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There is something about the walls of the To Do studio that Yeonjun can't stand. Something about their pure, unblemished whiteness that makes his eyes sting and makes pain flare at his temples and the base of his neck. They always make him feel like a caged animal, being paraded around to wide eyed spectators. It doesn't help that whenever he looks forward he's greeted by a line of cameras, a blockade of surveillance blocking any hope of escape and stopping him from allowing any trace of discomfort to slip across his features. After all these years of idol life, he can typically ignore the cameras' persistent and apathetic observance, but sometimes, on the days where the world seems to be spinning ever so slightly off of its axis and there's the dull beginnings of a migraine slowly seeping through his neurons, the idea of performing for a silent audience makes his skin itch with the desire to climb out of it and slink away, leaving his corporal form behind him.
And yet – he performs, because he cannot do anything else. He's been trained for this since he was a teenager – all limbs and big eyes full of hope and exhaustion in equal measure. The things that set his teeth on edge and make him yearn for the comfort of his bed are also the things that bring him comfort, because they are familiar, because they are stable, because he clawed and bit and fought his way through trainee life for them. People tell him he was born to perform, and he would often agree – there is no place that feels quite so right for him as the stage does. But performing in front of fans, where he can play off of the music and his members and the screams of the audience, is a very different sort of performance than the one he's being asked to execute today. Today's performance is about crafting a version of himself that caters to MOA, to the vision they have of his personality, the Yeonjun-but-not-really that he's supposed to make them believe is the exact same persona he has once the glaring red lights of the cameras turn off. It's a performance that Yeonjun tolerates on the best of days, and suffers through on the worst. Today seems to be leaning towards suffering.
They're on a brief break from the shooting and Yeonjun is lurking in a corner, nursing a cup of water and pretending to scroll through his phone with unfocused eyes. He's tired, in that unexplainable way that creeps up on him when he least expects it, his body's way of reminding him that human beings aren't supposed to follow such a sporadic circadian rhythm for as long as he has been. He opens and closes Instagram a few times before switching to Twitter, before immediately deciding that it probably isn't a good idea to scroll Twitter when he already feels shaken. He puts his phone in his pocket and his hand feels empty without it, his eyes struggling to take in the stark white scenery around him. His head pulses with another wave of pain and he hopes and prays that they don't have much more to film today.
It's not even that difficult of a shoot, really, on the more tame side when compared to the sorts of nonsense they've had to film for To Do before. And it's strange – Yeonjun typically enjoys To Do, enjoys getting to play off of his members with the sole purpose of getting them and MOA to laugh. He's gotten good at it over the years, too, has learned what sorts of things are going to stay after editing, what parts of himself he should be exposing to the world and what parts should remain concealed. Today's shoot relies on the members' knowledge of one another, a series of mini games designed to see which member is the undisputed Tomorrow X Together expert. It's a bit of a silly idea, since they all know each other forwards and backwards by now, with so much knowledge of one another that could never be spoken in front of a camera. And yet, the production team had decided it would be fun, so here they are – a group of five souls woven together into one form – testing their knowledge like they haven't essentially melded into one form after all these years.
Yeonjun watches with detached curiosity as the production team carries in a table full of what appear to be blindfolds, microphones, and heartbeat monitors across the room. He remembers from the briefing they were given about the episode's concept that this is meant to be a test of which member can most effectively use their knowledge of the others to raise their members' heartbeats. It requires the simultaneous exploitation of their knowledge of one another to tease, while also making sure to not reveal anything that can't be said in front of the camera. It's the sort of thing that Beomgyu excels at, and the sort of thing that Yeonjun can't ever seem to fully grasp. Yeonjun clutches his cup of water so hard that it crumples, water sloshing over the rim, as the camera director tells them that their break is done in two minutes. He glances over at Beomgyu, who is chatting with Soobin, eyes crinkled up at the corners as he laughs. Something uncomfortable lurches in his stomach, a feeling that he can't quite bring himself to define, but one that has been creeping up on him more and more recently, especially when he's too tired to completely control his feelings.
As if summoned by Yeonjun's gaze, Beomgyu drifts away from Soobin and crosses the studio floor to come hover at Yeonjun's side. He runs his eyes across Yeonjun's face, and he has to fight the urge not to squirm under that piercing gaze. It's a blessing and a curse to be so known, to be read in a single glance, without an exchanging of words.
“Are you okay, hyung?" Beomgyu asks softly, so differently from the loud, exuberant tone that he's been relying on for the majority of the shoot. Yeonjun is forever in awe of how easily he switches between personas, how easily he flips the mask from TXT Beomgyu – who is endearing and chaotic and teases Yeonjun like it's his job – to the Beomgyu off camera – who is softer and sweeter, whose mood changes based on what song comes up on his playlist and who thinks through every word before he speaks it.
