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One of the very first things Nicholas was taught when he just joined the label–other than sharpening his dance moves and how to sing without straining your vocal cords–was plausible deniability. It’ll become one of the most important tools in show business.
The idea is simple: in an industry where the line between truth and fiction is blurred, being able to deny something with just enough sincerity to make people believe you–or at least doubt themselves–is essential. It’s not straight up lying to your fans if they can’t make out if the blurry pictures taken from behind a bush 50 meters away are actually you or someone the photographers claim to be you.
And when it boils down to your words against theirs–gossip columnists, paparazzis, stalkers–the fans will always pick your side. It’s the simplest thing ever–if pictures ever leak, don’t engage and let the fans do their thing. By the end of the day they’d already be able to convince themselves–and the rest of the world–that you’re not the person in those grainy pictures. Then the label will take it down or something, tell the poster that they’ll sue if they keep it up.
Sometimes he thinks it’s a little bit cruel. To let the fans do everything for him and he’s not even allowed to say thanks for saving his ass. They’re constantly reminded to keep a low profile–know enough slang to gain enough likes on Twitter but not enough memes to be seen chronically online. It’s a push and pull at the same time. Present enough but not wholly there. Old-fashioned sense of humor with a little edge.
Nicholas thinks he’s mastered it–the plausible deniability. He’s never gone out without a beanie or a cap covering his hair. If he’s out with his non-famous friends, he’ll wear a mask, dress very un-Nicholas-like, walk a little weirdly. So even if someone snaps a picture of him when he’s not ready, the fans are able to deny, deny and deny. And he’s able to live in a comfortable bubble where he can almost believe that he’s just some guy hanging out with his friends. Not an idol constantly under the microscope. It’s a fragile balance, but it’s worked so far.
But well–probably not this time.
He was woken up by Euijoo at 2 AM. He’s just fallen asleep–phone screen still glowing in his hand. Euijoo–out of all people–knows that Nicholas hates being woken up when there’s nothing to look forward to. He furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips, ready to send a snarky remark Euijoo’s way, but he beat him to it.
“They want to see you.” Euijoo explained–voice barely a whisper, afraid he’d wake the others up. He didn’t have to spell out who ‘they’ were. Nicholas figured it out on his own.
Nicholas glanced at the clock on his phone screen. “At 2 in the morning?”
“They said it’s serious.” Nicholas’ annoyance evaporated as soon as his eyes focused and he could see the look on Euijoo’s face—pale, tense, bordering apologetic. It wasn’t like Euijoo to let his walls down like that. He’s always composed–even if things turned to shit–and to see him standing over Nicholas like that, like he’s not even sure where to start, it scared him a little.
He pushed himself up, the weight of sleep still clinging to his limbs. “Okay, I’ll just–get ready.”
The drive to the agency was longer than usual. Euijoo was sitting beside him, typing aggressively on his phone, switching through the apps like he was also trying to figure out what was going on. Nicholas searched his name up on every social media he had access to and he wasn’t sure if he should sigh in relief or be scared when he found nothing substantial.
It should be serious. If they woke them up at 2 AM to endure a drive through the deserted streets of Seoul and hold a meeting–it’s definitely a serious offense.
He thought about what it might be. If it affected the whole group, they’d probably wake all of them up to attend the meeting. Or if it’s something important that could wait, they’d probably ask Fuma to come instead of Nicholas. But it was just the two of them.
It’s something he did then. A reckless tweet? A slightly uncomfortable remark during a Weverse live? Pissing off a fansite? He wasn’t sure what had happened. He looked over at Euijoo who was staring at the passing city lights, shoulders tense and he wondered how Euijoo was always able to keep it all in. Not let his emotions seep through, keep all of it to himself, only sharing the things he wanted to share.
Nicholas wondered if he’d be able to do it had he been appointed as the leader—he’s glad he wasn’t though because he’s not cut out for it. He’s too brash, too impulsive. He wouldn’t know what to do in situations like these.
Especially when the staff sat them down and slid the file across the table and Nicholas finally figured out why they woke him up in the middle of the night. An explanation of why they woke him up in the ungodly hours of the AM.
There’s no plausible deniability if these pictures come out–God forbid they already have–because how on Earth are they going to twist it and try to convince everyone that the man bending over what looks like a public toilet sink isn’t him? Nicholas stares at it–tries to find a loophole, any loophole, he’s panicking too much to think about shame.
There he is. Half naked. Pants shoved down and pooled around his ankles. Back arched. Dark hair all over the place, overgrown strands curling on the back of his sweaty neck. He could deny it, technically, but no one else in the world probably has the same scar on their right forearm.
He tries to rationalize it–push away the panic that’s starting to brew in the pit of his stomach. But every ticking second that passes gives him another thing to worry about.
If this goes out, he might as well wave goodbye to his career. This is the sort of scandal you can’t come back from. Even if they deny, deny, deny; it’ll still stick. He’ll be known as the idol pathetically bent over a sink, taking a dick up his ass. Don’t even get him started on the repercussions his group will have to suffer with–being an idol with a sex drive is enough to drive fans off, he doesn’t know what’ll happen when it’s a gay idol with a sex drive.
It’s not like he knows what he is, actually, as stupid and chronically online as it sounds–he doesn’t identify as anything yet. He likes people, he likes sex–sue him for liking two perfectly normal things. It could be worse, he thinks, it could’ve been a sextape and everyone would hear how whiny he sounds when he’s getting fucked.
Once he stops himself from thinking about the details and future plans, he notices the worst part–the silence. Euijoo hasn’t said anything since his eyes landed on the photograph. Nicholas wonders where his mind is. If it’s in the group and how they’ll bounce back from this sort of thing or if it’s around the same space Nicholas’ is in. Trying to find a loophole, thinking if this is some kind of sick joke. If his stomach is turning the same way Nicholas’ is.
He knows Euijoo’s not surprised over the fact that he’s seeing parts of Nicholas he hasn’t seen before–they’re close but they’re not that close–but more to the fact that he’s probably processing in the other factor. That his bandmate–the person he claims to know him best and vice versa–likes to take a stranger’s dick up his ass and isn’t smart enough to ensure that the other person doesn’t take pictures of the activity.
To be fair, Nicholas was drunk out of his mind during the whole ordeal, probably, and it’s not the first time he’s slept with a stranger. It just so happens to be the first time he forgot to make them sign a hefty NDA. It’s reckless and stupid and–
Euijoo slides the file back towards the staff before asking. “Are they online? The pictures?”
“No.” One of them replies, monotonous. “They were sent to us, they told us they won’t release them but they want money.”
