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It was one of their rare off days, and the dorm was unusually loud with laughter. Takeout containers cluttered the table, chopsticks clattered against bowls, and the air smelled faintly of fried chicken and tteokbokki. Everyone was relaxed for once, talking over each other until Jay, with that storyteller gleam in his eye, raised his voice.
“Me and Sunghoon went to grab coffee after practice once,” Jay began. Immediately, a hush fell over the table—everyone knew Jay’s stories had a way of pulling the room in. “We weren’t even waiting that long in line, right? Sunghoon ordered first, then me right after. This was the same day Heeseung practically spat his drink across the table because he was laughing too hard.”
Heeseung covered his face, grinning wide at the memory, while Jay leaned forward, milking the moment. “Anyway, I asked Sunghoon, ‘Should we get some for the others?’ I was digging in my wallet, so I didn’t notice at first. No response. I ask again—still nothing. By the third time I look up, and guess what? He’s gone. Soulless. Just—” Jay widened his eyes and stared blankly past the table. “—locked on the coffee machine like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
The table erupted, everyone pointing at Jay and laughing. Even while chewing, the members tried to add their own comments between bites.
“That’s so real,” Ni-ki said, shaking his head. “At dance practice, I’ll ask him if he got the move, and he just… blinks at me like he’s somewhere else.” He raised his cup dramatically before sipping.
Jake jumped in. “One time, when we were working out, he did way more sets than what was on his plan. Turns out his body just kept going while his brain was vacationing somewhere else.”
The members lit up, each trying to one-up the other with their own “zoned-out Sunghoon” stories. Practice, brushing his teeth, mid-filming, even in the middle of conversations—Sunghoon’s habit was legendary.
“I’m honestly surprised you made it this far with that habit,” Jay teased, clapping Sunghoon’s shoulder.
The group laughed again—except Sunoo. He sat back, chopsticks idle, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he turned from face to face. The stories felt distant to him, almost foreign. Finally, he spoke, his voice cutting through the noise.
“Sunghoon-hyung…”
All eyes snapped to him, expecting another tale. Instead, Sunoo tilted his head, lips pursed in thought. “He never zones out with me.”
The table fell quiet for a beat, the words hanging heavier than he intended. Even outsiders knew Sunghoon’s habit—it was like a defining trait. Yet Sunoo said it so simply, so certain, that it made everyone pause.
“See? You guys exaggerate,” Sunghoon said quickly, a faint pink tint on his ears. “I don’t always zone out.”
Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “No, hyung, you definitely do. Even Soobin-sunbaenim mentioned it once.”
Sunoo only shrugged, trying not to smile. “Maybe I just… never noticed it.”
Ni-ki snorted. “That’s because sometimes I zone out when I’m with you. You talk way too much.”
The table laughed again. Sunoo playfully smacked Ni-ki’s arm. “I already knew that!”
“But not Sunghoon-hyung?” Jungwon pressed, still curious.
Sunoo’s chopsticks tapped lightly against his bowl. He thought back carefully. All the late-night conversations, the small talks during breaks, the quiet moments they shared since I-LAND . Back then, when things felt uncertain, Sunghoon had listened to him—even when Sunoo rambled nervously. He never drifted, never looked past him. If anything, Sunghoon leaned closer, eyes fixed on him like every word mattered.
The thought warmed his chest, though he masked it with another shrug. “Guess not.”
Still, the moment lingered with him.
It only grew stronger after that.
The very next practice, Sunoo found himself keeping a closer eye on Sunghoon. He didn’t mean to—it just happened. Every time they took breaks, his gaze drifted over, curious if he’d finally catch what the others were always talking about.
It didn’t take long.
Jake had dropped beside Sunghoon on the floor, launching into some story with big hand gestures. Sunghoon laughed at the start, nodding along, but within minutes his expression softened, his gaze sliding right past Jake until he was staring blankly at the mirror. His eyes were open, but there was no one home.
The sight made something bubble up in Sunoo’s chest before he could stop it—first a smile, then a stifled giggle that slipped out.
Ni-ki, sitting cross-legged nearby, turned to him. “What’s funny?”
Sunoo pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking. He pointed toward Sunghoon, who hadn’t blinked in a while. “Look.”
Ni-ki followed his finger and burst out laughing. “Hyung! What are you even looking at?” He called out to Sunghoon.
