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For Jay, the world had always been divided into things he needed to protect and things he didn’t. Jungwon had always been at the top of that list. Even as Jungwon became a formidable leader, Jay’s brain still saw that kid from I-LAND who used to hide his face in Jay’s hoodie.
But for Jungwon, the “baby” label had become a cage. He was obsessed with the way Jay looked after him, yes, but he was more obsessed with the idea of being the one to look after Jay. He had made a silent pact: he was going to stop being a shadow. He was going to be a man.
He failed every single day.
It started with Jungwon trying to be distant. For three days, he didn’t even look at Jay during rehearsals. Jay was spiraling. Did I do something? Is he stressed and I’m just...annoying him? Jay wondered, his heart sinking every time Jungwon walked past him without a word.
During a break, Jay saw Jungwon leaning against the wall, sweat dripping down his neck. Out of pure, protective habit, Jay stepped forward with a towel. “Jungwon-ah, you’re overworking yourself—”
Before Jay could touch him, Jungwon caught his wrist. His grip wasn’t a “baby’s” hold; it was iron. Jungwon didn’t let go; instead, he pulled Jay into his personal space, so close that Jay could smell the salt and heat on his skin.
“I’m the Leader, Jay-hyung,” Jungwon murmured, his voice a low, masculine vibration that sent a jolt through Jay’s spine. “I know my limits. Stop trying to baby me.” He pressed his thumb firmly against Jay’s pulse point—which was drumming frantically—before turning on his heel and leaving Jay breathless in the center of the room.
The tension followed them into the studio. Jay was struggling with a high note, his voice cracking under the pressure. Through the glass, he saw Jungwon watching him. Not with the fond, encouraging smile of a younger brother, but with a sharp, predatory focus.
Jungwon walked into the booth, closing the door behind him. The space was tiny, the air suddenly thick. Jungwon didn’t give him vocal tips. He stepped behind Jay, his hands landing heavily on Jay’s shoulders.
“Relax,” Jungwon whispered into his ear, his chest pressing against Jay’s back. Jay’s heart hammered. Jungwon’s hands slid down to Jay’s waist, squeezing firmly. “You’re too tense because you’re worried about how you look to me. Stop being a ’hyung’ for one second and just sing.”
Jay’s brain short-circuited. He could feel the solid, muscular frame of the boy he used to carry. When did he get this broad? Jay wondered, his knees feeling weak as Jungwon’s hands lingered on his hips a second too long before retreating.
Jay tried to bridge the gap during a group interview, laughing and draping an arm around Sunoo. It was his comfort zone—the nurturer. But he felt Jungwon’s gaze from across the couch—sharp, heavy, and hot.
“Jay-hyung actually spends most of his time looking after me,” Jungwon interrupted, his voice cutting through the laughter like a knife. He couldn’t help it; the sight of Jay touching someone else made his blood boil. Under the guise of “checking the script,” Jungwon got up and sat back down directly next to Jay, his thigh pressed firmly against Jay’s, reclaiming his territory in front of the cameras. Jay felt the heat of Jungwon’s leg and realized with a shock: He’s jealous. My baby is jealous.
At the gym, Jay was struggling with a heavy bench press. Suddenly, Jungwon was there, his hands on the bar, helping Jay rack it. When Jay sat up, he found himself trapped between Jungwon’s knees. Jungwon leaned down, his face inches from Jay’s.
“You need to stop trying to be the strongest person in the room when I’m right here,” Jungwon whispered. Jay looked up, seeing the desperation in Jungwon’s eyes—he was trying so hard to be “professional,” but his fingers were white-knuckled on Jay’s shoulders. Jay realized then that Jungwon wasn’t being distant because he was annoyed. He was being distant because he was starving for Jay.
The ride home was silent. Jungwon sat so close their thighs were flush. He draped an arm over the back of Jay’s seat, caging him in. Every time the van turned, Jay was thrown against Jungwon’s solid frame, and every time, Jungwon’s hand would find Jay’s waist to steady him, his fingers digging into the muscle. Jay was a mess of nerves, and Jungwon was vibrating with the effort of not pulling Jay into his lap right there in front of the manager.
During their world tour, a lift on the stage malfunctioned, jolting the members. Jay, momentarily losing his footing, stumbled toward the edge. In a flash, a hand caught the back of his jacket and hauled him backward with such sheer force that Jay’s back slammed into a solid chest.
Jay expected to be let go once he was stable, but Jungwon’s arm stayed locked across Jay’s chest, holding him flush against his front while the smoke machines roared around them. Jay could feel Jungwon’s heavy, post-performance breathing against his neck.
“I have you,” Jungwon gritted out, his voice barely audible over the screaming fans. He didn’t sound like a dongsaeng checking on his hyung; he sounded like a man guarding something he owned. Jay felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the stage lights, his mind reeling. He didn’t just steady me. He’s holding me like I’m his.
They were filming a “Moving Version” of a dance practice. Jay was in the back, trying to focus, but he felt Jungwon’s eyes on him through the mirror. Jungwon was supposed to be leading the formation, but every time they rotated, Jungwon found a way to graze Jay’s arm or hip.