Nicholas is still staring at the picture. His hair’s longer and darker, it’s been a while since the picture was taken. He can’t believe that someone would keep it after all this time just to release it and ask for money in the end. But even if they decide to pay him, how are they sure he’s not going to log into Twitter first thing in the morning and post them anyway?
“Okay,” Euijoo says, “are you going to pay them off then?”
“Yes. Paid and transferred.” He answers again—Nicholas has never seen him around the building before. He’s probably from legal or PR or some other boring division.
“Then why are we here?”
Euijoo doesn’t get angry. It’s not in his blood. He’s warm and kind—he sees that it’s about to rain on a beach day and he’ll pack them all an umbrella and raincoat before telling them that they’ll just sit a little far from the shore and listen to the sound of the waves. He solves problems like that; looking at them as some sort of small mishap. An added charming point. That’s how he leads.
But this time, it’s different. His jaw is clenched, both of his shoulders are tense and from the constant appearance and disappearance of the dimple on his cheek, he’s biting on the inner tissue of his mouth again. A nervous tic he’s picked up over the years—Nicholas sees it whenever he’s monitoring their performances or is about to give feedback to all of them. Frustrated.
“We just want to make sure that this doesn’t happen again.” The PR guy with the glasses says, he’s staring at Nicholas now. “If you think there are more pictures of you doing… similar activities,” Nicholas cringes at the ambiguity of it all, “we would like to know.”
Euijoo’s arms move from the sides of his body to the table. He’s fidgeting with his fingers, playing a thumb war against himself. Nicholas knows he’s currently drilling two holes with his eyes on the side of his face but he just can’t muster up the courage to raise his head and look at him. It’s too weird, awkward—especially since now Euijoo knows how Nicholas looks when he’s being fucked from behind. Well, everyone in the room already knows now but it’s a different kind of difficulty when it’s his friend he has to face.
The employees don’t give a shit–hopefully–if he likes messing around with men. They care more about the sanctity of the group. The potential losses, the fires they have to put out, the statements and police reports they have to file. It’s too much paperwork just to convince everyone that Nicholas Wang from &TEAM isn’t actually a man who likes to indulge in other men.
But Euijoo—fuck, Euijoo. It’s bound to be a lengthier and heavier conversation. They’ve known each other for years. Euijoo tells him all the time that Nicholas is his best-friend, the one he tells all of his secrets to, the only person in the world who knows him best. Nicholas feels like he’s betrayed that trust. Breached an agreement in the friendship contract or something.
Nicholas finally looks up, getting bored of staring at his mismatched socks and blocky sandals. He looks at the staff and sighs. “Honestly? I have no idea.” He’s unsure if that’s enough to convince them. “I—uh, most of the time, when I have—or, you know, when I—when this sort of thing happens, I’m not sober.”
A tension falls over the office again. He wants someone to finally grab the picture from the table and toss it into the bin. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. A permanent stain on his reputation, a constant reminder of a moment he can’t even remember now. He doesn’t know even know if it’s at least a good fuck.
The staff exchange glances, meaningful ones, before one of them speaks again. “Does this happen often?”
Nicholas wishes that they’d just ask . Do you take dick in a public bathroom often? Do you get on your knees in a sticky club bathroom and give head to strangers often? Do you drink that much? How do you find time to even do it? What are you?
“No—not really.” He answers honestly. “I’d say once every 2-3 months? I don’t do it that much, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“We don’t care if you do it that much, we care if the other person will try to blackmail you again.” They say. It all sounds too sterile and official—he’s just been outed to most of their staff and his best friend, he doesn’t expect the moment to be so robotic. Having them find out under these circumstances makes his chest ache.
It shouldn’t have been like this. If he ever figures himself out and decides to label himself, he wants it to be comforting and warm. Preferably in front of all the members, in their dorm, blurting it out with pride because he knows it won’t change anything between them. It’ll just feel nice to finally have them all know the real him—to have them all perceive him as a brave person. This, however, stinks.
It’s like being thirteen again and trying to understand why he thinks his classmate looks good when they’re ruffling their dark hair. It’s like being fifteen again and trying to repress all the feelings he has for a friend he knows will beat him if he ever figures out the real him. It’s like being seventeen and looking away when his friends change in front of him because he knows there’ll be a tight feeling in his chest if he dares to look.
He hasn’t had the comfort to figure it out before he has to be shoved into a survival-of-the-fittest situation. First, I-LAND then went back to being a trainee for a group he wasn’t even sure would debut, then being a mentor figure for kids who had the same fight as him. Before he knew it, he debuted and he’s an idol and he has a reputation to keep. The labels and sexuality—they’ve all gone to the backburner.
Maybe he should’ve warned them beforehand. He should’ve told them that it’s possible that he’s gay or bisexual or pansexual—or whatever the Gen Z’s like to call themselves these days. Because then it wouldn’t have made him feel like an asshole for hiding a huge part of himself from the group. Because now, Euijoo knows and he has to go back to their shared dorm with the burden of an open secret on his shoulders. One that he’s had to carry himself all this time but now Euijoo’s carrying it with him. A weight that Euijoo shouldn’t have to carry.
Nicholas feels like crying—it’s only natural to, he thinks. But he doesn’t, he swallows the lump in his throat and tries to talk. “No—I, uh, I think this was the only one. The others, they’re—basically, I checked after, always. I got careless this one time.” He can see Euijoo stiffen from the corner of his eye. “I promise.”
He looks at the picture again, trying to figure out what the emotion brewing inside of him is. Shame? Of course, it’s there somewhere. Hatred? Probably, but he doesn’t have the energy for that. Regret? Yeah, definitely.
He regrets going to the bar when he was feeling tired and insecure, he regrets the shots he took in under an hour, he regrets engaging in a small and friendly conversation that started with a compliment about his side-profile, he regrets following the stranger’s shadow with his eyes when he walked towards the bedroom. But most of all—he regrets that Euijoo had to find out this way and he knows Euijoo will keep it a secret until Nicholas is ready to tell the others but it feels heavier. Knowing that they’re now both harboring a deep-kept secret from the people they share their life with.
The meeting drones on, the voices of the staff fading into a background hum that Nicholas can barely register. His thoughts are too loud, his heart is beating against his skull. Every now and then, he catches a word or two—“damage control”, “public relations”, “luné”, “keep it under wraps”—but it all feels so detached, like they’re talking about someone else’s life, not his.
He sneaks another glance at Euijoo, who hasn’t moved an inch. He’s always been a pro at keeping his emotions at bay and this time, it’s no exception. His expression remains unreadable but the tension radiates off him in waves. Nicholas wants to say something, anything, like throwing a wet blanket over a fire, anything that can settle things down. But what could he possibly say? He’s never trained for this, this wasn’t in the handbook on how to become an idol.