Jake stopped mid-sentence, spinning toward Sunghoon. “Seriously? I’ve been talking this whole time!”
Sunghoon blinked, snapping back like he’d just returned from another world. “Huh?”
That did it for Sunoo. His giggles turned into full-on laughter, clapping his hands together as tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. “I’ve never seen him like this—it’s too funny!” he gasped between laughs, voice breaking.
And maybe it was funny. But under the laughter, Sunoo couldn’t help but think again: he’s never like that with me.
The following week, during another practice, the members sprawled across the floor in exhaustion. Sweat slicked their necks, shirts clinging to their backs. Jungwon was flat on his stomach, groaning into the mat, while Heeseung sat with his water bottle balanced against his knee.
Sunoo, catching his breath, turned his head slightly. Sunghoon sat against the mirror, towel draped over his shoulder, head tilted back. His eyes weren’t glazed this time—he was watching the others, a faint smile tugging at his lips as Jake tried to tease Jungwon back to life.
Sunoo found himself watching too, but for a different reason. Sunghoon’s chest rose and fell evenly, the line of his jaw sharp under the fluorescent lights. He looked calm, even serene, in a way that made Sunoo want to keep looking just a little longer.
Then Sunghoon’s gaze shifted, meeting his.
It was only a second, maybe less, but it made Sunoo’s throat tighten. Sunghoon didn’t look past him or through him—his eyes softened, like he always did when it was Sunoo. He tilted his head in a small, questioning gesture, like asking without words, you okay?
Sunoo nodded too quickly, heat crawling up his neck, and looked away.
“Hyung,” Ni-ki groaned, breaking the silence, “don’t tell me you’re zoning out again.”
Sunghoon barked a laugh. “Not this time.”
But Sunoo wasn’t so sure. If anything, it felt like—for just a second—Sunghoon had only been zoning in on him.
Practice ended not long after, and the members trickled out of the studio in small groups. Heeseung and Jay dragged a still-whining Jungwon toward the door, Jake following behind them with his bag slung over one shoulder. The room grew quieter until only Sunoo, Ni-ki, and Sunghoon remained.
Ni-ki stretched with a groan, grabbing his hoodie. “I’m showering first,” he announced, and slipped out before anyone could argue.
The silence that followed felt different—lighter, but heavier all at once. Sunoo busied himself with folding his sweatshirt, though it didn’t really need folding. He could feel Sunghoon’s presence against the mirror, the steady weight of his quiet.
When he finally risked a glance, Sunghoon was still sitting there, towel now hanging loosely around his neck.
His eyes weren’t distant, not glazed, not gone. They were steady, fixed on him.
Sunoo’s lips parted before he thought better of it. “You really don’t zone out with me, do you?”
Sunghoon blinked at the unexpected words, a small crease forming between his brows. Then, slowly, he smiled—not the practiced, camera-ready kind, but the softer one Sunoo remembered from I-LAND , late nights when they whispered in the dorms to keep from waking the others.
“Guess not,” Sunghoon said simply, as though the answer had been obvious all along.
Sunoo’s chest tightened, warmth unfurling through him. He looked down quickly, focusing on stuffing his sweatshirt into his bag, hoping his face wasn’t giving anything away.
Behind him, Sunghoon stood, slinging his own bag over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go before Ni-ki uses up all the hot water again.”
Sunoo followed, heart still stumbling over those two words.
Guess not.
After that day in the practice room, it became harder for Sunoo not to notice.
It started small. During their next live, Heeseung was the one holding the phone, reading comments out loud. But somewhere in the middle of his teasing, Sunghoon leaned forward, cutting in.
“Sunoo’s the funniest one when the cameras aren’t around. You should see him.”
The members groaned and laughed, piling on jokes, but Sunoo froze for a moment. It wasn’t unusual for Sunghoon to tease—but the way he said it, without hesitation, like Sunoo was his first thought to share with the fans, made something twist warmly in his stomach.
Then came interviews. Whenever the group was asked about strengths or memorable moments, Sunghoon had a habit of circling back to him.
“Sunoo’s energy kept me going,” he’d said once, smiling faintly at the memory.
Another time: “Sunoo always notices the details others don’t—he helps balance us.” The comments slipped by quickly under the flood of other answers, but they stuck with Sunoo long after.