Yeonjun is so busy thinking about the different ways that Beomgyu presents himself that he doesn't realize he's neglected to answer the question until the younger boy gently nudges him with his shoulder, eyes wide and concerned. "Hyung," he says softly, "are you sick? Do you want to talk to the staff about delaying the shoot a little longer?"
Yeonjun lets out a long, soft sigh, the fondness that swells in his chest at Beomgyu's gentle compassion battling with the selfishness he feels for needing to be taken care of in the first place. "No, Gyu," he says, "I'm not sick. Just tired." He pairs it with a smile that he hopes looks less strained than it feels.
Beomgyu's mouth presses into a line, wrinkling his cheeks in a way that Yeonjun aches to reach out and smooth, even as the red lights of the cameras shine in his periphery. "If you say so," he says, but it's clear that he doesn't believe him in the slightest.
Even as they move back into their positions for the shoot to recommence, Beomgyu hovers at Yeonjun's side, teasing him gently and coaxing a genuine smile back onto his face. It's hard to feel truly dismal when Beomgyu is in front of him looking so radiant. Even Yeonjun's persistent headache seems to fade as Beomgyu brushes their fingers against each other for just long enough to seem haphazard, though Yeonjun knows it isn't. They've mastered the art of the subtle gesture, the science of brief and soothing contact that sits just under the line of suspicious. They indulge in the little moments of connection that are just for the two of them – the ones that aren't engineered for the fans or the cameras, the moments where they are just Yeonjun and Beomgyu, in love.
That love is comforting enough to ease the storm of Yeonjun's thoughts and to calm the raging tides of his mood as they resume shooting. The producers briefly explain the concept to the members as they hover around five chairs set up in the middle of the floor – one in the front and four in a row behind. Yeonjun listens as best he can while still fighting the headache that clings to his temples, and is grateful that this isn't one of the more complicated games they've played, the ones that take minutes to explain with rules that have to be edited in afterwards.
The producers strap heart rate monitors to all of their wrists, and Yeonjun is made uncomfortably aware of the blood rushing through his veins and the constant drumbeat of his pulse. It only seeks to further his current discomfort at being trapped in the flesh and bone prison that is his body. There's a screen that shows all of their heartbeats, all sitting comfortably stable for now as they work themselves back up into pro-idol mode – smiles grow wider, voices grow louder, posture goes straighter, as Yeonjun, Soobin, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai transform into the Tomorrow X Together counterparts. By the time they've been handed blindfolds and microphones – equipped with voice changers to add a layer of entertainment and anonymity to the exercise – the members are in full swing, giggling at the unnatural change in their voices.
The staff members guide them out of the little knot they've formed as they laugh and talk together, pointing Yeonjun to the seat in the front and the others to the four in the back. Yeonjun winces as he realizes this means he is the first to be teased and ridiculed for the sake of his members' and, more importantly, his fans' entertainment. He flashes his best nonchalant smirk to the camera that's trained on him as he hears the members make various quips about their ability to spike his heart rate. He pulls on the blindfold and feels his headache ease slightly now that the unforgiving blankness of the walls is no longer boring into his skull through his eye sockets.
He takes a few deep breaths as the members' voices begin to pipe up behind him, playing up the dramatic rise and fall of his ribcage and the shuddery inhale and exhale of his breath so that it comes through on camera. He's tempted to start smiling at the ridiculous upward pitch of the members' voices behind the microphones, but he schools his face into neutrality and wills his heartbeat to stabilize, because if there's one thing that has carried Yeonjun through these years of idol life, it's competitiveness – the deep desire to be seen as worthy, to be seen as better, to fulfill and exceed any and all expectations. You cannot live this tumultuous idol life without being competitive, without forcing yourself to look failure dead in the eyes and reject it. It's a certain kind of insanity that creates an idol's desire to compete, but Yeonjun thinks you can't succeed as an idol without being a little bit insane, either.
And so, the members of Tomorrow X Together are all competitive, in their own ways. Not with each other, really, not anymore, now that they function as the limbs of one singular unit, long past the days of petty squabbles that dominated their trainee and early debut days. Now, they're competitive with the world, with the naysayers, with anyone who dares to look at them with lowered expectations. That's the sort of competitiveness that people look at admirably, so long as it doesn't turn into the greatest of all the sins – arrogance. But competitiveness doesn't exactly discriminate, doesn't leave you alone when the stakes get lower, and so they all use these silly games as a way to burn through some of that desire to compete that allows them to push through every challenge. It means that they wind each other up over even the silliest of things – like who can stabilize their heart rate the best in the face of a barrage of teasing.
