Chapter Text
Xdinary Heroes has had a bit of a boost in popularity since their tour with Jungsu, but rarely do they get phone calls from stalkers or other creeps. And Gunil, despite his recent gloom, still has an optimism about people's intentions as a whole. Seungmin cites it as something admirable and wholesome that'll have him end up in the wrong place someday.
So maybe he's a fool for still answering every unknown number that calls his line. He sures feels like one when he picks up and hears Younghoon’s voice on the other end say, “Gunil-ssi, it's Jungsu’s manager,” and is immediately rendered so shocked and confused he forgets how to speak.
“H—I, um—Manager-nim, hello.”
How did he even get Gunil’s personal phone number? Did he have it during tour? Gunil can't recall, everything was such a blur. Younghoon doesn't wait for any small talk, and cuts right to the chase.
“I have an invitation for you to attend Inkigayo this Sunday. Are you interested?”
The clues should piece together, but Gunil is still a little behind, blindsided by the sudden call and outrageous offer. “Really? Why? We're not… performing?”
Younghoon exhales, an annoyed sigh something like an audible version of an eye-roll. “No, you're not performing. Jungsu is. I’d like for you to come.”
“Just me, not… the band?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it's a bit last-minute, and it’s difficult to grant access to anyone who isn't directly involved with the program.”
“And you want me to go?”
“Yes. Are you interested?”
Gunil’s brain is one big jumble, rolling through every word uttered through the phone speaker. “I mean. Is it a good idea… for Jungsu? It won't distract him or anything? I don't want to get in the way.”
There's a pause in Younghoon's plain and prompt responses. When he speaks again, his tone betrays a worn, tired sympathy. “That's actually why I’m extending an invitation in the first place. Jungsu… hasn't been well, hasn't been himself lately. It's been a while since you two have seen each other with all the comeback preparations keeping his schedule full, right?”
Gunil swallows. “I mean, yes, but… I’m not sure he wants to see me.”
“I think he would.”
“We haven’t talked in a while,” Gunil blurts out, since Younghoon doesn’t seem to know that detail.
“Did you know you’re the only person he’s ever invited over to his apartment?” Younghoon’s confidence is impenetrable, and it soothes Gunil’s wounded heart just a little. “Jungsu needs people, as introverted as he can be. And I’ve never seen him as bright as he was around you. You’re special.”
A sinking feeling stirs in Gunil's chest. On one hand, he doesn’t want to burden Jungsu, or possibly cause more trouble for him. And their argument sure made Gunil feel like that: trouble. On the other hand, he's dying for a chance to see Jungsu, and would love to show him support—especially if he's been struggling lately with the comeback pressure all alone. Even before their argument, Jungsu had been anxious about it. And Younghoon seems certain this would be good.
“What if I make things worse?” Gunil has to push to make the words come out barely above a whisper.
“I doubt that will be the case,” Younghoon says. “You don't have to do much, just show up and watch, give him some words of encouragement. Like I said, Jungsu is comforted by people's company. You'd probably have to be his worst enemy to do any damage by your presence.”
Well, at least Gunil hopes he’s not in that category, even if they haven’t been speaking. He asks, “Do I have to answer right now?”
“Unfortunately, yes, it is a time sensitive offer. I need to submit you for the attendance sheet and get security clearance for you by tonight. You can always not show up if you change your mind, but if you say no, you won't be allowed on the premises.”
Gunil sighs heavily. The pit in his stomach is sinks even deeper, but his heart nudges him in the right direction.
“I’ll go.”
“Perfect, thank you.” There’s the sound of door opening, the shuffling of papers, and then Younghoon says, “I’ll send you the details, and get you on the list. Likely, a car will come get you some time between 4 and 5, bring you to the artist entrance, and security will escort you backstage. Sound good?”
Gunil swallows around the lump of anxiety built up in his throat. He doesn’t know why he assumed he could just slip into the crowd of general citizens, just another nobody among the crowd, and then give Jungsu some quick congratulations and praise before leaving just as unremarkably. The artist’s damn manager invited him personally; of course he’ll be backstage. “Good,” Gunil almost croaks.
“Alright, see you then. And again— thank you, Gunil-ssi.” This time when Younghoon thanks him, Gunil is aware it’s for his supposed support for Jungsu.
“Of course.”
“Have a good night.” And just like that, the line goes dead.
Gunil still can't tell whether he's the fool yet.
○ ○ ○
He sure feels like a fool when Sunday rolls around.
Gunil had tried to dress nicely: a dark button-down with the top few open, clean t-shirt underneath, both tucked into crisp jeans (no rips or tears, no stains, nothing!), but when the van rolled up to the back entrance of the venue, Gunil was met with giant security guards clad in all black suits. They dwarf him completely, guiding him down the maze of hallways so sleek and pristine Gunil worries about his shoes dirtying them, his mere presence a possible contamination of grime.
And once they reach the dressing rooms, deep in the heart of the massive building, there are stray performers navigating carefully around each other, set on their predetermined paths with faces painted to perfection, coated in blush and subtle glitter and chemical spray to keep everything intact onstage. Gunil feels less like a fellow successful musician and more akin the frazzled staff flitting about, radiating stress in their simple street clothes with hair falling in their faces as their eyes scan their surroundings frantically.
“In here,” the security guard says, steering Gunil to a door signed for ‘JYP KIM JUNGSU’ .
“Oh, uh—thanks.”
Gunil knocks on the door, rocking back and forth on his feet awkwardly. Someone giggles nearby, followed by whispers and more giggles, and Gunil can’t help swiveling around to figure out what’s so interesting. He meets eyes with three girls he doesn’t recognize, but based on their sequined outfits and dazzling makeup they’re definitely idols. One ducks her head, the other whispering in her ear (quieter this time, now that their previous exchanges had been noticed), and Gunil just gives them a shy little wave, unsure what to do.
The door swings open and the girls skitter away. When Gunil turns back, a shorter spectacled woman is in the doorway.
“He’s filming content right now,” is all she says.
One of the other staff pipes up from the small table where she’s stabbing at a take-out container of salad with a fork. “He’s doing dance challenges, isn’t he? By the stairs?”
The glasses-staff who answered the door steps aside, allowing Gunil to enter the dressing room. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I don’t know when he’ll be back—whenever people stop offering to dance with him, I suppose.”
“That’s fine,” Gunil says, pausing to bow politely to the other staff scattered about the room. He’s honestly thankful for more time to prepare himself mentally, rather than having Jungsu suddenly sprung on him in such a strange environment.
The staff make small talk with him, asking about tour and what K-Pop he likes, his thoughts on Jungsu’s work. The glasses-staff introduces herself as Minji, and Gunil ends up sitting on the leather couch and easily slipping into friendly-professional mode.
Until the door swings open once more, and it’s him.
Jungsu ducks his head a little as he enters, twisted around and bidding someone goodbye, waving and smiling good-naturedly. He’s so tall—well, he’s not unnaturally tall or anything, not like the security all seem to be, but so far Gunil has only seen staff members closer to his own height enter the door, so Jungsu feels like a towering presence in the doorway. And admittedly it’s been over a month since Gunil saw Jungsu in person, and with these heeled designer boots and a big leather jacket emphasizing his wide shoulders he just feels grandiose.
When Jungsu turns back around and his eyes land on Gunil, he freezes. His arm drops from holding the door open, letting it swing shut behind him, eyes wide.
“Oh—Gunil-hyung,” Jungsu gapes, surprised.
Gunil’s skin goes clammy cold when he realizes. “Sorry, d-did… did Younghoon-ssi not tell you I was coming?”
The nervous smile Jungsu slips into doesn’t reach his eyes, doesn’t make them crinkle into crescent moons. “No, he… he didn’t mention it.”
The staff definitely catch onto the awkwardness, as they all retreat in one way or another; some turn silently to their dinners, some start packing away beauty products on the counter, others become suddenly engrossed in their phones.
Gunil is about to apologize and make his leave when Jungsu finally uproots from his shocked stance at the doorway, striding over to sit next to Gunil on the couch. Their knees touch, and Gunil holds his breath at the brush of their thighs next to each other. Maybe it’s the length of his legs, perhaps it’s a habit yet to be broken. Either way, Gunil is quietly grateful for the bit of contact, the tiny display of friendliness among the discomfort. His blue jeans glimmer under the blinding fluorescent lights, like some sort of glitter thread is woven into the denim.
“You said Younghoon-hyung told you to come?” Jungsu asks.
Gunil rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “Well, not so much told me… he invited me, and I… well obviously, I said yes.” Jungsu just nods at that, staring at a spot on the white tile floor in front of them, digesting the information. And Gunil does what he does best: rambling, filling the silence. “I know it’s been a little while, um… I did listen to your album.” At that, Jungsu’s head snaps up, peering at Gunil expectantly. “It’s really good. I particularly love the drums in Enemy.”
The corner of Jungsu’s peachy-tinted lips quirks up. “Yeah, that’s actually your influence.” He lets out a little huff that Gunil can’t discern the emotion behind, almost a rueful amusem*nt. “I thought of the kind of drumming style you’d like when I was working with the producers on it.”
Gunil doesn’t know how to respond, or what Jungsu wants to hear. There’s a sort of satisfaction in knowing he lingers still in Jungsu’s brain, that his traces are in Jungsu’s music just the same as Jungsu’s voice haunts him. So he settles into what he figures is safe, sticking to the music. He has to focus hard on his words, with the leather of Jungsu’s jacket now grazing his arm, Jungsu’s eyes trained on him and drinking in every word; Gunil has always been so weak to his attention.
“You did a great job blending the rock genre into your usual melodic singing style. I can’t stop listening to Paranoid in particular, it cuts so deep and you express the emotion so strongly, it’s so potent… it shows off your incredible vocal skills, of course, but the lyrics are so—”
Jungsu suddenly stands, his hand wrapped around Gunil’s wrist. “I’m gonna show Gunil-hyung around a little,” Jungsu announces to no one in particular. Gunil is searching for reactions, acknowledgement, anything from the staff in the room, but it’s all a blur with how quickly Jungsu is dragging him to the door.
There is absolutely no showing around, no tour, not a word. Jungsu’s steps are hasty as they weave around clumps of performers and other stray staff power-walking to their very important places for very important tasks. Gunil is almost tripping over his feet in Jungsu’s wake, clinging all lonely and desperate to Jungsu’s sleeve like a lost puppy in a big city. The halls become less and less populated the longer they wander, until they come upon the single door of an accessible bathroom.
Jungsu doesn’t even knock, just pushes down on the handle and nods a little to himself when he finds it unoccupied, and enters with Gunil in tow.
“Jungsu—”
Gunil doesn’t get any answers because he can’t even pose a question. He’s cut off by the loud click of the door locking, and then Jungsu is on him. Hands gripping the sides of face and yanking him to his mouth, and Gunil’s knees go weak.