And in the dorm, or backstage, or even waiting in hallways before schedules, he began to realize something else—Sunghoon gravitated toward him. Not obviously, not in a way that anyone else would point out, but Sunoo felt it. If they sat down, Sunghoon would end up next to him. If they walked, his pace would unconsciously match his. Even when talking to other members, his gaze had a habit of flicking over, checking where Sunoo was, as if making sure he was still there.
At first, Sunoo thought he was imagining it. He told himself he was overthinking, that it was coincidence, that he was only noticing it now because he’d started paying attention. But the pattern repeated too often to ignore.
One evening, as the members huddled around the table again, the realization struck harder than usual. Sunoo was laughing at something Jake said, and in the middle of it, he caught Sunghoon’s eyes on him. Not zoning out. Not drifting. Just watching—with that same attentive focus he always had around him, like Sunoo had his full attention even in a room full of noise.
Sunoo’s laughter faltered for just a second, his heart stuttering.
No one else noticed. But Sunoo did.
And once he noticed, he couldn’t unsee it.
The practice room was quiet in the early morning, too early for most of the others. Sunoo liked it that way—the stillness, the hum of the fluorescent lights, the coolness of the mirrors before the day’s heat and effort fogged them up. He slipped his bag down, stretching in front of the glass, letting the music in his earbuds fill the silence.
For a while, it felt peaceful.
Then the door clicked open.
Sunoo’s head snapped up, heart skipping when he saw who it was. Sunghoon, hair messy from just waking, hoodie hanging loose around his frame, walked in with his usual calm expression. He set his bag down, nodded at Sunoo, and started pulling on his shoes.
The peace vanished.
Sunoo’s pulse raced, the same heat rising that he’d been fighting for weeks now. He bent down quickly, pretending to check his phone, then started gathering his things. “I—I’ll just, uh, practice later when everyone else is here.”
But before he could make it to the door, Sunghoon’s voice stopped him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
Sunoo froze. Slowly, he turned, forcing a weak smile. “Avoiding? I haven’t—”
“You have,” Sunghoon interrupted, his tone calm but firm. He stepped closer, eyes searching Sunoo’s face. “You leave when I come in. You don’t sit next to me anymore. Even when I talk to you, you get all… weird.”
Sunoo’s ears burned. He tried to laugh it off, waving his hands. “Weird? You’re imagining things. I’ve just been tired, that’s all.”
But Sunghoon didn’t budge. He stood there, steady, like he wasn’t going to let Sunoo slip away this time. “It’s not just tiredness. Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”
The insistence, the way Sunghoon’s gaze held his, made Sunoo’s throat tighten. He couldn’t dodge forever. The words slipped out before he could stop them, shaky and too soft:
“…Do you… like me?”
The question hung heavy in the quiet room, echoing in Sunoo’s ears. He regretted it instantly, wanting to grab the words back, but it was too late.
Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard. His jaw tensed, and for a moment he looked like he might deflect, laugh it off, pretend he hadn’t heard. But then he exhaled slowly, the nerves flickering across his face giving way to something steadier.
“Yes.”
Just one word, spoken straight, without hesitation once it left his lips.
Sunoo’s eyes widened. His heart thudded so hard it almost hurt. He didn’t know what he expected—but it wasn’t that .
For the first time in weeks, it was Sunghoon who looked nervous. “…Was I not supposed to say that?”
Sunoo’s breath hitched, his whole body buzzing like the word was still echoing in the room. Yes.
He stared at Sunghoon, eyes wide, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag until his knuckles turned pale. His throat worked, but no sound came out at first.
“You—” he finally managed, voice cracking. He coughed, trying again. “You like me?”
Sunghoon’s lips pressed together, the smallest flicker of nerves breaking through his usual composure. Still, he nodded. “Yeah.”
It was simple. Unshaken. And it only made Sunoo’s heart race harder.
He took a step back without meaning to, his back nearly brushing the mirror. “But—why now?” His words tumbled out in a rush, his cheeks hot. “You can’t just—say that. We—we’re busy, and this—this is crazy. I don’t even know what to—”
“Sunoo-ya.”
Just his name, but the way Sunghoon said it—low, steady—stopped him mid-ramble.
Sunghoon took a cautious step forward, searching his face. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But you asked, so I answered.” His voice softened. “I couldn’t lie to you.”
Sunoo’s chest tightened. All those little things he’d noticed—the attention, the way Sunghoon’s puppy eyes always lingered, the subtle pull in his presence—it wasn’t just in his head. He felt his face grow warmer, his pulse racing in his ears.
