is electrifying. “I didn’t want to do this without you.”
“You could have,” his voice feels raw, like he’s spent so long screaming himself hoarse.
Yeonjun shakes his head. His hair tickles Soobin's chin.
“Didn’t want to. I never did. I never do.”
Soobin closes his eyes, hand cupping the back of Yeonjun’s head gently.
“You’re strong though, hyung. You can do anything.”
Yeonjun laughs, a wet, self-deprecating thing that burns.
“‘m really not.”
Soobin wants to deny it, instinctively. But that would make him a liar and a hypocrite and too brazen, to dismiss his hyung like that. Isn’t that what he went through? It felt awful then, even though it sounds ridiculous, to have everyone tell him how strong he was when everything felt like it was crumbling in his grasp. A dichotomy he’s still trying to reconcile.
But he’s learning that maybe it’s not too unreasonable, to be both at the same time. He thinks of his hyung, of himself, of Beomgyu and Taehyun and sweet Kai. They weren’t invincible. Do their failures along the way negate their success? No. But to dismiss their hardships completely would be arrogant and dishonest.
“You’re strong enough for me, Yeonjunnie,” he settles on, and he hopes that it’s a good enough compromise.
Yeonjun's arms come up around him, fingers curling into the back of Soobin’s shirt and Soobin can do nothing but press him closer. He hopes that Yeonjun can feel everything he wants to say in the way he holds the elder.
I missed you so much, too hyung.
It’s okay to lean on me too.
You’re beautiful.
It’s not always like this after concerts, but every once in a while, the reality of it all hits them. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes all of them together, coming down from the high clumsily, the grace of the stage abandoning them.
Yeonjun seems to feel it the most often out of the five of them. It’s endearing, how much his hyung feels, and Soobin wonders every single time how someone’s heart could be so delicate and gentle.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, bathed in the yellow artificial light of their room, but eventually Yeonjun murmurs something into his ear and Soobin finds himself sitting at the edge of the tub. He's watching the water fill, and then Yeonjun is there, holding out his favorite shampoo, the one Kai likes to steal whenever he gets the chance. Soobin finally gets to sink his fingers into Yeonjun’s hair.
It’s not so bad, like this, he decides. The highs and the lows. The porcelain is too cold against his legs, but the warmth in between his palms is enough. The rush of performing is as addicting as the fatigue at the end of it all is inevitable. Soobin’s feet planted firmly in the ground and Yeonjun’s head tilted towards the sky. But somehow they’re still touching, cold fingers intertwined with golden, warm skin. Soobin and Yeonjun.