Weak, pathetic—that’s what Gunil is, for allowing this to happen. Because he doesn’t even try to get Jungsu to stop, not even a pause, just succumbs to the fire Jungsu pours into him, engulfed in flame as Jungsu licks into his mouth, a hunger that Gunil feels himself too, in his very core. Gunil can only whimper and clutch at Jungsu’s leather jacket, let Jungsu whirl them around so he can slam Gunil up against the door. Jungsu lays into him with everything he’s got: a thick thigh pushed between Gunil’s legs, heavy hands that burn Gunil’s skin when they tug his shirt out of his pants and grab his waist, their chests pressed together, those plush lips insistent against his own, devouring him.
“Ah... ‘su ,” Gunil finally gets out, just a fragmented syllable between the assault of Jungsu’s mouth claiming his, trailing into a gasp when Jungsu’s teeth dig into his lips.
“Sorry,” Jungsu murmurs, not sounding even a little bit apologetic. The next kiss is smeared under Gunil’s jaw, setting Jungsu on his path down Gunil’s neck.
“Is—Is this a good idea?” Gunil huffs out, panting already. The firmness of Jungsu’s thigh has him swelling up embarrassingly fast, the sensation of Jungsu’s lips on him again making his brain a distorted haze. Intoxicating, as always.
“Just missed you,” Jungsu says, tone husky like it gets when he’s turned on, and the tone goes straight to Gunil’s gut. Jungsu’s teeth scrape against a tendon in Gunil’s neck, punctuated with a quick nip of the skin. Against all reason, despite his conscience, the words make his heart flutter, hope beating its wretched wings inside his chest.
There is no hope; Gunil shouldn’t cling to it. Just because Jungsu misses him too doesn’t mean he wants Gunil in the same way, doesn’t mean they could start seeing each other again. They’ve already proven it won’t work; they can’t be what they used to be.
With a cacophony of muffled voices and footsteps thundering outside the bathroom door, Jungsu’s eyes accentuated with smoky makeup and charcoal eyeliner, the cloud of secrecy hanging over them like a threat, Gunil remembers the last time they did this: their first show in America, after him and Jungsu lead the band at the front of the stage.
How things have changed since then. That night they fell into each other’s arms in their shared hotel room and Jungsu had opened him up so tenderly and carefully, doting on him throughout their first time.
Now Jungsu regards him like a forbidden vice, like he’s sneaking around corners to step outside for a long drag of a borrowed cigarette when everyone in the building believes he’s quit. It feels less like they’re trying to remain unseen by those who could spread word of their private lives and more like they need to hide this from themselves, too—like they’ll pretend this never happened, just a fever-dream result of a lapse in judgement.
And yet Gunil wraps his hands around Jungsu’s jaw and drags him back in for another kiss, mostly teeth and warm breath. He keens and arches into Jungsu’s hands when they skim over his abdomen, cants his hips forward in a silent plea for touch where he’s almost fully hard. The momentary flicker of hope is dampened by the rain of guilty pleasure, but it’s pleasure nonetheless. It’s filling the void Jungsu left inside him, the space in Gunil’s heart that only he fits into.
“Can I ask you something?” Jungsu whispers into Gunil’s lips, appeasing his body’s begging and fitting their hips together. Gunil almost can’t answer at the grind of Jungsu’s hard-on against his own, choking back a wounded noise at the friction. The roll of their hips is so filthy, Gunil shoved further up the door with the motion, his head lolling forward and his hands clutching the clammy leather of Jungsu’s jacket, and his co*ck throbs, and then he finally he remembers to nod. Jungsu probably feels it more than sees it, his lips grazing the shell of Gunil’s ear when he speaks again: “Would you want… will you blow me?”
Gunil’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He wants to slam his head through the wood of the door, he’s so frustrated—angry at Jungsu for having the nerve to make such a request when he knows Gunil’s never done that before, and knows damn well he isn’t in the position to be requesting anything intimate (especially intimate and new ) of Gunil after leaving him alone in the isolating silence of heartbreak; and angry at himself for wanting nothing more than to oblige, and the fact that he’s detangling himself from Jungsu’s hold to do just that.
Jungsu turns so it’s his back leaning against the door now, hands threading into Gunil’s hair and those piercing dark eyes locked in on him as he lowers to his knees, onto the floor. They’re already ruined; it’s all hopeless. So might as well let Jungsu be the one to ruin him, and reap the benefits while he can. Demise by Jungsu’s desire is a good way to go down.
They work in tandem, Jungsu unbuckling his stylish embellished black belt while Gunil works on the fly of his twinkling jeans, yanking them all the way down to his knees—Gunil is so preoccupied with tugging down Jungsu’s briefs to get out his co*ck that he almost doesn’t notice Jungsu shucking off the leather jacket—one hand returns to Gunil’s hair, the other pulling up his t-shirt to reveal his beautiful stomach, and at Gunil’s eyebrows raising Jungsu explains, “Can’t get any of the clothes soiled, they’re not mine—you’ll have to keep it in your mouth, okay? Even if you don’t swallow? I can’t—”
This time Gunil does roll his eyes in annoyance, dramatic and irritated at the entire situation, even though his dick twitches at the mere idea of Jungsu planning to come in his mouth. Resigned to the circ*mstances and impatient to act on his senseless desires, Gunil cuts him off by tongueing at the tip, and Jungsu’s head drops back against the door with a thud.
The taste is a bit salty, as expected, but the skin is so soft, Gunil immediately kind of loves it. Stroking the length with his fist, he focuses just on the head as he warms up, feeling the smooth silkiness under his swirling tongue. Jungsu’s thighs quiver, a deep exhale released from his lips—kiss-swollen, which can’t be good for his reputation, but at this point Gunil can’t care. That’s Jungsu’s problem, not his.
Gunil pushes further forward, taking the entire head into his mouth, and Jungsu stutters a noise of discomfort from above: “Ah—uh, your teeth—” So Gunil retracts and tries again, pushing his lips out more to cover his teeth better, his whole face aflame with embarrassment.
He twists his fist around Jungsu’s length, suckling at the head, tongue laving around it just to taste, what he imagines feels good, and with how Jungsu’s breath is ragged and his brow is furrowed it must feel good; at a particularly hard suck Jungsu moans deliriously, the kind that slips into a high whine, so it does feel good.
“Hyung,” Jungsu groans, the hand in Gunil’s hair tightening, hips nudging forward like a gentle but eager request, “More.”
So Gunil inhales through his nose, opens his mouth wider, and sinks down to take half his length. Jungsu gasps sharply, the hand in his hair flinching, opening up just to collect Gunil’s locks in a tangle again. Gunil drags his free hand over Jungsu’s hip, down to the top of his thigh, and grips the flesh there, soaking in the warmth he radiates.
Gunil’s mouth is pooling with saliva, and he gazes up at Jungsu—Jungsu, picture perfect as always, a dark flush coating his cheeks and spreading from his face to his neck, ears bright red, his mouth open like he doesn’t know when the next moan will come, like he doesn’t have the mind to close it, his lids heavy and eyes dark with a carnal want. Devastating.
Jungsu shifts his hips, encouraging further into Gunil’s mouth with another rickety gasp. His thighs shake under Gunil’s palm, his stomach tenses, he’s so f*cking hard—Gunil just goes for it.
Using the hand circling his base, he guides as much of Jungsu’s co*ck as he can into his mouth without gagging.
“f*ck, ha—hyung, ah—” Jungsu’s hips shallowly rock back and forth, minute movements, and by the strain of his muscles and the tremor that overtakes him, it must be taking a lot of control not to f*ck Gunil’s throat.
What a shame. He wouldn’t mind Jungsu using him how he wants, getting roughed up a little. So he bobs his head, tongue squished between the bottom of his mouth and the underside of Jungsu’s co*ck, spit soaking his lips now, and Jungsu breaks into a gutteral moan. Music to Gunil’s f*cking ears.
“Ah,” Jungsu whines, moving his hips with the rhythm Gunil’s set. He feels Jungsu’s muscles jump under his palm, tastes precum leaking from Jungsu’s tip, and Jungsu rasps, “A little—more, just let me—”
Pliant and drunk off Jungsu’s pleasure, heat buzzing under his skin at the feeling of Jungsu stuffing his mouth full, his hard hot length pushing past Gunil’s lips with each rock of his hips, Gunil drops his jaw open wide and tilts his head back a little. The vision of Jungsu above him is warped with the tears gathering in Gunil’s eyes, and it sounds like Jungsu is panting these desperate little noises but it’s like Gunil’s ears are stuffed with cotton.
The weight of Jungsu on his tongue, the taste of Jungsu’s co*ck leaking, Gunil is drooling and moaning—when did he start moaning himself? His own co*ck is pushing against his zipper, pulsing with need, while Jungsu keeps shallowly thrusting into Gunil’s mouth—
And at Gunil’s now incessant moaning Jungsu’s movements become erratic, the tip of his co*ck pushes in deep and grazes the back of his throat but Gunil suppresses the gag; the hand in his hair pulls violently, Gunil’s scalp stinging and his throat closing around the tip of Jungu’s co*ck when it breaches, his own strangled sounds uncontrollable at the intrusion, warbled and messy around Jungsu’s length, tears pouring down his cheeks now; Jungsu’s voice cuts through the overwhelm of sensations smothering him, “Hngh, hy—hyung, ‘nil, hah —I’m, I’m cumming, I—”
All Gunil can do is grip Jungsu’s thighs for dear life with both hands, his breath just frantic puffing through his nose, squeeze his eyes shut and keep his mouth open. Again, the hand yanks at his hair, and again, the tip of Jungsu’s co*ck prods at the entrance to Gunil’s throat, and as Gunil chokes, he feels liquid warmth at the back of his tongue, a bitter tang that goes down easy given how Jungsu’s shoved his co*ck in so deep.
At last, Gunil pulls off, gasping for air. Sits back on his heels, lost in the dizziness, vaguely registers Jungsu tucking himself back in his pants. He barely catches his breath before strong hands are dragging him to his feet, catching him when he stumbles into the embrace, and Gunil whines incoherently but Jungsu mutters a reminder, “The clothes, I can’t—”
“ Please ,” is all Gunil can verbalize, his voice a hoarse croak, and then the whole world spins and if not for Jungsu’s grip on him, it feels like they’d tumble off the edge into space.
The ledge of the sink slams into the top of Gunil’s thighs, and Jungsu is yanking his pants open. Gunil lurches forward at the first touch of Jungsu’s palm against his leaking, sensitive co*ck, stifling a harsh cry—Jungsu’s other arm takes hold of him, laces their fingers together and pushes their palms against the cool surface of the mirror for support.
Through his tears, Gunil takes a look at his reflection.
He’s a f*cking wreck.
His hair is sticking up in random directions from Jungsu’s harsh pulling. His face is blotchy red, eyes puffy and pathetic, tear-tracks glistening on his cheeks. There are bags under his eyes from how torturously sleep evaded him last night, fresh tears pooling in the darkness of his own eyes, lips bitten red and raw, pushing white lines from the ridges of his teeth digging into them now as he fights to control the noises burbling up in the back of his mouth.
And Jungsu. His glare from over Gunil’s shoulder is sharp and fierce, redness still lingering on his cheeks. His mouth is dropped open, lip-tint smudged at the corners, panting as he jerks Gunil off.
