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When he’s on stage, Seokmin feels like he’s on fire.
Whether it’s a dingy old restaurant from the early days or the large venues he fills now, Seokmin has always felt most alive on stage. The sparks that prickle in his lungs spread through him, up into his throat as he sings, out into his limbs as he moves. He pours his heart through the microphone, his synapses flickering, getting hotter and hotter until he explodes into a flurry of colour and light against the darkened stage. He barely feels the heat, the sweat, the way he’s swallowed whole. He adores it, all those eyes fixed on him, marvelling him from so far away, watching as he glows and shines until he burns out. It’s all for them.
And for Wonwoo, of course.
It’s sort of how he feels now, face-to-face with Jeoghan for the first time. Yoon Jeonghan, the Yoon Jeonghan. The one he’s seen in magazines and billboards, the one he was gushing over with Soonyoung just weeks ago. Thanks to Wonwoo, he found out that Jeonghan was at this club, and now he gets to see him for real, to admire the smoothness of his skin, to breathe in his slightly floral perfume. He’s seeing Jeonghan, and he feels a spark deep in his core, something that makes him want to do more, be more, burst into something that Jeonghan can admire.
“I don’t think your friend likes me very much,” is one of the first things Jeonghan says to him.
Seokmin frowns. Jeonghan can only be referring to Wonwoo, but why would he say that? Wonwoo is his hyung; he may be a bit quiet, but he’s friendly enough, and he wouldn’t be outright mean to anyone. Besides, he knows how much Seokmin likes Jeonghan—that’s why he called him in the first place, right? He knows how much is at stake for Seokmin here. He wouldn’t be rude to Jeonghan, he wouldn’t mess up Seokmin’s chances like that, would he?
He looks back at Wonwoo briefly. Wonwoo’s expression is blank, not even trying to defend himself. Seokmin might be imagining it, but it looks like Wonwoo’s jaw is clenched tight, teeth gritted. For a moment, Seokmin is in his mouth, crushed by the scraping of his molars.
Seokmin turns back to Jeonghan to do what he does best. He laughs it off, says that his hyung is all bark and no bite, nudges Wonwoo quickly so that he doesn’t feel left out, tries to ignore how breathy and pitchy his voice is. It’s fine. It’s just Wonwoo hyung, after all.
He gestures towards the bar, inviting Jeonghan over. He takes Jeonghan’s hand, noting with horror the way his own hands tremble, the way his skin prickles with heat, the way his breaths are getting shorter. If Jeonghan has noticed any of this, he’s nice enough not to say anything as he leads Seokmin to the bar, finding them two barstools and paying for Seokmin’s ridiculously sweet cocktail.
“I must admit, I didn’t think I’d meet you like this,” Jeonghan says.
“How do you mean?” Seokmin asks, putting his drink close to him on the bar.
“Well,” Jeonghan replies, scraping his barstool closer to Seokmin’s, “I wanted to meet you when I saw we were both nominated for the New Artist award. I always thought we’d meet at some award show or something. I didn’t think I’d bump into Wonwoo-ssi here.”
“This isn’t his usual scene.” Seokmin chuckles without knowing why. “It’s not really my scene either, to be honest.”
“Really?” Jeonghan cocks his head to the side. “You seem like you’re fitting in just fine.”
Seokmin swallows a lump in his throat. “What do you mean?”
“You look the part, for one thing. An outfit like this… you know how to dress for a club, that’s for sure.”
Jeonghan reaches out, toys with Seokmin’s collar. It’s only the tips of his fingers, but it’s almost like the heat from them spreads through the material, into Seokmin’s skin, setting him alight from inside. Some new force is compelling him—he wants more, he wants Jeonghan to give him more. He wants to push into Jeonghan’s touch, to grab his hand and put his fingers in his hair, on his jaw, round his neck. He wants Jeonghan’s hand to push through him, to prove to him that the same Yoon Jeonghan he’s seen in photographs is on him, with him, on purpose.
Instead, he chuckles again, even more high-pitched if that’s possible. “Ah, I don’t normally dress like this. It’s only because-”
“Because what?”
Jeonghan’s even closer now. The background noise of the club has faded to nothingness. Seokmin can see new shades of brown in Jeonghan’s eyes that he hasn’t noticed before. No photo in a music magazine could prepare him for the way he’s melting under the warmth of Jeonghan’s gaze.
“Because I’m here?” Jeonghan finishes Seokmin’s sentence.
Seokmin suddenly feels like an onion skin he remembers peeling and putting under a microscope in high school, scraped thin and laid bare for Jeonghan to observe. Wonwoo had said that the cluster of cells had looked like a thousand eyes staring back at him. He can’t tell what Jeonghan thinks of him.
After a beat, Seokmin turns away from Jeonghan. “Well, when you put it like that…”
He trails off, opting to sip his drink. Jeonghan laughs, an unbroken web of gossamer. The club music rushes back into Seokmin’s ears, and he feels his traitorous skin flushing.
Jeonghan graciously changes the subject. “So,” he asks, “how long have you two known each other?”
“Who? Me and Wonwoo-hyung? We’ve spent practically our whole lives together. I met him when I was seven.”
“He must know you pretty well, then.”
Seokmin looks over to where Wonwoo was. He’s talking to his friend Mingyu now, the one who owns the club. It’s like he’s forgotten all about Seokmin. He can’t remember the last time they’d split up at a social event like this.
“I don’t think there’s anyone who knows me better. We’ve been performing together for years. He’s my best friend.”
“He knows you well enough that he told you to come here when he saw me.”
“Ah,” Seokmin heats up again. “We’ve talked about you before. The awards nominations, and all that.”
“That’s what made you want to meet me?”
Seokmin shrugs. “I guess.” He leans over to sip his drink again.
“Well, I don’t know how I can compare to over a decade of friendship, but I would like to get to know you.”
Seokmin has to stop himself from doing a spit-take. “Really?”
“Sure,” Jeonghan replies, like it’s nothing. “I did say I wanted to meet you, didn’t I?”
