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The first time Yeonjun does it, Beomgyu thought he was about to attack him.
He insists he can’t be blamed for that line of reasoning. Everyone knows their relationship is based on an i annoy the living daylights out of you and i tolerate you until i decide murder is an acceptable practice within this society dynamic. Who fulfills which part depends on Beomgyu’s mood for the day.
The point is, he shouldn’t be faulted for the reaction he has when he’s unceremoniously dragged into Yeonjun’s lap after staring off into space for minutes straight while a staff worker finishes attaching a mic to his waist. He doesn’t even have time to thank them before he’s being yanked backward.
Big hands replace the previous ones which had been working around him prior to their surprise attack. Beomgyu lets out a startled breath as his back hits a solid chest and his ass lands across strong thighs.
“What the—” He looks down at the biceps that crossed over themselves around his stomach. A pointed chin digs itself into his shoulder blade. Beomgyu jerks his gaze to the side and scowls incredulously when he sees Yeonjun’s lazily smirking face. “Hyung, the hell?”
“This is punishment,” Yeonjun says casually, as if he hadn’t manhandled Beomgyu from across the room to the couch he was sitting on.
“For what? I told you, it was Taehyun who chugged your Americano, not me,” Beomgyu complains.
Yeonjun dares to snort, as if this entire ordeal made any actual sense and Beomgyu was the stupid one for not getting it. “Not for that, dumbo. I know Taehyun was being a little shit.”
“Then why am I getting punished?” Beomgyu whines. And what kind of punishment is sitting in your hyung’s lap? he doesn’t get to ask, because Yeonjun huffs, his cold, minty breath fanning over Beomgyu’s face. He tries to puts some semblance of distance between them, but Yeonjun’s iron grip on him just tightens.
“Hyung!” Beomgyu pouts. Quieter, he mumbles, “I can feel everyone in the makeup room looking at us.”
Yeonjun hums, something sharpening in his cat eyes as a tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “Did you forget they already caught you on camera sitting in Kai’s lap once?”
Beomgyu frowns. “What does that have to do with anything? Let me up already!”
“I don’t want to.”
Spluttering, Beomgyu valiantly wiggles around, trying to dislodge Yeonjun’s grasp. His effort go to waste when Yeonjun—with the strength of way too many hours in the gym—easily pulls him flush against his chest again and responds to Beomgyu’s glare with a click of his tongue.
“Be still, would you? The noonas will get mad at you if you rip our clothes.”
“Why would they get mad at me? I’m not the one manhandling people and forcing them to undergo strange punishments,” Beomgyu points out grumpily. Yeonjun rolls his eyes.
But he does stop wiggling. The wardrobe noonas were as terrifying as the makeup noonas if one of them fucks up their hard work. Beomgyu’s been on the receiving end of their ire once, but he’ll never look at a curling iron the same ever again. He doesn’t want to discover how creative the wardrobe noonas were with their flat irons.
He waits for a minute to see if Yeonjun was planning on letting him go anytime soon, but the elder seems perfectly content with having Beomgyu’s weight on him. Even when their manager walks in, informing the two they have thirty minutes left until standby. To be fair, the man only does a double-take at Beomgyu’s precarious state on his hyung, and then he’s back to shaking his head with a sigh and a faint murmur about the things youths do these days as he rushes off to wherever it is his duties call him for.
Beomgyu stares forlornly after him. There goes his escape plan. Apparently, not even their manager’s judgment could dissuade Yeonjun.
He tries for another angle. Twisting around in his spot and finding Yeonjun playing with the ends of his hair, Beomgyu ignores how close this position puts Yeonjun’s full, glossy lips to his jaw and pastes on his most convincing smile for when he’s trying to get something out of the members.
It has a ninety-nine percent success rate on the rare days he pulls it out. Beomgyu doesn’t use it lightly. He can’t believe he’s pulling it out like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The fluttering feeling in his belly couldn’t possibly be a good reaction. Or maybe that’s the sensation of a thumb rubbing idle circles into the side of his waist.
He’s concerned for his health, is all.
“Hyung, your thighs are gonna fall asleep if I sit on them any longer,” Beomgyu says, keeping his tone mild in seriousness and some concern. “We have the Loser Lover choreo to do later. Do you really want to have your legs feel like pins and needles all through it?”
Hope rises in him when the thumb pauses in its ministrations. It dispels as soon as Yeonjun ever signature smirk makes its appearance.
“Aww, is my dongsaeng concerned for his hyung?” he coos. “I feel so honored. Usually, my stress levels are elevated from you. It feels good to be coddled.”
Beomgyu groans. “Fine. Be that way,” he says, miffed. He lets his body flop back into Yeonjun, the previous wish to not smother him with his weight be damned. If his hyung’s newly discovered dream of being a designated chair was this persistent, who was Beomgyu to dissuade him? He tells him sullenly, “Don’t complain to me later when you have to walk.”
He can’t see Yeonjun’s expression, but he can feel his infuriating smirk brushing against Beomgyu’s neck as he silently chuckles.
“Trust me,” is quietly murmured into his ear. The thumb goes back to rubbing every spark out of Beomgyu. “You’re not going to hear a single complaint from me.”