Finally, the meeting draws to a close. The staff begin to wrap up the discussion, the photo no longer on the table, but before anyone can actually draw a conclusion, Euijoo abruptly stands up. His movements are sharp, almost mechanical, as if he’s forcing himself to stay composed. Without a word, he strides out of the room, leaving Nicholas alone.
Nicholas feels his chest tighten as the door closes behind Euijoo. It’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room, leaving him gasping for something solid to hold onto. The staff exchange awkward glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed, but Nicholas barely notices them. All he can think about is Euijoo, and how everything between them just shifted in a way that might be irreversible.
Someone is speaking to him—probably asking if he’s okay, if there’s anything they can do—but their words don’t penetrate the fog in his mind. He mumbles something in response, something vague and noncommittal, and they eventually take the hint, filing out of the room one by one.
He wants to cry and shout and set the whole room on fire but the walls of that Godforsaken building has seen him fall and get back up so many times he doesn’t want it to bear witness to his weakness ever again. So—he stands up, tries to clear his throat and walks out of the room slowly. He doesn’t know if Euijoo’s waiting in the hallway or if he’s already in the car and instructed their driver to drive him back alone.
Euijoo is understanding, kind, warm. He doesn’t walk out of rooms when he’s feeling overwhelmed, he doesn’t shy away from reaching out when he knows one of his members is going through a rough time, he’s everyone’s gravity when the Earth feels like it’s a thousand miles away from their feet. This is the first time Nicholas has seen him like that—aloof and distant. It’s unsettling and the guilt that eats at him quadruples.
Nicholas walks out of the meeting room slowly, hesitating, fearing that if he opens the door, the secret will follow him. It’ll travel through the air, broadcasted to every phone in the building by morning and by the afternoon, his name will be everywhere. It gnaws at him—the guilt, the shame, the weight of an open secret. Being in the meeting room for a second longer will suffocate him but he’s scared that the air outside will catch whiff of all the secrets inside and he’ll no longer be able to control it.
It used to only be his and now, it seems to be everybody’s business.
He grabs the metal door handle and tugs at it. The hallway is quiet—it always is, anyways—and for a moment, he thinks he’s alone. But then he spots Euijoo at the end, leaning against the corner, phone in hand, scrolling through it aimlessly. He looks up when he feels Nicholas’ presence.
The older out of the two expected a small smile—that flat smile Euijoo does whenever he wants to say something but is keeping it for another time—or anything, anything that can give Nicholas any sort of indication that they’re fine. That this friendship will survive, that Euijoo’s still there for him, that—like most exposed best-kept secrets—this one will blow over. But there isn’t any of that written on Euijoo’s face, instead, he looks tired.
Maybe Nicholas is just overthinking it. Who won’t be tired after an hour of meeting at 3 in the morning? But there’s a palpable tension in the air that he can’t blame on fatigue. It’s just—something else entirely.
He knows they’ll have to talk about it eventually and skirting around the topic won’t take them anywhere. So he musters up the courage to narrow the gap between them before speaking, “Euijoo.”
It feels strange to call him that way. It’s always been Juju to him. Even when he’s angry and annoyed—even then, it’s Juju. Euijoo sounds distant, acquaintance-like. It takes him back to when they were both still trainees and Nicholas only had the courage to stare at him from a distance.
“I’m—” He doesn’t even know where to start, “I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing and I wasn’t thinking about the team and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my sexuality or whatever, truth is—I haven’t figured it out. I’m sorry that you had to be there and you had to bear witness to all of that and—”
“Nichol.” Euijoo cuts him off, though it’s barely above a whisper, it sounds so loud in Nicholas’ ear. He doesn’t call Nicholas that—it’s Nicho, always. Maybe it’s his fault for using Euijoo’s actual name instead of his nickname. “I just—we don’t have to talk about it.”
It sends a stake through Nicholas’ heart. The words hang in the air. This isn’t how he’s always pictured it—none of this is like how he’s pictured it. Out of everyone in the group, he knows Euijoo will understand him the most. He was supposed to do this right, on his own terms and now, it feels like he’s lost control of everything in his life. Including the stability he has with his best friend. The idea of not talking about it—of just letting it fester and grow between them—is unbearable. He’s never been good at keeping things unresolved, Euijoo knows that, and to have him tell Nicholas that he doesn’t want to talk about it, it feels almost a bit like betrayal. (But who does Nicholas think he is? Feeling betrayed when he had just done the same thing?)
But the look in Euijoo’s eyes tells him that pushing this right now might do more harm than good. He does this whenever they disagree on something. Or whenever Nicholas pushes his buttons a little too far and he gets annoyed. He ignores—not for long, just enough until he feels better about himself. Then Nicholas will apologize and they’ll be back to being the best of friends.
He’s not sure that’ll happen this time around, though.
“Juju—”
“We’ll talk about this some other time.” Euijoo cuts him off again once he hears the nickname roll off Nicholas' tongue. Another pain in the heart, another opened wound, another thing he’ll be anxious about. “We should go back before everyone starts waking up.”
Nicholas swallows and nods. The words he wants to stay are caught in his throat. I didn’t know him. I don’t know what I am. I don’t even know who I am. I need you. I need you to help me figure it out.
Euijoo turns on his heels and starts walking towards the elevator, Nicholas gives him a head start before he follows suit. Everything feels so heavy and unfamiliar. Like when he walked through the same hallways in this building a couple years ago—alien, strange, lonely.
Now—it almost feels the same, just a thousand times worse.
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Despite telling Nicholas that they’ll talk about it, Euijoo has been ignoring him for a week and a half now. The worst part about it is: he acts the same. He’s still the same warm and kind leader that everyone goes to for the occasional feedback and guaranteed compliments–he still smiles and laughs and leads like he doesn’t have a hundred thousand kilos worth of weight on both of his shoulders. He jokes around with the other members and films contents like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
If he’s still angry about it, he’s great at hiding it. The best even.
Meanwhile, Nicholas still wakes up in cold sweat whenever a hand brushes his arm or whenever someone walks into his room and flicks on the lights. He thinks that they have finally figured it out. The agency has finally dropped the bomb on them, told them that one of their members likes boys, told them that there are probably other pictures of Nicholas in strangers’ phones waiting to be leaked. Instructed them to get ready incase they ever go out and Nicholas has to leave.
He religiously scrolls through every social media during his spare time. He searches for his name, he stalks some of his fans, he reads through Weverse comments and fan letters–waiting for the moment that it finally drops. Another naked picture. A blurry video showing his undisputable features. Anything–really–he’s not sure he’s off the hook yet. And it scares him shitless. More to the fact that his group members will also have to bear the burden of it all.