The members start simple, immediately dropping all honorifics and making quips about Yeonjun's age – as if they weren't all kids when they met and as if they don't still feel far too young for it all sometimes, clinging to the past with clipped nails and forgetting that they've already achieved so many of their childhood fantasies that used to glimmer like stars out of reach. But Yeonjun finds it difficult to argue when there's a constant faint ache to his joints that gets worse when it's going to rain, much to the members' amusement, and when he tires more quickly after dance practice than he used to, the taste of blood and bile in the back of his throat now a familiarity. The members don't mean it like that though, and so it's easy not to take it that way, to recognize how they play into familiar age hierarchies that cease to mean much of anything once you've all fought tooth and nail for the same dream. And so Yeonjun's pulse doesn't fluctuate.
The first real challenge comes when a crooning, "Yeonjunie," makes its way squeaking and high pitched through the microphone.
"Yes, Beomgyu," Yeonjun replies, trying his hardest to keep a fond smile at bay as it threatens to creep across his features. He can feel Beomgyu's indignance at being so easily discovered, and it's a sweet thing to imagine him so cutely upset, as if Yeonjun couldn't recognize him blind, as if he didn't have an entire corner of his brain and almost all of his heart dedicated to his adoration of and devotion to every part of Beomgyu's person. Perhaps that's why he finds himself struggling to remain calm when Beomgyu speaks – because his heart is useless when faced with the one who holds it in the palm of his hand.
"Why didn't you buy me dinner last night after saying that you would." Beomgyu's pout is audible, and Yeonjun aches to rip the blindfold off and look at him. The members tease him often about how cute he finds Beomgyu, and how hard it is for him to resist that pout, but he really doesn't think there's anything in this world that can match up to Choi Beomgyu when he turns his charm into a weapon. That fondness is tempered with indignation, however, because Beomgyu is a cheat and liar and just as competitive as Yeonjun is.
It is true that Yeonjun didn't buy Beomgyu dinner last night – however it's because Beomgyu had fallen asleep in Yeonjun's bed almost immediately after asking him to open the delivery app, and Yeonjun hadn't had the heart to wake him back up. Beomgyu hadn't much minded then, and Yeonjun suspects that he still doesn't, but he's managed to make it sound like Yeonjun is neglecting him for some sort of selfish purpose. And he can't defend himself, not really, unless he wants to make up some sort of half-hearted explanation for why Beomgyu fell asleep in his bed and wasn't shaken awake in order to be redirected to his own room.
"You're a liar, Choi Beomgyu," is what he says instead of defending himself, and he's rewarded with the sweet sounds of Beomgyu's giggling. It's one of Yeonjun's favorite sounds, even distorted through by the squeak of the microphone (many, if not all, of Yeonjun's favorite sounds involve Beomgyu, a fact that he would be embarrassed to admit outside the confines of his mind).
"I'm not lying!" Beomgyu retorts, "you said you'd buy me dinner and you never did!" Yeonjun longs to take the blindfold off and turn to see Beomgyu's little self-satisfied smirk, but he isn't sure he'd be able to resist the urge to kiss it off of him if he did, and what a scandal that would be. So instead he focuses on taking deep breaths and hopes that it comes off as suppressed annoyance instead of fondness. By the sounds of his members' hushed laughter echoing through their microphones, he thinks that his heart rate is probably spiking, which means there's no chance this gets cut out of the episode. It's not a problem, truly, it wouldn't be the first time Yeonjun's uncontrollable adoration of Beomgyu gets twisted into exasperation by editors and fans, and he's sure it won't be the last. Teasing is a love language of theirs, one that they're both fluent enough in to hide loving comments beneath harmless barbs.
Luckily, he's saved from having to respond with his tone shaped into something resembling aggravation by the sound of the timer going off, meaning his turn in the hot seat is up. He slides the blindfold off of his eyes, blinking rapidly as the bright lights and harsh white walls once again attack his senses. He passes the blindfold to Soobin as they swap seats, but Yeonjun makes a show out of gripping Beomgyu by the shoulders and shaking him around a bit before he sits down. It's a fun act for the cameras, "Tom and Jerry" at it again, but what it really is for Yeonjun is an excuse to touch Beomgyu, an excuse to feel the realness of him under his fingertips, to ground himself in the moment as he fades out of the camera's focus. Beomgyu plays into it, shoulders scrunched up as he shouts with indignation, but there's concern still lurking in the depths of his gaze. It's not unwarranted – Yeonjun has been cagey and short with him today, even though the shoot isn't a very demanding one, especially not this time of year, when comeback season looms on the horizon (as it always does, a seemingly unending stream of promotions that bleed into one another), but isn't an immediate threat.
