Chapter Text
Choi Jongho’s life is simple. Not easy, definitely not boring, but simple. Everything he could want, really. He’s an idol, lives with his best friends, makes music, and travels the world. It really is everything he could hope to ask for.
He’s sat on the floor of their living room, knees to his chest to avoid touching any of his sprawled out hyungs. Only one of them was ever taught the definition of personal space, their lovely captain, Hongjoong. Although, even he has blurred the lines and allowed Seonghwa to sidle next to him, their shoulders barely brushing against each other.
Drinks have been poured, music playing from the sound system tucked against the wall, and half of the group (Yeosang, San, Mingi, and Wooyoung, to be specific) are entertaining themselves by screaming along with whatever song decides to play next, dancing, pushing and pulling on one another as they down more drinks than necessary.
Yunho (aka, the last calm one in the group) can’t get his eyes off of Mingi. No matter how much they try to avoid the question, it’s hard to deny your relationship when one man is sitting in another’s lap while being stared at in such an I-love-you-please-marry-me-now kind of way.
That thought makes Jongho cringe. He isn’t homophobic in any way, but the thought of his hyungs doing anything sweet or “spicy” makes him feel like screaming into a pillow and moving to another country is the only way to continue living.
“Jongho!” The high-pitched shout from Wooyoung is way more than enough to jerk Jongho out of his quickly derailing thoughts. His eyes lift, realizing that the music is quieter now, and a few well-wrapped presents are being pushed in his direction.
That’s right. They're celebrating his birthday. He turns 25 today.
“Mine first!” Wooyoung shouts, just to be dragged back by his drunk but still stupidly strong boyfriend.
“Let him choose, Young-ah,” San coos into his hair, refusing to let go even though Wooyoung fights him incessantly.
“Hongjoong and I went in on one gift,” Seonghwa announces, his head nodding towards a fairly small box. “But you choose which one you want first.”
Birthdays were never Jongho’s favorite holiday. The presents were nice, and the excuse to be with friends was something he would accept almost any time, but having every pair of eyes in the room on him was always nervewracking. No matter how many times he performs, gets interviewed, photographed, this always sets his nerves aflame.
“Thank you, hyungs,” he gets out, reaching for the aforementioned gift.
It almost feels like a crime, ripping apart the carefully folded paper and setting it aside for Yunho to grab, already holding a small trash can to place the destroyed wrappings in. But, this is the process, and he’s happy to entertain his hyungs for the night.
Inside is a pair of headphones. They look expensive, and the weight of the box only reflects that idea. They’re black with metallic purple detailing, reminiscent of his microphone when they perform. His eyes lift, a smile crossing his lips as he gives them his thanks once more, moving to the next box.
“That’s from me,” Yunho coos, just to groan as Mingi jabs him in the side. “And Mingi.” His eyes roll to the back of his head. “But he only wrapped it.”
“Hey!”
Jongho elects to ignore the annoyed whine in favor of tearing into the next box. It is still well wrapped, but not nearly as nice as Seonghwa’s. It’s far smaller, about the size of a boarding pass. That makes his heart jump. Did they pay for a trip for him? Or maybe a show?
A grin splits across his face when he finally gets the lid off, seeing two tickets inside. A music festival in Seoul. Even without knowing who will be performing, it’s an exciting thought.
“Two tickets?” He eventually asks, catching Yunho’s gaze. “Are we going together?”
“We can,” Yunho’s shoulders bounce, swatting at Mingi when the man continues to whine at how cruel he’s being. “But I figured- Fine, okay! We figured you could invite anyone you wanted. It is your gift, after all.”
“That’s really thoughtful. Thank you, Yunho.” Despite how much he respects his hyungs, it is more than entertaining to watch drunk Mingi whine and complain about being targeted, hated, etc. Especially now that he doesn’t have to deal with it and can just move on to the next gift.
His hand dips towards San and Wooyoung’s, just to feint and grab Yeosang’s instead. He feels pleased at the fake sob he hears from the trouble-maker of the group.
