Chapter Text
Park Han noticed the distance before anyone else did, but he didn’t let it scare him.
He had always been like that. Steady. Grounded. The one who noticed when things were off and adjusted before they broke.
Steven Kim had a habit of drifting when he was nervous. Not away from Han, never really, but sideways, like he was trying to pretend everything was normal by leaning into the noise around him. Han knew that habit by heart. Knew when to let it happen and when to pull Steven back in.
Today was a pull him back in kind of day.
They were onstage, lights blazing hot and unforgiving. Han stood relaxed but confident in formation, shoulders squared, movements clean and assured. He didn’t need to look dominant to be it, his presence did the work for him.
Steven danced two positions away, eyes bright, steps precise. He was doing great. A little too great.
During the chorus, Steven’s gaze flicked toward Han automatically.
Han caught it.
He didn’t look away this time. Instead, he gave Steven the smallest nod, barely visible, something only Steven would recognize.
You’re good. I’ve got you.
Steven’s shoulders relaxed instantly.
Han almost smiled.
The performance ended to loud cheers. As they bowed, Han angled himself just enough to bump Steven’s elbow lightly. Casual. Familiar.
Steven bumped him back.
Good.
Backstage was chaotic in the usual way, staff calling out cues, towels being thrown, laughter echoing off the walls. JL was bouncing between everyone, energy dialed up to eleven.
“Hyung, you were insane out there,” JL said to Steven, looping an arm around him. “You looked so cool.”
Steven laughed, cheeks pink. “You say that to everyone.”
“Because everyone is cool,” JL replied.
Han stepped closer, draping his towel over Steven’s shoulders with practiced ease.
“You’re sweating,” he said lightly. “You’ll catch a cold.”
Steven blinked, then smiled soft, instinctive. “You sound like my mom.”
“And yet you listen,” Han replied.
Steven did, shrugging the towel into place.
To anyone watching, it looked normal.
To Steven, it felt like home.
The hallway narrowed as they moved toward the dressing rooms. Han walked just behind Steven, close enough to be reassuring, far enough to be safe.
Steven slowed his pace on purpose.
Han noticed immediately.
“Hey,” Han murmured, leaning in just enough to brush Steven’s ear. “Eyes forward.”
Steven nodded, biting back a grin.
Later that night, the dorm quieted down. Han waited until the laughter faded and the lights dimmed before knocking on Steven’s door twice, their usual signal.
The door opened, and Steven immediately stepped back to let him in.
Han took in the scene automatically: Steven in oversized pajamas, hair messy, one of Han’s hoodies hanging off his shoulder.
“You stole my clothes again,” Han said.
Steven shrugged. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”
Han huffed a laugh and closed the door.
“You did well today,” he said, more serious now. “But you forgot one thing.”
Steven tilted his head. “What?”
Han stepped closer, placing his hands on Steven’s waist, grounding rather than possessive. “That you don’t have to face everything alone.”
Steven leaned into him without hesitation.
“They think we’re fighting,” Steven said quietly. “Online.”
Han snorted. “They think I hate pineapple on pizza too. They’re wrong about a lot of things.”
Steven laughed, really laughed this time.
“Let them talk,” Han added, resting his forehead against Steven’s. “As long as you know where you belong.”
Steven smiled up at him, eyes warm. “With you.”
Han squeezed his waist once. “Good answer.”
They stood there for a moment, comfortable and close, the world outside reduced to background noise.
Between the lines, everything was still soft.
And solid.
And theirs.