“I—” Sunoo faltered, looking down, his words tripping over each other. “I used to… I mean, back in I-LAND … even right after debut… I think I—” His hands fidgeted uselessly at his sides. “I pushed it down. I thought it would go away. But now—”
He bit his lip, cheeks burning, unable to finish.
Sunghoon’s expression softened, a faint, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “You liked me back then?”
Sunoo groaned, covering his face with both hands. “Don’t say it like that! You’re making it worse.” His voice was muffled, panicked. “I shouldn’t have even—ugh!”
There was a pause. Then, gently, Sunghoon’s voice again. “Do you still?”
Sunoo’s hands dropped just enough to see his eyes—wide, startled, and impossibly flustered.
Sunoo’s mind was still reeling, his heartbeat so fast it almost hurt. He couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to do anything except stare at Sunghoon as if the older boy had just flipped his world upside down.
Sunghoon took a slow step forward, then another. His movements weren’t rushed, weren’t intimidating—just steady, careful, like he was approaching something fragile. He stopped just close enough that Sunoo could feel the faint brush of his breath.
“What about you?” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet, gentle, carrying only to Sunoo. His eyes searched his, unwavering. “What do you feel?”
Sunoo’s throat tightened, heat rushing to his cheeks. His lips parted, but the words stuck, caught somewhere between his heart and his mouth. He wanted to answer, needed to, but—
BEEP BEEP BEEP
Both of them jumped slightly as Sunghoon’s phone buzzed sharply from his bag on the floor, alarm echoing through the empty room. It was the same one that always went off—reminding him it was time for everyone to gather for morning practice.
Sunoo immediately stepped back, breath shaky, relief and panic crashing into him all at once. “The others are coming—”
But before he could finish, Sunghoon silenced the alarm with a sharp tap, then looked back at Sunoo with determination. He wasn’t going to let this slip away.
Without a word, he reached out and gently took Sunoo’s wrist. Sunoo froze at the touch, eyes widening as Sunghoon tugged, not forcefully but with a quiet insistence. “Come on,” Sunghoon said softly, leading him toward the side door.
“W–where are we going?” Sunoo stammered, stumbling after him, his pulse racing even faster.
“The break room,” Sunghoon replied simply. “Before anyone else gets here.”
Sunoo’s thoughts spun as he let himself be pulled along, his skin burning where Sunghoon’s hand touched his. He could still feel the question lingering in the air, unanswered, hanging heavy between them.
What do you feel?
And now, there would be no running away from it.
The break room was dim and still, the hum of the vending machine filling the silence. Sunghoon only let go of Sunoo’s wrist once they stepped inside, but the faint press of his hand lingered, warm against Sunoo’s skin.
Sunoo stood by the door, fingers brushing the strap of his bag, while Sunghoon leaned casually against the table. Neither of them spoke at first, but the quiet wasn’t empty—it was charged, the kind that made every glance feel heavier than it should.
“You never answered me,” Sunghoon said at last, his voice steady but quiet.
Sunoo blinked, caught off guard. “Answered what?”
“What you feel.” Sunghoon’s eyes softened, but they didn’t waver. “I told you the truth. I want to hear yours.”
Sunoo’s lips parted, then closed again. He tilted his head slightly, like he was weighing the words in his chest before letting them out. “It’s not that simple.”
“That’s fine, just say it.”Sunghoon’s tone wasn’t sharp—it was gentle, coaxing.
Something in the way he said it loosened the knot in Sunoo’s chest. He let out a small breath, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again to meet Sunghoon’s. “I used to like you,” he admitted softly. “Back then, during I-LAND. Even after debut, for a while. But I told myself it was something I had to ignore. For us. For everything we were trying to build.”
The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth curved, just slightly—not quite a smile, but something close.
“And now,” Sunoo continued, voice lowering, “I feel it again. Every time you look at me. Every time you call my name. I notice all of it. And… it’s hard to ignore.”
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm, fragile, like a string pulled taut.
Sunghoon stepped away from the table, slow and deliberate, until he was standing in front of Sunoo.
His presence was calm, not overwhelming, but close enough that Sunoo could feel the faint brush of his breath.
“You don’t have to ignore it,” Sunghoon said quietly. “Not with me.”
Sunoo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but his eyes didn’t leave Sunghoon’s. The tension was there—subtle, delicate—but threaded with softness, as though the moment itself might break if either of them moved too quickly.
