Work Text:
When Jiung steps into the dorm at nearly one a.m., the first thing that comes out of Taeyang’s mouth, rather than chastise him for being at the company so late, no doubt holed up in the studio, is, “where’s Jongseob?”
Shota sits up from where he’d been dozing off on Keeho’s shoulder, watching anime with him on the TV. He’s been awake this entire time, waiting for Jongseob to come home.
Jiung blinks. “What do you mean, where’s Jongseob?”
“Why isn’t he with you?” Keeho asks. “We thought you two would get back together?”
“No, I—” Jiung curses, realization hitting him. “Idiot boy’s still at the company! I didn’t even know!”
“Oh, for the love of god,” Taeyang pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks far too tired and sleep-deprived for this. “His mother’s going to be furious if she gets another call about him missing school. How is he supposed to attend if he’s going sleepless?”
“Well,” Intak says sleepily from the kitchen table, face buried in his arms, “it’s nice that he’s working hard…”
“Not if he’s overdoing it!” Jiung protests. “I’ll just go back for him.”
“Can I come?” Shota jumps to his feet.
“It’s late, you shouldn’t—” Keeho begins to object, but Shota clasps his hands together and promises he’ll be good and not bother Jiung and anyway, isn’t Jongseob more likely to listen to him?
The older members sigh, but they let him go anyway. They don’t bother calling for a manager since the company’s not too far from the dorm building, but it’s a long enough walk that the night chill really sets into Shota’s bones. He shivers.
It’s colder inside the company, with the air-conditioning. Jiung wastes no time in heading for the tiny little space Jongseob is holed up in, but he lets Shota pull open the door and go inside first.
Jongseob’s fast asleep, head resting atop a notebook filled with scrawls in Hangul and English, a pencil clasped loosely in one hand. His newly-dyed orange-blond hair looks too stiff under the fluorescent lighting.
In classic Shota fashion, he goes right up to the younger and kicks his chair. Jiung winces from the doorway, but he doesn’t say anything. “Oi, Jongseob. Wake up. Hey. Idiot. You’re gonna wake up with a stiff neck.”
He stirs, but doesn’t wake, so Shota kicks the chair again. That does the trick, and his eyelids flutter open. Something flips in Shota’s stomach. Jongseob looks so sleep-soft, eyes all hooded and squinting against the light, soft lips parting confusedly. His eyes land on Shota, recognition morphing to confusion.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, sitting up and pushing his bangs, rather fruitlessly, away from his eyes.
“It’s one a.m.,” Shota says, feeling a bit off-kilter, “or close to two. Not sure. You’ve overdone it again.”
“Sorry,” Jongseob mutters. “Just wanted to be a bit more productive with the filming and stuff for comeback getting so close. It’s been a busy year.”
It’s true they’ve been busy, what with this being their third comeback in a year. But still.
“Which is why you need to rest more,” Shota says, holding out a hand. Jongseob blinks at it, but he takes the hand anyway, hauling himself to his feet. “There’s nothing you can record now, anyway.”
“You know I hate it when I can’t get the ideas out on paper,” Jongseob says.
“So? Scribble them somewhere in between schedules. By the way, your mother’s going to get another call from school if you miss again, and I don’t think you want to explain to her why.” Never mind that Shota’s probably going to miss school, too, because he is not a morning person by nature and barely four hours of sleep does not cut it for school.
Jongseob winces. “Ah…well. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
Jiung tells him off as they walk out of the company and make the walk back, and for some reason, Jongseob keeps his hand in Shota’s as they listen to Jiung’s irritated scolding. They both know at this point he’s just rambling, a combination of exhaustion and sleep-deprivation.
Shota’s body shivers in the night air, but his hand, tucked in Jongseob’s, is warmer than he has ever been.