Jungsu’s physical presence is so real, Gunil is so oversensitive to his touch, and yet there’s this sense in Gunil’s soul that this Jungsu is more a spector in place of a person. There’s something missing, something hollow behind his eyes, charcoal left after a forest fire. But he’s still Jungsu, still the Jungsu that occupies every corner of Gunil’s brain. Suffocating him all the same. It feeds the inferno under Gunil’s skin in a strange sort of satisfaction.
Maybe he needs it like this, sloppy and reckless, because his tender heart isn’t equipped for softness when it’s aching. Or maybe he’ll take it like this because it’s what Jungsu’s giving him.
Despite everything, it’s so comforting to have Jungsu surrounding him again, to feel his firm chest against Gunil’s back, his breath hot on Gunil’s neck, his palm encircling his aching co*ck. Jungsu groans in his ear, “It’s so hot when you get like this,” his teeth scraping the hinge of Gunil’s jaw.
Jungsu’s quick fist squeezes around Gunil’s girth, causing him to wince and then spill into a whimper. Even though Jungsu isn’t chasing his own pleasure, he still rocks his hips into Gunil from behind, nudging him into the sink, keeping their hands pinned against the mirror even as they slip slightly from sweaty palms.
“Like I can tell how bad you want it,” Jungsu mutters into his skin, and Gunil feels himself breaking into pieces at the words. A chanting plea in his head, I want it, I want you, I need you.
Another tear drips down his cheek, and he gasps when Jungsu’s thumb rubs his leaking slit. “I… ‘su, ” is all he can choke out, drowning in it all, like Jungsu’s holding him underwater. There’s an unusual sort of serenity under the waves, even if his lungs burn for oxygen, a warning alarm blaring that the last seconds of his life are under threat.
“I want you too, you know...” Jungsu’s voice is muffled by the white noise building in Gunil’s ears but it’s softer now, more like the velvet tone that plays Gunil’s heartstrings like crazy. “Need you.”
“Ah—!”
Gunil shatters.
The dam inside him bursts open, and it all comes crashing down. Jungsu’s hips push into him from the back, knocking him to tilt forward so his cum streams into the sink as Gunil shivers and convulses with a violent sob. His hand curls into a white-knuckled fist against the mirror, his nails dig into Jungsu’s forearm where he works over Gunil’s throbbing co*ck, pressing painful red crescents into his skin.
Then his vision goes, just flashes behind his eyelids of furious red, the force of the sobbing straining his throat, already sore from sucking Jungsu down. He’s going crazy but he feels so good, Jungsu always makes him feel so good, even if the contents of his heart spill onto the floor beneath their feet as Gunil cries and crumbles.
Gunil sways on his feet, weeping, but sturdy arms keep him upright. He hears the sink turn on, the rush of the water filling up Gunil’s head, and he flinches a little when he feels a damp hand cup his face— “Shh,” as Jungsu’s fingertips wipe away the tears rolling down Gunil’s cheeks.
The tender caress brings all of Gunil’s want to the surface. And Jungsu had said it, I want you too. Need you. But Gunil’s not so sure the way Jungsu wants lines up with Gunil’s want anymore. Not sure the need is a good thing at all.
And that’s the thing about want, isn’t it? Just because he wants it doesn’t mean he deserves it.
“I need to go,” Jungsu says. “We’ve been gone too long.”
And after an awkward, quick clean-up, Jungsu leads the way back down the network of hallways. Without a touch this time. All Gunil wants is a touch, a tether, some tiny semblance of significance, that he matters at all. He itches to reach for Jungsu’s hand, even just to hook their pinkies or hold onto his sleeve, anything, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he pushed another boundary in public, if word got around of anything between them.
In the hallway they’re met with the glasses-staff that answered the door earlier—Minji, was it?—and she says “Jungsu, you’re second after the commercial break ends. We’re going to the stage, now.” Her tone is firm, her stare stern, so Jungsu is apologetic and whisked away while Gunil is ushered to the dressing room, to stay out of the way.
Gunil slumps onto the leather couch, boneless and exhausted. How can he feel like such an empty shell when he’s swept up in the overflow of all his emotions?
The staff with the salad dinner wordlessly passes him a makeup wipe, and Gunil just blinks dumbly at her. She taps the side of her neck and raises her eyebrows pointedly, so Gunil peeks in the mirror—there’s lip tint smeared all over his neck. f*ck.
Oh, that’s just great.
When it’s time for Jungsu’s performance, the staff ask if he’s coming with. He didn’t know he was allowed, but Minji tells him, “Of course you are, if you’re with us! You don’t want to watch the broadcast on the dressing room monitor that you can watch online after anyways, right?”
Jungsu is performing Paranoid today. Gunil had no idea.
There’s a band this time, rather than the cool male dancers in stonewashed denim jackets and black checkered pants like Gunil saw in a teaser for the title track on Music Bank. And there’s his keyboard, stationed at the center under a spotlight with a standing mic. Jungsu played the piano during his solo set on tour, but has Jungsu ever played the keys at a music competition show like this before? He can’t recall.
Jungsu stands at the keyboard, solemn. His leather jacket is back on, his makeup touched up, any trace of Gunil erased.
The crowd is relatively calm. It’s not like Gunil expected wild thrashing for such a melancholy song, but he’s still used to a different sort of audience. They all stay seated, swaying to the beat, a few scattered lightsticks and signs waving with the slow rhythm.
Chills ripple through Gunil at Jungsu’s voice, at the desperation dripping off every note. The breathy falsetto, soft but strong, easily dropping into his rich, soulful belt. “Maybe I’m just paranoid, paranoid…”
There’s a moment in the bridge where the instruments go quiet, Jungsu’s voice the powerful force of a climbing high note. People cheer, and Gunil holds his breath. And then, his voice is low and gentle for the lines before the last chorus. “Hearing the voice of you, hearing the voice of you. ”
As the lyrics ring in Gunil’s ears, he remembers this was the last song Jungsu was working on when finalizing the tracklist for the album. And because Jungsu’s hint at Gunil’s impact on him remaining was enough to fuel Gunil’s need to exaggerate his importance to Jungsu for his own sanity—he wonders if Jungsu wrote any of the words with him in mind.
“What is in my brain? So scared of being paranoid, paranoid.”
Gunil cries. He sniffs and quickly wipes the tears away, leaving the wings as the last note echoes into the venue, followed by clamorous applause.
○ ○ ○
After his stage, Jungsu finds Gunil again. Asks to talk, and brings him to the bathroom again—the closest bathroom, this time, one with multiple stalls. They stand a meter apart, and it feels like miles.
“I don’t think we should see each other again,” Jungsu says.
Gunil just nods. He’s not sure which pain is worse, now; being close to Jungsu but not having him, or not being close to Jungsu at all. All he knows is it hurts. Maybe it’s time to consider his own self-preservation.
“I can’t control myself around you,” Jungsu continues. “I like you too much.”
Gunil grimaces. He knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t stop the sour comment. “Don’t like me enough to try and make it work, though.”
Jungsu huffs out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Hyung, remember how at the beginning, it would be after drinking at dinner? I was never drunk, but sometimes I had to get a few drinks in me before I could have the courage to do anything. Isn’t that messed up?”
The furrow in Gunil’s brow deepens. He’s not sure he understands.
Jungsu sighs, “I need—I need to deal with my own issues, and I need space to do that. I can’t with you around, I get too distracted, I get too caught up in my feelings. I need to put myself first, so I can put you first. Does that make sense?”
Gunil chews on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t really feel like you putting me first, I can’t lie.”
“I know it doesn’t but I can’t—I have to—” Jungsu blinks rapidly, shiny tears pooling in his big dark eyes. “Can’t you trust me on this? That it’s for good reason, that it’s not because I hate you, or because I don’t want this, or anything like that. It’s just… it’s me.”
The door creaks as it opens, and three male idols bustling with energy shuffle through the door. They duck their heads when they realize they’ve interrupted something, and Jungsu herds Gunil toward the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“I know,” Gunil says.
And he leaves before the ending ceremony. Jungsu wasn’t nominated that week anyways. When the van drops Gunil off at home, he unsubscribes from Jungsu’s bubble and deletes the app from his phone.
○ ○ ○
JYP IDOL KIM JUNGSU CANCELS REMAINING ALBUM PROMOTIONS TO FOCUS ON MENTAL HEALTH
Read the full statement below:
Hello, this is JYPE.
Due to a concern for Jungsu’s health, the upcoming events will be rescheduled:
– December 21 fan signing event
– December 22 fan signing event
– December 26 fan signing event
We sincerely apologize to the fans that have been anticipating these events.
We prioritize our artists’ health and wellbeing above all. After a health evaluation for experiencing symptoms of anxiety and depression, Jungsu has been advised to rest and undergo treatment. We will do our best to make sure he recovers well.
There will be further announcements accordingly in regard to any future activities.
Thank you.
— JYP Entertainment
○ ○ ○
“Can I talk to you?” Gunil asks.
Seungmin pauses as he reaches for his jacket. “I was about to go meet Siyeon-noona at the studio, actually.”
“Oh,” Gunil swallows back a lump in his throat. “Sorry.”
“But—” Seungmin places a hand on Gunil’s shoulder. “If you’re okay with noona being there, you’re welcome to come along.” At Gunil’s hesitance, Seungmin rolls his eyes and steers Gunil to the doorway. “Come on, you know she loves you the most. Get your jacket and shoes, I already have my keys and the car waiting out front.”
At the studio, Siyeon is already in her office chair, idly spinning it around. Her hair is ruby red now, grown into a shaggy wolf cut. “Oh, Gunil!”
Gunil dips his head in apology. “I’m sorry for intruding, I know you were planning on working with Seungmin today—”
“Nonsense,” Siyeon scoffs. “How could you intrude on the work of your own band? Seriously, Gunil. Take a seat.”
As Seungmin and Gunil settle on the worn couch, Seungmin says, “Actually, noona… Gunil-hyung wanted to talk about something, right as I was leaving. And it felt important, so I wanted him to come with me.”
“Is it okay I’m here for this?” Siyeon asks, her big eyes darting between the two of them. “Or do you want to wait until after work, I can leave and give you the studio alone…?”
Gunil rubs his palms together nervously. “I don’t mind, noona. I trust you, too.”
Her eyes squint into a smile. “Good.”
And then they wait, and Gunil has to figure out where to start. “So, Jungsu and I were… well, we were kind of together. During tour.”
Siyeon blinks, her face blank. Gunil turns to look at Seungmin’s expression, which is equally plain. When Gunil doesn’t continue, Seungmin just says slowly, “...Yeah, we knew.”
“What?”
Seungmin visibly fights the impulse to roll his eyes. “Dude, he laughs so hard at everything you say. Like, fully cracks up and loses it, like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in his whole life.” His lips press into a thin line, an apologetic dash of a smile. “We love you, hyung, but you’re not that funny.”
Gunil’s mouth open and closes a few times, comprehending that his confession was already known.
Siyeon adds, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t really know! I mean, it was kind of obvious there was something going on with you two, but I didn’t figure out anything specific...”
Seungmin huffs out a chuckle. “Well, maybe you didn’t take a walk to the front desk at night for more towels and pass by some obscene noises in a certain hotel room—”
“Seungmin!” Gunil all but shrieks, and Siyeon’s features are overtaken with astonishment.