And in that quiet, Sunoo realized—he wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t running. He was simply standing there, caught in the steady gravity of Sunghoon’s gaze.
Sunoo shifted his weight, meaning to take a step back, but the room was too small, and Sunghoon’s presence too steady. Instead, his shoulder brushed lightly against the doorframe, grounding him.
Sunghoon’s eyes lowered for a second, lingering on the way Sunoo’s hands fidgeted against the strap of his bag.
Slowly—almost carefully—he reached out, his fingers brushing against Sunoo’s wrist. Just a touch, as though asking permission without words.
Sunoo froze, but he didn’t pull away. His chest rose and fell a little faster, though his face softened, eyes flicking down at their almost-joined hands.
The warmth of Sunghoon’s skin seeped into his, gentle but impossible to ignore.
“You feel it too,” Sunghoon murmured. It wasn’t a question.
Sunoo let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You make it hard not to.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, suspended in that fragile closeness. Sunghoon’s thumb brushed, barely there, against the inside of Sunoo’s wrist—a quiet reassurance, a grounding touch.
Sunoo’s gaze lifted, and their eyes caught again. The tension didn’t snap; it softened, stretching into something quieter, warmer. For the first time in a long while, Sunoo didn’t try to look away.
Practice started as usual, but the energy between Sunoo and Sunghoon had shifted. They moved through warm-ups and drills with the others, but even the smallest glance or accidental brush of shoulders felt electric. Sunoo’s chest fluttered every time Sunghoon’s gaze lingered a second too long, and Sunghoon’s calm, quiet attention only made it worse.
Ni-ki noticed first. He nudged Jungwon during a break, nodding subtly toward Sunoo, who had just flinched at the way Sunghoon stood too close to him for a second too long. “Hyung,” Ni-ki muttered, voice low, “…what’s going on with you two?”
Jungwon raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed .”
Sunoo felt heat rise to his ears at the attention, even though no one had said anything outright. He bent down to grab his water bottle, trying to look busy, but his hands shook slightly from awareness.
Even during rehearsals, the tension was palpable. Sunghoon’s subtle movements—shifting to mirror Sunoo’s pace, adjusting positions so their arms occasionally brushed—made every practice feel like a dance they weren’t supposed to be performing.
Sunoo found himself hyper-aware, catching every small gesture, every faint smile or glance, and inwardly panicking over how obvious it must be.
By midday, even Jay and Heeseung were whispering near the corner, occasionally stealing glances. “Are you seeing this?” Jay whispered, nudging Heeseung. “They’re not even trying to hide it.”
Heeseung nodded, smirking. “Sunghoon’s like this all the time,” he said. “But Sunoo… he’s flustered. Big time.”
Sunoo caught one of their glances, his cheeks heating, and he quickly turned away, pretending to check his phone. Sunghoon, across the room, didn’t look away once. His quiet, steady gaze followed him subtly, like a tether Sunoo couldn’t escape.
Every small movement, every shared space, every accidental touch in practice was heavy with unspoken words. Even when they were separated for group work, Sunoo felt the pull of Sunghoon’s attention, and the tension lingered like a soft, taut string, humming in the background all day.
By the end of practice, Sunoo was both exhausted and on edge, heart still racing. The unspoken conversation, the quiet intensity, and the weight of what had been admitted that morning hung over him. And Sunghoon… Sunghoon hadn’t moved, hadn’t let the opportunity fade, keeping that subtle, unwavering connection alive all day.
The ride back to the dorms was quieter than usual. Everyone was drained from practice, yawning or scrolling through their phones as the van rolled into the garage.
By the time they reached their floor, the group split naturally—Sunghoon, Ni-ki, Jay, and Heeseung heading for the upper staircase, while Sunoo, Jungwon, Jake, and their manager peeled off toward the lower hall.
After showering and grabbing a late dinner, the dorm buzz died down. One by one, the members disappeared into their rooms, the exhaustion from practice finally catching up to them. Sunoo was just about to slip away when Ni-ki paused at the base of the stairs, squinting down the hall.
“Hyung, aren’t you coming up?” he asked, tilting his head at Sunghoon.
Jay and Heeseung both stopped too, waiting for Sunghoon to follow. But instead, Sunghoon adjusted the towel slung around his shoulders and said evenly, “Not yet. I’m going to Sunoo’s room for a bit.”