“You okay?” K asks when they’ve just finished practicing, Nicholas sits with his back against the mirror, ruffling his hair.
“Yeah.” He sighs out, breathing still uneven from the choreo they’ve just gone through. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
The older scoffs before taking off his backwards cap and joining Nicholas on the floor, back flat against the wall. Nicholas tries not to let his emotions show–it’s just not the time to talk about labels and sexuality and sex as a whole. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to reveal the truth to all of them. K runs a hand through his overgrown hair, strands of it sticking on his sweaty forehead.
“Oh, c’mon–I’ve known you for ages,” K tries again, “we’re a team now, Nicho, you can tell me anything.”
Nicholas sighs–it’s not that he doesn’t want to tell K, it’s that he doesn’t even know where to start. Should he start from when he was still in Taiwan and figuring things out on his own? Should he start from his trainee days? Should he start from the little experiment he does whenever he goes out to drink alone? He knows K will understand–he’s made of patience and kindness, much like Euijoo–but he knows it’s not the right time to talk about it.
Euijoo’s still practicing in the middle of the room, Harua and Yuma are following his instructions. They shadow him, staring at every little movement of his joints, looking at themselves in the mirror, trying to sync all of their steps together. Nicholas chews on his inner cheek as he stares at the three of them, feeling a pang of guilt. Will the ache in his chest of staring at his members being so relaxed with each other eventually fade away?
K follows Nicholas’ line of sight and eventually figures a part of his dilemma out. “Euijoo, huh?”
“He won’t talk to me.” Nicholas says—a weight lifted off his shoulders, it’s nice to finally reveal it. It’s not the big secret yet but he knows it’s a start. “He hasn’t talked to me in like—a week.”
“Okay, is that… record-breaking?” K unscrews the cap of his bottled water and chugs it down before wiping the edges of his lips with the back of his hand. He’s still trying to catch his breath—Nicholas lost his when he glanced at Euijoo and saw him running a hand through his overgrown hair while flashing a smile.
“Sort of.” Nicholas shrugs, looking back at K. “He’s never given me a silent treatment this long.”
K nods understandingly before asking the inevitable question. “What did you do?”
See—everyone knows Euijoo doesn’t get mad. Even if they fumble over their choreographies, even if recording takes more than three hours, even if they mess up over the same part. He’ll just smile and chuckle nervously then talk to them about it, ask what’s going through their heads and then, lead. That’s how he is. He’s never gotten upset over the mess ups they did—and they’ve done plenty—and that’s a comforting thing to have. But why does he pull away at the first sight of a mess he’s unprepared to handle?
Sure, it’s not singing- or dancing-related but it still has something to do with the team and Euijoo doesn’t usually back away from that. If he knows one of his members needs him, he’ll be there to pick up the pieces, help them in any way he can. That’s what Nicholas always admired about him—his reliability, his unshakeable patience. They talk about things unrelated to the idol life and Euijoo will laugh at his stupid nightmares but he’ll say he understands nonetheless. But now, with this, it feels like they’re unsyncing. Nicholas wonders if he’s the breaking point, the one thing that finally makes Euijoo snap.
“I’m not sure—I think I pushed his buttons a little too far,” Nicholas lies.
“Maybe he’s stressed.” K tries, the sincerity in his voice breaks Nicholas’ heart a little. “We have a lot of gigs coming up and the flight schedules have been rough and on top of that, Euijoo hates showing weakness, maybe he’s just compartmentalizing.”
“That’s a big word,” Nicholas chuckles.
“I try.” K flashes him a smile before glancing at Euijoo for a split second. “He’ll be fine—you’re his best friend, he’ll forgive you. He needs you as much as you need him.”
Nicholas isn’t sure he believes that. He wants to—because if K is anything, he’s honest, and he knows Euijoo the best. He knows everyone there the best, that’s sort of what K does. Nicholas wants to hold onto the hope that Euijoo will eventually come around and tell him that they can talk and sort it out together. But Euijoo hates being left in the dark and after all the secrets he’s confided in Nicholas, it’s only fair he wants the same energy back. Finding out that he hasn’t been receiving it probably feels frustrating.
“Yeah.” Nicholas looks at his same-age friend again who’s now taking a little break from teaching and is just observing. He’s standing at a comfortable distance from both Harua and Yuma, arms crossed over his chest, hair messy; he stares at them as they go through the steps of the dance again. “I hope so.”
K pats him on the shoulder before standing up and going over to Fuma—probably to talk about the dance again or to tell him that Nicholas and Euijoo are fighting and as the sub-leader he should be there to sort them out—and Nicholas steals another glance at Euijoo. He’s already staring at him when his eyes finally meet Euijoo’s.
For a very brief moment, neither of them looks away. Nicholas’ heart skips a beat, he folds his legs underneath him and rests his chin in between his kneecaps. There’s something in Euijoo’s expression that Nicholas has never seen before and he knows he should be the one to break the tension; stand up and talk to him, put his hand around his wrist and walk him outside, ask for a conversation between them that should be kept private. Anything. The responsibility is as much on Nicholas’ shoulders as it is on Euijoo’s.
But before he can take the first step, Euijoo turns back to the two members in front of him, giving them a nod of approval. The moment slips away, and Nicholas is left sitting there, curled like a shrimp, feeling like the smallest man alive. He doesn't want to avoid it—he wants to fix it. He’s not the avoiding sort of person, he tackles them head on. But Euijoo—well, Euijoo’s always been known for needing a little time.
It’s been a week—has Nicholas not given him enough?
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It’s over. Their friendship is over. Euijoo’s not renewing his contract with HYBE when the 7 years are up and he’s going to leave the group and they’ll disband and everyone’s going to blame Nicholas because—
“You’re wearing mismatched socks.” Euijoo points out, he’s staring at Nicholas’ feet. Nicholas follows his gaze and finds that he’s indeed wearing mismatched socks.
“Oh .” He can’t believe that the first proper sentence Euijoo said to him after all this time is about socks. For a moment, he feels disoriented—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He should be in front of Euijoo’s room, on his knees, with a basket filled to the brim with the sweetest tangerines as he spews out apologies after apologies. That’s when Euijoo should start acknowledging his existence again. Definitely not when they’re lining up in border control.
“Oh,” Nicholas repeats, dumbly, staring at his feet. He should seize the opportunity, say something more, deliver his proper apology now that they’re alone and everyone’s already on the other side of immigration and they’re the only two stuck in this stupid line. Instead, he settles with, “I didn’t even notice.”
Euijoo doesn’t smile, but there’s a definite flicker of something—amusement, maybe, or exasperation—in his eyes. “You never do.”