“Oh, Gunil,” Siyeon remarks with a guffaw, a little impressed, and Gunil’s whole face flares red.
“Okay, anyway,” Gunil says emphatically. “Things didn’t end well. And… there was a statement released yesterday about Jungsu taking an indefinite hiatus for his mental health, and…” He gnaws nervously on his lip. “I’m worried it’s because of me. I think I really hurt him.”
“Why would it be your fault, though?” Seungmin co*cks his head to the side. “Tour was months ago. And you both looked like someone died when we all said goodbye at the airport, so I assumed you guys were breaking it off.”
Gunil drops his head in his hands, groaning out a despaired sigh. “Yeah, we tried.”
“But you visited him once after tour. So… weren’t you still on good terms?”
Gunil squeezes his eyes shut. “We were, then."
“What happened after?”
“Things didn’t end after tour,” Gunil confesses. “We just couldn’t stop ourselves, I guess. And the last time I saw him was when I went to Inkigayo, and he told me we shouldn’t see each other anymore. And I… what if I really f*cked him up? What if everything is damaged beyond repair?”
“Well, what did you do, exactly?” Siyeon asks.
“I pushed him too much. He had boundaries, but because they felt circ*mstantial instead of self-enforced, I kept pushing them. I wanted too much. I knew from the start he’s an idol, and that he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being out, and how much hiding his identity weighed on him. He was dealing with a lot already.” He runs an anxious hand through his hair, feeling Siyeon and Seungmin’s eyes watching him carefully. “But I kept putting my own feelings first. I’m never like that, I should never disregard the big picture for what I selfishly want in the moment, but I was so… obsessed. And it wasn’t just some infatuation like I’ve had before; it’s like I couldn’t control myself at all. I’ve never been crazy over someone like this.”
“That’s love, Gunil.” Siyeon puts a hand on his knee, sympathetic. “That’s why love makes people do crazy things. It’s all-encompassing, all-consuming. If love was more controllable, if feeling it was so easy to deal with, we wouldn’t have centuries upon centuries of art trying to comprehend the experience of it.”
“I know you’re the oldest, hyung, and you have a very strong sense of responsibility,” Seungmin tells him. “But you have this idea that anything not done in other’s best interest is selfish or wrong, and that’s just not true. Maybe you’re just not used to diving in so deep with so much passion for something that isn’t our music, but it’s okay to let yourself have love for him.” Suddenly, the patterned carpet of the studio floor blurs in Gunil’s eyes, the urge to cry stinging at the back of Gunil’s throat. “Let yourself feel this, hyung. You can have this.”
“But I can’t,” Gunil argues. “And I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to live with myself knowing I hurt him, knowing I made everything harder for him. And now he made it crystal clear: I need to leave him alone. I’ve pushed too much already, I… I can’t reach out to him, but I can’t sleep because of all these feelings, I have so much to apologize for, and every day I just think about what I want to say to him. But I don’t want him to resent me more than he already does.”
“How about writing?” Seungmin suggests. “I know you don’t think of yourself as much of a writer, especially solo, but… maybe this is the time.”
“Ah, Seungmin,” Siyeon chastises, nudging his leg with her sneaker. “He already works too hard.” She directs her words back to Gunil when she says, “You make my job far too easy because you do so much work. Rest, please. Take care of yourself. Write if you want to, but don’t pressure yourself to work, okay? And…” Something glimmers in her eyes, something so deeply fond. “We can hold off on the album release if you want to put whatever you write on there. If you want him to hear. “
Gunil doesn’t think Jungsu will listen to what they release. He wouldn’t blame Jungsu for not wanting anything to do with Xdinary Heroes ever again.
But he does write.
It takes him two weeks to get the courage to, telling himself it’ll just be some tragic lovesick poem he can keep hidden in the confines of his notebook. And then two more weeks pass and Siyeon checks in with him when they all meet to finalize the album tracklist: “Did you have one more song you were working on, or is this the final lineup?” And Gunil can’t bear the thought of holding the band back, but Seungmin jumps in and insists they wait a little longer. Seungmin says he’s working on a song, but the look he throws at Gunil says it’s a lie, and he’s expecting one from him.
Maybe that’s what pushes Gunil to finally bring it to life, the demand from Seungmin that they won’t move forward until Gunil submits this song. Seungmin is forcing him to deal with it, so for the sake of the band, Gunil does: he deals with it.
He digs, and digs deep. Pries his ribcage open and digs into the roots twisted through the complicated trenches of his heart. And as much as the the past few months in particular feel like an absolute trainwreck, he finds why he let himself spiral so hard in the first place: the home he’s found inside Kim Jungsu.
Gunil’s not sure if Jungsu was the perfect foundation for Gunil to creep inside of and create a space there for himself, or if there’s something unspeakable inside Jungsu that just calls to Gunil, cradles him, comforts him, and the home was built around him unknowingly as he stayed in Jungsu’s arms.
Gunil tries to be a selfless man. To give, to provide, and to never ask for too much. And Jungsu expressed just that: that Gunil expected too much from him. That Jungsu didn’t feel like he was good enough.
And yet, now, it feels like Gunil needs so little. He needs almost nothing at all, he could lose everything tomorrow and only need two things: music, and Kim Jungsu.
Gunil kept pulling more and more out of Jungsu, tangled threads that only trapped him, knots he couldn’t loosen. He had wanted Jungsu to be his lover, his boyfriend, but maybe now Gunil is recognizing Jungsu is just… his person. He’s a presence Gunil doesn’t know how to live without, and Jungsu doesn’t need to be any of that. Because he’d be Jungsu, he’d be by Gunil’s side, and that’s enough.
He remembers Siyeon’s words: If you want him to hear. And maybe Jungsu won’t, but this is Gunil’s chance to tell him. To speak the words into existence, and just hope they reach his ears.
○ ○ ○
February flies by, stock-full with the last final tasks for album preparations. And two weeks after the first single drops, Xdinary Heroes will play a showcase concert in Seoul for the upcoming album release. It’s an intimate venue, but they still erupt into cheers of surprise when Siyeon texts them the news: sold out.
It’s the first thing that’s happened since December that makes Gunil feel alive again. Of course he loves music and loves his bandmates. They’re his family, and music is in his blood, so both are a part of his very being, undeniably. But he’s felt sluggish and heavy for the past two months, and March rolling around again brings a bitter taste to the back of Gunil’s throat at the realization that it’s been a full year since Gunil first gave a damn about Kim Jungsu, when he searched him up online and watched him sing a cover in a low quality video on his phone screen.
He’s been excited about the new album, answering honestly in interviews about the hard work they’ve poured into it, expressed his pride over their single Little Things and how Hyeongjun was the creative lead on it. But something about the sold out concert feels like a reminder: Life goes on. There is more to come. The world is still turning.
But then they’re building the setlist for the showcase, and Siyeon suggests Good Enough. The song Gunil wrote about Jungsu.
“It’ll be a fan favorite for sure,” she explains. “And you don’t have many soft or slow songs like it, so it’ll be a good break in the setlist.”
Jiseok pipes up, “People will wave their flashlights and cry their eyes out, and it will be beautiful. We’ve never had a moment like that with the fans before. Please?”
He agrees. Because deep down he will always do whatever his bandmates want, no matter how much it hurts.
Gunil goes through the motions, as he always does. Some small part of him hoped Jungsu would congratulate them on the album release, or even just post a screenshot of the single Little Things with a thumbs-up emoji, something to indicate he still cared. Gunil is so regretful that Jungsu is ignoring the band and not just him after their messy separation, but at least it doesn’t seem to be selective; ever since his last promotions ended, Jungsu has been silent on social media, and essentially disappeared from the public eye.
Until tonight.
They’re all in the wings of the concert venue, minutes ticking down until the start of the show. And Gunil’s mind keeps cycling between cursing Jungsu for vanishing, wishing Jungsu would reach out again, and convincing himself he needs to just move on already. And then, as if the strength of Gunil’s ruminating thoughts have the power of materialization, Jiseok nudges Gunil and points to the back corner of the balcony. “There’s Jungsu!”
“What?”
Seungmin has to hold Jooyeon back from popping out of the wings and waving. They can only see that far back in the balcony because they’re not yet in front of the stage lights, but sure enough, he’s there. Though the distant figure is wearing a mask and a beanie, Gunil would know those gorgeous eyes anywhere.
Jiseok blinks at him, oblivious to his incredulous shock. “Siyeon-noona said he messaged her this morning asking if we could come, since it’s sold out and he didn’t get a ticket. We thought maybe it was supposed to be a surprise for you, so I didn’t say anything…”
There’s a knot tying itself over and over in Gunil’s chest, tangled up and drawing his ribcage in like fingers slotting together to clench into a fist. And it’s only a matter of time until it clamps shut and his body collapses.
Gunil could fall to his knees. Gunil can’t breathe. Is this really happening? He should know it’s not a hallucination, Jiseok just explained—and yet it still feels like a dream, to make out Jungsu’s far-away features with his very eyes.
“Hyung, are you okay?” Seungmin’s hand touches his shoulder, and Gunil nods. Wordlessly. He doesn’t know what to say. Jiseok squeezes his bicep excitedly, but Gunil can’t feel their hands on him. He’s gone numb. The sudden knowledge of being percieved by Jungsu again, existing in the same room, is overwhelming. It’s hard to swallow. A sickly combination of dread and hope turns over in his stomach, making him nauseous.
“Alright everybody, you’re on!” Siyeon gives them an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Gunil finds his words when he needs them: to lead. “Let’s go!” He claps his hands together, and they head onto the stage.
Concerts are usually a whirlwind, but tonight feels more like a tornado. While playing Gunil can lock himself into focus, execute his part of the music with precision, determined not to miss a single beat. He slams into the drums with all his might, crashes against the cymbals harder than ever, feels the smoldering fire inside fuel him like his veins are live wires, crackling with electricity. With the swiveling flashing lights, Gunil couldn’t see Jungsu at the back even if he tried.
Gunil gets his priorities in order: first is the drum kit in front of him, then after that are his bandmates. His most beloved friends, catching his eyes and throwing big goofy grins his way, headbanging and mouthing lyrics to him. And Gunil is their leader, their pillar, their support, so he stays strong and ablaze for them. Then beyond the stage is the crowd, their fans. The reason they have a career at all, the reason Gunil got to even meet Jungsu in the first place, those who heed every note, memorize every word and melody, who Gunil owes everything.
But then, they reach Good Enough on the setlist, and Gunil remembers.
The drums begin simple, gentle and easy. Gunil sways his head and tries not to let his mind wander, hearing each lyric etched into his bleeding heart. And rather than trying to pretend Jungsu doesn’t matter, rather than trying to disguise his hurt feelings as something cynical, Gunil tunes into his heart honestly.
At interlude after the last chorus, there’s a break. Gunil doesn’t play, just listens to the twinkling notes of the piano and the harmonized vocals, and Seungmin’s voice echo in his head, “Let yourself feel this, hyung. You can have this.”