…
And he doesn’t. Not even when they’re sitting like that for the brief amount of minutes they have until stand-by. Beomgyu starts up a conversation about the shenanigans Taehyun and Kai was up to this morning as they got ready for their schedule for lack of anything better to do and also because he needs to distract himself from exploding into a puddle of goo at the big hands heating his sides. Yeonjun sometimes replies with his own snark, never once hinting at his displeasure—if he was at all.
He forgets about the awkwardness. Gets comfortable ranting about Soobin’s latest kitchen failure and the feeling of Yeonjun’s forehead against Beomgyu’s shoulder as he stifles his laughter after Beomgyu was particularly vocal about his displeasure at having to clean up the mess with their leader. The strange glances passing staff members give them goes largely ignored by now and when it’s time for them to get on stage, Beomgyu realizes he kind of liked it—sitting in Yeonjun’s lap and all.
Not that he’ll ever admit it to Yeonjun’s face. He already has to deal with the intense look Yeonjun gives him as Beomgyu reluctantly pulled himself up after their manager poked in to tell them to get ready. His makeup most likely didn’t do much to hide his blush.
As far as ‘punishments’ go, this one was the strangest, though by far the most pleasant one yet.
Even if Beomgyu still has no idea what he was being punished for. When he half-heartedly complains of this fact to Kai the next day, he only gets the maknae’s loud cackle for his troubles.
…
The next time Beomgyu finds himself in Yeonjun’s lap, there’s thankfully no wandering staff members to silently judge them behind professional masks, but three guys with a penchant for never letting their friends live anything down.
Movie night was essential to Beomgyu. Not really for the movies they watch, although he’d like to say when it’s his day to choose, his taste is immaculate and he never fails to catch one of the members rewatching his picks on their own.
No, it’s more to say he likes the homey feeling of settling down under a fluffy blanket on the huge loveseat in the middle of their living room he’s claimed as his—specially designated to Choi Beomgyu on their weekly marathons. In the midsts of their comeback promotions, weekly movie nights were harder to come by and Beomgyu would be an idiot to not seize the opportunity to do nothing but mindlessly indulge in buttery popcorn and intricate drama plot lines.
Except—when he shuffles out of the kitchen with the bag of popcorn Taehyun had helpfully made for them, his sacred, most beloved, most dear loveseat was occupied.
Glancing up from where he was scrolling through his phone, one Choi Yeonjun smiles slyly at him, as if he wasn’t a conniving sofa stealer who took the love of Beomgyu’s life from him.
“Oh, hey,” the thief says casually. “Can I have a piece of popcorn?”
“No,” Beomgyu hisses. He stomps over to the loveseat and glares his (in his opinion) most threatening glare. It falls flat somewhere, since Yeonjun’s lips betray him and twitch from an obviously suppressed smile. “What are you doing in my chair?”
Yeonjun quirks a brow. “Your chair?” he says delicately. He looks around, feigning a search. “That’s so strange, cause like—I don’t see your name on it?” He has the nerve to fucking shrug. “Weird.”
“You—” At a loss for words, Beomgyu gapes.
This was not how movie night should have started. Beomgyu should be cocooned in his blanket by now and getting his fingers greasy with popcorn, and Yeonjun should be sitting on the couch big enough for three people with Soobin, like he always does. Taehyun and Kai will proceed to sit in front of them on the floor and everyone would mercilessly criticize dumb characters for their cringe lines and stupid choices for the next couple of hours, until someone inevitably knocks themselves out and the rest start for their respective bedrooms.
Nowhere in that rigid routine was there a slot for Yeonjun to go and mix things up by taking Beomgyu’s favorite spot for himself.
“What?” Yeonjun cocks his head, mouth tugged up at the corners into a slowly growing grin. “Cat got your tongue?”
“More like an annoying fox,” Beomgyu shoots back. When that doesn’t make Yeonjun get up from the love seat, he squashes the urge to throw something in frustration. “Please, hyung, come on! We’re gonna start soon and I want to sit there. I always sit there!”
“Beomgyu-ah,” Yeonjun sighs. “Haven’t you ever heard the term sharing is caring? You should listen to your wise and experienced elder—”
“And I make too many jokes about your age,” Beomgyu scoffs.
“—and start helpfully giving more of your precious things to those close to you as a way to build character. Therefore—you should share your seat with me,” Yeonjun finishes, ending his mini monologue with a regal nod.
The move would be more fitting on a grandpa growing a long beard and donning robes from some ancient civilization. Not on a twenty-two-year-old wearing a large grey hoodie and black sweatpants with a pair of fuzzy Kuromi socks.
Beomgyu’s brows furrow. “You want me to share a tiny loveseat with you? Hyung, I don’t think we’d fit that well.”
The loveseat was made for two, but probably not for people of Beomgyu and Yeonjun’s size. The whole thing barely accommodated Beomgyu’s legs when he squishes himself to one end of the corner. He often resorts to curling into a ball like when he’s sleeping, propping his back up with a pillow.
It’d be a tight fit for them side by side. Beomgyu’s better off switching and taking the now vacant spot beside Soobin.
Sighing at the turn of events and mourning for his loss, Beomgyu turns toward the couch.
Next thing he knows, he’s being picked up like a lightweight sack of potatoes and the room moves around him without his permission.