It’s such a small, mundane exchange but for the first time in two weeks, it feels like they’re back to being friends again. But Nicholas knows it’s not that easy—Euijoo’s offering a hand over the chasm, it’s up to Nicholas if he wants to take it or not. He’s so desperate to, he needs him, needs to talk to him; but if Nicholas had been smart about his decisions, then he wouldn’t be here walking on eggshells around his best friend.
Before he could say anything—a simple apology, a joke, an acknowledgement of Euijoo finally putting his walls down—the immigration lady in front of them calls for the next person and Euijoo’s attention drifts to her instead. He walks across the line and stops in front of the counter, repeating the same routine he does whenever they fly back into Japan.
Just like that, the moment’s gone, Euijoo retracts his arm before Nicholas has the chance to take it. He stands behind the yellow line, staring at Euijoo’s back—wondering if this is what will become of them, what will be their norm. Feeling like they’re so close yet so far apart.
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Nicholas doesn’t think he’s gay.
He’s dated girls before and he liked them enough to know that he’s not only interested in men. Although for the past couple of years he’s only ever slept or had situationships—that only lasted five days, tops—with men. He liked being protective as much as he liked being protected; he didn’t favor one gender over the other and if he were presented with a choice, he’d pick a person out of a mixed gender lineup blindfolded and still walk away satisfied.
That’s just how he is.
He’s taken the ‘Am I Gay?’ quiz a thousand times by now and the answer has always been mixed. He’s boomer enough to not give himself labels but Gen Z enough to understand that sexuality is a spectrum. That’s why it’s so hard to actually be honest about it to his members because he’s not even that sure himself.
Nicholas knows his confusion is part of why he’s having recurring nightmares about his sextape being leaked and his sexuality being out in the open for everybody’s consumption—including his fans. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, sit up straight, blanket pooled around his waist as he rubs his eyes and tries to calm himself down.
It’s not real. You’re safe. Your secret’s not out yet. The only people who know aren’t going to blab. It’s okay. It’s okay.
Some nights have been harder than others. Whenever he’d eat dinner with one of the members and they’d laugh about a stupid joke or old situation, there’s an ache in his chest that he’s never able to shrug off. He doesn’t have a good understanding of himself enough to know what he was feeling but when he’s back in his room and alone—listening to the muted chatter of his members through the closed bedroom door, he knows what the sinking feeling in his stomach is: fear.
Of course he’s scared the world will put labels on him before he could even put it on himself but he’s more scared of what the world will ask of him if it ever comes out before he’s ready. He fears that once it’s out there, once the world knows his secrets, they’ll never give him enough time to let him define himself. They’ll shove him into a corner with labels he doesn’t fully understand yet, expecting him to explain things he’s barely begun to process.
The thought of it overwhelms him. He’s already under so much scrutiny just by being an idol—every word, every look, every interaction is dissected by fans and the media. If his sexuality were to come out, if his most private moments were exposed, what would that mean for him? For his career? For his relationships with the people he cares about the most?
He knows he’ll have to face them eventually but he knows that he needs someone who can understand all the mess in his head and so—he comes to the first person that comes to mind.
Yuma.
Sue him for not going to Fuma but he has a perfectly suitable reason as to why Fuma wasn’t his first choice. First, he’d ask a lot of questions and would refrain from making him uncomfortable which is an emotion that Nicholas thinks he should at least feel a smidge of when he’s talking about something as serious as putting labels on himself. Then he’d probably pull up his phone and Google articles about sexualities and whatnot and how to respond to a friend who’s just come out to you. It’ll feel less raw and honest—Nicholas just needs to rip the bandaid.
The dorm’s empty when he walks towards Yuma’s room. Everyone’s out eating lunch or going to a schedule and they’re the only two left in the house. Yuma’s bedroom door is opened–thankfully–and he’s lying down on his bed, an arm folded underneath his head, propping it up, scrolling through his phone. The casualness of the scene calms him a little. It’s not like he’s about to have this huge revelation—he’s just going to talk to someone he trusts.
Nicholas timidly walks inside, feeling like he’s being chained to the ground. Yuma takes notice of the new presence in his room and looks up. “You need anything?”
The older fidgets with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, still standing in the doorframe. “I need to talk about something. It’s–kind of important.”
Yuma sits up, smoothing his bleached hair with his hand. He locks his phone and sets it beside him, his expression shifting into something serious. “Okay. Shoot.”
Out of everyone in that house, he’s the most experienced when it comes to fame. He was practically given dance shoes before he even knew about the existence of algebra. Surely—he’d know how people would react to things like these, right? He’s been in the industry for so long, he’s probably watched friends go through the same routine.
Nicholas takes a deep breath, staring at his hands, feeling self-conscious in his body all of a sudden. “I — uh, I don’t know what I am.” Not a good start but he hopes Yuma catches it despite the subtlety.
He raises a brow. “You’re… human? What?”
This is going to take a while. Nicholas sighs and rubs his face, frustrated, although he has no grounds to be–he’s being all fucking cryptic. Rip the bandaid. Tell him straight up. (No pun intended.) “I mean, my sexuality, I don’t know what I am.”
The Japanese language has never felt more awkward than it has when the word eventually slips out of his tongue. Maybe he should’ve used Korean—he’s conversed in it longer than he’s conversed in Japanese. But he doesn’t want his words to get lost in translation, he wants Yuma to know without having to think too much about it.
Yuma’s facial muscles shift immediately, the casual confusion fading as he sits up straighter. He understands–even if not completely yet–there’s a part of him that’s reaching out. Yuma leans forward slightly, as if trying to bridge the gap between them. No more being lost in euphemism and subtleties, they’re in the same book and Yuma’s catching up to Nicholas’ page. “Oh.” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “Alright. I mean—okay.”
Nicholas waits for more–anything, really–but Yuma just sits there, watching him, studying him, as if that revelation’s going to make Nicholas look anything but straight. It feels like the silence could swallow him whole and he fidgets under the weight of it.
“I don’t know if I’m gay or bi or what,” he starts again, hoping that filling Yuma in will end the silence, “I’ve been trying to figure it out but I’m not sure what I am and now Euijoo knows–long story,” Yuma’s expression changes with the reveal of that new information, “he’s shoved into this issue that I don’t really wanna talk about anymore but bottomline is, he knows. He didn’t know it from me and I think that’s why he’s mad at me right now but I can’t just seem to figure out what to do.”
Yuma nods slowly, processing the information. “That’s a lot… does anyone else know?”
“No, just you and Euijoo.”
“Not even K and Fuma?” Yuma asks–Nicholas knows he’ll use it against the rest of the members in due time but he’s glad that he’s still the same Yuma. Even after the truth that Nicholas has sprung up on him.