So he does feel it: the love, the longing, the ache that resonates bone-deep. He gasps at the force of it, the intensity bearing down on him after trying to quell and calm it for so long now. Has to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the gathering tears, and try to catch his breath through his parted lips, to not break down sobbing.
Each crescendo in the song feels like the swell of an ocean wave, lurching with Gunil’s seasick stomach, eroding any harsh edges left within him. By the grand conclusion, Jooyeon bellowing with palpable devastation, “You’ll never find… this story of mine…” Gunil is slamming against the cymbals, pounding the drums with everything he has, and he’s not sure if the wetness flying off his cheeks with the effort is sweat or tears.
The piano notes play the little outro, and Gunil tries to nourish the glimpse of gratitude inside his chest, a light that’s like the flicker of a lighthouse beam cutting through stormclouds and fog. And through the lingering heartache, he tries to be grateful that he’s loved and lost, rather than have never loved at all.
Because Jungsu is it. Jungsu is first true love. He knows that now.
And by the end of the concert, Gunil has finally digested that this first love is in this very room with him. Willingly, after basically being in hiding for three months. And that has to mean something. Just like Good Enough was Gunil reaching out to Jungsu, an offering for when he’s ready to hear what Gunil needs to say—isn’t that what Jungsu is answering to now, by showing up here? An offering, a chance, if Gunil is ready to take it?
After the encore finishes, back in the green room, Seungmin nudges Gunil and asks quietly, “Are you going to see him?”
Gunil wipes his face with a towel and sighs. “I think I have to. I need to.”
Seungmin nods. “Tell us how it goes.”
And so Gunil sneaks out of the green room, searching for the tall man with a beanie and a mask among the crowd. But once he’s spotted, the sea of people just carries him farther away, and Gunil can barely manage to squeeze past bumbling bodies to keep him in sight. He cuts through employee-only halls, trying just as hard as the idol to avoid fans’ eyes, desperately tracking someone who is attempting to disappear, invisible, unnoticed.
Hurrying through another side door, another shortcut through backstage—and at last, Gunil spots him slipping through an exit at the very back of the building, away from the foot traffic of people filing out.
Gunil runs after him.
“Jungsu-yah!”
Gunil shoves the exit door open, carried like a comet by the momentum of roaring fire at his feet, so ready to chase that figure until the ends of the Earth that he ends up stumbling onto the concrete trying to halt suddenly, almost unable to stop the flight. But Jungsu is there, standing still.
There’s a moment that could be mere seconds. It feels like a year. Gunil just zones in on Jungsu’s back, the familiarity of his form even shrouded in a thick jacket with a knitted beanie hiding his hair.
There’s so much Gunil wants to say. It turns over and over inside, churning in his stomach. All he can spit out is the simple question at the forefront of his mind, the question resting on the tip of his tongue: “Why are you here?”
Jungsu slowly turns around, and the moment their eyes meet Gunil feels like he’s under a spotlight, brighter and more blinding than any stage light from the past two hours, a glow so vast and magnificent it could be moonlight. Jungsu tugs his mask below his chin and says, “I wanted to see you, of course.”
Gunil swallows at the sound of Jungsu’s voice. It’s like every molecule of his being misses him. He’s completely out of his depth, unprepared for such a vulnerable conversation after months of silence, but Gunil’s always been able to talk off the tip of his tongue.
“Why now?”
Jungsu’s shoulders sag, burdened, a glimmer of guilt in his expression. “It took me some time to gather the courage.”
And the question sounds so trivial; Gunil just hopes the sincerity of his intentions come across. “How have you been?”
A heavy sigh escapes him as Jungsu tips his head back, eyes wandering outward into the cloudy sky, the cloak of navy nighttime. “That’s kind of a loaded question,” Jungsu says through a cynical sort of chuckle. “I’ve been… afraid. For so long.”
Gunil can tell there’s more. He steps forward, out from the landing at the door and into the narrow alleyway where Jungsu stands, dares to venture into his orbit. The porcelain of Jungsu’s outer shell cracks, ever so slightly, and he’s about to tip over. Gunil must be there to catch the outpour in his hands, no matter how much will spill out of his palms. He’ll bathe in it. He’ll drown in it.
“I’m so sorry,” Jungsu chokes out. The shadow of sorrow paints all of his features now, his brows pulled together tightly, his breath strained like it’s straight from the pit of his lungs. His voice sounds like he’s pulling the words from the back of his throat and dragging them out. “I’m sorry for pushing you away because of my own fear.”
“I know why you did,” Gunil interrupts. He can’t stand the idea of Jungsu believing he blames him, even if he did resent Jungsu somewhat while handling his own heartache. “I understand.”
“Just because I had my reasons doesn’t mean it’s okay that I hurt you,” Jungsu says. “I let you get all tangled up in my mess before I sorted it out myself.”
“Jungsu-yah,” Gunil chastises quietly. “I wanted to be part of your mess.”
When Jungsu looks into Gunil’s eyes it feels like he’s staring into the very depths of Gunil’s soul. The effect Jungsu has on him is damn near cosmic, like this back alley in Seoul is the very center of the universe. Jungsu’s voice shakes when he says, “I look at you, and I… I feel like I’m flying and I’m falling all at once. Just by looking at you. I almost couldn’t comprehend it, the feelings I have for you. I risked things I never thought I would, acted in ways I never expected, shared things I never thought I’d say…I just don’t know what to do with myself when it comes to you. It’s terrifying. It freaked me out—how much I feel for you, what I would do for you.”
Gunil’s heart swells. “I know the feeling,” he says softly.
“But I want you to know… even under all the fear, I never took you for granted. Never. I can’t even say how grateful I am, for your kindness. I showed you every part of me, the parts I hated, the parts that scared me, and you never turned away—you never made me feel judged even when I was confused, you never made me feel small even when I felt like I could just disappear.” Jungsu ducks his head a little, shy with such a vulnerable kind of honesty. “Maybe to a fault, even. You had every right to advocate for your own feelings, to protect your heart, to ask more of me—”
Gunil had wanted to let Jungsu get it all out, but he needed to interrupt. “But I didn’t want to,” he explains. “I was hurt, especially at Inkigayo, but—I just wanted you, in any form you were willing to share with me. That’s still all I want.”
Jungsu’s eyes flit around a little, lost, searching. His teeth worry his lower lip nervously for a moment before he finds his words. “I’m not as good at taking responsibility for myself as you are. I don’t know much about… any kind of relationship with people. I was still figuring everything out while I was with you, and I’ve never felt anything close to this strong before. Even the past few months we’ve been apart, you fill up my life entirely. There’s no part of my mind you’re not in. I find you everywhere, you consume all my thoughts, all my hopes. I wish I could have protected you instead of hurting you.”
“Jungsu,” Gunil says earnestly. “You’re not perfect. I understand your guilt, but that’s unfortunately part of life—making mistakes, hurting the ones you’re close with. Because we’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”
“I know I’m a mess,” Jungsu confesses. His voice quivers again, and Gunil’s not sure if the shine in his eyes is the gathering of tears or just their darkness reflecting the streetlights. “But it doesn’t have to be a mess, now.”
He reaches for Gunil’s hand, and like a magnet Gunil steps even closer, every atom of his body alight at the touch of their skin once more. “I went to therapy,” Jungsu says. “Well, I’m still in therapy, but I only go once a week now. And I don’t know how I’ll keep up with it during comebacks or tours, but… I meant it when I said I wanted to be better—I wanted it for me, but also for you, hyung. So I could be better to you, so I could love you how you deserve to be loved.”
“You can still be a mess,” Gunil says. “You’re good enough to me as you are, Jungsu, you always have been. It’s okay if you don’t know how to be loved by someone, or how to love someone else, and if you don’t know how to handle it still.”
Jungsu lifts his chin a little, his lips pressing into a small smile. “Okay. But you make me want to be better, so I’m going to keep trying. And you can’t stop me.”
And now that they’re finally talking again at last, the words spill out uncontrollably from Gunil’s mouth. “I wouldn’t stop loving you even if I could. I love you even when you don’t love yourself, I love you even when it hurts. And I’ll keep loving you through all of your imperfections, through your mistakes, and you’ll come to know love because it will always be here.” Gunil lifts their hands and presses it to his heart, where it thuds rhythmically against his ribcage. “Here, with me.”
And it feels like such a pathetic offering, a bruised peach of a heart. Fragile, wounded, mottled skin and sweetly soft. But it’s his, and it’s all he has to give.
A tear drips from Jungsu’s sparkling eyes, and as he cups Gunil’s cheek he dips down—Gunil feels like he just started breathing again at the touch of Jungsu’s lips against his own. Like breaking through the surface of the water with burning lungs for a massive gulp of oxygen to replenish his body’s need.
The last time Gunil let Jungu grasp his bruised-peach heart, Jungu’s fingertips dug into the flesh and squeezed until the skin tore apart and the fruit crushed through the gaps between his fingers, juice weeping onto the floor in a puddle.
Now, with his peach-heart cradled carefully in Jungsu’s palm, the fingertips caress the tender skin; Jungsu sinks his teeth in deep and Gunil is consumed like he’s meant to be, as is his purpose, the flavor of his love appreciated by a mutually loving mouth.
There’s a faint little tap tap that begins plinking against the pavement, against the concrete and brick of the buildings bracketing them. At first Gunil isn’t sure if the wetness on his cheeks is transference from Jungsu’s tears or if he has begun crying himself as well— but then it’s spattering on the back of his neck, the smell of rain misting around them.
“Jungsu, I love you,” Gunil murmurs against Jungsu’s mouth.
Jungsu pulls back just an inch, to look properly at Gunil when he says with shining confidence, “Goo Gunil, I love you so much.”
“Would you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?”
Jungsu’s eyes widen, and anxiety flickers in his eyes. “I—Are you sure?”
Gunil sputters out a noise of disbelief. “More than anything. Jungsu. Did we not just confess our agonizing love to each other?”
“That’s different than dating,” Jungsu says quietly. He tugs off his beanie, carding his hand through his hair, ruffling it. “What if I’m too busy and we never get to see each other? What if you get bored of me? What if it’s too difficult, or—”
“Okay, so what?” Gunil shakes his damp hair out of his eyes, wiping raindrops of his forehead. “What if—what if it’s wonderful? What if being close to you is the only thing that feels right? What if you make me the happiest I’ve ever been? What if loving you feels like my life’s purpose?” Jungsu’s ears are burning pink, and it could be both tears and rain glistening on his cheekbones now. “What if we take the risk anyways and see what happens, because I can’t lose you again without fighting for a chance?”
Jungsu’s face crumples a little, his features expressing something painfully devoted and conflicted. Gunil grips Jungsu’s jacket and looks him dead in the eyes. “You said I should have advocated for my feelings more, right? This is me doing it. I need you to take this chance with me. We both deserve it.”
The pitter-patter of rain grows louder until it’s harsh, steady rainfall, cold and unceasing. Jungsu’s hand wraps around Gunil’s, and he says, “Come with me!”
Jungsu starts running down the alley to the street, and Gunil would follow him anywhere. They let go once they get to the sidewalk, but Gunil stays right on Jungsu’s heels as they race through the rain—slowing down once they reach a black van with its hazards on, and Jungsu practically drags Gunil into the backseat.