Seokmin’s gut twists. Something unfamiliar sparks in him, makes him move further into Jeonghan’s space. Jeonghan wants to meet him. He wants to find out more about him. And Seokmin feels like he does on stage, like someone new has hooked their eyes on him, and it’s his job to make sure they never move away.
“Ok,” Seokmin says, “what would you like to know?”
It’s because of Wonwoo that Seokmin met Jeonghan. But it’s because of Seokmin that they’re here in the first place.
It was never part of Wonwoo’s plan, to make songs or go on stage. It’s only because Seokmin brought him the idea that he considered it. Even then, he’d doubted it at first. Everyone had. What were these two nobodies going to do? What did they know about music, about how to shine before a crowd?
But Seokmin pushed them forward. Through the arguments about the band name, who they’d sound like, what they could say and couldn’t say in songs. It was Seokmin that hunted around for gigs, begged the owner of every small restaurant they knew to let them perform. It was Seokmin that had said they could go bigger, to competitions. Hell, they could be the real deal someday, if someone believed in them.
It was Seokmin that had got Wonwoo his first guitar pick. In purple, his favourite colour. A cheap, flimsy thing, that just about helped him make the sound he wanted. It was more apology than gift. They’d been arguing more about the direction of their sound—as if their fledgling band could even have a ‘sound’ of its own—and they’d both got frustrated at each other. In the heat of the moment, Seokmin had stormed off, only to lie awake at night in a sea of guilt. The next day, he bought the pick, turned up at Wonwoo’s door and handed it to him unceremoniously.
“So you don’t have to finger pick so much, or whatever,” he had said, with feigned nonchalance.
He was looking more at the ground than Wonwoo. He didn’t expect the sheer force of the hug Wonwoo gave him, just about remembering to wrap his own arms around him in turn.
And now, they’ve finally made it. They were featured in Rolling Stone. They have an actual deal with an actual label. They’re recording their own music, properly, professionally. Seokmin gets to go on stage, to dazzle audiences, to bring them something they love over and over again. He gets to see Wonwoo’s big grin as they make a breakthrough in songwriting, gets to feel his tight embrace when they’re hot and sweaty and deliriously happy after a big show. This was Seokmin’s dream from the moment he suggested the idea, bored and confused in high school. And over time, this had become Wonwoo’s dream too.
But.
Seokmin still feels this hunger. He’s not quite sure why. All he knows is that he aches to find something that puts a fire under his belly, that makes him ignite and sparkle and burst all over again. He wants something different to what the audience can give him, to what Wonwoo and recording studios can give him. He wants that flicker than can only come from being known properly—from being understood, liked, seen, without the distraction of the spotlight beams.
And when he was talking to Jeonghan, that flicker started up again.
“You have a good time tonight?” Seokmin asks Wonwoo on the cab ride home.
They were at the club again: Seokmin, Wonwoo and Jeonghan. Although, really, Seokmin couldn’t even focus on anything that wasn’t Jeonghan. The club had been so full, the queues at the bar had been so long, the warmth of people’s bodies and the pulsating music would have been too much to take on any other day.
But Jeonghan had soothed all of that, his presence an oasis in the scorching heat, despite the way he still made Seokmin short of breath. Seokmin only noticed that Wonwoo was talking to someone else several minutes into one of Jeonghan’s stories, when he suddenly felt that something was missing, like he’d lost his keys. He turned briefly to see that Wonwoo was talking to somebody he couldn’t quite recognise.
“Hey Seokmin-ssi, you ok?”
Jeonghan’s voice had pulled Seokmin back to his seat, had relaxed the vice-tight squeeze of guilt and hurt that Seokmin had felt seeing Wonwoo away from him. Seokmin had nodded and turned back to listen to Jeonghan, resolving to ask Wonwoo about it on the car journey home.
Only now they’re here, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to want to talk.
“It was alright,” he replies dismissively.
“Who were you talking to while I was speaking to Yoon Jeonghan?”
“It was Joshua. Joshua Hong.”
“Joshua Hong?” Seokmin raises his eyebrows, turning to look at Wonwoo. Wonwoo stares resolutely out of the window.
“Yeah. We didn’t talk much, though.”
“What was he like? Was he nice? He seems so cool and effortless when he performs, he’s honestly kind of scary. It’s so cool that you got to talk to him, hyung!”
Wonwoo shrugs. “Yeah, he was nice enough.”
There's a pinch in Seokmin’s chest, like someone has twisted the thin skin of his wrist. Here is his hyung, his supposed best friend, who’s just talked to one of the most exciting names in the industry, and he doesn’t even seem bothered enough to tell Seokmin about it. Wonwoo may not always talk much, but he always talks to Seokmin. Seokmin hasn't found it this hard to pull words out of him since they were children. What’s up with him? Did Seokmin do something wrong?
Seokmin tries again. “Did he say anything about his music, or about us, or about any other people? Hyung, I’m going to be so mad if there’s any gossip you’re keeping from me. I’m your best friend! You’re supposed to tell me all the secrets you find out. Won’t you do that for me?”
He pouts and puts some aegyo into his voice, he even gently pokes Wonwoo in the thigh. Anything to get Wonwoo turn and look at him, to shake his head and smile in that resigned way of his, the way he always does when Seokmin acts cute.
He does none of that. He keeps looking out of the window. Seokmin wilts inside.
“He bought me a shot. It was disgusting, but at least he paid,” Wonwoo replies. Maybe a peace offering. Maybe just a way to keep Seokmin quiet.
Seokmin nods, even though Wonwoo can’t see it. He turns to look out of his own window.
“How was Jeonghan-ssi?” Wonwoo asks eventually. “What did you two talk about?”
Seokmin opens his mouth, but nothing happens. The words stick in his throat, the roof of his mouth goes dry.