There’s more than enough dance scenes for Doom Du Doom, and Shota’s highly anticipating every single one. Their choreography this time around looks easy, but it’s difficult enough they water it down for the accompanying TikTok challenge. Intak looks mildly disappointed at the prospect of an easier version for the challenges. Jiung tells him to be grateful he won’t have to teach the original to everyone they film with.
That aside, Shota’s favorite part is when he gets to freestyle in the second chorus. Jongseob says, “I don’t know how you keep coming up with so many different ideas in such a short time,” and Shota just grins.
And possibly the most shocking part—
One of Jongseob’s outfits consist of jeans and a white top, an ensemble that makes its appearance every once in a while, and it is a relatively regular outfit, except Shota is not used to seeing him wearing anything form-fitting. Even the youngest of idols wear things that show off their figures more so than this—hell, they’re among the youngest—but with Jongseob? It’s so different. In a way that is wholly unexpected.
His stomach flips again when Jongseob steps out onto the set, checking his formation with the backup dancers, his jeans cinched at the waist. It’s not—physical attraction, not in the more intense way, but it’s something. Maybe Shota needs to smack himself on the head.
Or maybe not, because he gets about the same reaction out of himself when Jongseob spots him from across the set and waves at him before going back to work.
“You’re staring,” Intak remarks.
“I’m not,” Shota denies, tearing his eyes away. Lucky for him, they’re all called to get into positions, too, and Intak can’t needle him about it further.
On another day on the set, they were fancy-ish white ensembles, and because Intak decides he can definitely go for a crop top-type look, Shota decides he can go down that route, too.
“Are you sure?” Keeho asks when Shota declares he wants to wear one, too. “You’re still young, you know. No need to push it. There’s still time to do it later.”
“I’m good,” Shota assures him, “I’m not that young.”
Barely seventeen is kind of young, he’ll admit, but it’s not like Shota hasn’t taken risks with this. Besides, Intak is barely two years older, and he’s been ready to seduce everyone since a while back. Shota can admire that.
And part of him feels very proud of himself when Jongseob’s eyes go wide, and he hastily swallows the water in his mouth. “Isn’t that kind of revealing?” he asks, voice kind of awed, slightly choked.
“Not as much as it could have been,” Shota points out, and they both know full well the stylists could have easily given him something worse if he’s expressed a wish to expose more skin. As it is, this is pretty tame.
“Right,” Jongseob agrees. “Given the choreography…”
“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Shota shrugs, “I wanted to.”
Much, much later, when they see the music video just hours before the rest of the world does, Shota feels just a bit embarrassed that the shots where his shirt had ridden up is more or less highlighted, only alleviated by the fact that Intak took the spotlight just as much.
(And maybe, he’s also a little proud that Jongseob tells him later that he looked kind of hot with a completely neutral face, eyes flickering nervously.)
One thing Shota has always admired about Jongseob is how sincere he is. Sure, they’re all sincere on some level or another, but with Jongseob, it’s like he thinks about everything he says, and not because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing; but because he wants to be able to articulate his feelings clearly.
Sometimes Shota goes to watch their interviews a second time, if only to observe Jongseob a little better. The way he responds so carefully even in English; it’s careful in the sense that as an idol, he can’t just say whatever he wants (or at least, cannot be as bold as their two oldest members), but also in the sense that he lays everything out so carefully, like he really wants everyone to understand what he’s getting at.
The lyrics he writes reflect that. When Jongseob showed him the first draft for Better Together, accompanied by the notes Intak and Jiung had scribbled on the side and will no doubt see further revision by their producers, Shota had been a little floored. Sure, he knew Jongseob could write sincere lyrics, but something about the song, in its rawest form, struck a chord in him.
“This might be my favorite thing you’ve ever written,” he’d said, and Jongseob glowed like the sun, and Shota is the Earth, soaking up the warmth and the light. He would be Jongseob’s Earth forever if he could.