Another box, larger this time. He can see pink flush up Yeosang’s cheeks as he leans forward, watching and waiting. “I hope you like it.” It’s a very simple phrase, but the way he slurs his words just slightly and smiles makes Jongho’s stomach flutter. Hyung has always been kind.
A red and black jacket sits inside, nestled neatly in a plain white box, surrounded by ribbons of crinkled paper. His hands smooth over the surface, meeting cool leather. As he lifts it from the box, he can smell it, too. The styling is reminiscent of their Crazy Form outfits. The memories make him smile.
Without a word, he pulls it on, sighing in relief that it fits almost perfectly. The fabric inside is thick and warm, perfect for the cold weather that will be approaching soon, and the many pockets will be useful as well. He’s always had very specific styles, so someone finding something so perfect and fitting makes him happy beyond belief.
“Yeosang-hyung,” He strips the jacket, carefully placing it back inside the box. “Thank you, very much. It’s incredible,” He bows his head, still smiling despite the laughter and his aforementioned hyung’s attempts to pull him back up.
“No, no, don’t do that!” Yeosang laughs, one hand covering his mouth as the other straightens Jongho’s posture. “It’s your birthday, and you were eyeing a similar jacket so I-” He cuts himself off with another laugh. Clearly the alcohol is hitting him harder than he anticipated. “I’m happy you like it.”
Jongho stares. He hates to admit it, but there’s no hiding the way he looks at hyungs face. It’s nice to see him so loose, happy, and very clearly pleased with himself for picking a great gift. He has a few months to pick out a worthy enough present for hyung.
“Okay, okay, now you can’t bully me anymore!” Wooyoung shouts, catching everyone’s attention once more. “Gogogogo!”
Jongho rolls his eyes with a fake frown, but grabs the present anyways. He’s quick to peel the wrapping away, just to raise an eyebrow in confusion.
Red rope. That’s what they got him? He ignores the giggling, feeling along the lines of the rope. It’s soft, so clearly not for labor. Then, decoration maybe? He turns the package, hoping there will be another hint, just for his face to burn to nearly the same shade as what is sitting in his hands.
“Wooyoung!” He shouts, dropping the package and looking up with a glare. “Why would you-”
“Because you’re so strung up all the time!” Of course, he can’t even wait to make his ridiculous pun, falling into a heavy fit of laughter.
San looks pleased as well, laughing right alongside him as he hands over a card. “That’s the real present, Jongho, I’m sorry.”
Right. That’s why you’re still laughing at me.
Jongho bats at the curious hands reaching for the “gift,” stashing it under his leg while he opens the card. It’s blank, with a small note written inside from both of them about appreciating their maknae, blah blah, but what really catches his attention is the voucher for a local hot pot restaurant. Just the thought of grilling meat makes his stomach grumble. He heaves a sigh.
“Thanks,” he grumbles, pocketing the voucher and standing to gather the rest of his spoils.
Wooyoung is still laughing, and San has settled in the crook of his neck, giggling along. Mingi and Yunho have found a similar position, their long legs tangled together as they stage whisper to one another, sweet nothings that they think no one else can hear. Jongho won’t be the one to tell them otherwise. Seonghwa has disappeared, and Hongjoong busies himself with cleaning up the mess the team has left behind.
Then, there’s Yeosang. He has the rope in his hands, turning it over and over again, feeling along the smooth twists. Jongho’s ears burn once more, just watching for a moment.
It would look good on him.
The thought is enough to smack some sense into him, suddenly stepping forward to reach for the package. It’s handed over without hesitation. Yeosang gives a laugh, his hand covering his lips once more.
“They always do this,” he coos, standing as well to help Hongjoong clean. “You’ll find something to do with it. Let me know if you need anything.” he waves as Jongho leaves, stalking to his room to be in silence.
Let me know if you need anything.
There’s no way he means with the rope. Yeosang isn’t that kind of person, and neither is he. He’s sure of that, 100%. He’s just being a good hyung, offering to help his maknae.