The thing is, there’s so much he could say. He could talk about Jeonghan’s voice, cool and smooth, that could make anything sound interesting. He could talk about the way the light glinted off his earring and the chain at his neck, the way it only made Seokmin draw closer to his faultless skin. He could talk about the way Jeonghan looked at him like he was fun, like he was someone worth listening to, like he wasn’t some awkward kid with big dreams who landed here almost by accident. He could say that Jeonghan made him feel like he was finally awake instead of half-asleep, or that now Wonwoo wouldn’t have to worry about writing lyrics because now he knows everything there is to sing about.
There’s so much that he could say, and part of him wants to. Wonwoo is his best friend, after all. But another part of him, one that is stronger and more selfish, doesn’t want to. Wonwoo clearly didn’t want to tell him about Joshua Hong, after all. Why should Seokmin have to share this? Why, for once, can’t Seokmin keep something to himself?
“Oh, nothing much. He’s good,” Seokmin replies, doing his best to avoid sounding as haughty as he feels.
“Sounded like he was telling you a pretty cool story.”
“It was kind of boring, actually.”
“Didn’t look that way,” Wonwoo mutters.
“What?” Seokmin asks, sharper than he means it.
For a moment, there’s no sound except for Wonwoo’s stuttered breath.
“Nothing, nothing,” Wonwoo eventually replies.
They’re silent until they reach Seokmin’s place.
Yoon Jeonghan
what are you up to today?
The Kakao Talk notification comes out of nowhere. Seokmin is in bed, idly scrolling on his phone, even though he’s supposed to be working on lyrics. When the text comes through, he jumps up in shock.
They don’t normally text like this. They’ve only really talked in person so far.
Seokmin sits up, looking at the notification. He does not open the app itself. He deliberates over what to say, how to sound, how to make it seem like he wasn’t doing nothing all day, wondering in passing if Jeonghan would want to meet up. Finally, he opens the app, choosing to ignore a new message from Wonwoo.
Lee Seokmin
nothing much haha!
Yeah, that’s casual. That will do.
But… well. Jeonghan has this way of hooking into Seokmin’s brain, of digging out any words that he’s kept buried there. He’s felt it in person, when Jeonghan looks pointedly at Seokmin when there’s a lull in the conversation. Somehow, even though they can’t see each other, he feels it now too.
He picks up his phone again.
Lee Seokmin
just brainstorming some lyrics
what about you?
Yoon Jeonghan
lyrics, wow
what are you a musician or something?
Seokmin chuckles lightly.
Lee Seokmin
haha you could call it that
you might have heard of one min
nominated for the new artist award no big deal
Yoon Jeonghan
fascinating
remind me who won?
Lee Seokmin
funny, i cant quite remember
anyway
you never told me what you were doing
something scandalous?
He knows he should put the phone down and try and get back to work. But he sees Jeonghan typing, and he can’t help himself. His phone is glued to his hand, his eyes glued to the screen. His heart thunders in his chest as the messages come through.
Yoon Jeonghan
nothing scandalous
just thinking about you
Seokmin drops his phone on the bed and yelps. He picks it up again, willing his nervous fingers to be steady.
Lee Seokmin
about me?
what were you thinking about?
Yoon Jeonghan
wouldn’t be any fun if i just told you, would it
Dozens of small fires start under Seokmin’s skin. He swallows.
Lee Seokmin
ah jeonghan-ssi
look at you talking like this
such a flirt -.-
This is familiar. Using a silly emoticon, mock-formality, it all means that Seokmin doesn’t have to face what’s happening. That someone, someone who’s seen him up close, wants him in a way that he isn’t used to. That he’s feeling something strange and new, like some rope has tied around his waist and tugged him closer to Jeonghan. That all he wants to do is keep replying to Jeonghan’s texts, pushing and pulling until Jeonghan just has to come over to his. Seokmin isn’t ready for that. He puts out the fire, shovels away the ash, tries to put everything back to normal.
Yoon Jeonghan
you think too badly of me
i only flirt with the pretty boys
Seokmin rolls over, screams into his pillow. He rolls back, picks up his phone, and starts typing.
Lee Seokmin
bet you say that to everyone
Yoon Jeonghan
i really don’t
Before he even realises what he’s doing, Seokmin sits up in bed. He makes sure he’s wearing a nice enough t-shirt, fiddles around with his hair, holds the phone camera up to find his best angle. He can’t let himself think twice about it. He barely thinks once as he sends the selca.
Lee Seokmin
is this pretty enough for you jeonghan-ssi?
Instantly, shame boils in his stomach. Nausea spins around through his torso, and he can’t let himself look at the screen. This isn’t who he is, is it? He’s not the type to do this, someone suave or charming or funny. The closest he’s come to flirting is his exaggerated declarations of love for Wonwoo, making him promise not to break his heart, playing the part of a dramatic wife. That’s easy, that’s all pretend, that’s just a joke. This feels like it could be real, and it makes him sick.
The Kakao Talk notification chimes on his phone. With bated breath, he opens the app.
Yoon Jeonghan
yeah i think so
would be prettier in person
This is too much. Seokmin pinches himself, just to make sure that he isn’t imagining those messages. He can’t do this anymore, he can’t let himself feel this pull any longer.
Lee Seokmin
its a shame you wont see it
i have to go write some lyrics
need to make sure we beat you next time
have fun with your thoughts jeonghan-ssi :)
He shoves his phone under his pillow, stands up, move towards the living room. He sits on the couch, leans forward and puts his head in his hands.
This isn’t him. But he really, really wants it to be.
It’s when Wonwoo is round at his place to work on music that he realises things have shifted. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve even had the chance to work on music together, what with Jeonghan taking up Seokmin’s time. Seokmin had to keep rescheduling, and Wonwoo kept saying it was fine. Seokmin did feel a small twinge of guilt each time he rearranged a meeting. But at the same time, he couldn’t help it. It’s not as though he’s had enough of music, or that their current success is enough for him. The thing is that, Jeonghan is different. He brings something different into Seokmin’s life, something that consumes him in a way the spotlight never could. Music will always be his first love, but is it so bad for Jeonghan to crawl his way up the list?