Nicholas chuckles and shakes his head. “No, not even K and Fuma. I don’t think I’m ready for them to know yet.”
“Well, first off, thanks for telling me and trusting me with this because I’ll for sure use it against the rest of the members in the future–once you decide to tell them, of course, and if you don’t, then I’ll use it when I’m tired and insecure, least I know you trust me.” Yuma states–in a half-joking manner but Nicholas knows he’ll definitely keep this in his mind palace and use it for personal gain later. The idea doesn’t burden him–makes him more relaxed, actually. “But you’re overthinking it with Euijoo.” He pauses to craft the sentence in his head. “You said he didn’t hear it from you, right? That’s probably why he’s upset. It’s not about what you are–it’s about how he found out.”
Yuma doesn’t even know that Euijoo found out with a naked picture of Nicholas taking a man’s cock up his ass but he wants to spare the details for now. He doesn’t have to know that–matter of fact, none of his members has to know that. He doesn’t want to traumatize any more people. “I know. I just didn’t want to put it on him–or on any of you actually–I thought if I could figure it out myself first then telling you guys would be easier. But someone beat me to it.”
There’s a heaviness that settles over Yuma once he quickly realizes that one of Nicholas’ defining moments has been ripped away from him–which is a story and a heart-to-heart session for another time. “I mean you don’t have to have it all figured out. Labels? Yeah, you don’t really need them. I mean it’s love–it’s weird and it’s scary but most of all, it’s exciting,” Yuma pauses again, letting the words sink into Nicholas’ mind, “and you don’t have to think about all the technicalities that come with it. You can just… love and no one’s going to give a damn about who you choose to put all that energy to.”
Nicholas absorbs all of Yuma’s words, feeling both comforted and conflicted. “I get that,” he says quietly yet his mind goes back to the meeting and the schematics and the faces of the staff who want him to know what he is so they can anticipate other situations that might arise in the future, “but it feels like everyone else wants an answer. Like, I owe it to them to know exactly what I am before they can accept it.”
Yuma tilts his head, his gaze soft yet steady. Sometimes Nicholas forgets that Yuma’s two years younger than him. Given his past and his wisdom–veiled under the loud introvert personality and the weird quirks–sometimes he thinks that Yuma’s the older one. When it comes down to the serious things, he knows how to switch the other persona off. It’s probably why Nicholas came to him first, honestly, because despite the goofiness and all the jokes, he knows how to handle situations the best. And that’s what Nicholas needed; the perfect balance between the two.
“You don’t owe anyone anything. People are going to talk and the staff will pressure you but you should do it in your own time, on your own terms.” Yuma replies–steady, serious, like he’s had this same conversation a million times before.
Nicholas sighs, the knot in his chest loosening a little bit. “But what if I never figure it out?”
Yuma shrugs with a small smile, mattress dipping underneath the shift of weight. “Then you don’t. Maybe you never need to. What matters is how you feel and who you choose to share that with. The labels don’t even matter.”
For the first time in almost two and a half weeks, he feels… free . Like the door to his cage has finally been unlocked and he can stretch out his wings, feeling the cool breeze in between his feathers. He still has a long way to go and even if he’s not sure he’ll ever want to label himself as something , he knows that his members will still be with him at the end of the day. The weight that he’s been carrying alone has been slightly lifted off his shoulders–he has Yuma to thank for that. But he doesn’t really feel like inflating the already-inflated ego of an Aquarius man. He’ll keep his gratitude in his heart, he’s sure he’ll show it to Yuma another time.
“Oh and about Euijoo–” Yuma brings it up again, “just talk to him, he’ll listen, that’s what he does.”
“I’ll try.” Nicholas assures him.
“Alright.” He taps the bed a couple of times with his hands before lying down again. “Tell me if you need anything else–preferably after I’m done with my afternoon nap.”
Nicholas chuckles, the tension in the room has evaporated completely he doesn’t believe it was even there to begin with. Yuma’s right–the labels, the expectations, they can wait. For now, maybe he just needs to focus on being honest with himself and the people he cares about.
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Starting with Euijoo.
Gun to his head–if anyone asks who he’s closest with in the group, he’ll ask the person to pull the trigger instead. He won’t ever admit it but it’s not like everyone doesn’t already know. It’s Euijoo, it always has been and always will be Euijoo.
There are parts of him that only Euijoo understands completely, quirks only Euijoo can put up with, issues only Euijoo can talk him through. It’s always been like that since they both got eliminated from ILAND and had to train with each other, and Nicholas knows that no matter how hard things get, Euijoo is the one person who won’t leave. At least, that’s what he thought.
He knows he needs to talk to Euijoo, but there’s fear looming over him like a dark cloud, the kind that whispers: What if you’ve already lost him? What if things don’t go back to the way they were? What if Euijoo doesn’t want to carry that weight with him?
Nicholas can’t help but think back to their conversation in the meeting room—the coldness in Euijoo’s voice, the way he avoided eye contact, how quickly he walked away. Euijoo had been distant before, but never like this. Never over something so personal.
They haven’t talked properly since the meeting and Euijoo has acknowledged him probably ten times max for the last two and a half weeks. Other than the small conversation about Nicholas’ mismatched socks, their talks with one another only revolved around the correct dance steps and formations, never anything personal.
He knows they’re bound to talk about it–Euijoo can’t avoid the conversation forever, they live together and spend most of their waking time together–but he just hasn’t had the opportunity to bring it up. They’ve been busy and their schedules are packed to the brim with morning talk shows and magazine shoots and preparation for a comeback they’re not fully sure they know when yet. It’s just been a lot of things in such a short span of time–Nicholas just doesn’t want to add to the burden. (Both for him and for Euijoo.)
A dream wakes him up from his slumber–he’s sure he hasn’t been out long because it only felt like he was half-asleep. His phone is still replaying a random TikTok video and he locks it. He glances at his bedside table and groans when he notices that he hasn’t taken a bottle of water with him.
Nicholas swings his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes as he stands up. The dorm is dark and quiet–everyone’s already in their rooms–the usual late-night stillness settling in. He doesn’t even bother turning on the lights as he pads to the kitchen, he’s memorized the floor plan of their house for a while now. He wants to grab some water to both relieve his parched throat and shake off the remnants of a dream that lingers uncomfortably in his chest.
He takes a glass from the drying shelf, walks towards the sink and fills it up. When the sound of the water pouring inside his glass stops and he lifts his arm to take a sip, he hears the familiar beep of the front door opening. Nicholas freezes, eyes flicking towards the kitchen entrance–where he can see the front door and the person entering. The sound of footsteps follows, slow, unsteady, half-dragging.
Euijoo.