Yeonjun squeezes Beomgyu's shoulder lightly one last time before he pulls away, hoping that Beomgyu can feel the reassurance packed into the gesture. There's no need to worry about him, not now. This game is the last part of today's shoot, and now that Yeonjun is out of the spotlight he should be able to fade into the background ever so slightly, so long as he makes a well-timed quip here and there and generally follows the flow of conversation.
Soobin's turn up front goes smoothly. Beomgyu takes the reins again, raising Soobin's heart rate in a way only he can – the motor in his mouth running faster than ever, hopping from point to point and topic to topic so quickly it makes Yeonjun's head spin. Soobin follows, though, responding to each jab with one of his own, the two of them lost in their own world. The fans will eat this up, Yeonjun knows – the two best friends are at it again, poking at each other's soft spots and drifting away into their own bubble away from the other members. Yeonjun's smile suddenly feels more forced, and that strange and twisting feeling in his gut rears its head once again. Yeonjun glances sideways to see Taehyun and Kai's reaction, but it seems that he's the only one bothered by the SoobinandBeomgyu fusion – the two youngest members look fondly exasperated, witnesses to a familiar scene that they aren't willing to stop playing out again and again.
Beomgyu's voice continues to dominate the conversation, the other three members unwilling to even try and speak over him, until the timer dings and Soobin takes off the blindfold. When he passes it to Beomgyu he makes a show of tossing it from hand to hand so that Beomgyu has to reach for it, and they're both still giggling when they take their seats. It only serves to make Yeonjun feel even more helpless, tired and aching and glad that no one commented on the way his heart rate spiked when Soobin and Beomgyu's fingers brushed when the blindfold changed hands. It's petty, and ridiculous, since Beomgyu and Yeonjun have each other's hearts and minds and pieces of each other's souls, but Yeonjun is exhausted and his head hurts and the walls are still closing in on him, and he can't help but fall prey to petty jealousy sometimes.
Soobin, being the good leader that he is, is practically psychically tuned to all of their emotions after so long together, and he raises one eyebrow questioningly at Yeonjun as the staff make sure Beomgyu's heart rate monitor is hooked up correctly to the screen. Yeonjun shakes his head slightly. His unfair emotions aren't Soobin's problem, and he doesn't want to stir up conflict where there shouldn't be any in the first place. Beomgyu and Soobin are best friends, and it's never really bothered Yeonjun before, not until recently, when he spends his nights scrolling far too late on social media and stumbles upon posts about Soobin and Beomgyu that make his heart want to crawl out of his chest. It's something that he knows he should talk to Beomgyu about, but he just hasn't had the courage to bring it up, not when he can see for himself just how silly he's being. Somehow, that self awareness doesn't make the slimy feeling that coats his insides fade away.
Yeonjun tries to force himself out of the twisted pathways of his brain in order to focus on Beomgyu's turn. Logically, this is where he should thrive. There's no one he knows quite like he knows Beomgyu – the other half of his heart and soul, his favorite person, his beloved. And yet, there's something strange that happens when you know someone so well that your souls entangle – sometimes you can know so much and still have so little to say. He has to be careful when talking to or about Beomgyu, has to be careful not to let something slip that might betray all of the adoration that he keeps locked up tight in his heart. It's an incredibly difficult thing to do, especially when his heart feels so full of love that it might burst in his chest at any moment. During his late night MOA Twitter doomscrolling, he often sees posts of himself looking at Beomgyu with fondness dripping from his eyes, saccharine sweet and far too adoring. He can't ever bring himself to regret it, not when it lets people see just how deep his love for Beomgyu truly goes.
Yeonjun manages to tune back into the conversation just in time to hear Kai and Taehyun prodding Beomgyu about which of the younger members is his favorite. It's a debate they've had many times before, since Beomgyu sits squarely in the center of the group's age divide, the center of their world (perhaps only Yeonjun would put it so romantically, but they all feel it, in their own way. Beomgyu is the glue that holds them together, and none of them would ever deny it). Most of the time, it leads to Beomgyu smothering both maknaes in overdramatic affection – as he does now, crooning about how they're both too cute for him to choose. They wrinkle their noses up in an eerily similar way, and Yeonjun laughs.
He stops laughing abruptly, however, when Kai raises the question of who Beomgyu's favorite hyung might be. It's a question that gets thrown around far less frequently, though not because there is a clear answer. Beomgyu adores Yeonjun and Soobin both in different ways, and there is truly no way to compare the two. However, that doesn't mean that it hasn't crossed Yeonjun's mind. It's eerily similar to the way Yeonjun's thoughts had been turning mere moments before, and he feels his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. The heart monitor on his wrist gives an indignant beep, and Soobin, to his right, unaware of his mental turmoil, points it out.