The vehicle starts moving the very moment its door slams shut, and as it lurches into motion Jungsu’s mouth is on him again, kissing him eagerly, kissing his top lip, his bottom lip, his cheeks, his jaw—
“W-we need to talk more,” Gunil stammers, gasping when Jungsu’s teeth nip at his neck.
Jungsu returns to his mouth and nods. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “We do.”
And they’re kissing again, and Gunil can’t fight it. He’s already under the waves, rocking with the rhythm of Jungsu’s push and pull, delighted at the feel of his lips again, soft and plush and sweet—
The van jolts to a sudden halt, and they almost fall off the seats.
“Sorry!” The driver says. “A cat ran across the street!”
Wait.
The realization of the driver’s presence hits Gunil so suddenly. And the fact that they’re making out in the backseat of what must be a company car.
Jungsu reads the horror on Gunil’s face and laughs lightly. “That’s one thing I should say—I’m out now. Well, only to a few people. I came out to some of my immediate staff, the ones I think should know.”
“O-Oh,” Gunil stutters with surprise. “Congratulations!”
Jungsu’s already pink cheeks flush a shade rosier, eyes cast down with shyness. “Younghoon-hyung was very supportive, and said if I ever feel unsafe of threatened by anyone, or deem anyone untrustworthy, he’ll serve them with NDA papers. The staff I told agreed to confidentiality agreements for my own peace of mind, so… I can do this,” Jungsu kisses Gunil full on the mouth again, boldly. “And not have an anxiety attack about it.”
“Okay, I love kissing you but can we please buckle up now?” Gunil pleads.
The driver comments, “I’d recommend it as well!”
Jungsu breaks into a laugh. Oh, how Gunil missed that laugh. It’s like confetti in his lungs, a colorful and fleeting burst of joy. “Okay, fine, fine. I’m sorry!”
Gunil peers out the rain-streaked window, taking in the city around them. “Where are we going?”
“My apartment,” Jungsu says. Then he slaps a hand over his mouth. “ Oh, I just abducted you—did you have something after the show with the band? They must be so worried, we can take you back—”
“We were going to get dinner, but trust me, they’ll understand.” Gunil pulls out his phone and swips through his notifications to the band group chat.
seungmin 20:37
where are u???
did u find Jungsu??
jiseok 20:45
is everything ok?
jooyeon 20:48
GUNIL-HYUNG WTF
seungmin 20:51
call me asap
He types out a reply:
gunil 20:55
I found him
We’re going back to his apartment, is that okay?
I’m sorry for bailing on dinner ㅠㅠ
jiseok 20:55
HYUNG GO!
seungmin 20:56
just update us when u can !!!!!
○ ○ ○
Their hands and mouths are glued to each other the second they’re past Jungsu’s door. Sure, Gunil knows they need to talk, but all need transforms into something else once Jungsu gets his hands on him. If there’s one thing Gunil knows how to do when it comes to Jungsu, it’s give in.
“ God, Gunil,” Jungsu breathes out as Gunil’s seeking hands shove under his shirt, roaming over his skin. “Missed you so much, I want you… now. ”
Jungsu’s hand cups Gunil’s ass, keeping their hips pressed together firmly, and Gunil outright moans into Jungsu’s mouth. “Want you so bad,” he rasps, earning him another squeeze to his ass. “I need you, please, please .”
As they stumble through the kitchen to the bedroom, Jungsu giggles. His laughter is followed by a croon thick with arousal. “Always so polite, hyung.” His kiss is biting, but it feels like a reward. “Such a good boy.”
Jungsu is gasoline. Dangerous, fueling the blazing inferno eating Gunil up inside, burning him alive. He’s also sugar, a saccharine cream running soft and soothing down the back of Gunil’s throat. It’s such a f*cking headrush.
They’re so starving for each other it feels a little like depravity, Gunil gasping between each smack of their lips, Jungsu almost humming with satisfaction into his mouth. Clothes torn off mindlessly and thrown aside, hands clutching everywhere like they need tangible confirmation of the other’s existence in this dimension.
Once they’re on the bed, Gunil wastes no time worshipping every inch of Jungsu’s skin, paying special attention to Jungsu’s chest. Fingers tracing along the mountains and valleys of his favorite place, kissing the swell of his chest muscles, flicking his tongue over Jungsu’s sensitive nipples to make him gasp, to feel his breath hitch. Each roll of their hips together has something sparking alight in Gunil’s core, every press of Jungsu’s hardness into his own driving him crazy.
Soon enough Jungsu is flipping them over, Gunil’s hands and knees trembling on the mattress while Jungsu’s hands busy themselves—groping the curve of his ass and gripping his hips, digging into Gunil’s waist. He slicks up his fingers and plunges into Gunil so deep it makes him yelp, forehead damp with sweat dropping against the sheets, pushing his hips back eagerly.
Time becomes just an insignificant blur around them as Gunil loses himself in it all: the smell of Jungsu, the feel of him, his touch, the arousal thrumming through his veins like a craving. The heady desire swallows him whole, consumes him, with each press of Jungsu’s fingers.
And his mouth. That dirty mind of his that keeps talking filth in that gorgeous voice. Blunt and brave, amplified now that there’s no fear holding him back, comfortable and confident in his desires.
“Missed me, huh? So tight,” Jungsu says, coy and co*cky all at once. Gunil can only whine incoherently in response. “What, hyung gets all dumb once he’s got something inside him? Just needs to be spread open and f*cked full?” Gunil is salivating and he’s still just getting fingered.
The sweetness follows after the condescending tone before. The cream after the burn. Jungsu presses kisses to Gunil’s temple, murmuring, “So good for me, pretty boy.” Pulls back and mouths at Gunil’s neck, latches on with his teeth and sucks what will bring a dark mark blooming from Gunil’s skin. “Been dreaming about you. About this. Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”
Gunil shivers. “More, please…”
And then Jungsu’s fingers pull out, grip Gunil’s inner thighs—where he’s so sensitive, f*ck, he jumps at the touch—spreading them to slip his co*ck between them.
“Oh, god,” is all Gunil can moan, mindless. All thoughts are melting, overwhelmed by the intensity of every sensation. Finally, Jungsu’s co*ck. Hard, warm, a little slick from the lube on Jungsu’s hand, prodding between the crease of his thighs.
“Mmh, that’s it…” Jungsu moans, hands heavy on Gunil’s hips, burning into him. Jungsu’s co*ck slips back and forth between Gunil’s thighs with the rocking of his hips, the head rubbing against his balls, the hard length stroking along his taint. Every grind squeezes pathetic sounds from Gunil’s lungs, he’s f*cking lightheaded at the feeling, fantasizing of having it inside him, almost drooling with how bad he needs it.
“f*ck me, ‘su, f*ck —inside me, please, fill me up, ruin me,” he begs, voice already almost hoarse from moaning.
“Can I take you like this?” Jungsu asks. There’s the sound of a condom wrapper and Gunil’s brain swims with horny anticipation.
“Anyway you want me,” Gunil mumbles out, half his face pressed into the pillow.
When Jungsu’s co*ck breaches past Gunil’s rim, they both moan loudly, delirious, in a lustful harmony. Around the girth of Jungsu’s co*ck, the sensation of it sinking in deep, Gunil goes dizzy with satisfaction; with Jungsu touching him like this, inside him, Gunil is at home in his own skin. Even with the haze of sex lingering around them, even without seeing Jungsu’s beautiful face, Gunil is struck with the sense that this is perfection.
Gunil’s heartbeat is in his throat, and when Jungsu rolls his hips, he feels Jungsu everywhere. Under his skin, in his blood, deep in his bones. Gunil moves with Jungsu as much as he can, matching the sway of his hips, aiding the push of his co*ck inside, the two of them just creatures of want, of desire. Of greed, of hunger. Of love.
Jungsu’s thrusts pick up, setting a profound rhythm, and the air punches out of Gunil’s lungs. “J-Jungsu, ” is all he can verbalize as he whimpers brokenly.
“Feel good like this, baby?” Jungsu asks airily, breathless from how he drives his co*ck into Gunil beneath him. His hands clamp tightly around Gunil’s waist, so hot and firm they feel like a brand.
Gunil’s eyes roll back until he has to squeeze them shut, sparks flying behind his eyelids. “So deep,” he groans, feeling himself drool onto the pillow.
“I love the view…” Jungsu uses his grip around Gunil’s lithe waist to drag him back as he pushes his hips forward, and the air is stolen from Gunil’s lungs. He feels a little used in an extremely hot way, getting manhandled like this—less like a toy and more like a prized possession, like something Jungsu treasures, Jungsu pouring his passion into him even while ruining him.
And his hips snap impossibly harder, Gunil jostling on the rumpled sheets with the force of each thrust. One of Jungsu’s hands squeezes the flesh of his ass appreciatiely, travels up his spine with a comforting kind of reverence, only for his fingers to thread into Gunil’s hair and tighten into a fist—Gunil gasps an obscene sound at the sudden flashback of Jungsu f*cking his mouth. His co*ck trapped against his stomach starts leaking onto the mattress.
Jungsu commands, “Tell me how it feels, hyung.”
“Better than I’ve ever f-felt,” Gunil blurts out, panting raggedly. “It’s—everywhere, I feel you everywhere. ”
“Good.” Jungsu leans forward so his chest is pressed to Gunil’s back, fitting Gunil’s ass snug against his pelvis, and Gunil is in heaven—Jungsu surrounding him, his scent filling the air, radiating heat skin-to-skin, lips mouthing at his neck and suckling on the tender flesh while he just grinds his co*ck in deep, so deep. It has Gunil’s achingly hard dick pulsating with each pound of his heartbeat.
“You’re just— unreal ,” Jungsu remarks breathlessly, his words seeping into Gunil’s veins, the vibration of his voice reverberating against Gunil’s back. He’s just so close like this, covering Gunil head to toe. Gunil could suffocate in him, wants to, it just makes sense with the way Jungsu has claim over him everywhere, in every possible way. “I— ngh— I can’t believe it sometimes.” Jungsu huffs out a labored breath, rocking his hips hard into Gunil. “How good you feel. How perfect you are.”
A hand wraps around Gunil’s hip, and Jungsu shifts so his knees dig into the mattress, uses the leverage to thrust properly into him now.
“Oh, f*ck—!” A strangled moan rips from Gunil’s throat, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “Oh, god, Jungsu— fu-uck, hng… ” His whimpers are f*cking pathetic, indecent and incoherent, but he’s too overwhelmed by the increase of the intensity to exercise any control over himself.
He told Jungsu to ruin him. And he is a damn wreck.
“I— ’su— I’m close,” Gunil groans, his whole body shaking in an endless tremor. Shuddering violently at the precipice, a volcano about to explode, the whistling of a kettle spewing steam.
“Gunil,” Jungsu gasps. “Gunil, lemme look at you.”
Jungsu slips his co*ck out, and Gunil feels horrifyingly empty but Jungsu’s turning him over—and the sight of him is just as good. Just as divine.