During a floor move, Jay’s hand slipped on the polished wood. Before the cameras could catch the fumble, Jungwon moved into his space, blocking the view. He reached down, ostensibly to “help” Jay up, but instead of a hand, he grabbed Jay’s forearm with a grip that was punishingly tight.
Jay looked up, panting, and saw Jungwon’s face. It was mask-like, professional, but his eyes were burning. “Focus on me, Jay-hyung,” Jungwon whispered, his thumb digging into the sensitive skin of Jay’s inner wrist. “Stop looking at the cameras and look at me.” Jay’s heart skipped. Jungwon wasn’t just leading the dance; he was demanding Jay’s entire soul.
The rain was a relentless drumming against the roof of the van, blurring the neon lights of Seoul into smeared streaks of red and blue. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet. Jay leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his body aching from a fourteen-hour day of rehearsals and filming.
Next to him, Jungwon was a statue of forced composure.
For the past week, Jungwon had been a ghost. He’d stopped initiating skinship, stopped seeking Jay out for “recharging” hugs, and had barely looked Jay in the eye. Jay had spent the entire drive convinced he’d finally overstepped—that his constant “hyung” fussing had finally pushed the Leader too far.
The van took a sharp, sudden turn into the dorm’s parking complex. Jay’s tired body slid across the leather seat, his shoulder colliding with Jungwon’s solid frame.
Usually, Jungwon would laugh and push him back playfully. But as Jay started to sit up and apologize, a heavy, warm hand landed firmly on his thigh.
Jay froze.
Jungwon didn’t pull back. Instead, his fingers flexed, digging into the denim of Jay’s jeans with a grip that was almost bruising. In the rhythmic flash of the parking lot’s overhead lights, Jay saw Jungwon’s profile—his jaw was set so tight it looked painful, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He was vibrating with the sheer effort of not doing more.
“Jungwon-ah?” Jay whispered, his heart beginning to thud a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Jungwon let out a sharp, ragged exhale, finally closing his eyes. His hand slid an inch higher up Jay’s thigh, his thumb dragging slow and heavy over the fabric. “Just let me, hyung,” he breathed, his voice a low, broken rasp. “I’ve been trying to be good all day. I’ve been trying to give you the space I think you want. I’m failing.”
The sexual tension was a physical weight between them, thick enough to choke on. Jay couldn’t move; he was paralyzed by the raw desperation in the younger man’s voice. This wasn’t a “baby” asking for comfort. This was a man at his breaking point.
As soon as the van stopped, Jungwon was out the door. He didn’t wait. He moved with a predatory focus, leading the way into the silent dorm.
The moment the front door clicked shut behind them, the darkness of the living room swallowed them up. Jay barely had time to kick off his shoes before he felt Jungwon’s presence looming over him. He made it as far as the sofa, his knees hitting the cushions, before Jungwon stepped directly between his legs.
The “distance” was officially dead.
Jungwon grabbed Jay’s waist with both hands—strong, veined hands that Jay realized could easily overpower him—and pulled him forward to the very edge of the sofa.
“You’ve been looking at me all day like you’re waiting for me to break,” Jungwon whispered, his face inches from Jay’s. “You want your baby back, Jay-hyung? You want the kid who sits on your lap and listens to everything you say?”
Jay looked up, his breath hitching. “I just...I thought you were mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” Jungwon growled. He sat down heavily on the sofa and, in one fluid motion, hauled Jay upward.
Jay gasped as he was hoisted into the air, his world tilting until he found himself straddling Jungwon’s lap. His legs were forced wide, draped over Jungwon’s sturdy, muscular thighs. Jungwon’s arms wound around his waist like iron bands, pulling their hips so flush together that Jay could feel the heat of Jungwon’s skin through their layers of clothes.
Jay’s hands landed instinctively on Jungwon’s shoulders, his fingers clutching the fabric of Jungwon’s damp shirt. He looked down, seeing the way his own frame seemed to disappear against Jungwon’s.
“He used to be the one sitting on my lap,” Jay’s mind screamed, his soul vibrating with the realization. “When did the roles reverse? When did he become the one who could hold all of me like this?”
Jungwon buried his face in the crook of Jay’s neck, his hot breath ghosting over Jay’s pulse point. He let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, his nose brushing against Jay’s jaw. “I’m obsessed with you. I tried to hide it. I tried to act like a professional leader who doesn’t want to claim his hyung in front of everyone. But I can’t.”
Jungwon pulled back just enough to look at Jay, his eyes dark, heavy, and focused entirely on Jay’s mouth. He squeezed Jay’s hips, anchoring him firmly to his lap, his thumb tracing the line of Jay’s lower lip with a slow, agonizing pressure.
“You’re the one sitting in my lap now, Jay,” Jungwon whispered, his voice a low, masculine challenge. “You’re the one being held. Do I still look like a baby to you?”
Jay didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He simply leaned down, closing the distance, and captured Jungwon’s lips in a kiss that finally accepted the truth. The baby was gone, and Jay was exactly where he was meant to be—right in the center of Jungwon’s world.