"It seems like Yeonjun really wants to be the favorite," he says (never mind that the microphones are supposed to make them anonymous, are supposed to do away with bias. It's not like they haven't been recognizing each other anyway. After so many years together, they would recognize each other by footsteps, by breathing patterns, by any means necessary). "But Beomgyu, I would have bought you dinner last night if you'd asked me to."
It's a smart way to tie back to what had Yeonjun's heart racing earlier, a cheap jab that shouldn't make him feel so defensive. But Yeonjun's heart seems determined to betray him with its sensitivity today, and it twists in his chest as Soobin uses his own actions against him. It's something so simple, a trivial concern that isn't even a concern, really, Beomgyu making up excuses to tease Yeonjun and Soobin picking up on it, something that Yeonjun usually has no problem going along with, especially since Beomgyu is so cute when he teases. But Yeonjun woke up on the wrong side of the bed today it seems, and he can't seem to get Soobin's voice out of his head. He can't help but think that maybe he should have just ordered Beomgyu dinner that would have been left cold and uneaten, if only to avoid giving him an excuse to choose Soobin over him.
But it's not even about Soobin, not really. Yeonjun might be competitive, and sometimes petty, and occasionally jealous when his mood sours enough, but Soobin isn't and has never been the source of the problem, because neither Yeonjun nor Beomgyu could ever live without him in their lives. The true problem lies in Yeonjun's night time doomscrolling, in the way that his interactions with Beomgyu get twisted by the camera and the To Do editors and the fan editors and everyone in between. It's not jealousy, not really, and it hasn't ever been. It's helplessness, the feeling that no matter how much he adores Beomgyu, he'll always feel obligated to hide some of that adoration in front of the cameras in order to fit whatever predetermined image he's obligated to display. It's not an image he ever chose for himself, and not one that Beomgyu chose either, but he supposes that back when their teasing was less fond, was born from the desire to have the other's attention no matter the cost, it may have needed to be edited to dampen the furious flames of passion that backed it. Yeonjun understands, logically, that portraying him and Beomgyu as the Tom and Jerry stereotype was perhaps the best choice at the time. But it doesn't mean he doesn't loathe it all the same.
And so, when Beomgyu says that he couldn't possibly pick a favorite hyung, but that if Soobin promises to buy him dinner tonight to make up for Yeonjun's mistakes, he could pick Soobin as his favorite hyung of the day, Yeonjun’s heart twists painfully. It's silly, really, and a good deflection on Beomgyu's part to try and avoid upsetting the fans with trigger-happy fingers online who are determined to make it seem like they all hate each other no matter what words pass between them. Soobin acts like he's just won Artist of the Year while Taehyun accuses Beomgyu of taking bribes, which Beomgyu shamelessly admits to be true. Yeonjun tries his best to look like he's sulking instead of fighting an internal war against his own ruthless feelings and bleeding heart.
Beomgyu takes off the blindfold and swaps seats with Taehyun, and when he spots Yeonjun's expression he does a double take, subtle enough that it won't get picked up on by the cameras, but pointed enough for Yeonjun to know that there's no avoiding a conversation after the shoot is done. Yeonjun smiles back as best as he can, but he knows that Beomgyu can pick up on the strain of it better than anyone else can. Still, he has years of training on maintaining appearances when he's crumbling to pieces, and old habits die hard, even when interacting with those who have seen you at your worst and choose to love you in spite of it.
The rest of the shoot goes on without a hitch, the two youngest members being subjected to a barrage of compliments instead of the teasing that Yeonjun and Soobin received or the interrogation that Beomgyu was subjected to. Somehow, even as they've watched them grow up too fast in front of their eyes, there will always be a double image when the older members look at the younger ones – visions of their childhood selves with wide eyes and big dreams and hearts too big for their fragile bodies, visions that mean they get complimented and doted on and aggressively loved while they pretend it doesn't make them flush.
They wrap up the shoot by declaring the winner, who gets to receive a plastic trophy declaring him the number one TXT expert. Taehyun ends up winning because of his score in the heart beat game, since his heart rate had actually gone down during the course of his turn instead of up. Taehyun has always had the uncanny ability to make his doe eyes go blank and empty, an ability that he has recently decided is because of his status as a "chill guy". Yeonjun thinks it's probably more of a psychological response to being constantly in a state of emotional turbulence, but what does he know – he can't even get a handle on himself, no matter how hard he tries.