He’s wrecked, too; flushed pretty pink from head to toe, skin glistening with sweat, hair sticking over his forehead, silver necklace against his chest heaving with labored breath, and those devastating dark eyes swimming with euphoric devotion, with love.
“You’re so beautiful,” Gunil whispers.
Jungsu tips forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. “No, you.”
And Gunil wraps his legs around Jungsu’s hips, so Jungsu guides his co*ck back inside, and as soon as he’s fully sheathed Gunil is right there again, his entire body consumed by the pleasure, filled to the brim and ready to break.
Jungsu’s fingers dig into the flesh of Gunil’s thighs, pushing in so hard they could bruise, and he bucks his hips into Gunil with ruthless purpose, chasing that carnal crescendo, determination creased between his brows. His kiss-swollen lips hang open as he huffs out heavy pants, accompanied by moans so pretty they might as well be music.
And Gunil is writhing beneath him, mewling, clawing at the pillow from the tension pulling taut through him. His back arches, his co*ck dripping incessantly onto his stomach, and he can feel the swell of the oncoming tsunami—
“G-gonna come,” Gunil chokes out, his brows pinched together, his breath erratic as he gasps through the rising waves of pleasure. “Gonna make me come, ‘su, f*ck— ”
“I love you,” Jungsu pants. Somehow so earnest even though the onslaught of arousal coating his features, through the force of his harsh thrusts. Gunil’s whole body curls in on itself and he lurches, he fights through the crackling roar of static in his ears so he can hear Jungsu clearly, “Gunil, I love you—”
Gunil’s climax seizes him, struck by lightning. His muscles burn with the searing pleasure that shoots through his veins, the first pulse of cum shooting up to his collarbones as his moans pitch so lewd, so mindless and wild it should be embarrassing.
“Should I—” Jungsu tilts his hips back an inch before Gunil’s hands fly out to still him, to urge him to stay fully inside.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop ,” Gunil begs, his whole body aflame. He must be clenching around Jungsu something fierce because Jungsu’s hands jump to his hips, to tug him repeatedly so his ass meets Jungsu’s pelvis forcefully. His face overcome with pleasure, with need, wretched gasping as he f*cks Gunil back onto his co*ck.
“Hah, a-ah— oh! ” Jungsu gasps out sweet little moans with each thrust, Gunil can feel how his co*ck jerks inside him, begging to release.
“In me, in me, Jungsu—” Gunil’s co*ck never truly softened, it’s still swollen up, twitching with sensitivity all molten-hot, and the push of Jungsu inside him is so perfect, so unfathomably good, he feels a little insane. Gunil clings to Jungsu like it’s life or death; sometimes with Jungsu, it really feels like it. “Love you so much, Jungsu, please. ”
Jungsu cries out as he c*ms, a surge of warmth from his throbbing hardness filling up the condom, frantically rocking his hips as deep as he can possibly go—Gunil’s spine arches as he c*ms again suddenly, vision flashing at the white puddling over his stomach, shaking violently.
They sway together, riding out the waves of pleasure, dream-like in the rush of endorphins clouding up Gunil’s head. He’s still trembling a little, sensitivity quaking through every inch of his body, even as the intensity simmers down.
But Jungsu is there, he flops forward on top of him and kisses him sloppily, one hand stroking up and down Gunil’s side. It’s messy and uncoordinated, and it’s all Gunil’s ever wanted. They can hardly breathe, but they choose to kiss instead, no matter how clumsy and chaotic.
They lay there for a few minutes, Jungsu nuzzling his nose into Gunil’s cheek, peppering kisses along his chin. Gunil’s vision is a little blurry, the buzzing under his skin starting to settle, a stray tear slipping down his cheek. He hardly feels Jungsu finally pulling out, only brought back to life by the careful touch of Jungsu’s hand with a wet wipe. Between the motions of his cleaning, Jungsu drops kisses to anywhere on Gunil he can reach: his shoulder, his chest, his hip.
At last, Jungsu collapses next to Gunil again. They easily intertwine, slotting together like puzzle pieces, and Jungsu lovingly pets Gunil’s hair. They both stare idly at the ceiling.
“You… you came untouched,” Jungsu says, still wispy and breathless.
“Twice,” Gunil croaks, just as astonished. “Never happened before.”
Jungsu huffs out an amused, quiet chuckle. “Missed me that much, huh?”
Even though his limbs feel like jelly, Gunil shifts onto his side. He needs to look at Jungsu, needs to make up for all the time he’s been without at that perfect face, needs to be sure this is all real. “You have no idea,” he murmurs.
Jungsu turns to meet Gunil’s eyes. He’s so f*cking beautiful it hurts, genuinely evokes an ache deep in Gunil’s chest. It’s like looking into an eclipse, where the act itself might not feel destructive, but you know it’s burning your vision. And yet the urge to observe such a phenomenon is so difficult to resist.
He wants to bask in Jungsu’s glory like this for hours on end, infinitely, until they wither away into nothingness. But more than that, he wants Jungsu’s voice, Jungsu’s touch, Jungsu’s time. Wants to hear his laugh, see his smile, sleep in the same bed, spend mornings together in mundane bliss.
“Can I ask you something?” Jungsu says softly.
“Of course,” Gunil replies. “Anything.”
“That song, Good Enough. Did you help write it?”
Gunil swallows. “I wrote all of it.”
Jungsu blinks, morning dewdrops in his glassy eyes. “Did you think about me?”
“I thought about you every second of every day,” Gunil admits. “But yes, I wrote it about you. For you, more like.” The hand not in Gunil’s hair reaches for Gunil’s hand, carefully lacing their fingers together. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to talk to you again. If I’d get the chance to express… everything. All I was thinking, all I was feeling.”
“The song is really beautiful,” Jungsu says.
“Can I ask something now?”
“Of course,” Jungsu echoes.
“When did you write Paranoid ?”
Jungsu cringes a little, closing his eyes. “Ah, hyung… Of course you know.”
“I didn’t know, I just had suspicions.” Since Jungsu recoiled just slightly, Gunil nudges back in closer, to fill the inch of space between them under the sheets, determined to keep him close. To stay entangled, together. “It was the last song put on the album, wasn’t it?”
Jungsu runs his hands over his face, hiding. “Yes, yes, I was upset about snapping at you and breaking up. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
His distress pulls a pang of guilt from Gunil’s chest. “Not exactly.” He reaches for Jungsu’s hands again, tucking them close to his own chest, like precious treasures. “I guess I just… was wondering if you were as heartbroken as I was over you.”
“Gunil-hyung,” Jungsu says, wistful. “I was a wreck. You’re the first person—the only person I’ve ever loved like this, and I hurt you and had to shut you out because I couldn’t understand how to accept your love, or how to love in return. Of course that broke my heart.”
“I’m sorry you were so scared,” Gunil says. He’s heavy with regret, the rocking waves of water inside his lungs stirring up melancholy. “I felt like I just made things harder for you.”
Jungsu shakes his head dismissively. “I’m sorry I made you doubt how much you mean to me because I couldn’t express it properly. You’re the most important person in my life, Gunil. You were my motivation to conquer that fear. And even when things were hard, you didn’t make anything worse, not really … it was all my own issue.”
Gunil doesn’t quite like how Jungsu is trying to claim all responsibility. “How about this: we’re both to blame, and we’re both sorry.” He lifts his hand, holds out a pinky. “Forgive me?”
Jungsu’s pained expression softens into a small smile, a twinkle in his eye. “Forgiven.” He loops his little finger around Gunil’s in a gesture of promise.
For good measure, Gunil says, “I forgive you too.”
Jungsu’s gaze drops to their linked fingers, and where Gunil still has one of his hands cradled against his bare chest. Gunil can feel the rhythmic pulse of Jungsu’s heartbeat through his fingertips; Jungsu must be able to feel Gunil’s heartbeat, too.
“Sometimes it feels like the world is ending when I’m with you,” Jungsu says so softly it’s almost a whisper, something like awe etched across his face. “But not in an upsetting way. More like… the world around us could crumble to ash, the skies could come crashing down and the whole universe is about to implode—but I’m with you. It’s a feeling of… finality. This is it, this is the place I’m meant to be when it all ends. Here, with you.”
Gunil could cry. He might. “To me, it feels like I’ve never been more excited for the future, for the next day to come. As long as you’re still with me tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Instead of finality, everything feels… infinite.”
After a timid pause, Jungsu recalls, “You want to be my boyfriend.”
Gunil nods, and squeezes his hands around Jungsu’s in reassurance. With encouragement. “I do. I think we’re ready to give dating a shot for real this time. Don’t you?”
Jungsu’s teeth peek out over his lower lip, digging into it nervously. “Well, I want to, but… won’t it be so complicated? Dating me?”
“And you think things have been simple so far?”
Jungsu’s anxious demeanor dissolves into a squeaky laugh, his eyes crinkled up. He dips his head down, pressing his forehead into the pillow as he shakes with laughter, ears flushing red. “No,” he says, almost a whine.
“If we both want it, why not?”
Jungsu lifts his head, his hair tousled, his cheeks pink. “You think it’ll be worth it?” His lips slant into a slight frown, almost a wince. “All the hardship, all the trouble?”
Gunil lifts their joined hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “Jungsu, you are worth anything and everything to me.”
And it’s like the clouds part to reveal the sun after a rainstorm when Jungsu smiles again, hope radiating from him so strongly Gunil can feel it soak into his own skin where they touch. Jungsu rolls his eyes with a fondness before he says, “Gunil… I love you so much.”
Gunil kisses him through a giddy grin, kisses those pearly white teeth that reflect the beams happiness from getting to utter such words aloud. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
They’re so imperfect. All disjointed and inharmonious as they try to hold something bigger than the sky itself, so massive and splendid and untame, a love neither of them knew how to handle. And maybe they still don’t know. But now, through their honest and open words, each spoken and heard; and through the certain devotion reflected back at Gunil in Jungsu’s gorgeous dark eyes, it becomes clear.
They’re ready to learn.
○ ○ ○
Jungsu’s newest single dropped yesterday.
The feedback was overwhelmingly positive, though the song didn’t break any previous charting records. His showcase went wonderfully—of course, Gunil watched online.
Like most artists, Jungsu is borderline neurotic over his work, and like most idols, Jungsu can get obsessive over public opinion. Gunil kept texting Jungsu every hour to check in, to tell him to take a break from searching reactions on social media, but every hour Jungsu’s responses were laced with anxiety. And his therapist is out of office on the weekends, so Gunil just came over.
Held Jungsu in his arms while they watched a nature documentary as a distraction, carding his hands through Jungsu’s freshly-dyed golden blonde hair, and well… the cuddling lasted for two hours before Jungsu was getting overwhelmed again, and with comeback preparations packing Jungsu’s schedule full it’d been weeks since they last saw each other.
So Gunil f*cked him on there on the couch, opened him up thoroughly until he was pushy and demanding, bossy and beautiful, and Gunil couldn’t resist anymore. He f*cked Jungsu with everything he had, so Jungsu couldn’t possibly think about anything else, reduced to a whining mindless mess, practically f*cked him to sleep with how fast he passed out after Gunil cleaned them up.