Singing the song, despite the numerous revisions and additional lyrics, doesn’t feel any less special, weeks later. Shota gets an entire half-verse to himself, which he supposes is an achievement—everyone else certainly acts like it. It’s weird, to be able to carry so much of a song by himself; he hasn’t done anything like this since Reset, and that was a while ago. His bridge line in that song and his freestyling dance solo in Doom Du Doom is probably the most spotlight he’s ever gotten so far.
That, and this. Jongseob grins, knee bouncing nervously as he sits outside the booth. Shota gives a thumbs-up through the glass window as he puts the headphones over his ears.
It’s okay if other people are reckless, it’s us, he sings, we’re walking to a new place because we’re together, baby.
Maybe it rings truer for them than Shota had initially thought.
Since the day on the Doom Du Doom set, Shota has been noticing more about Jongseob. He doesn’t think he’s ever really given it much thought since then, but the fact is, it’s there.
On the morning of their last free day before the comeback, Jongseob stumbles out of the bedroom with the worst case of bedhead Shota has ever seen on him and puffy eyes, all sleepy and exhausted. Shota is mildly horrified when he walks into the kitchen and makes a cup of straight black coffee with no sugar or milk.
“That’s…kind of awful,” he says, mock-shuddering.
“I might actually die if I don’t have this or sleep for ten more hours,” Jongseob responds, and it’s so serious that Shota bursts out laughing.
“Don’t worry, if you die, I’ll be the one crying at your grave,” he says, “so don’t go dying on me. Including death by overconsumption of caffeine.”
Jongseob’s lips stretch into that smile. The one that makes Shota’s heart do a little tap-dance rhythm. He’s always loved Jongseob’s smile, right since the early days when they were a newly-put together group of trainees with a tentative debut date slapped over their heads. The huge one with no awkwardness, and he’d always hated it when stupid internet trolls made fun of his cute, crooked tooth to the point he felt the need to hide it when he laughed. Even with them.
He’s doing it less these days, and it makes Shota so happy.
A lot of things about Jongseob make him so happy. His best friend, his sun, his star. Keeho would make fun of him if he heard that.
“Roger,” Jongseob says, laughing when Shota gives a salute in complete seriousness. “Dork.”
And then there are moments like this, squeezed onto a bed together and watching stupid cat videos and dog videos and videos of their sunbaes on variety shows and interviews. Right now, they’re watching an ATEEZ interview and taking note of the way they conduct themselves—or at least, Jongseob does. He’s forever taking notes on how to be better at what he does, so careful and meticulous.
Shota’s perfectly content to watch his lips pout and brows furrow together in concentration. It’s so cute.
The video auto-plays into one of their own, more recent interviews. Jongseob points out that Keeho’s white-blond hair matches the background perfectly, and that makes them giggle loud enough for Taeyang to tell them to shut up. Not that it stops them very well, as Taeyang damn well knows.
“I just realized you’ve never had short hair since debut,” Jongseob says.
Shota blinks. “Wait, you’re right.”
Jongseob types rapidly into the search bar of Naver, bringing up pictures of them from their debut days, which—wow, holy shit. Shota is familiar with the way he looks these days, he stares at himself in the mirror too much to not be, but he still feels around the covers for his own phone and turns on the camera, flipping it into selfie mode so that he can survey himself. The quality is awful in semi-darkness, but it works.
He looks at the picture of him in 2020, wide-eyed and so much younger. Hell, 2020 wasn’t even that long ago, but here, the night before they’re due for their first photoshoot of the comeback season, it feels impossibly far away. Shota can’t even begin to describe how strange and nostalgic it is to see the difference between both years.
He’s grown so much. His cheeks are less round, the angles more defined—which is expected, he’s not going to stay fifteen forever, after all. Something about the way he just looks—the way his eyes take in everything—seems different too. Less of a wide-eyed shiny boy arriving on the K-Pop scene. More of an experienced idol doing his thing.