It doesn’t matter for now. He can hear he sound of the door opening, and he notices that Wonwoo sniffs a little as he enters the apartment, producing a tissue from his pocket.
“Oh hyung, have you been sick?” Seokmin asks, already mentally calculating what medicines he could foist upon Wonwoo, how to make sure he accepts them.
“Just a small cold recently, it’s not that big a deal,” Wonwoo replies, making his way to the familiar kitchen table.
“Ah, you need to take care of yourself! Good thing we don’t have any shows soon. Do you want any tablets or anything?”
“I have some at home, and I brought some with me. I’m good, really.”
“At least let me make you some tea, hyung. I have some green tea, will that help?”
“I’m seriously ok, but if it makes you feel better you can make some for me.”
Seokmin’s heart flutters a little, so small he barely realises it’s happening. He sets to work making two mugs of green tea.
“When did you start feeling sick?”
“It’s been a few days. I promise it wasn’t that bad, just a cold. It’s not COVID, and I didn’t even have a fever.”
Seokmin sighs. Wonwoo thinks he worries too much, he knows that, but Wonwoo keeping everything in his head won’t stop Seokmin from worrying. He should know that by now.
“Have you been sleeping properly?” he asks, looking behind him to where Wonwoo is sitting, back to him.
“I promise I have, and I’ve been taking medicine. You don’t have to keep worrying about me, Seokmin-ah.”
“I’m going to anyway. I still can’t believe I didn’t even know you were sick.”
“It’s not that big a deal. You’ve been with Jeonghan so much, it makes sense.”
To anyone else, to anyone who didn’t know Wonwoo as well as Seokmin did, it would mean nothing. Wonwoo was just stating a fact, after all. His voice was normal—low pitched, even and steady. His eyes are fixed on his hands, fingers interlocked on the table in front of him.
None of this would seem unusual to anyone else. But Seokmin is sinking into a pit of ice, feeling inexplicably as though he’s done something wrong. He takes a deep breath, pouring out the tea into two mugs.
The thing is, he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. They’ve both dated before, they both know what it’s like. But somehow, whatever he has with Jeonghan feels like too much, like it’s incompatible with Wonwoo. It’s only now that he can see that Jeonghan has pushed him away from Wonwoo without him even realising it. And, worst of all, Wonwoo has noticed. Wonwoo doesn’t like things this way. Everything has changed, and Seokmin doesn’t know what to do.
He brings the two mugs to the table, waiting until the last possible moment to look Wonwoo in the eye. He opens his mouth to apologise, to say that he should have been a better friend, that Jeonghan has been taking up so much of his time lately but only because this kind of thing hasn’t happened to him before, and he has no idea whether it will happen again. He wants to say that Wonwoo deserves better than this, and that he’ll do his best to be better-
But Wonwoo just smiles at him. “I know you’re about to apologise. Don’t. I promise it’s fine. Let’s get to work on these lyrics, ok?”
And suddenly it’s alright again. As if by magic, any hint of bitterness or blame in Wonwoo’s expression is gone. It’s just his handsome, smiling face. Seokmin wonders if he was imagining everything. Wonwoo takes a mug from Seokmin’s hand, and Seokmin can’t help but smile back at him as he takes a seat.
We’re good, Seokmin notes with relief. Jeonghan hasn’t changed anything. Nothing has to change.
There was a time when things almost changed.
Not recently, but years ago. Back when they were still awkward, gangly teenagers. Before Seokmin knew Wonwoo the way he does now, back when he was a sunflower growing towards the light reflecting off Wonwoo’s glasses. Wonwoo had finally figured out some lyrics—one of his moments of raw genius—and Seokmin was ablaze with relief and joy and something else he couldn’t quite figure out. There was nothing to stop him shifting forward on the lumpy couch, pulling Wonwoo in by his bony jaw, pressing against Wonwoo’s dry lips.
It was cold. That was the first thing Seokmin noticed. The second thing he noticed was that Wonwoo had frozen, motionless against him. He hadn’t kissed anyone before, but he knew that he should expect a kiss back. He didn’t get one.
He pulled away, searching Wonwoo’s face for clues. All he could see were Wonwoo’s wide eyes, disoriented behind his askew glasses, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, his lips open slightly.
It was Seokmin’s fault. Wonwoo hadn’t wanted to be ambushed like that. He didn’t want Seokmin that way. To him, Seokmin was an annoying little brother, a friend and a collaborator, a bandmate and nothing more. Seokmin realised this immediately, an icy pit sinking in his stomach, heaviness filling his limbs. Anything that he had felt from Wonwoo was just him imagining it. The way Wonwoo would look at him sometimes, as if he wanted to see what was going on underneath Seokmin’s skin. Wonwoo’s gentle smiles, his fleeting touches, everything he had told Seokmin that he hadn’t told anyone else. None of that meant—well. Anything. Not in the way Seokmin wanted.
No matter. Seokmin just patted Wonwoo on the cheek and moved away, back to where they were five minutes ago, friends a normal distance apart.
They never spoke of it again. Which is fine.
Sometimes, Seokmin lets himself wonder what would have happened if Wonwoo had kissed him back. Not like—not in the way that he imagines Wonwoo’s dry lips against his, or Wonwoo’s hand on his back or his neck or his hair. Not like he imagines Wonwoo gently pushing him back against the uncomfortable couch, shifting on top of him. Not like that. He wonders more about what would have happened afterwards. Whether the band would have worked out. Whether they would have given it up in favour of a comfortable life together, or whether they would have argued and thrown the whole thing away. Whether it would have ended up like this, or whether they would have ended up in different cities, not speaking to each other at all.
He wonders and wonders, but he decides he prefers it this way. If Wonwoo had kissed him back all those years ago, Seokmin might have been too satisfied. He might have decided that having Wonwoo was enough for him, that he didn’t need hundreds of eyes to watch him on stage, that he didn’t need his voice to play on radios and phones for the world to hear. Wonwoo didn’t want him, so now Seokmin has to search the whole world for someone that does. That’s why he’s here, that’s why he’s doing all of this. Isn’t it?