And he does try. He's shuffled into the car with Taehyun on the way back, which he's grateful for – almost as grateful as he is to no longer be surrounded by blinding white walls and probing camera lenses on all sides. Taehyun doesn't make Yeonjun speak, but he reaches over and gives his shoulder a quick squeeze that makes Yeonjun's throat go tight with tears alarming quickly. He blinks rapidly and swallows hard, forcing the corners of his mouth up into a tired smile. "I'm alright, Taehyun-ah," he says. "Just fighting a headache." And Taehyun doesn't push, even though Yeonjun is sure he wants to. He just turns and begins typing on his phone, glancing over at Yeonjun every once and awhile in a way that he must think is stealthy.
Yeonjun doesn't think to question who Taehyun might have been texting until their train of cars reaches the dorm and Soobin lingers to behind to fall into step beside Yeonjun, asking softly, "Do you want to talk to me or talk to Beomgyu?" He's in leader mode, a stern edge to his voice that can't fully mask the worry that lurks beneath it.
Yeonjun tries to reach for the mask that he'd been clinging to during the shoot, the set of false emotions that he uses as a disguise, but he finds that he's too exhausted to play pretend anymore. Chances are Soobin would have seen right through him anyway. "Beomgyu," he says, and Soobin nods and then moves back a step, but Yeonjun can feel the press of his gaze as they make their way inside.
Yeonjun beelines for Beomgyu's room, suddenly desperately and achingly homesick for the comfort he might find there. He knows that he won't be able to relax until they have some sort of conversation, but he also knows that he'd rather have that conversation while tucked into Beomgyu's bed and maybe even Beomgyu's arms, if he's lucky.
He collapses onto the mattress with a bone rattling sigh, subliminally aware that he's being dramatic but unable to stop himself anyway. Beomgyu's bedroom is an extension of Beomgyu himself, a corner of the world carefully carved out in his image. Yeonjun thinks that's probably why he feels so safe there, free to be a little bit more dramatic or emotional than he would be anywhere else – it reminds him so much of the one person he feels the safest with.
Yeonjun doesn't have to wallow alone for long before Beomgyu steps into the room, shutting the door softly behind him, his expression full of concern as Yeonjun slowly turns his head away from its place buried in the pillows to blearily meet his gaze. "Yeonjunie," he says softly, in the tone that he reserves just for when they're alone, for when the two of them are away from the cameras and away from prying eyes and even away from all the other members, free to simply be themselves without any constraints. Yeonjun loves Beomgyu in every form, but he secretly thinks he likes this Beomgyu best – the one who takes care of him without having to be asked, who brushes his hair out of his eyes and scratches gently at his scalp, who leans down to press a barely-there kiss to his forehead, soothing over invisible hurts that he can somehow sense subliminally. This Beomgyu doesn't belong to the fans, or the company – this Beomgyu is Yeonjun's and Yeonjun's alone, and the mere idea is enough to soothe some of the jealousy that still clings to him.
Beomgyu lets Yeonjun lie unspeaking for a few more moments, still brushing fingers through his hair and humming softly as he does so. Yeonjun would be lulled to sleep if he wasn't aware of the cloud of tension hanging over them, even as Beomgyu treats him so gently, so adoringly, like he's precious. It aches as much as it soothes, when Beomgyu is so gentle and yet Yeonjun's feelings still take such a sour turn.
As if Beomgyu can feel his boyfriend's impending spiraling, he stills his fingers in Yeonjun's hair and says, "Yeonjunie," again. This time it sounds like a plea more than a form of address, a silent question and a demand for answers that Yeonjun feels too tired to give. He'll give them anyway, of course, because he owes Beomgyu that and so much more, and because he's powerless to ever say no to him, his beautiful boy with the soft voice and the gentle hands and the heart so full of love. "You have to talk to me," he adds. "Something clearly isn't right with you and Soobin said you wouldn't talk to him, but I'm not letting you off the hook so easily." His words are gentle, fondly exasperated but not teasing, so used to the way Yeonjun's mood can swing wildly from minute to minute.
"You're going to think it's stupid," Yeonjun says into the pillows so he doesn't have to meet Beomgyu's gaze, knowing that if he does he'll be bowled over by the soft adoration that lingers there.
Beomgyu lets out a soft laugh. "I might think it's a little silly, sure, but not stupid. If it's bothering you this much it's not stupid, and I think you'll feel better if you talk about it."
Yeonjun pouts into the pillows, but he knows that all he's really doing is making Beomgyu's smile turn even more fond. Still, he lets himself stew in silence for a little while longer, until Beomgyu's fingers start moving in his hair again, and he's so grateful for the way it makes his headache recede that he starts talking without even thinking about it. "Were you truly upset that I didn't buy you dinner last night?" He asks, and then winces at the whiny edge to his tone.