The words landed heavier than expected. Jungwon’s head whipped around, Jake blinked in surprise, and Ni-ki’s brows shot up like he couldn’t believe he’d heard right. Even Jay’s mouth twitched into a half-smile as he glanced at Heeseung, who was already grinning knowingly.
Sunoo froze in the doorway of his room, heat flooding his face. “W–what?” he stammered, eyes wide as he looked at Sunghoon.
But Sunghoon, utterly unfazed, met his gaze with that calm steadiness, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll just be a minute,” he added simply, and started walking toward him.
The silence stretched a beat too long before the other members finally started moving again.
“...Okay then,” Jay said slowly,
Amusement tugging at his voice as he and Heeseung headed upstairs. Ni-ki gave Sunoo a suspicious look but followed them, muttering something under his breath. Jungwon only shook his head, pretending not to notice, and Jake smirked faintly before disappearing into his own room.
Sunoo, still flustered, backed into his doorway as Sunghoon closed the distance. He could feel his pulse quickening as Sunghoon stepped inside like he belonged there, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
The quiet of the room made the moment feel heavier, more intimate. Sunoo gripped the hem of his shirt nervously, still avoiding Sunghoon’s eyes. “Y-you didn’t have to say it like that in front of everyone…” he muttered.
Sunghoon only leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed gently on him. “Why not?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying that same unshakable weight. “I said I wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”
But Sunoo’s heart wouldn’t slow down.
Sunghoon leaned against the wall, arms folded like he was perfectly at ease. But his heart was hammering. He’d never actually been in Sunoo’s room like this, not just passing through, not with the door closed. He told himself to stay composed, but when his eyes flicked up—Sunoo was sitting on the edge of his bed, hair still damp from his shower, a loose tank top hanging over his frame.
Sunghoon’s throat went dry. He looked away quickly, fixing his gaze on the floorboards, but it was too late—his ears had already gone pink.
Sunoo noticed. He tilted his head slightly, lips tugging upward despite the awkward tension. For all of Sunghoon’s usual calm confidence, right now he looked almost shy, like he was the one caught off guard. The realization made something flutter in Sunoo’s chest.
To break the silence, Sunoo patted the empty space beside him. “You can sit, you know,” he said softly, a little smile playing at his lips. “Standing there makes it feel weird.”
Sunghoon hesitated, then pushed off the wall, crossing the room with deliberate slowness as if that might steady the rapid beat of his heart. He lowered himself onto the bed, careful to leave just enough space between them, though the mattress dipped and brought them closer anyway.
The air felt heavier now, the quiet stretching between them, filled only by the faint hum of the dorm’s AC. Sunoo swung his legs lightly, fingers tugging at the blanket, stealing glances at Sunghoon out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re not usually this shy, Sunghoon-hyung,” Sunoo teased gently, though his own cheeks warmed as he said it.
Sunghoon let out a short breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Maybe it’s just… different being here. With you.”
Sunoo blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone, his chest tightening in response.
Sunoo nodded slowly, his eyes flicking down to where their knees brushed again. “Earlier…” His voice trailed off, suddenly shy. “You really weren’t teasing me?”
Sunghoon turned his head just enough for their gazes to meet. His expression was calm, steady—but his heart pounded so hard he wondered if Sunoo could hear it. “I wouldn’t joke about something like that,” he said quietly.
Sunoo’s breath caught. He shifted a little on the bed, pulling his knees up as if he needed something to hold onto. “But… you’ve never said anything before.”
“I didn’t want to mess things up,” Sunghoon admitted, his voice low but even. “You were always… Sunoo. Since I-land. And after debut, I thought it’d be better to just… keep it to myself.”
Sunoo’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. His chest felt tight, the heat creeping back up his neck. “That’s… a long time,” he finally whispered, a nervous laugh escaping.
Sunghoon’s mouth curved into the faintest smile. “Yeah. Guess I’m patient.”
The softness of it, the calm honesty in his tone, made Sunoo’s pulse race faster than he wanted to admit. He tried to steady himself, tugging at his blanket, but his voice betrayed him when he asked, almost timidly, “And… Germany? Why’d you say that’s when it really started?”
Something shifted in Sunghoon’s eyes. He leaned back slightly on his palms, gaze flicking away like he was replaying something only he could see. When he looked at Sunoo again, there was a weight in his expression—gentle, but unmistakable.