Nicholas’ grip on the glass tightens as he watches Euijoo stumble in, jacket barely hanging on his shoulders, hair tousled, a slight flush on his cheeks. Nicholas knows Euijoo enough to know that he’s tipsy–maybe even more. Euijoo doesn’t even notice Nicholas standing dumbfoundedly in the kitchen as he kicks off his shoes and is about to ascend the staircase.
But a voice–Nicholas’–stops him in his tracks. “Euijoo?”
Euijoo blinks, hand on the stair post, holding his heavy body up. He squints in the dim light as if trying to make out who’s lurking in the darkness of the kitchen. His expression changes when he realizes who it is, but it’s hard to read from a distance–part surprise, part something else. “Nicholas,” he mutters out, finally acknowledging him, so he does remember his name.
“Where have you been?” Nicholas asks, putting down the still-full glass of water on top of the counter.
Euijoo’s a little too intoxicated to think straight–Nicholas could see it from the way he keeps on squinting his eyes and finding something stable to hold on to–but he’s still a prideful person. So, instead of climbing up the stairs and throwing himself onto his bed. He lingers for a few seconds, thinking about his options, before he eventually walks towards Nicholas and stands under the arch that separates the landing and the kitchen.
“Out.” He answers–a bit snarkily. If it was any other day, Nicholas would point the attitude out. He was the one who approached him first yet he’s the one who chose to be moody. But since the tension’s still too thick and Nicholas doesn’t want to add another thing on top of Euijoo’s ‘reasons to ignore Nicholas’ stack of sins, he bites his tongue and nods.
Doesn’t mean he won’t be sarcastic back, though. “Oh,” he pauses, “is that a new bar?”
Despite being a little drunk–Euijoo picks up on the sarcasm. “Very funny, Nicho.”
The nickname stings because it’s used in a way that makes him feel even shittier about himself. Any other circumstance, it’d be nice and friendly–this one feels hostile, distant, uncomfortable. But even when they’re not on the best of terms, a part of Nicholas still feels for his best friend. He doesn’t usually go out to drink alone and he doesn’t go home at one in the morning after a drinking spree. That’s not who he is. Nicholas decides to offer an arm over the rift that’s formed between them. A small indication that he cares–even when Euijoo has done the past couple of weeks is to shut him out.
“No, seriously–where have you been? It’s late.” He tries to sound neutral, like he’s not judging Euijoo for his choice to drink and have fun. Schedule has been crazy, everyone’s too tired to go out–it’s not Euijoo’s fault for wanting to spare time for himself for once. Most of his time has been given to help the other members, anyway.
Euijoo sighs, Nicholas can see the outline of his broad shoulders moving up and down. “You’re not far off. I was drinking.”
Nicholas bites back the ‘No fucking shit, Euijoo’ and instead settles with, “Then it’s too early.”
“Ha-ha.” Euijoo deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest. “ Some of us are actually capable of being a responsible person.”
“What–are you seriously going to bring that up now?” It feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest and Euijoo’s twisting the knife every time he lets out the smallest of winces. He knows where to strike and he uses it for his own advantage.
Euijoo shrugs, posture rigid despite the alcohol in his system. “Maybe I should.”
His nonchalant attitude backed up with the unusual string of venom-covered words convinces Nicholas that even though it’s the alcohol talking–it’s Euijoo’s sober thoughts veiled underneath them all. If he hadn’t come home a little drunk, he wouldn’t have the guts to say all of this to Nicholas. Did he get drunk on purpose then? Did he know Nicholas was going to be awake and that he’d need the courage to be able to talk back to him for once?
“Then let’s talk about it, Euijoo,” Nicholas pauses, wanting Euijoo to swallow down the same sting of distance and unfamiliarity that settles in Nicholas’ stomach when he sees his friend stumble through the entrance of their dorm. “Seriously, what’s up with you?”
“I don’t know.” It’s only then that Nicholas realizes they’ve been conversing in Korean all this time. “I thought we shared everything together? How the fuck do you expect me to feel when the company showed me that picture? Are you out of your mind?”
Nicholas swallows and strikes back. “It’s confusing! I was scared, still am, I’m not even sure who I like—I just—it was a mistake and I shouldn’t have done it but you slut shaming me—”
“What?” Euijoo furrows his eyebrows together before straightening up his posture–Nicholas is glad they’re so far apart because he’s sure that Euijoo would’ve towered over him if he was standing any closer. “I don’t care about you having sex with strangers. It’s just—” He pauses to rub a hand all over his face, making him look redder. “You could’ve been more careful and responsible about it, what if he’d uploaded it to X first before actually sending it to the company?”
Euijoo doesn’t know that Nicholas has spent hours thinking about that possibility and all other possibilities that could’ve happened. This was the best case scenario–being outed in front of his best friend and staff–it could’ve been worse but it wasn’t. But it could’ve been. Though It wasn’t. It’s a constant battle in his head over the could’ve beens and what actually happened. Euijoo doesn’t know that Nicholas is losing sleep over it and Nicholas isn’t aware that it’s taken a toll on Euijoo, too.
He decides to be the bigger person even if on paper, he’s the one that are owed the apologies. “I know and I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight–”
“You weren’t thinking at all, that’s the problem, Nicho,” another mention of his nickname that sounds more like a threat than a friendly thing, “that’s the problem and I need you to think about us before you make decisions you know will affect the whole group.”
It’s the leader voice–he’s using it.
The reaction that makes the most sense is raising up his white flag and telling Euijoo that he’s sorry. Sweep his worries and disappointments under the rug, pull it up when the both of them aren’t so tired and angry at each other. Preferably when Euijoo’s not flushed from alcohol and Nicholas isn’t a sad little cat who’s just trying to figure out why he’s being casted out despite not doing anything wrong. He can’t believe that he’s getting the silent treatment based on ‘what if’s and ‘what could’ve been’s. It’s not fair. Euijoo’s not being fair. Sue him for wanting to level the playing field, sue him for wanting to hurt him back, sue him for being honest and truthful and brash–and everything Byun Euijoo is not.
Sue him for hitting back.
“You shut me out the second we walked out of that meeting. I was scared and lonely and you, our leader and my best-friend, decided that giving me the cold shoulder was better than talking to me about it. I needed you.” He pauses, his voice stammering a little, a lump forming in his throat. “I never needed you as much as I needed you at that time but you completely ignored me, Euijoo, do you know how that feels? To be completely dismissed by the one person you need most?”
Nicholas’ voice cracks at the end of his sentence, his emotions laid bare between them in the quiet kitchen. The overhead light flickers slightly, casting uneven shadows across Euijoo’s face, but his expression remains unreadable.