Beomgyu huffs softly, tightening his fingers in Yeonjun's hair ever so slightly. It's an admonishment, but not a harsh one, simply his way of acknowledging that Yeonjun really is being a little silly, but that he's going to indulge him anyways. "No, hyung, I wasn't upset. I had a great time last night even without dinner and I think you know that." Yeonjun glances up quickly just to see the smirk on Beomgyu's face before he retreats back to the safety of the pillows. He's thinking he might just bury his head there forever and suffocate in softness and embarrassment. "Is that really what this is about?" Beomgyu adds.
Yeonjun shakes his head slowly, then pauses, and nods. "Yes and no," he says. "It's about the whole stupid game, and the shoot in general, but it isn't, not really."
"You're not making sense, hyung," Beomgyu responds, tone still soft, still gentle, giving him the time and space to collect his thoughts and explain.
Yeonjun sighs and maneuvers so that he's lying with his back against the pillows instead of burying his face in them (there go his grand plans of suffocation). Beomgyu lays down next to him and takes his hand, threading their fingers together, grounding him. Yeonjun feels a sudden rush of love so strong he's dizzy with it. It's that same love, that knowledge that Beomgyu adores him no matter what anyone else might think, no matter how the fans or the cameras or anything else might twist things, that grants Yeonjun the courage to start speaking. "I think I've been feeling jealous for a while, but it took me a long time to realize that's what I was feeling."
Beomgyu hums next to him, just to remind him that he's there, that he's listening. It's nearly uncanny, the way he always seems to know what Yeonjun needs from him at all times, and Yeonjun is eternally grateful for it.
"I started spending more time on social media, which is never a good idea, I know, but I found myself reading posts where the fans were interpreting moments between you and I and moments between you and Soobin. And I knew, subliminally, that it didn't really matter, that nothing they could say or do would ever truly come close to understanding any of the relationships between any of us, but it didn't stop me from developing a bit of an obsession. I started noticing how interactions between us were edited and how it was different from you and Soobin, I started seeing the narrative that everyone was trying to craft. Beoms, do you know that there are people who think we truly don't like each other because of all the teasing we do on camera? It broke my heart a little."
Beomgyu doesn't speak for a long moment, but his grip on Yeonjun's hand grows tighter. "I wish you had come to me," he says eventually. "I wish you hadn't been holding this in."
"I know I should have," Yeonjun responds. "But it all felt a little silly, that I was getting so upset over the fans' interpretations of our relationship when I have everything I could ever want from you and more than I ever dreamed I would have. Eventually I shook it off and tried to stop thinking about it, but today it all came rushing back and I think I just spiraled. When you teased me on camera and then chose Soobin as your favorite, it messed with my head, even though I knew it didn't mean anything."
"Hyung," Beomgyu says, soft a little hurt. "Of course it didn't mean anything. But I also hope you know that I couldn't ever truly choose between the two of you, and I would hope you wouldn't expect me to. I love you both, in very different ways, and I can't change that if I wanted to."
"I would never expect you to choose. I'm so glad that you can rely on Soobin as well as rely on me. And it's not about Soobin, not really. It's about how you're expected to act with him on camera versus how you're expected to act with me. You have more freedom to love him on camera because he's your best friend. But it struck me recently that the dynamic we're supposed to fall back into isn't one that feels true to us anymore."
Beomgyu is silent again, a crease between his brows betraying the inner workings of his thoughts. "I honestly don't think I've ever thought about it that way, which seems a little bit ridiculous. But I think I've gotten so used to swapping between TXT Beomgyu and regular old Choi Beomgyu that it doesn't even register to me anymore."
"I've always admired that about you," Yeonjun says softly. "I don't think I have a handle on my sense of self in quite the same way that you do, though I wish I did. I feel like sometimes I get stuck between Choi Yeonjun and TXT Yeonjun and then I don't quite know what to do with myself. Today was one of those days." He pauses for a moment, trying to gauge Beomgyu's reaction, but all he sees is softness and understanding. "And besides," he adds petulantly, "I've had a headache all day and I hate that big bright studio." He sounds a little bit like a toddler, but he knows that Beomgyu won't complain.
"I'm glad you think it's admirable that I can switch between personas so easily. I always thought it was a little bit strange, how easily I've learned to fit myself into so many different roles. It's second nature to me now, but maybe it shouldn't be. But I also want you to know, to really understand, that I love the way the two of us fit together in any scenario, whether we're alone or in front of the cameras or at a concert in front of thousands of fans. We're always going to be Yeonjun and Beomgyu, and we're always going to be in love just the same, no matter what and no matter how anyone wants to interpret it."
"I do know that," Yeonjun says quietly. "Although it helps to hear it out loud. I just wish that we could feel more free to adore each other on camera a little more."