The distance between fifteen and eighteen suddenly seems so huge despite how small it actually is. Like somehow, along the way, he jumped over this huge barrier to get to where he is now, age eighteen, even if he doesn’t remember how it happened.
“Your boba eyes are the same,” Jongseob remarks.
“My what eyes?”
“Your eyes are kinda like boba pearls,” he explains, and that is the most ridiculous bullshit Shota has ever heard, but when he squints at his pictures, he suddenly sees it. It elicits more than a few giggles out of him.
“God, Jongseob,” he wheezes. “Where did you even get that from?”
“Some of the fans say so,” the younger says with a shrug and a stardust grin. “I thought it was pretty accurate. I mean, most of the time they know what they’re talking about.”
“When they’re not being batshit crazy?”
“C’mon, lay off a little. There’s always bad ones.” He pauses. “But I’m pretty sure everyone agrees about the boba eyes.”
Shota laughs again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“No, seriously!” Jongseob types again and produces images of boba pearls. Shota just looks at him, caught between disbelief and endearment. “Tell me these don’t look the exact same as your eyes! They just like, reflect more emotion. Kind of interesting to study.”
“Study?”
“I mean.” The phone slips from Jongseob’s fingers, thudding onto his abdomen. “Ow! I just mean…I don’t know. Is that weird?”
“Honestly?” Shota shakes his head. “You’re talking to me. I’ve done weirder things, you know that. I don’t think Steph’s forgotten about any of those.”
Jongseob’s shoulders relax. “Right.” He hesitates. “But doesn’t it seem…creepy, or anything?”
“Why would it be?”
“Oh.” For some reason, Jongseob sounds slightly disappointed. Shota can’t figure out why. “Okay.”
The higher-ups inform them that their comeback is meant to be Shota’s arc in their narrative, and Taeyang calls bullshit as soon as they’re out of the office, steps light but heavy at the same time. “I mean, you’re gonna tell me he’s going to get much spotlight at all?” he scoffs. “Right. That’s what they said the last five times.”
Shota looks uncomfortably at his shoes. Sure, he does know that, and he’s going to get something substantial, but he knows it likely won’t measure up to how much they say it will. And—he likes to pretend it doesn’t bother him, pretends not to see the fans arguing with each other and furiously demanding FNC do better by him, but it does bother him, he does see it.
Still, it’s not like he hasn’t accepted it. He knows it’s the cold, hard truth. He isn’t sure whether he’s being treated like this for being only half-Korean or for being half-Japanese or for being Japanese at all, more in touch with his Japanese side. Like it’s his fault that he didn’t grow up speaking a whole other language, that he didn’t know shit about the culture other than what he saw through K-pop.
He doesn’t need the others to get angry on his behalf. He’s more than okay with taking it. It’s not like it reduces the amount of love he gets—if anything, it’s a kind of twisted marketing strategy. The lack of focus makes people angry and focus on him more in ways they can, fancams, posts on SNS, everything in between.
“Hyung,” Jongseob says, tone slightly biting, “he’s right here, you know.”
Taeyang frowns. “So, what? We just don’t say anything at all?”
Jongseob crosses his arm across his chest. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying, don’t speak for him. You’re allowed to be angry. Just don’t speak for him, okay?”
Maybe it’s a step too far, maknae crossing the line in interacting with mat-hyung, but then, Taeyang’s never put too much thought into hyung-dongsaeng dynamics before. He bullies everyone with equal measure and takes what’s thrown at him just as equally. He sighs, looks at Keeho for help.
The leader just says awkwardly, “I know it’s not the same when I get so many lines, but…I don’t get the greatest treatment either. He’s right. Don’t…do that.”
“It’s just…” Shota speaks up, feeling his words fail him in his throat, but he reaches out, grabs Jongseob’s hand. “I know you don’t like it, hyung, I just don’t want to…fight about it. These things get better with time, and I love dancing more, anyway.”