So they’re better off this way, really. They have each other for good, they’re building something wonderful together. And now Seokmin has Jeonghan too, to give him everything he thought Wonwoo could. It all worked out. Nothing has to change.
Everyone else in Wonwoo’s apartment is talking, snacking, drinking. Seokmin slips out to join Wonwoo, who’s nursing a beer bottle on the balcony.
“Hyung! Happy birthday!”
Wonwoo turns when he hears Seokmin’s voice. His face glows bright enough to rival the moon, bathed in the cool light of the balcony. He smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Seokmin-ah.”
Seokmin fights to keep a frown of confusion off his face as he sidles up to Wonwoo. “How does it feel being twenty-seven? Do you feel old? Excited? Important?”
Wonwoo chuckles, warm and low. “None of those. Just the same as usual.”
Seokmin hums. He’s about to say something else—something inane and silly, anything to get Wonwoo talking to him again—when Wonwoo says,
“I was talking to Jeonghan-ssi earlier.”
It’s embarrassing, the way the mere mention of his name makes Seokmin’s heart pick up. “Really?”
Did he say anything about me? he wants to ask, pathetic as it sounds.
He doesn’t, though. Wonwoo continues before he gets the chance,
“Seems like you two have gotten real close.”
It’s venomous, the way Wonwoo curls his tongue around the words, although if anyone else was listening they would have called Seokmin crazy for thinking that. Seokmin feels like he’s shrunk, like a child in shoes a size too big.
“Ah, well,” he mumbles. “He’s nice.”
“I didn’t invite him here.”
It’s just a fact. That’s what Wonwoo would say if Seokmin pushed him. Even though it makes no sense, it doesn’t follow from what Seokmin said, even though the only reason Wonwoo is saying it is because for some inexplicable reason he hates Jeonghan.
And that’s what makes Seokmin tense up, what leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Wonwoo hates Jeonghan, even though there’s no good reason for it, even though Seokmin- well. Seokmin definitely doesn’t hate Jeonghan. Jeonghan has been nothing but nice to Wonwoo, as far as Seokmin knows, so what is the problem? Why is his hyung, the one he’s known for so long, suddenly lashing out like this? Why does Seokmin have to take it too?
He’s being pulled into a fight, he can feel it. There’s no other reason Wonwoo would bring Jeonghan up now, would say that stupid thing about him not being invited. Wonwoo, who has never treated Seokmin like this before, is trying to lure him into an argument. He doesn’t take the bait.
“I wonder how he knew the party was happening,” he says coolly.
He sneaks a glance at Wonwoo out of the corner of his eye, noting the iron grip that Wonwoo has on the railing.
“Seungkwan, I think,” Wonwoo replies.
Seokmin doesn’t respond. He leans forward, holding the railing, looking out at the constellations of lights dotting the city skyline. The low rumble of cars filters up to them, even at this late hour, and the crisp air pecks at the exposed skin of his arms. He can feel a frosty wall build up between himself and Wonwoo, but he can’t think of a single thing to say that would break it down.
“You can head inside if you’re cold,” Wonwoo says.
An icy stab pierces through Seokmin’s heart. Has Wonwoo given up on spending time with Seokmin? They used to spend hours together doing absolutely nothing; silently watching TV, or making funny faces at each other, or listening to Seokmin’s stupid ramblings about nothing in particular. That’s how Seokmin knows Wonwoo so well, all the pitches of his voice and the infinite variety of his smiles. Is Seokmin’s company really worth nothing now?
Seokmin suddenly remembers why he’s here. “Actually,” he replies, digging in the pocket of his jeans, “I’m here to give you something.”
He hands Wonwoo his birthday present. “It’s not massive, but… you know. Happy birthday.”
Wonwoo’s long fingers gently open the wooden case, engraved with his name. Inside sit five guitar picks of different materials and thicknesses. Part of Seokmin felt silly choosing that as Wonwoo’s present, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He tried shopping around for something different, but he couldn’t think of Wonwoo without thinking of how strange and uncomfortable things felt, how there was nothing he could think of that Wonwoo would like, how it feels like he barely even knows Wonwoo anymore.
They’re still playing together, though. If nothing else, they’re still a band. So it had to be guitar picks.
The corners of Wonwoo’s mouth prick up. “Thank you, Seokmin-ah. These are beautiful.”
Seokmin aches to lift his arm, to give Wonwoo a half-hug or at least a pat on the shoulder, but something stops him. He keeps his over-eager limbs to himself, gives Wonwoo one last smile, before heading back into the apartment, gently closing the glass balcony door behind him.
As soon as he’s inside, Jeonghan swoops up on him. A flash of electricity sparks through his veins.
“Seokmin-ah,” Jeonghan says, all sweet voice and bright grin. “I want to talk to you about something. Walk with me?”
Seokmin takes one last look through the balcony door, sees Wonwoo leaning against the railing, his profile pale and stark against the inky sky. He swallows, turns back to Jeonghan and nods, taking his proffered arm.
Seokmin hadn’t expected Jeonghan to ask him out at Wonwoo’s birthday party. He’s spent the time between then and now pinching himself at various points, just to be sure it’s not a dream, as he often does when Jeonghan is involved. But no—here he is, a week later, at Jeonghan’s kitchen table, holding a cup of coffee Jeonghan had made with his fancy coffee machine.
They haven’t been talking about anything much, just music and the industry and their friends. But it’s nice, indulgent even. Seokmin feels like he’s being wrapped in a cocoon spun from the sugar of Jeonghan’s soft voice. Their fingers brushed when Jeonghan handed him his coffee, melting him from the inside out. The table juts into his ribs as he leans to try and get as close to Jeonghan as possible, but he barely even notices. All he knows is the tug between them, the pull that reels Seokmin towards Jeonghan the whole time. If anything, it’s even stronger now that this is a proper date. Jeonghan is otherworldly, beyond the reach of most people, and yet he has looked at Seokmin and wants him. Seokmin can barely believe it. It feels like he’s floating in mid-air.