Beomgyu lets out an inhuman squawk as he valiantly protects his popcorn from spilling all over the carpet as two strong (Yeonjun needs to stop going to the gym, please, Beomgyu’s dying) arms wraps around him again.
In no time at all, he’s deposited into the space between Yeonjun’s thighs. Beomgyu huffs at the blanket promptly thrown over his legs. Disgruntled, he cradled his (safely transported) popcorn to his chest and greets Yeonjun’s falsely innocent face over his shoulder with a scathing scowl.
“I hope you know I’m not giving you any popcorn.”
Yeonjun, with the gall only someone of his caliber could produce, juts his lips into a frown. “Not even if I say please?”
“Especially if you say please,” Beomgyu mutters angrily.
“Would you feed me some if I let you have my turn in picking a movie to watch?”
Beomgyu stops at this. He turns to regard Yeonjun shrewdly. The other was looking at him fondly, soft and with the sort of intensity Beomgyu remembers he’d looked at him the first time Yeonjun pulled this kind of stunt—the whole let’s have beomgyu sit in my lap because i aspire to confuse him stunt.
He considers his options. Should he sacrifice his popcorn for an excellent movie of his choice that he knows everyone would enjoy because he’s that good—or should he suffer another night of watching Disney princesses complete their epic adventures and get wooed by slightly stereotypical prince-charmings?
Shocker of all shockers—Beomgyu decides to sacrifice his bag of buttery goodness. He’s getting tired of seeing Rapunzel knock Flynn Rider out with a pan.
“Fine,” Beomgyu finally agrees. His suspicion doesn’t dissuade, however. He wiggles a finger at Yeonjun to make this clear. “But if you eat all of it, I’m making you watch The Notebook next week so I can see you sob into your sleeves again.”
“I didn’t sob, I manly cried,” Yeonjun insists. “There’s a difference, okay? Sobbing means I lost my dignity while manly crying—”
Just to not have Yeonjun go in on another rant about the dignity he didn’t have in the first place, Beomgyu shoves a couple pieces of popcorn into his mouth and snickers at his offended look, cheeks puffed and eyes deadpanned.
“Brat,” Yeonjun states, muffled as his words were. Beomgyu winks at him for good measure and snuggles back into his chest.
Soon enough the others trickled in with their own portions of popcorn, Taehyun having combined both his and Kai’s in a huge bowl for them to set on the coffee table. The three of them collectively stopped once they caught sight of Beomgyu’s precarious position in Yeonjun’s arms.
Kai’s the one to interrupt their quiet stare off. “Um. Are we switching it up today?”
Beomgyu wants to explain to them—or maybe more like justify—his new predicament, but then he remembers he doesn’t have a reason to justify with. Not like Yeonjun was benevolent enough to give a direct answer to his countless inquiries.
Beomgyu resorts to going with the first thing that comes to mind, which happens to be—
“Yeonjun-hyung stole my seat so now I’m stealing his turn to pick the movie.”
Taehyun’s response was dry when he says, “You know that tells us absolutely nothing, right?”
Soobin sighs. “Whatever. At least I get more space on the couch. Beom-ah, what movie are we watching?”
“The Age of Adaline,” Beomgyu prepares without a second to waste. He’s been itching to rewatch the movie ever since he saw it with his cousins. Blake Lively was a goddess and Beomgyu was going to thoroughly devour her gorgeousness, regardless of the male lead being low (read: high) key creepy and the director’s choice of using a narrator to fill in scenes.
“Isn’t that movie kind of depressing?” Yeonjun comments.
“It’s Christmasy,” Beomgyu protests. “Like, Christmas miracles and romantic moments. Kind of. You know what? You’ll see it for yourself. Taehyun, buy it on Youtube.”
“Got it,” Taehyun says dutifully, reaching for the remote once he sits at his spot in front of the couch Soobin now was splayed out on. Kai places himself to the left of Taehyun, his hand digging into the bowl the moment it’s deemed appropriate.
See? Everyone in their designated spaces. Unlike a certain someone.
…
Blake Lively is as beautiful as Beomgyu remembers her. Michiel Huisman could use Beomgyu as a doormat any day, but he insists the actor’s character is still creepy. Yeonjun says so when they watch the scene where he shows up at Adaline’s apartment after her dog died.
“I’m just saying,” he whispers to Beomgyu, low and reserved for only Beomgyu to hear. “Who looks up someone’s address and goes there uninvited? That’s weird. His single saving grace is that he’s hot.” Yeonjun waits for a beat. “I’m hotter though.”
Beomgyu knocks his head back into Yeonjun’s shoulder with a groan. “Hyung, can’t you keep your ego to yourself for, like, ten minutes? I’m busy drooling over Blake Lively.”
“Admit it,” he persists. “Admit I’m hotter than shaggy haired dude.”
“Yes, yes, you’re hotter than creepy shaggy haired dude with no respect or awareness for proper human boundaries,” Beomgyu says to pacify him.
Evidently pleased, backhanded as the compliment was, Yeonjun stuffs his face into the crook of Beomgyu’s neck, murmuring under his jaw, “Bet I’m prettier than Blake Lively, too.”
“I was taught that lying is a sin.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Yeonjun laughs.