“It’s still not an excuse,” Taeyang says quietly. “It’s not fair.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” is what he means to say, but he can’t figure out how to say it. He’s tired, and he just wants to sleep. It’s not always a weird fanservice gimmick, when he starts to communicate through sound and gesture. They all know that. Shota hates it, hates that emotion gets to him so badly.
Instead, he just shrugs. Manages an, “I know,” and then looks to Jongseob.
“Hyung,” Jongseob says, “I know you want to look out for all of us. Shota especially. But—you can’t protect everyone. Not all the time. And this isn’t something to be protected from. Let him deal with it as it comes. He’s not going to suffer in silence.” Not anymore, he means to say and purposefully leaves out.
Not since Keeho had made it clear after the…rough patch way back then that there was no way any one of them would ever have to suffer in silence again. Because he’d hated suffering alone until Taeyang forced his way past his walls. It had sort of made them all realize why they should stop hiding it when they were hurting because none of them had any subtlety worth shit.
Taeyang is silent, and then, “okay. Sorry, Soulie, I’m just…you know how I am. I didn’t mean to.”
He hums, nods, gives Taeyang a smile, and he tightens his hand in Jongseob’s. He can see the way the others look at that; Intak’s eyebrows practically hide behind his hair and Jiung looks like a weird mix of endeared and slightly horrified.
Shota suppresses a laugh. For as much as Jiung acts like he’s tired of everyone’s bullshit; he knows damn well that he and Jongseob are Jiung’s babies just as much as they are Keeho and Taeyang’s.
Well, Shota is mostly Keeho’s, and Jongseob mostly bullies said man, but still.
“Well, let’s go get something to eat,” Intak says, clapping his hands together sharply, as if to snap them out of whatever has taken hold of him. “Fried chicken? They’re gonna have us back on the diets soon enough.”
“Oh, yes,” Keeho basically moans. Taeyang makes a face and Jiung hits him in the arm. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
“Jesus Christ, Yoon Keeho, just how much are you—?” Taeyang takes off after him, Jiung and Intak close on their heels. Jongseob looks at Shota.
“You wanna deal with their bullshit right now?” he asks. Shota nods and shrugs, trying to convey a sure, why the hell not?
Jongseob understands him, like he always does, and tugs Shota along after their hyungs.
For the second time in months, Shota manages to floor Jongseob with an outfit again.
He joins the rest of them after the stylists have gone through a couple of different combinations, and when Jongseob sees him, he sputters and drops the water bottle he’s holding. This would be the cue for Keeho to burst into hysterical laughter, except he’s sort of blinking in shock at Shota.
“Should you be wearing that?” he asks.
“Don’t parent me, Steph, I’m perfectly old enough. And it’s just arms.”
Keeho seems to accept that, unlike Jongseob, who manages to choke out, “what are you wearing?”
Insecurity needles at Shota and he automatically moves to cover up his arms. “Why? It looks strange?”
“No!” Jongseob waves a hand kind of haphazardly. Keeho is definitely struggling not to lose it. “It’s just—I didn’t expect that from you…” he swallows. “You look good. Like…hot.”
Shota blinks. Heat gathers under his skin. “Oh. Thank you.”
“I’m just gonna…” he gestures vaguely to the water spilled over his pants. “See what I can do about this…”
As soon as he’s gone, Keeho turns to Shota and gives him a disbelieving look. “Thank you? That’s all you can say when he literally just called you hot?”
“Human decency dictates that a compliment must be returned with a word of kindness,” Shota says very seriously. He had known Jongseob was going to be shocked, but to see it—it’s a whole other thing entirely. It makes his bones feel kind of liquid, actually. He’s good at pretending he doesn’t feel anything other than amusement, luckily.
“Soulie. Shota. Haku-chan,” Keeho grabs his shoulders, hands warm on bare skin, “Jongseob likes you.”
Shota hopes he isn’t blushing. “I would hope so?”