He waits for something–an apology, an explanation, maybe even more anger–but Euijoo just stands there, his gaze locked onto Nicholas’. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, and Nicholas’ chest tightens. And then, instead of answering, Euijoo does the one thing Nicholas never expects.
He steps forward, closing the distance between them in one quick, fluid motion. Before Nicholas can react, Euijoo’s hands cup his face, firm but gentle, and his lips press against his.
For a second, Nicholas doesn’t move, too shocked to respond. His heart slams against his ribcage as the warmth of Euijoo’s mouth floods his senses. The kitchen–the tension, the argument, the frustration–all of it dissolves into the background as Euijoo kisses him, deep and urgent, as though words have failed him, and this is the only way he knows how to communicate what’s been going on between them for weeks.
Nicholas’ eyes are still open when Euijoo tilts his head to deepen their kiss. It’s shocking, it’s weird–but it’s electrifying all the same. It’s like being jolted alive again, like taking a deep inhale of breath when he’s just resurfaced from a strong ocean current, like feeling the warmth of the sun on a long winter day. Euijoo feels… right against him. Even if the feelings are complex and his neurons are fried and he doesn’t know if this is Euijoo or if it’s the alcohol–it feels like it’s meant to happen.
Nicholas’ mind races, but his body moves on instinct. He kisses back, hesitant at first, but then something inside him snaps, and he’s pulling Euijoo closer, his hands gripping the fabric of Euijoo’s jacket as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. The kiss is messy, desperate–teeth against teeth, tongue against teeth, lips against tongue–full of all the pent-up frustration, confusion, and affection they’ve been carrying for too long.
When they finally break apart, both of them are breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other. Nicholas’ lips are tingling, his heart pounding so loud he’s sure Euijoo can hear it.
“What–” Nicholas whispers, afraid if he raises his voice, their bubble will burst and they’re once again forced to pick up the scattered pieces of themselves all over the kitchen tiles. “What are we doing? What are you doing?”
Euijoo takes a step back–like it just dawned on him, what he’s just done. The kiss sobered him up a little bit–he’s no longer squinting his eyes and staggering around like a penguin–but he still looks shocked. “I’m sorry–I just– shit.”
“Euijoo–” Nicholas tries to reason, steadying the both of them. “It’s alright,” I think, I think this will make my head explode but it’s alright, it’s–good, “you don’t have to apologize.”
“No–I need to, what I did was crazy and now you’ll probably think I only did it ‘cause I was drunk and maybe that’s half of the truth but the other half is that–” he pauses to regroup his thoughts, eyes finally meeting Nicholas’ again after they settle comfortably on the full glass of water on the counter, “is that I’ve been waiting to do that for ages but I just never had the guts to because I don’t know if you’re flirting with me like–in a fan-service kind of way or if you actually liked me.”
It’d be an absolute lie if Nicholas said it was the former. But he’s always thought Euijoo was straight–that’s just the sort of vibe he gives off. Ever since they had their awkward encounter when they were both still trainees all those years ago, Nicholas’ heart always skipped a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of Euijoo walking down the hallways or going to practice or even when Euijoo walked through the ILAND doors, all tall and timid. It just never seemed possible to–not when Nicholas spoke very limited Korean and Euijoo had his own group of friends he felt comfortable with.
It was just a crush, Nicholas was sure of it, and he’d buried it so deep inside his chest that he no longer felt the ache of an inevitable rejection that will never happen.
They trained together again, they were set to debut together, they debuted and like his sexuality–he’d just thrown his feelings for Euijoo on the backburner. Never to be touched, just to be. Sometimes he’d wonder if Euijoo would ever feel the same for him–if his heart fluttered the same way when his eyes locked with Nicholas’ during the show, if he was determined to debut with him when they were both training together again, if he wished Nicholas felt the same way too.
“You’re crazy if you think I didn’t.” Nicholas says back; the confession suspended in the space between their faces. He can still taste Euijoo’s lips–the alcohol, the cold, the warm realization of something that has finally fallen into place.
“But then the picture–man, I was devastated,” Euijoo confesses, he bites on his bottom lip, trying to recreate the pressure that Nicholas was giving it moments ago, “because I was a little bit jealous and I was scared I was going to lose you and I know it’s a stupid thing to do, to shut you out like that, but I wasn’t sure of a lot of things either.”
“Okay.” Nicholas nods–feeling a sudden rush of overwhelming emotions he’s not sure he’s ready to handle all at once. “Euij– Juju.” The use of his nickname softens Euijoo’s expression. “It’s a lot right now, for the both of us and I’m sure we’re both confused as hell.” Nicholas continues, his voice shaky but steadying with every word. “But what I do know is that I don’t want to lose you–lose this.” This thing that has been going on for four years and three minutes . “And I don’t want to keep avoiding this even if it’s messy or complicated.”
Euijoo’s shoulders relax slightly, but his jaw is still clenched. “I know… I’ve just–never been in this situation before. I don’t want to mess things up for us. For the group.”
There goes the leader trait again. Even in his most vulnerable moment–even when he’s stripped himself bare and he’s hanging off the side of a cliff, all that he can think about is the group. And that’s precisely why Nicholas has always naturally gravitated towards him. They both couldn’t have been more different to one another yet they feel like the same souls. Given life at the same time, faced God with interlaced fingers and assuring smiles, met on Earth to reconcile–not to meet for the first time.
Nicholas takes a step closer. “You won’t, we’ll figure it out.”
Like we always do–like what we’ve always done. We figure things out together. You helped me connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker. You stared at me–with hopeful eyes–when I stood up on the podium and had a chance to debut; your prayers were answered when I stepped down from it and was eliminated. Because then it’d mean we had a shot.
We always do.
“I’m sorry–it all feels like it doesn’t make sense.” Euijoo apologizes and Nicholas narrows the distance between them again.
“Well–everything’s a mess and we’re both still lost and I’m not sure what I was thinking but you’re the only thing in this world that has ever made sense.” Nicholas smiles, putting his hand on Euijoo’s left cheek, cupping it.
“You sure?” Euijoo asks again–always has to have an exit plan.
Instead of answering him with words, Nicholas leans in and kisses him again. Not rushed or desperate and not full of teeth and probing tongues. It’s slow, careful–yet still intense all the same. Like how they’ve always been. Like how they will always be.
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(“So you two are together now?”
“Sort of–kind of.”
“I mean–we’re okay with the coming out thing, you know, whatever floats both of your boats but really? Dating each other? That’s kinda corny isn’t it?”
“Aren’t the best love stories?”
“Okay–first, that’s disgusting, second, aw?”
A smack on the back of Maki’s head is delivered by none other than K himself.
“Ground rule: don’t get all kissy kissy in front of us because then I’d have to agree with Maki for once.”)