Beomgyu feeds him popcorn as an apology—one Yeonjun accepts with a horribly loving look that spurs up all kinds of tingles in Beomgyu when the tip of a tongue shies against his fingertips. He returns his gaze to the TV screen, cheeks red.
And it’s—nice. Being in Yeonjun’s arms, their legs tangled beneath the blanket and occasional snide remarks about the stupid narrator guy disrupting the vibe of the movie. Yeonjun playfully biting after his hand when Beomgyu continues to feed him. The warm feeling of being so protected in a broader body. Everything about it is nice.
He could get used to it. Maybe sharing his beloved loveseat isn’t that bad.
(He falls asleep, nestled as he was against Yeonjun. He doesn’t see the adoring face he wears as Beomgyu nuzzles into his chest, mumbling something incoherent in his blissfully passed out state. He doesn’t hear Soobin sigh, saying, “I want you to know I threw up about eight different times pretending I couldn’t make out what you guys were whispering to each other. You seriously have the strangest courting ritual known to man-kind.”
“I think the correct term nowadays is wooing,” Kai merrily pipes in with.
He doesn’t hear Taehyun’s kind, “You should tell him, Yeonjun-hyung. He deserves to know.”
Or Kai’s encouraging, “Yeah, hyung! I think you’ll be really happy together.”
He’s not awake to hear Yeonjun’s, “Screw you, Soobie. I know. And thanks, Kai. I mean it.”
Neither is he awake to feel the soft kiss against his forehead after he’s carried to his room and gently placed under the covers—one full of unspoken confessions and hopeful wishes.)
…
The third time he inevitably finds himself in Yeonjun’s lap, it’s a bit more memorial than the dorm movie night.
Mainly because one hundred thousand viewers get to watch Yeonjun forcefully tug Beomgyu into sitting on one of his knees after he’d got up to show off the sweater the company wanted them to advertise.
On the outside, Beomgyu acts cool. He listens to Soobin read out comments, and Kai jokingly makes fun of them. Taehyun keeps up a running commentary about his daily Weverse updates. He smiles and nods when the situation calls for it, joining in with his energetic responses. Yeonjun’s relatively quiet sans when someone in the chat mentions him.
On the inside, Beomgyu’s scrambling to not all out Panic™ at the hand once more locked against his waist, or the arm set across his jean-clad thighs. It gets a hell of a lot harder when Yeonjun decides to start fiddling with the ends of one of his sleeves, slipping his fingers into them until he makes contact with Beomgyu’s.
He feels Yeonjun interlock their fingers and looks up at his hyung questionably when the other gently pull their conjoined hands out, watching the way his sleeve falls over his knuckles.
“I think they gave you a sweater a size too big,” Yeonjun quietly observes. Beomgyu figures he’s keeping it down so that the phone recording their live doesn’t pick up on his words.
“Yeah, but it’s—okay.” Beomgyu scrambles to act like his heart wasn’t beating at an erratic pace. “They know I look good in anything,” he decides to throw out as a joke, pitch too high to be normal. Yeonjun doesn’t comment on it. Beomgyu hides behind his hair, embarrassed though he doesn’t know what for. The one benefit of his new hairdo, besides kicking up a storm with their fans.
He startles as his helpful hiding tool was now brushed aside.
“Your hair really is getting too long. It nearly covers your entire face,” Yeonjun murmurs lightly. Simply. Like Beomgyu wasn’t perched on him and they weren’t still holding hands and Yeonjun hadn’t delicately tucked Beomgyu’s hair behind an ear in front of literally more than a hundred thousand people.
Beomgyu wasn’t exactly a shy person. Few have chosen that word to describe him. The fans know him as the loud sweetheart who seeks out trouble without being trouble for others and most of his friends or family agree that he’s a hyper soul with a kind personality at heart in the instances he lets his boisterous personality dissolve into quietness.
Beomgyu wasn’t—he’s never—
He wasn’t shy. He gets stuck and flustered and sometimes wants to hide, but he doesn’t, because he thrives in pleasing others at the end of the day.
But the way Yeonjun’s peering at him right now—the way he touches Beomgyu—
“Hyung,” Beomgyu starts.
“Hm?” Yeonjun responds absently. He’s fiddling with the ring on Beomgyu’s thumb. Kind of like a cat would with a toy it finds fascinating.
He wonders if Yeonjun finds him fascinating. A rock lodges itself in Beomgyu’s throat.
“Never mind,” he quickly amends and then proceeds to spend the rest of the live decidedly Not Acknowledging Yeonjun playing with every single piece of clothing or body feature on Beomgyu’s person. He thinks the only reason why Yeonjun doesn’t reach out to touch his lashes as he admires them is because Soobin finally gets fed up and randomly demands Beomgyu arm wrestle him to fight for a place in MOAs’ hearts as the ideal type.
Beomgyu, obviously, wins that challenge by a landslide.
He loses the battle of the mind (or in this case, his sanity) when Yeonjun doesn’t even let him take a step back from the table before he’s back in his lap and once again at the mercy of his touches.
…
Unsurprisingly, the response to their—what does he even call it? Is there a name out there for this kind of thing? Sitting on your band member like it’s a routine?
The response to their interaction was good. Great. The fans loved it. Loved it a little too much, going by their manager’s grin.