“No, as in! He’s into you! He’s crushing hard!”
“I said what I said.”
Keeho squints. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re aware of what you’re doing?” when Shota just stares back, he gasps. “What the fuck, kid?! Why haven’t you made a move yet?!”
Shota just stares back at him. He’s not about to say out loud that he’s a damn coward.
“You’re a coward,” Keeho announces.
Shota does not deny that.
It’s Jongseob who reaches out first, at the end of the day.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he begins when they’re finally allowed a moment to breathe, pulling Shota aside behind the props. “I just…I was startled, that’s all, I promise. I didn’t mean to say you’re hot.”
“It’s okay, Jongseob,” Shota shakes his head. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. I’ve seen the weird comments that came from last year, you know. You were being genuine.”
“Oh.” The tension bleeds away from his shoulders. “That’s good. You looked so…surprised, like you didn’t think you’d hear that.”
“I didn’t. Doesn’t mean I hate it.” He grins. “Does that mean you don’t think I am hot?”
Jongseob sputters. “Are you serious,” he demands. Shota gives him a shit-eating grin in return. “Shota!”
“I have to confirm.”
“Shota,” he groans, hand coming up as if to rub at his face before remembering his makeup. “Don’t make me!”
“I’m not going to force anything!” Shota starts to laugh. “Hey, come on, don’t look at me like you’re going to throttle me, Jongseob-ah.”
Jongseob glares. “Don’t make me consider it.” His gaze flicks downward, to the exposed skin, before he takes a breath. “For what it’s worth, you do look good.”
“So, you’ve said,” Shota needles further, just because he can. The nervousness on Jongseob’s face shatters, replaced by exasperation and the fondness Shota knew would be there. “You’re still not going to admit—”
Jongseob silences him by lurching forward—and kissing him.
Oh.
That was not what he had expected.
The younger pulls away with a huff, “there, that good enough for you?”
Shota’s knees definitely don’t weak. Nope. Absolutely not. “Sure,” he squeaks. He wants to ask where the hell that came from, why Jongseob felt it necessary to kiss him, why Jongseob is blushing so hard, but those are all meaningless. The answer’s right in front him, anyway.
He grabs Jongseob’s hand. “You—how long have—?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters, still refusing to look at Shota in the eyes, “since…I don’t know. A while back.”
“As it happens, I don’t know either,” Shota blurts out. “So, uh, I don’t think this is. The best place for this conversation…”
“When we get home,” Jongseob promises. Distantly, they can hear a coordi-noona desperately looking for him. “We can talk about this. Keeho-hyung will murder me if we don’t.”
“Jongseob-ssi!” the poor woman’s voice grows closer. Shota decides to put her out of her misery by tugging him away from the cover of their little corner, but not before he works up the nerve to kiss Jongseob again, just a brief, fluttery thing.
It’s enough for Jongseob to look at him with starry eyes. Shota can never get enough of that look. He always wants to be on the receiving end of that look. Forever and always.
(Later, they’re lying tangled up in bed, exhausted from the day—photoshoots aren’t the only thing they’re doing, after all—Shota thinks about something. Jongseob is humming one of their new songs softly under his breath, and Shota has his head rested on the younger’s chest, listening to the sound, soaking in the echoes.
He takes a moment to formulate his words. “You know, I came to Korea looking for stardom.”
“Yeah?” he’s like a cat, the way he curls himself into Shota. “D’you think we got there, then?”
“Maybe. Halfway,” he amends, “but I was thinking. I came for stardom. I ended up finding you.”
Jongseob snorts, tells him that he’s a sappy little shit, and Shota takes it. He doesn’t quite know how to articulate that Jongseob is his sun, his moon, his star. And it’s okay, not knowing how. He’ll know how to say it eventually. Jongseob will be there to listen, whether he says it through words or anything else, because who else will listen to Shota the way Jongseob does?)