It’s early morning now, but Jungsu has to leave in 20 minutes for his first stage with a live audience and not just press, and right after that he has his first radio interview. Gunil knows his abundance of encouraging messages throughout the day will help calm him, but he can only help relieve the pent-up energy (and feed his own needy desires) this way when he’s with Jungsu in private.
Jungsu is sat up on his knees on the mattress, his head thrown back, cradling Gunil’s head in his hands while Gunil kisses around his navel, his fist working over Jungsu’s co*ck. He hopes even an ounce of his devotion can be felt through his lips’ appreciation on Jungsu’s skin. When Gunil sucks on a particularly soft spot by his hipbone, Jungsu inhales in a breath through his teeth that melts into a high-pitched whine.
“So pretty,” Gunil murmurs into the skin, nipping at it with his teeth just to feel Jungsu’s co*ck twitch in his hand. “Perfect.”
“Gunil,” Jungsu moans, hips nudging into Gunil’s fist with that rocky rhythm that means he’s reaching his peak. “Hyung, hurry, ‘m close…”
Gunil rests his cheek against Jungsu’s hip, nose pressing into his stomach just to take in Jungsu’s scent while he still can before a long, long day. Watching his hand glide over Jungsu’s co*ck, red and firm and leaking, he debates getting his mouth on it, letting Jungsu f*ck his face—but no, Jungsu’s not supposed to be doing any work right now, Gunil’s the one giving today—
Gunil is abruptly thrown out of his thoughts by Jungsu’s fingers threading into Gunil’s hair, yanking his head off his stomach and tugging so his chin tilts up, baring his neck, gazing up at Jungsu’s hungry expression, a looming beacon of desire before him.
Jungsu’s other hand joins Gunil’s around his co*ck, pumping frantically, and just as Jungsu’s gorgeous mouth opens up for another debauched sound Gunil’s own voice jumps out, rasping, “Please,” and that’s what pushes Jungsu over the edge—he moans wantonly, fragile and fantastic, as his cum lands on Gunil’s face, hot and wet coating his cheeks, his lips, a bit on across his nose.
The rest happens in a bit of a blur. Jungsu’s fingers smearing through his cum on Gunil’s face and then prodding into his mouth, his other hand reaching inside Gunil’s pants to jerk him off, sprawled out in Jungsu’s lap, thrusting into his handsome, attentive fist. He was so on edge it only takes a minute before he tips over, too, spilling into Jungsu’s hand.
Some days, they can unwind together, bask in the afterglow… but today is not one of those days. They quickly clean up, Gunil answers the phone call from Younghoon—he calls out to Jungsu, who’s tugging a hoodie over his head, “Meet hyung downstairs in five?” and when Jungsu nods and scurries to the bathroom, speaks into the phone, “He’ll be there”—goes through the checklist as Jungsu rifles through his bag to confirm: phone? charger? wallet? water? vitamins? headphones?—and then Jungsu is slipping on his shoes at the door with one minute to spare.
“You’re going to be amazing today,” Gunil tells him.
“Thank you baby…” Jungsu straightens up and wraps his arms around Gunil in a tight, overwhelming hug. His sweatshirt is so soft, the embrace feels like being under a duvet in bed. “I wish you could come with me.”
“I’ll be watching the whole time,” Gunil assures him. “And you can always text or call me, at any point. I’ll pick up.”
Jungsu pulls back, checks the time on his phone. “Okay, I have to go. I love you.”
The kiss is quick, and Gunil has to remind himself not to melt into it. “I love you too.” Then, he suddenly remembers, “Oh—the band wanted me to pass on their well wishes and congratulations!”
“Thanks,” Jungsu says briskly, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll text them later.”
“You’ve worked so hard, you deserve to have fun today!” Gunil sneaks in another kiss.
“Thank you—”
“I’m so proud of you and everything you do.”
Kiss.
“I have to go—”
Kiss.
“I love you so much—”
Kiss.
“I love you too! Let me go, I’ll see you later!”
Kiss.
○ ○ ○
The band is all huddled around the computer monitor, with Jiseok sitting in Gunil's lap, Jooyeon squished into the same chair as Hyeonjun, Seungmin sitting on the floor. On screen, Jungsu is tired—a little slump in his posture, less of a sparkle in those captivating eyes. Blinking more than usual, his eyes must be dry from the contacts— I forgot to make sure he had his eyedrops, Gunil thinks. But he’s smiling, a genuine and brilliant smile, and that has Gunil smiling subconsciously back as he watches.
“This is your first comeback in six months,” the host says. “Previously you had been on leave for your health. What are your hopes with this comeback?”
Jungsu takes a moment, pensive. “I think… I just wanted to come back as the best version of myself. At the time I felt so much pressure, and if I let myself fall apart, I wasn’t just failing myself but I was failing the fans, too. So while I was frustrated that I had to take time off when I did, and had to miss opportunities with the fans… I hope I can express that it was for the best. My mental health had been low for quite a while, longer than you might think, so it was only a matter of time until I had to take a break and work on it. I was pushing myself to at least last until the end of promotions, to fulfill all that I had promised to the fans, but… after one stage, I just kind of broke. That night I went to bed hating myself more than I ever had, and when I woke up the next morning I just didn’t think I could do it anymore.”
“Did any of your friends or family know how bad things were? How did the company handle it?”
Jungsu nods slowly, solemnly. “I think a friend knew, but… I felt so isolated, they couldn’t help. I wasn’t allowing them to. When even my manager asked me out of nowhere, ‘Are you going to be okay?’ I knew it was time for me to tell the company. He had known I was struggling and was doing what he could to help, but the way he asked that question… it’s like he could see right through me, and we could both tell I couldn’t go on like this. We both knew it was time. I’m lucky to have such a supportive hyung looking out for me.”
“Well, we are all glad to see you are back in good health,” the host says. “On a lighter note, your new single has come out, Night of Fireworks.”
Hyeongjun perks up, leaning closer to the screen. Jooyeon and Jiseok whisper excitedly to each other, Jiseok swinging his feet where they don’t touch the ground on Gunil’s lap, so Gunil has to wrap a hand around his waist to keep their chair from swiveling. “Guys, shhh—! ” Gunil hisses.
The host continues, “It’s a happy, up-beat sounding song, but the lyrics are quite bittersweet, right?”
“Ah, yes,” Jungsu says. “It’s a bit of an overwhelming song. There’s many layers to it. Musically, it’s quite unique—I begged the company to let me work with Xdinary Heroes for a few of the tracks on this album—”
Jiseok practically squeals, and Jooyeon bounces up and down in his seat, his flouncy hair bouncing with his jittering. Again, Gunil hushes them.
“—they really outdid themselves with the instrumental for this one, in my opinion. I know they were trying to mimic a firework show, and I think they really succeeded. So it sounds grand and colorful, but it’s like a finale, an ending.”
“And that’s where the sort of sadness is, in the lyrics.”
“Yes, that sort of sentimental feeling… that you know something is coming to an end, but you’re grateful it happened at all.”
“That’s very emotional. And you worked on the lyrics as well, yes?”
Jungsu nods. “I did, yes. I’m really drawn to this sort of song, with contradictions and complexity, and a really powerful, driven instrumental. I wanted to bring the energy up, while still keeping the theme… emotional, almost sensitive.”
“And besides the title track, what’s your favorite song on the album?”
Without hesitation, Jungsu answers certainly, “My favorite b-side is Until The End Of Time —”
Jooyeon gasps around his bright, astonished grin. “That’s his favorite?” He repeats, dumbfounded. Seungmin is the one who shushes him this time.
“—Lee Jooyeon, Xdinary Heroes’ bassist and main vocal, wrote most of the song. I was so drawn to how raw and vulnerable the lyrics were, so we developed it together with some input from their leader and drummer as well, Goo Gunil.”
Gunil can feel all his bandmates turning to look at him, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the computer screen.
“So it’s a ballad?”
“It is! I love singing ballads, and the way they’re structured—it often has a big build, with moments of softness, it’s strong and bold but still can be delicate, gentle. And I was very impressed with how Jooyeonie and Gunil-hyung helped me capture that, and guided me.”
“How was it working with Xdinary Heroes again? They were the opening act for your first World Tour last year.”
The beaming glow of Jungsu’s toothy smile is felt through the screen. Gunil’s heart melts. “Yes, they were! We became really close through that tour. I’m so glad I didn’t have to go through such a long schedule by myself; I don’t know how I would have handled it. But they’re such talented musicians, they inspire me to keep working harder at music in every aspect. I’m so, so grateful my company allowed us to work together again.”
“That’s great, that you still keep in touch. The music industry can be so hectic, especially in K-Pop.”
“They’re my closest friends,” Jungsu says, practically radiating fondness. “I became especially close with Gunil-hyung, the leader. He’s my best friend in the music industry, no doubt. We always try to find time together to squeeze in our busy schedules. He’s wonderful at cheering me up when I’m down, and I feel like… being around him makes me the best version of me.”
“ Awwww ,” Jiseok coos, reaching around to cup Gunil’s cheek. Seungmin puts a hand on Gunil’s shoulder, and Jooyeon grips onto Gunil’s bicep and starts shaking him, like he can’t physically contain his giddyness.
“That’s sweet,” Hyeongjun remarks softly.
“Yeah, he is,” Gunil sighs.
The rest of the interview goes on, answering fan questions and discussing the earlier stage performance as well as the other upcoming promotions, and even though Jungsu isn’t with him physically, Gunil still feels the lingering comfort of his presence.
Maybe finding alone time together is difficult, but Jungsu had no need to worry. Being with Jungsu is easy, natural. The raging storm of love from early on in their relationship is now like the trickle of a river, focused and continuous, streaming currents with a certain path.
Loving Jungsu is like breathing; the quiet intake of oxygen, disturbing when the source is cut off. They spend a lot of time on the phone, voice calls and video-chatting, to keep that valve open, to be connected even when they’re apart. Sometimes Jungsu falls asleep on the phone, and Gunil won’t end the call. He wants to be there when Jungsu wakes up.
And now, here, watching Jungsu flourish and bloom with his passion, comfortable in his own skin, confident in himself—it’s wonderful. And Gunil gets to hold him close, touch his skin and kiss him over and over and over. He gets to love him, even if sometimes it has to be from afar. He won’t stop, no matter the distance, no matter the time between them. Because he doesn’t want Jungsu any other way than this, because then it wouldn’t be Jungsu. Doing what he loves, and living his truth, even if some of it is kept private. There’s nothing to question anymore.
Gunil watches until the very end, and immediately sends Jungsu a message.
gunil 20:03
Just finished watching the radio show
You did great sweetheart
jungsu 20:05
thank you
i’m happy you watched
and i got to tell them all how wonderful you are :)
gunil 20:06
You show the world how wonderful you are
Every day
jungsu 20:06
shut up ㅋㅋㅋ
i love you
gunil 20:06
I love you too!
jungsu 20:07
goodnight kiss
mwah!
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Jungsu sends a 3 second video: it’s him puckering his lips and bringing the camera to his mouth with an exaggerated smooching noise. Gunil laughs out loud to himself, sends back a selfie with his own puckered lips back.
Yeah, they’re going to be alright.