“Whatever inspired this idea for more fan service—”
“I’m sorry, did you say fan service?” Taehyun deadpans. Their manager doesn’t have the grace to even pretend like he didn’t hear it.
“—keep it up,” the man practically glows. “After how you guys blew up on TikTok, expect an influx of fans wanting more of you two acting close with one another. Taehyun and Kai, you’re next—if you have to fake it, so be it.”
Kai blanches. “I don’t think me and Taehyun can replicate Beomgyu-hyung and Yeonjun-hyung’s… fan service. How about sharing clothes?”
“TikTok?” Beomgyu speaks, confused. “What TikTok?”
“Does it matter?” Yeonjun says beside him. He stands close enough for their shoulders to brush. “Apparently we have to up our game.” He winks. “Bet I can outdo you.”
“Oh, you wish.”
“Is it too late to quit being the leader of this group?” Soobin asks. No one answers him.
(He looks up the TikTok their manager was talking about. Or it's more like he opened Twitter on his private account before bed, went to the trending list, and paused when he saw his name alongside Yeonjun’s. A tap on his name reveals a reposted TikTok that has nearly a million likes to it.
More than curious at this point, he plays the video.
He watches himself throw his head back, loudly laughing at whatever Taehyun had said, face stretched wide with how big his grin was and eyes turning into crescents. He watches the clip zoom in on Yeonjun—how his gaze tracked Beomgyu’s laughing state with eager anticipation and care and something too close to reverence.
He watches the tender expression Yeonjun has on when he carefully moves Beomgyu’s bangs. He watches Yeonjun smother a smile behind a fist during his arm wrestle with Soobin.
He watches their linked hands, always playing with one another. Watches how it looks from an outsider’s point of view as Beomgyu leans down slightly to hear whatever Yeonjun says to him—like the two of them were in their separate secret world as the rest of it moved on without their notice.
Again and again, the video loops.
Again and again, Beomgyu wrestles down the want that churns in his belly.)
…
They do end up doing the “fan service” more. Beomgyu gets used to cameras recording him going about his daily tasks with Yeonjun draped over him like some lounging cat with the habits and possessiveness of one.
There’s enough content of the two for compilations to become a thing. Beomgyu’s no longer surprised whenever he sees his name trending. It’s to be expected with how they're blowing up all the time after Yeonjun kept calling him honey during a To Do episode as a penalty for losing at rock paper scissors against Kai. Turns out the maknae has the same standards as Yeonjun for what seems like a good (by this he means nonsensical and super embarrassing) punishment. He was way too enthusiastic coming up with the idea; Yeonjun even more so when he went through with it.
Taehyun and Kai also went with fan service, except it’s nothing different from how they usually interact at home. Now they pointedly do it in front of the cameras, snickering all the while as they squish into each other, like they’re in on some big joke Beomgyu isn’t privy to.
Soobin, the traitor, joins them. He once looked up from playing with Yeonjun’s hair, the elder lying down with his face tucked into Beomgyu’s stomach, to see the three of them re-enacting a scene that was suspiciously similar to a romance drama they binged the other night. There were loud declarations of love and lots of obnoxious kissing sounds. Taehyun even pretended to act like a dejected second lead, staring at himself in the practice room’s mirror with the chocolate bar he meant to have given Kai falling from his hand.
He thought of asking Yeonjun what’s up with the trio, but these days all Yeonjun does is smile this vague smile that’s way too attractive on him to be fair and distracts Beomgyu via aggressive glomping.
Beomgyu wouldn’t necessarily say it becomes a habit—him immediately placing himself on or at least near Yeonjun. It becomes a thing. Their thing. That he does. Multiple times in multiple settings. Nothing heavily changes about them. They still banter ruthlessly and annoy each other enough to want to increasingly come up with different murder methods for experimentation purposes—it just all leads back to Beomgyu ending up on Yeonjun’s thighs. It’s fine.
The way Taehyun and Soobin call them morons isn’t fine. Irritating, in fact. Kai giggles and minds his business. Kai is officially Beomgyu’s favorite. Yeonjun can pout all he wants, he’s not budging on this.
…
“I don’t understand how he hasn’t gotten it by now,” Soobin laments tiredly after watching Beomgyu get up from Yeonjun to help Kai clean the dishes.
Yet another dinner (if you could count eating ramen at three in the morning dinner) where the two were wrapped up in one another. Soobin doesn’t think Beomgyu realizes he’s doing it on his own now; Yeonjun only has to be in the same room and bam—Beomgyu’s making a beeline for him and dropping himself in Yeonjun’s already waiting arms. But it’s not nearly as bad as the satisfied gleam present in the eldest, so content to nose at Beomgyu’s neck as the conversation flows around him.
“You’re so stupidly smug and obvious, it’s disgusting. This is exactly why you guys are banned from doing a live together. You’d probably do one with him sitting on you the whole of it.”
Yeonjun leans back against the couch and stretches, smirking shamelessly. “What if I did? I’d be happy the entire time.”
“Bet you’d be happier if you, you know. Tell him your feelings. Like a normal person does.”
Now disgruntled, Yeonjun sniffs. “Big words from someone who still hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask out his ex co-host. I’ll confess to Beomgyu when you confess to Arin.”