Seokmin’s phone buzzes, sends him crashing back to earth. He smiles apologetically, and looks briefly at the screen.
“It’s Wonwoo-hyung. He wants to look at lyrics together.”
Jeonghan nods slowly. “How is Wonwoo-ssi?”
Seokmin shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Haven’t seen him since his birthday.”
“Interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you two were close.”
“We are.” Seokmin hates how it feels like a lie. He hasn’t even told Wonwoo about this date yet. “We’ve been friends forever.”
“I thought you spent all your time together.” Jeonghan speaks like the two of them are a passing curiosity, something to be looked at and thought about but never directly handled.
“We do!” Seokmin’s neck heats up with the deception. “It’s been- more difficult recently, but we do spend a lot of time together. We have to for our whole thing to work.”
He laughs nervously. He needs to stop doing that. Jeonghan, for his part, pretends to be convinced.
“You know, I spoke to him before I asked you out.”
Seokmin’s stomach flips. Although he hasn’t told him, Wonwoo knows that he’s going out with Jeonghan. Even now, even as an adult, there’s nothing he can keep secret from Wonwoo.
“Why?” Seokmin asks, trying his best not to make it too pointed.
Jeonghan looks straight at him. “I thought it would be a good idea. Given you’re so close and all. Plus he doesn’t really like me, so I just wanted to warn him.”
“He’s not my dad. “You don’t need to ask his permission to date me. I’m a grown man, hyung.”
“No, I know.” Jeonghan keeps looking at him, like he can scan through his flushed skin, chisel through his ribcage, see directly into his quickening heart. Seokmin wonders whether he’ll ever get used to this.
“But you still spoke to him first,” Seokmin presses.
Jeonghan chuckles half-heartedly. “Yeah. I did. Do you want to know why?”
“I literally just asked you why.”
Jeonghan chuckles again, somehow with even less humour. “It’s because I wondered if there was something going on between you two.”
Seokmin flinches. His ears burn. Suddenly, he’s a teenager again, patting Wonwoo’s cheek on a lumpy old couch after a kiss that went wrong.
“What?” he asks, louder than he meant to. “There’s never been anything between us. We’re just friends, that’s all. Why would you think that?”
“No particular reason,” Jeonghan replies, voice even. “I was just wondering, because…”
Jeonghan trails off. Seokmin leans slightly closer, as if that will coax the answer out of him. Jeonghan is never unsure of what he says; it’s always Seokmin that stumbles through his words. So what is it that Jeonghan is struggling to say now?
“Because what?”
“Ah, nothing. Just thought it would be a good idea to ask him.”
Jeonghan smiles quickly. Seokmin knows what that smile is. It’s one he’s given to many people before. He moves past it, leans forward, slides his foot partly up Jeonghan’s leg with purpose. Sparks zip through his skin, his nerves, his veins.
“We’ve talked enough about Wonwoo-hyung, don’t you think? I want to talk about you now.”
Jeonghan’s smile morphs into something else. More dangerous, more genuine. Exactly what Seokmin wants to see.
Seokmin thinks nothing of it when Jeonghan asks if he can join him and Wonwoo at the restaurant. It makes sense that Jeonghan would want to meet Seokmin’s friends, especially his closest friend. And Wonwoo is still Seokmin’s closest friend. Even though it feels like he’s lying when he says it. Even though, last time they had a Zoom lyric writing session together, Seokmin kept getting distracted by messages from Jeonghan. Besides, he hasn’t seen Wonwoo for a while, so it’s a nice way of getting to see him.
But when Wonwoo catches sight of Jeonghan, his familiar wide grin fades. His face, initially so bright and open, starts to close off. It starts to feel just as cold inside as it was outside.
Seokmin’s heart sinks. “It’s not a problem that Jeonghan-hyung’s joining us, is it?” His eyes dart between the two.
Jeonghan, for his part, looks utterly delighted. He knows that Wonwoo isn’t his biggest fan, he must have been able to spot the change in Wonwoo’s face. But he seems to love it, to take pleasure in Wonwoo not quite knowing what to do with him. Seokmin hates when people don’t like him, hates the awkwardness that it brings, the feeling that nothing he can do will put it right. Jeonghan doesn’t seem to care, and it makes Seokmin a little uneasy.
Wonwoo eventually replies, “Not at all! Please take a seat,” with a smile that could almost be genuine. But Seokmin knows better. For some reason, Wonwoo just can’t handle Jeonghan.
He’s relieved when the server brings makgeolli to their table. The air between them is paper-thin, threatening to shatter at any minute. Hopefully the alcohol will make him relax, will loosen his tensed-up shoulders and bring Wonwoo out of his self-constructed shell. He drinks a lot, with almost reckless disregard. He pouts when Wonwoo tries to cut him off, cheers when Jeonghan pours him some more. If this is the person he has to be to handle a conversation with the three of them, so be it. He’s happy to do it.
And Jeonghan’s being very nice, to be fair. He’s the one leading the conversation—partly because Seokmin’s a bit of a lightweight, partly because Wonwoo’s being so goddamn stubborn about everything. He remembers Wonwoo telling him that ages ago, before he’d even met Seokmin, his mother would try and make him socialise with other kids, to open his mouth and speak so that he’d finally get friends. Now, of course, it’s usually Seokmin that does the talking for them. But Wonwoo’s normally more relaxed than this. Has he gone right back to being a kid again? Why?
Jeonghan guides them through talking about life, friends, former dates, only to finally ask Seokmin,
“Seokmin-ah, who is Wonwoo-ssi to you?”
Seokmin’s breath hitches. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wonwo flinch, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. He notices Wonwoo’s hand clenched in a fist under the table, as if he’s holding himself back, or about to throw a punch.