“You remember,” Sunghoon said simply. Not a question.
Sunoo’s throat tightened. His fingers curled into the fabric of his blanket as his mind instantly returned to the unspoken memory. The late hours. The quiet. The tension neither of them had dared to name back then.
He nodded once, barely. “Yeah…”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—it carried all the things they weren’t saying.
Finally, Sunghoon exhaled softly, breaking it just enough. “That’s when I knew. For sure.”
Sunoo’s pulse quickened, the words sinking deep into him, stirring up feelings he had worked so hard to bury.
“You make it sound so easy,” he murmured.
Sunghoon gave the faintest smile, though his eyes stayed serious. “It’s not. It’s only easy because it’s you.”
The room felt smaller after that, charged in a way that made Sunoo’s breath hitch.
Sunoo shifted on the mattress, tugging absently at the blanket again before, almost without thinking, he inched a little closer. Their shoulders weren’t touching yet, but the space between them shrank enough that Sunghoon noticed, his chest tightening.
Sunoo let out a small, almost nervous laugh, his eyes downcast at first. “This kind of vibe… it does remind me of Germany.”
Sunghoon’s gaze sharpened, his body going still.
Sunoo hesitated, then glanced up, his voice quieter. “Even us, this close on a bed. Hyung was so exhausted back then.”
The word slipped out naturally— Hyung —but it made Sunghoon’s breath catch. His eyes, which had been drifting against his will toward the curve of Sunoo’s mouth as he spoke, snapped back up to meet Sunoo’s. The intensity in them made Sunoo’s pulse skip, his throat dry.
Neither of them moved for a moment. Sunghoon’s expression was steady, but his focus was razor-sharp, like he was holding himself back. Sunoo, still flustered, shifted slightly, but didn’t pull away. The memory hung between them, unspoken but heavy, shaping the silence into something fragile, electric.
Sunoo gave a small, breathless smile, trying to play it off. “Funny how I remember that part most.”
Sunghoon’s voice was low when he answered, softer than before, but laced with meaning. “Me too.”
The silence between them stretched, warm and heavy, until Sunoo finally broke it. His voice was soft, almost tentative. “Hyung… you really like me?”
Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. He just nodded, his dark eyes locked on Sunoo’s, unwavering. The weight of it made Sunoo’s chest flutter and tighten all at once. Neither of them looked away.
Sunghoon leaned in, closing what little space still lingered between them. Their knees brushed lightly, and Sunoo’s breath hitched, though he didn’t move back.
A shaky laugh slipped out of him. “I still can’t believe you never zone out with me.”
Sunghoon’s lips curved, his voice dropping to something quiet and certain. “It’s easy to pay attention when it’s you.”
The tension deepened, stretched taut as their faces drew closer without either of them fully realizing it. Sunghoon’s gaze flickered down, lingering on Sunoo’s lips for a heartbeat too long before forcing itself back up to his eyes.
Sunoo swallowed, heart racing, his words barely above a whisper now. “I like you, Sunghoon-hyung.”
That was all it took.
The last sliver of space disappeared as Sunoo leaned forward, closing the gap. Their lips met softly at first, hesitant, but the weight of everything unspoken made the kiss feel inevitable, like it had been waiting for this moment all along.
The kiss started soft, almost fragile, as though either of them could pull away at any second. But neither did. Sunoo felt the faintest tremor in Sunghoon’s breath against his lips, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
He hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d imagined this before—back in I-LAND, in the early days after debut—moments he’d buried deep, convincing himself they were just fleeting thoughts. But now Sunghoon was here, real and warm, kissing him back.
Sunghoon’s hand twitched at his side before he finally lifted it, hesitating only a second before resting it lightly against Sunoo’s jaw. His touch was careful, like he was afraid Sunoo might break away if he pressed too hard.
Sunoo tilted into it instead.
The kiss deepened a little, still unhurried, but with more certainty—Sunghoon’s lips moving against his like he’d been waiting for this, memorizing every second. The closeness made Sunoo’s chest ache in a way both overwhelming and sweet.
When they finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Their foreheads lingered close, breaths mingling, the room still quiet except for the sound of their hearts pounding far too loud.
Sunoo’s cheeks burned, his voice unsteady but laced with something new—relief, wonder. “Hyung… you really weren’t teasing.”