Soobin’s going to email the company his resignation later, he swears. He will. But he’s going to take his chance and tackle Yeonjun to the ground before he does that. Maybe killing him would convince the company to let him go. They probably don’t want to deal with the PR mess that comes from an idol killing another member.
…
Because the world lives to embarrass Beomgyu, it’s a Tuesday evening as they’re filming an interview for a magazine cover that he has a Realization. The Realization.
“Sorry, hyung,” Kai jests in front of him. “I don’t think you’ll be able to sit on Yeonjun’s lap today.”
Did he say Kai was his favorite? He lied. He meant to say Kai was a brat and Beomgyu wants them to detour back to when the kid barely reached Beomgyu’s chin so he can rightfully shove him into a closet for the spiders to eat.
The problem wasn’t that they were doing an interview. The problem was that there were five neatly lined up chairs organized into a perfect row, all against each other. The problem was that Beomgyu was supposed to go up there and sit in one of the seats, turn to the camera, and answer questions about their proudest achievements as the breakout artist of the year and how they’ll challenge themselves to new types of concepts in the future.
The problem was that Beomgyu didn’t do any of that. His stupid brain processes Yeonjun already taking up one of the vacant spots and his legs were walking before he even knew what he was doing.
In the three seconds it takes to go from Point A to Point B, Beomgyu’s brain finally restarts itself and wires into the whole scene. He swerves in direction and sinks himself into the seat next to Yeonjun.
“Gyu?” his hyung inquires, concerned with the rigid line of Beomgyu’s tense spine. A few strands of his hair escape the artfully gelled style the stylists had tamed it into, falling into the dark eyes raking over Beomgyu’s body for a hint of pain. “You okay? Is your neck bothering you again?”
“I’m fine,” Beomgyu assures him, instead of the no, actually, i’m not in your lap and it Bothers Me that his inner self so helpfully conjures up.
Yeonjun doesn’t seem convinced. To be fair, he wouldn’t be convinced with his play either. Beomgyu can’t lie well when he’s being put on the spot. He has his mom and her discipline to thank for that.
A big, warm palm is placed on his thigh. Beomgyu sucks in a breath, holding it.
“Tell me if you’re not doing good, yeah? I want to be the first one to know.”
Beomgyu swallows. “Right. Okay, hyung.”
The palm stays on his thigh for the rest of the interview.
(It migrates to his waist as they finish and walk out for wardrobe change—heavy and heated in its message to the rest of the room.)
…
In the privacy of his bed, Beomgyu lies awake at night and tries to stop the thoughts from rolling in.
It does nothing to quell the rising panic from realizing that Yeonjun’s everything has somehow become his most favorite place to be.
Or that he’s hopelessly crushing on an older boy he has no right to want.
…
Beomgyu’s ingenious self creates a foolproof plan.
The plan involves avoiding the fuck out of Yeonjun’s lap—not Yeonjun specifically, because Beomgyu can’t work miracles. He lives with the guy and sees him every day. Plus, Beomgyu doesn’t want to admit ignoring Yeonjun would make him depressed, but it will make him acquire the Big Sad, which is not an ideal situation he’d want to put himself through. He would catch onto Beomgyu too fast anyway. So avoiding Yeonjun’s lap is the ideal plan.
In all honesty, he thought it’d go off without a hitch. The others might have given unwarranted glances of concern (seriously, is it so bad of him to want to sit alone?) and he might not have been imagining Yeonjun’s dark, burning stare drilling into him every time he wordlessly chose a perfectly fine stool over him—but all of that surely would disappear as soon as they got familiar to a world where Yeonjun wasn’t being used as a piece of personal furniture again.
There’s still the problem with Beomgyu’s feelings, which won’t so easily disappear like he’d hope it to, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. Or choose to ignore it like he’s resorting to do to everything that sends him into a spiral of confusion.
That’s when Yeonjun decides to go and corner Beomgyu against a wall.
“Hyung, what—?” He flinches at the bare arms bracketing his head. “We’re gonna be on stage in, like, fifteen minutes—”
Anybody could see them if they take a turn in the hallway, Beomgyu thinks with growing alarm. Anybody could see Yeonjun’s body cage him in, a looming figure before him.
Yeonjun doesn’t seem to care. His eyes narrow into slits.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, slow and quiet. “Why.”
Beomgyu’s mouth dries. He truly admires Yeonjun’s way with words and the amount of intimidation it takes to form your questions into sentences. He doesn’t know why he’s latching onto such a stray thought, but it does wonders to sidetrack him from the current problem.
Yeonjun, also, doesn’t seem to like that. He leans in dangerously close—closer than he already was.
“Pay attention to me,” he demands.
“I am,” Beomgyu tries. “This is a really weird tactic to get my attention, hyung.”
“It’s the only tactic that worked after days,” the other returns. A thigh slides into the open space between his. Beomgyu inhales sharply. “Stop diverting. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
He stubbornly keeps his mouth closed. Yeonjun’s moves, plush lips grazing Beomgyu’s cheek.
“Beomie.”
“I felt like I was taking advantage of you,” Beomgyu blurts. When Yeonjun stays silent—waiting—he squeezes his eyes shut.
Oh, fuck it. He’ll lay it all out for the older to hear, get rejected, and move on. Yeonjun wants to know why Beomgyu was avoiding him. This is on him.