Seokmin is lost. He puts up a show of protesting, calling the question a ridiculous one, but only because he feels like he’s drowning. Only because no word he can think of can really describe what Wonwoo is to him—is? Was? Has been? Have things changed? How can he answer without lying?
After making a big show of thinking about it, he settles on a way to describe him.
“Someone very special,” he says, hushed, breathless. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
He looks to Wonwoo, waiting for a reaction of some sort. Wonwoo doesn’t give him one. His eyes are wide, but his face is stony. Seokmin is stretching out an olive branch, waiting for him to take it, but he doesn’t.
So Seokmin does what he does best. He performs.
“But I don’t know who I am to him! Isn’t that too cruel, Wonwoo-yah?” It’s a distraction; he’s his bright, shiny self. He winks, he speaks too loud, he clings desperately to Jeonghan for support. Anything to dull the sharp honesty of what he’s saying.
Jeonghan agrees with Seokmin, laughs along. Wonwoo says nothing. As usual. What will it take for Wonwoo to finally push through whatever’s dividing them? What will it take for them to be close again?
The rest of the night passes by in a blur. The alcohol has started a small bonfire in Seokmin’s core, filling him with a gentle cosiness. He and Jeonghan talk and laugh and act silly, Wonwoo mostly indulging them. When dinner’s over, Seokmin lets Jeonghan bundle him into his coat, tries not to blush as Jeonghan’s fingers brush his cheeks. Out of the corner, he sees Wonwoo looking at them. He can’t tell whether to be embarrassed and turn away or whether to stare him straight down, to say look at me look at us this is who I am now.
He faintly hears Jeonghan telling Wonwoo not to worry about them, that Seokmin is in safe hands. He gives Wonwoo a weak wave, barely able to see how he reacts. He leans on Jeonghan, relying on his surprisingly strong arms for support. Somehow, through the rain and the darkness of the night, he ends up back in his bed, Jeonghan giving him a brief kiss to his temple before leaving. His heavy eyelids close. The last thing he sees before blacking out is Wonwoo at the restaurant, looking small and confused and so startlingly alone under his huge, leaking umbrella.
Weeks pass before Seokmin speaks to Wonwoo again. Lyric sheets go untouched, melodies are half-finished in his head. The last time he saw a recording booth was a lifetime ago, let alone a stage. Jeonghan’s there, of course, but it’s not the same. Music is Seokmin’s life. It’s what revs Seokmin up. It’s what he knows he can do well, it’s what makes him bright and beautiful for audiences. Without Wonwoo, there is no music.
But when Wonwoo finally shows up at his door, it’s not music that he brings.
“Yoon Jeonghan,” he says, breathless, practically keeled over at Seokmin’s front door. “He’s not good for you.”
Somehow, this feels inevitable. All of Wonwoo’s comments about Jeonghan, the amount of times that Jeonghan has said Wonwoo dislikes him, the looks, the fake smiles, the wall growing steadily between Seokmin and Wonwoo. All of it has led to this, time dragging him by a chain to this point. And Seokmin still feels utterly helpless. He still feels like his entire apartment building has collapsed, crushing him under a pile of bricks.
“Oh?” he says, doing his best not to sound too cold.
Wonwoo just stands there, catching his breath, saying nothing. Water drips from his hair and glasses and nose, the rain hammers on Seokmin’s windows. He soaks through into Seokmin’s doormat. Seokmin wants to bring him inside, give him a towel and some warm clothes and a cup of tea, make him safe and warm. But this is too much.
What the hell does Wonwoo mean? Why is he doing this to Seokmin now?
“Is that all you’re here to say?” Seokmin asks, voice curiously high-pitched. “He treats me well, Wonwoo. You don’t get to come here to say this to me, when you don’t know him like that.”
“But I know you,” Wonwoo says. His eyebrows furrow.
Jeonghan’s voice echoes in Seokmin’s head. I wondered if there was something going on between you two.
There’s a lurch in Seokmin’s gut. This can’t be what this is about. Right?
“Do you? Do you really know me? Because it hasn’t felt like it lately.” He watches Wonwoo squirm. Some sick part of him enjoys it. He keeps going. “You can’t not speak to me for weeks then have your first words to me be about Yoon Jeonghan.”
Wonwoo goes pale. He’s frozen still. Time’s chain yanks Seokmin back a decade, back to when he kissed his best friend, and then realised that he would have to spend the rest of his life loving him without being loved back.
He looks at Wonwoo, cowering and shivering on his doorstep, and for a split second he hates him. He hates that with Wonwoo he’s forever Lee Seokmin, the awkward fool with dreams too big for his small neighbourhood. The gangly gay teenager, pining stupidly for his best friend, who’s too naive to realise that his hopes of making it to the stage with that best friend by his side are going to go up in smoke.
He wants to grab Wonwoo. Shake him by the shoulders and scream. You had me once, years ago. I would have done anything for you. I practically threw myself at you. But you didn’t want me. And I’m different now. Jeonghan has made me different, and I like this different part of me. You can’t turn me back now. Not after all this time.
He does nothing like that. He curses the tears that spring to his eyes. He says, “I don’t know what you want. I’m tired of not knowing what you want. You have to tell me.”
Of course, a part of him has known what Wonwoo wants. The part of him that dared to kiss him all those years ago, the part of him that has kept him glued to Wonwoo’s side all these years. But how can he be sure, if Wonwoo is so ready to let him go? To throw him away now that he’s found Jeonghan, to act as if none of it had mattered.
He waits for Wonwoo to say something, to use the many words that he knows. He waits and he waits and he waits. Wonwoo doesn’t. Really, there’s no other way that this could end.
Seokmin sighs. Shuts the door in Wonwoo’s face. Closes his eyes as his dreams go up in smoke.
(Seokmin may burn with desire and ambition, but really he’s like water. He takes the shape of whatever surrounds him. Only now, he doesn’t quite know what shape he’s meant to be.)
“You know, you’re going to have to talk to him some time.”