“Yeonjunie, every time that I tease you, it's because I adore you, not in spite of it. It doesn't matter how I play around with you on camera, because it's done with love no matter what. And if people can't see that, they're just not looking hard enough. But you're looking, and you understand, and that should be the only thing that matters. I understand that you want to be perceived a certain way, and that there's a certain performance that's expected of us, but I would hope that the performance would never take precedence over what we have that's real no matter the occasion," Beomgyu says, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of Yeonjun's hand, voice quiet and thoughtful as if he isn't healing Yeonjun's bleeding heart with every word.
For the first time since the To Do shoot began, Yeonjun thinks he feels his rapid pulse begin to slow, calmed by Beomgyu speaking the truth into existence. "I think I had been spending so much time focusing on why we couldn't show a more real side of our relationship that I forgot to acknowledge that reality for what it is. I got so caught up in what parts were or weren't a performance, and on what parts would be capitalized on by the fans, that I forgot to stop thinking about my performance once the cameras were off."
"I get it," Beomgyu says, "I really do. I think all of us get a little tired of having to contort ourselves into different personas for the enjoyment of a faceless mass. We've all talked about it before, and we've all had our struggles when it comes to finding out how we can continue to be ourselves while still being professionals. It's hard, when so much of what we do is balancing being authentic with being constantly attractive in both appearance and personality. But I love you, Yeonjunie, all of you, every side. And if I know that and you know that, then neither of us should be so bothered by what anyone else thinks or perceives."
"I think my brain knows that, but my heart struggles with it," Yeonjun says. Beomgyu hums understandingly. "But thank you for saying the quiet part out loud, and for not making me feel like my concerns are as stupid as I sometimes think they are."
"If something is bothering you, it's never stupid," Beomgyu replies.
Yeonjun smiles softly at him, genuinely this time, compared to all the grimaces he put on for show earlier. His earlier raging tempest of emotions is slowly calming now, powerless against Beomgyu's gentle rationality. "Still, thank you, for listening. For being you, as always."
"As always is right," says Beomgyu. "I'm always me, even in front of the cameras. It's not like I don't enjoy getting a rise out of you, and you know that. You like teasing me right back! It's part of our charm!"
Yeonjun giggles, burying his head in Beomgyu's shoulder to muffle the sounds. "I do like how cute you are when you're annoyed. That pout of yours is lethal, as I'm sure you know."
"I don't know what you're talking about," says Beomgyu while pouting. His eyes glimmer with amusement, and Yeonjun feels lighter than he has all day.
He feels the way their dynamic can shift and change, and he loves it. Because he loves Beomgyu in every form, in every iteration, and while he wishes he could shout it from the rooftops, wishes he could tell the whole world just how much this perfect and beautiful boy means to him, he's content to keep that love quiet, so long as he always gets to keep it close.
"I'm happy to let a couple of pet names slip on camera, though, if that would make you feel better. I could call you old in one sentence and then call you baby in the next, and I think the fans would eat that up. I'm sure not every post you came across while doomscrolling was all negative."
Yeonjun laughs, "No, there were some sweet ones too. But sometimes it's hard to remember that you're loved when you're drowning in negativity."
Beomgyu nods. "Well, you're lucky that you'll always have me here to remind you that you're loved, then."
Yeonjun's heart squeezes in his chest, but it's a welcome feeling, so different from the pained twists of jealousy that had wracked him earlier. It feels so inconsequential, looking back on it now, the way he had been so concerned about winning Beomgyu's favor on camera, about showing the world that there was more to their dynamic than what was discernible on the surface. Why should he care about what anyone else might think of him and Beomgyu when he has Beomgyu right here, holding him tightly in the sanctuary of his bedroom, reassuring him gently in the way that only he can. This comfort is all he needs, the only thing in the world that matters.
Sometimes, Yeonjun's love for Beomgyu is so strong it becomes almost overwhelming, bowling him over in its ferocity and threatening to send him reeling. Those are the times where he is prone to jealousy, to insecurity, to the sorts of wild emotions that come from a love that is too strong to be contained. But Beomgyu will always be there to talk him down, to ease all that love into something that is more gentle, more easy to hold onto and cherish. It's the same amount of love, if love could ever be quantified, but it changes shape, much like they change themselves when they're on camera. When he looks at it that way, Yeonjun doesn't mind the performance so much anymore – when he thinks of it as a different way of showing his love for Beomgyu to the world, of adoring him in any place and in any situation.
The one thing that he never doubted, even as jealousy and melancholy reared their ugly heads, was that he loved Beomgyu and that Beomgyu loved him. And even though that love might shift and change forms as they changed themselves, he knew he would always end up here – safe and at home in the haven of Beomgyu's arms, pulse calm and steady, heart beating stable and full of love.