“Every time you touched me, I liked it too much to be casual and that’s inappropriate, I know, I shouldn’t—” Flustered, Beomgyu brings the hands that were uselessly hovering at his sides to cover his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make it uncomfortable between us. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with me.” He trails into a wet whisper. “Hyung, I really didn’t mean to get feelings for you.”
No one moves. The muffled sounds of staff workers shifting props and set materials on the other side of the wall leak through. The air conditioner continues to loudly blast.
Beomgyu stands in complete stillness, feeling like his entire world was teetering off the edge of a cliff and Yeonjun was the only one reaching out with a rope.
“You like it when I touch you?”
Yeonjun’s voice was light. Still hiding, Beomgyu nods slowly.
His eyes snap open when he feels blissfully cool fingers wrap around his wrists and pull them away from him—bringing them up to pin to the wall instead.
Wide-eyed, Beomgyu’s breath catches. “Hyung?”
“How much?” Yeonjun drags his lips from his cheek to the corner of his mouth. “Beomgyu, how much do you like it when I touch you?”
“I—” If his face wasn’t red before, it certainly was now. He trembles in the confines of Yeonjun’s hold, overwhelmed with the sensation of his scent and heat and how close their lips were to meeting. “A—A lot.”
“How about now?” The hands pinning him move to his waist, slipping under the shirt the wardrobe noonas had assigned him to wear on stage. Beomgyu muffles his gasp into Yeonjun’s shoulder, clutching onto them like a lifeline now that his wrists were free. “Beomgyu, tell hyung how much you like it.”
“I like it, hyung, I like it,” he whines. He doesn’t know what to focus on—Yeonjun’s mouth whispering things into Beomgyu’s ear like they’re dirty secrets only meant for him. The thigh in-between his legs he so badly wants to rock into. His hands—wonderfully claiming as they explore Beomgyu’s chest.
But he needs words. He needs to know what’s going on—what’s fueling Yeonjun’s actions. Because this is everything Beomgyu’s ever wanted, right now in the space of an empty hallway.
“H-Hyung, what does this mean?” he asks desperately. “I don’t know what—”
Yeonjun shifts until his face was hovering over Beomgyu’s. He marvels at the pitch-black pupils completely dilated into oblivion.
“It means,” Yeonjun carefully says, “that I like touching you. It means that from now on I’m never going to stop touching you. It means I want you in my lap and never out of it, and it means I’m going to kiss you so hard, you won’t remember anything beyond me and me alone.” His lips catch onto Beomgyu’s, teasing. “Does that sound okay to you?”
Beomgyu doesn’t even get to finish his pleading yes before Yeonjun’s licking into his mouth like he’s hell-bent on devouring him.
And it’s so fucking good. Yeonjun kisses with all his intent and want, unabashed in his desire. Beomgyu melts, soaking up his adoration like a sponge would to water. The rest of the world fades around them, Beomgyu losing himself to the possessive trails Yeonjun’s palms leave in their path up and down his body.
His legs feel weak when Yeonjun finally lets them both breathe. He’d probably collapse if it weren’t for Yeonjun enduring the brunt of his weight.
“Ah—hyung,” Beomgyu whimpers as Yeonjun latches onto his neck. He throws his head back against the wall and presses his knuckles to his mouth, embarrassed at the sounds escaping him. “We—We have a stage lat—” Another bite to his neck. Beomgyu keens. “Hyung,” he nearly sobs.
Yeonjun chuckles into his collarbone. “I know, baby.” Through blurry eyes, Beomgyu sees him come up and noses his cheek. “You look so pretty fucked out and hard on my thigh. I can’t help myself.”
Shakily, Beomgyu obscures his flushed self in the safety of Yeonjun’s chest, needing a moment to calm himself. The situation in his pants was not the most ideal factor in their current setting. Yeonjun layering small kisses behind his ear wasn't helping.
“We’re gonna have to talk about this later,” Beomgyu resolutely states. He doesn’t know if he came off as authoritative as he intended to. The sound Yeonjun hums into his forehead was more revering than intimidated.
“I’m serious, hyung,” he stresses, because he needs to get through how important this was. He pushes off of Yeonjun and loses a bit of his footing at the endearment so painfully present in the other’s expression. “I want—” The terrible blush was back. Beomgyu coughs, nerves rocking him. “I want whatever—whatever you’re willing to give. But we’re going to have to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Yeonjun agrees. He presses one last, longing kiss into Beomgyu’s lips. “But just know I’m willing to give everything, Beom-ah.”
Those words stir up a whole concoction of feelings Beomgyu’s too dazed to dissect right now.
But he doesn’t get to dissect them either, because hurried footsteps were rounding the corner and then—
“Oh my god!” the voice of one Huening Kai Kamal screeches.
“Kai? Kai, what in the world, why are you screa—ow! Fucking—stop shoving me!” Soobin’s confused voice came after him.
Beomgyu frantically peaks over Yeonjun’s shoulder to see the tail end of Kai’s clothes flash behind the corner of the hallway’s turn. The limbs he seemed to be trying to fight back apparently were Soobin’s.
“Hyung, seriously, I’m doing you a favor.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Soobin loudly argues. “I need to find Yeonjun and Beomgyu before our manager skins us alive for being late to our own perform—oh my god.”