They’re in Jeonghan’s bed, Seokmin’s back to Jeonghan’s chest, Jeonghan’s arm draped loosely over Seokmin’s hip. Seokmin had told him a version of what happened on his doorstep—a version where Wonwoo wasn’t that mean about Jeonghan—but Jeonghan probably didn’t believe him. Whatever. That’s not the point. The point is that he wasn’t expecting Jeonghan to bring it up right now.
“I could tell something was on your mind,” Jeonghan says, as if answering Seokmin’s unasked question.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Who else would you be thinking about in my bed?”
Seokmin turns over, eyes wide. “Hyung-”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”
Seokmin isn’t so sure.
“When are you going to talk to him?” Jeonghan asks.
“I don’t… what would I even say?”
“That you like him. That you hope he likes you. That you’re sorry for pushing him away, that I’m sorry for being part of the reason for you pushing him away.”
“You’re not sorry.”
“Yes I am. I don’t want to make people feel bad, I just know what I want.
“Ok, but what if I said all those things and he doesn’t want me? What if he decides it’s too much work?”
“Do you really think he’d do that?”
Seokmin sighs.
“So what’s really bothering you?”
Seokmin fiddles with the edge of his pillowcase. “I just don’t want things to change between us. Things were fine before. I don’t want… whatever happens next to ruin us or the band.”
“Seokmin-ah,” Jeonghan says, running his fingers through Seokmin’s hair, “things have already changed.”
Seokmin covers his face with his hands. “It’s all my stupid fault. If I hadn’t-”
“What? If you hadn’t what? Dated me? Made some decisions for yourself? This would have happened anyway. Wonwoo should have spoken to you before.”
There’s a bladed edge in Jeonghan’s voice that Seokmin decides to ignore. Whatever Jeonghan and Wonwoo think of each other is a question for another day.
“But if things go well with Wonwoo-hyung, they’ll change more. It’ll be too easy. I won’t need to try as hard to impress him, or to keep the band together. I can’t let the music go, but… what if that’s what happens?”
“You really think that Wonwoo is the reason you’re a singer?”
“Well…” Seokmin mumbles. “He is my bandmate, right?”
“I suppose he is, in a way, but… you belong on stage, Seokmin-ah. You and Wonwoo belong on stage together. Audiences can see it. Your record label can see it. I can see it. If you think that you’re doing this to impress Wonwoo, you’re wrong. You’re doing it because you love it. Both of you love music, and you love working on it together. Your dreams are bigger than you think they are.”
“Isn’t that why you became a singer, hyung?”
“Of course it is. But I didn’t have someone who is what Wonwoo is to you. You’re bonded through the music now. You’re meant to perform together, so you’ll find a way. You’re too special not to work, both of you. Hey,” Jeonghan grins, “maybe you’ll beat me for an award next year.”
Seokmin giggles, despite himself, but there’s one more question he can’t help but ask.
“You’re not worried about… this? Any of this?”
Jeonghan smiles. This one is warm and sincere. “The way I see it, you love us both.” The word slips from Jeonghan’s mouth, smooth and easy. “And you can have us both, if we all work on it. I wouldn’t mind that at all. I’d like it, even. The most important thing is that you’re happy.”
Seokmin really can’t figure out what Jeonghan thinks of Wonwoo. That’s for Jeonghan to tell him some other time. Instead of asking, he kisses Jeonghan softly on the lips.
“You’re a better person than I am,” he whispers.
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is. I want too much, all the time.”
“So do I. You just don’t let yourself have what you want. That’s not the same as being good.”
He pats Seokmin on the cheek and leaves the room to make coffee, but not before whispering to him, “You know what to do.”
When he’s gone, Seokmin’s phone buzzes on the bedside table. Seokmin rolls over, picks it up, and nearly drops it when he reads the notification.
Jeon Wonwoo
i’m sorry
For a moment, he wants to yell to Jeonghan, to ask him for help. But he decides against it. With trembling fingers, he scrambles for a joke to send back.
Lee Seokmin
now that’s something i don’t hear often. am i dead?
Jeon Wonwoo
keep on dreaming. like i let you’d go without me.
i thought we were in this shit for life?
Immediately, as if on cue, Seokmin’s eyes well up. God, this is stupid. What did he think would happen? Of course he and Wonwoo would be doing this forever. Through blurry eyes, he types up his reply.
“You want to play?” Seokmin asks.
Wonwoo is at his apartment again, the first time he’s been inside since that horrific night in the rain. But this time he’s dry, and warm, and nothing bad has happened. Wonwoo apologised again, Seokmin apologised too, it’s all been very courteous. But silent, too. As if Wonwoo had run out of ideas after his apology.
So Seokmin broke the silence the only way he could think of.
Wonwoo hums, letting his chin rest on his hand. Seokmin loves the soft rumble of his voice in a way he hasn’t before.
“What would we play?” Wonwoo asks. “Our stuff? Random ideas? Something else?”
Seokmin shrugs. “We can figure it out as we go. D’you wanna play or not?”
“Alright,” Wonwoo replies, a smile creeping across his face, dawn breaking after a long winter night. “We can play.”
He rummages through his jean pockets, searching for something. Seokmin looks at his gentle fingers, lets himself look at them in a way he’s tried so hard not to do.
Until now.
Eventually, Wonwoo digs out the guitar pick case Seokmin had got him for his birthday. Seokmin can’t keep the grin off his face. Maybe he knew that they’d get back to this—that no matter what, they would always find their way back to playing music together. Why else would he bring his guitar picks?
Seokmin keeps his eyes on Wonwoo’s fingers as he opens the case and decides on a pick. His heart snags suddenly. Most of the picks are the ones that Seokmin gave him for his birthday, but he catches sight of a different one right at the front, one too familiar to be so recent. Faded with age, almost embarrassingly cheap compared to the others, but still there. His core lights up at the sight of it.
“You still have that? That purple one?”
Wonwoo’s eyes flick back up to Seokmin’s.
“Of course,” he replies. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Seokmin says nothing. He just grins, and moves to switch on the amp.