Sunghoon gave a breathless laugh, eyes soft, thumb brushing lightly along Sunoo’s cheek. “Your lips are as soft as I imagined.” He said, completely ignoring what Sunoo said.
Sunoo bit his lip, his face breaking into a shy smile he couldn’t hold back, and Sunghoon leaned in again, stealing another kiss—this one slower, more certain, as if promising it wouldn’t be the last.
Sunoo could feel Sunghoon’s breath brush against his lips, warm and uneven, and it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t name.
When Sunghoon’s hand finally rose, hovering for a moment before resting gently along his jaw, Sunoo leaned into it without thinking. The simple touch made the kiss deepen, still delicate but surer, like Sunghoon had finally let himself give in.
The world outside didn’t exist for that moment. Just the two of them, pressed close, breathing each other in.
When they broke apart, it wasn’t really apart. Their foreheads stayed almost touching, their noses brushing every time one of them exhaled. The silence felt full, charged, but not uncomfortable—like it was saying everything they couldn’t.
Sunoo’s lashes fluttered, his lips still tingling. He let out a soft laugh, shy and almost disbelieving. Sunghoon smiled too, small but steady, his thumb brushing faintly across Sunoo’s cheek like he didn’t want to let go.
Neither spoke. They didn’t need to. The air between them was already heavy with everything unspoken—their history, the waiting, the quiet pull that had been there for years.
Sunghoon leaned in again, slower this time, kissing him once more, as if to seal the silence between them. Sunoo’s hands curled in the fabric of his shirt, holding on just enough to tell him he didn’t want him to stop. And so they stayed like that, kissing softly, quietly, like a promise neither of them dared to put into words yet.
The hum of the dorm outside, the faint sound of the T.V playing, the footsteps of the others upstairs—all of it faded until there was only the quiet rhythm of their breaths.
Sunghoon kissed him again, slower this time, lingering like he wanted to memorize the shape of him. Sunoo felt himself melt into it, his pulse soft and steady, no longer frantic with nerves but calm—anchored by the warmth of Sunghoon’s hand at his jaw.
When they finally broke apart, Sunoo tilted his head back against the wall, lips parted, eyes shining in the dim light. Sunghoon didn’t move far. His fingers traced idle patterns against Sunoo’s arm, grounding, reverent.
“You’re really not zoning out,” Sunoo whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Sunghoon’s gaze softened, dipping briefly to his mouth before holding his eyes again. “I told you,” he murmured. “It’s easy with you.”
The quiet stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward—it was warm, fragile, almost sacred. Sunoo shifted closer, close enough that their knees brushed, and for a while they didn’t speak at all. Just sat there, stealing small kisses between silences, the kind that said more than words could.
Eventually, Sunoo’s head found its way against Sunghoon’s shoulder. Sunghoon adjusted, wrapping an arm around him in an easy, protective curve.
Neither suggested moving, and neither wanted to.
By the time the house grew quieter—doors closing, voices fading—the two of them were still there, leaning into each other, whispering little nothings that didn’t need answers. Their world stayed undisturbed, tucked away in that small room, like a secret they weren’t ready to share yet.
The room had settled into that deep, late-night stillness, the kind that made every whisper feel louder. Sunoo’s head was still resting against Sunghoon’s shoulder, his breaths steadying, but his heart hadn’t calmed—it was racing in a softer way now, like it was finally allowed to.
After a long stretch of silence, Sunoo’s voice broke through, quiet and uncertain.
“Hyung… will you sleep with me tonight?”
Sunghoon stilled for a moment, and when Sunoo dared to glance up, he caught the small smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t teasing, wasn’t playful—it was warm, full, the kind of smile Sunghoon rarely showed so openly.
Without a word, Sunghoon shifted, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him down onto the bed. Sunoo let out a surprised breath, but it melted into a laugh as he felt Sunghoon’s chest against his back, steady and grounding.
“Of course,” Sunghoon murmured against his hair, his voice low but sure.
Sunoo curled closer without thinking, the tension that had been pressing on him for weeks dissolving all at once.
Sunghoon’s hand found his waist, resting there with a quiet certainty, as if he’d been waiting for this just as long.
Neither spoke again. The room stayed hushed, lit only by the faint glow slipping under the curtain, and little by little, the rhythm of their breathing fell into sync.
The closeness didn’t feel like a secret Sunoo had to hide from himself—it felt safe, right. And before sleep took him, Sunoo thought, with a tiny smile, that maybe it always had been.