Kai’s lacking muscles were no match for Soobin’s when he’s set on a mission, determined leader mode switched on at full blast. Beomgyu hurriedly tries to detach himself from Yeonjun, but the other won’t budge. Beomgyu gives him a panicked look.
Yeonjun smiles, lazy and unbothered. He refuses to move from where he covered Beomgyu almost entirely from sight. “Soobie,” the elder drawls.
“Don’t Soobie me,” Soobin scowls, marching over to them despite Kai’s despair. “Everyone’s searching for you two. We thought you guys got lost or something, but turns out you were screwing each other like high school—Jesus Christ.” Soobin comes to a full stop and gapes at Beomgyu now that he’s closer. He rounds on Yeonjun with one of the fiercest glares Beomgyu’s ever seen Soobin give someone. “Yeonjun-hyung, did you maul him or something?”
Beomgyu’s suddenly very aware he just came out of a heavy make-out session with their oldest member and that said oldest member paid specific attention to Beomgyu’s pale neck. Which would be littered in marks by now. He self consciously tugs on the collar of his shirt, but he doesn’t think it manages to hide anything, going by how Kai refuses to meet his gaze. Mortified, Beomgyu huddles into Yeonjun again. The other accepts his embrace with way too much delight.
“Shouldn’t we—” Heads snap toward him. Beomgyu pushes through the loss of his honor. “Shouldn’t we be going to the stage? You said everyone was looking for us.” Beomgyu frowns at the thought of being the reason for any inconveniences directly related to their stage. “I’m sorry if we caused trouble, hyung.”
Soobin visibly softens. “It’s okay, Gyu. It’s mostly Yeonjun’s fault, anyway.”
“Yeonjun-hyung,” Yeonjun complains. “What does it take to get an ounce of respect around here?”
“Try maybe not acting like a horny teenager experiencing their first sexual awakening then.”
“Oh, like you were any better the first day you came home from Music Bank—”
On a normal day, Beomgyu would let the two oldest of the group bicker it out to their hearts’ content. But today hasn’t been normal whatsoever, so Beomgyu tugs on Yeonjun’s hand to get his attention and goes for a smile, hoping it’d distract him from the raging blush that still stains Beomgyu’s cheeks. Yeonjun’s curled grin and the teasing glint in his eyes tell him he’s failed.
“We should go before manager-nim comes with a pitchfork,” he says anyway. They do need to get going if they don’t want to fuck up their schedule more so than they have.
“Exactly,” Soobin enthusiastically agrees, already turning on his heel to herd Kai in the direction they came from. “We all should get going and not get on the staff’s bad side like Yeonjun’s going to be.”
Beomgyu quietly laughs at Yeonjun’s exasperated eye roll.
“Come on,” he whispers. “Before Soobin rages and doesn’t let me play with Odi tonight.”
Yeonjun slips a hand into Beomgyu’s back pocket, sighing. “I don’t understand your obsession with the tiny menace. All it does is poop in our rooms and makes the protocol team stressed.”
“He’s cute though,” Beomgyu says happily.
“I’m cuter,” Yeonjun argues.
Now Beomgyu’s the one rolling his eyes.
Nice to know nothing’s changed between them. Even if Yeonjun’s hand stays in his back pocket the whole walk to their recording area.
(As soon as they enter the set of the performance stage, Beomgyu’s bombarded by a hoard of makeup artists as his entire neck gets painted in foundation. Yeonjun’s stupidly smug smirk doesn’t drop once while a stylist rips into him about his disheveled hair.
Taehyun doesn’t say anything as they’re waiting to finally record their segment besides, “Can I have Yeonjun-hyung’s room once he moves into yours?”
Bemused, Beomgyu asks, “What makes you think he’d be moving into my room?”
Arms slither around his waist from behind and wonderfully familiar lips skim against his cheek. Beomgyu doesn’t have to turn to know it’s one Choi Yeonjun and his smirking self. “Your room’s bigger than mine, baby.”
“I fucking hate my life,” Soobin loudly announces somewhere on the set. Beomgyu’s surprised he was loud enough to carry over to them. It’s a big set.
Taehyun simply raises a brow at Beomgyu. “Oh hey,” he says dryly, pointing to a cameraman rushing over to them at a brisk pace. “It’s your usual fan service appointment.” He stops and starts searching around the place. “Speaking of fan service—where’s Kai? Manager-nim said I should be caught on camera hugging him.”
Beomgyu feels like there should be a rewind—a break scene, if you’d call it—that gives him the time to soak in all the changes that happened in less than an hour. Namely his not so platonic emotions for Yeonjun and the member’s complete nonchalance at the turn of events.
But he doesn’t get a rewind or a break scene, so he puts on his big boy pants and mumbles, “I saw him sneak off to the snack machine in the lounge.”)
…
Later, they talk.
Yeonjun comes out of it saying I love you and Beomgyu comes out of it deciding Yeonjun’s an idiot who could have solved both of their problems if he used words. Yeonjun says he’s been hanging out with Soobin too much and he should shut up and kiss him.
Beomgyu complies, because he’s a respectful dongsaeng who listens to his elders. It has nothing to do with Yeonjun pressing him to his bed and not letting him take one step out of his bedroom the rest of the night.