So why is that thought disappointing?
After two days of letting the rope hide under a pile of socks in his drawer, Jongho lets curiosity get the best of him. He doesn’t attempt any knots, instead just pulling and wrapping the rope around his wrists, ankles, arms. It feels nice. There is nothing that catches or pulls, no real risk of any lasting burns to come from the soft fabric. You could easily tie someone with it, without worrying about them getting hurt.
He pauses, letting that thought stir in his mind, before gently placing the bundle into a drawer and stepping out of his room for a long shower. Maybe the water would purify his mind.
But, that’s not how showers work, and the next day he’s sitting on the floor with a YouTube tutorial playing as he wraps intricate loops around his ankle. The angle makes it difficult, fumbling and dropping the rope on multiple occasions. The title of the video only serves to annoy him more, “A Beginner’s Guide to Shibari, Easy, No Fail!” As if, he’s been trying for nearly an hour and it just isn’t clicking.
But, when he’s done, it isn’t as bad as he thinks. He stands, walks around, and even though it’s a bit ugly the knots hold, the pattern stays.
Jongho smiles. He stares in the mirror, twisting his body to catch every angle of it. No matter how much he hates Wooyoung, he did make a good choice on the color. The red is nice, it stands out as a pretty accent against the black that he always wears.
Yeosang looks good in red, too.
The thought takes him by surprise. He pauses again, staring at himself, at his own shocked expression and the rising pinks in his cheeks. And without a word he strips the rope away, wraps it carefully into a bundle, and turns to his bed.
The rest of the week follows similarly. Every night he finds a new video, a new pattern, and he practices on himself as best as possible. It’s mostly just patterns and simple knots, not anything that people would probably consider sexual. But, his mind strays there every now and again.
Eight days following his birthday, he can’t stop thinking about it.
Jongho turns on his side with a groan, eyeing his desk pushed into the corner of the room. It houses an open laptop, a half empty glass of water, but, more importantly, the bundle of red rope that he had just finished using for the night. The black packaging has been disposed of for nearly a few days now, folded inside out and dropped in a bin far from the dorms to avoid any fans finding it or the ensuing humiliation from his team.
He thinks about the experimenting he’s done, how limited he is with only using props and his own legs as a mannequin, and lets his mind wander to where it’s been struggling to go all this time.
Yeosang, and how good he looks in red, and how he may or may not have offered to help him practice with the rope a week ago.
The maknae feels his face burn almost immediately, pulling a pillow over his head as if that would stop the imaginary eyes judging him throughout the room. How could he think that about his hyung? How could he ask that of him?
Maybe it would be easier with Seonghwa. He was always comfortable with this sort of thing. Or Wooyoung, whose impossible personality would be annoying enough to distract him from the humiliation of the act. Or even San, who plays the role of the “sexy one” so well that it may just come naturally.
He groans, tossing the pillow to the side in favor of standing for his glass of water. And of course it’s warm, which does nothing to cool the heat that has settled in his body.
Jongho steps into a pair of slippers, simultaneously dragging a plain t-shirt over his head before heading for the kitchen. Water, ice, and maybe a snack. He wonders if they have any Pepero.
There’s almost always noise in the dorms. Music, yelling, phone calls, livestreams, chats, and the less-than-appropriate sounds which come from every room but his and Yeosang’s. It’s a wonder how any of them think they are discrete in their relationships and private activities. The maknae isn’t the biggest fan of the incessant noise, and instead walks around with a pair of headphones most of the time. Recently he has been using the gift from Matz, which are currently blasting some of their older music in his ears. Reminiscing on their debut is something he always looks fondly on, and those thoughts are usually more than enough to distract him from whatever else he could focus on.
He hums to himself as he scoops some ice into his cup, followed by a heavy pour of water. After a few sips, he starts sifting through the cupboards, and there they are. A box of Pepero, unopened. He decides to lay claim, almost immediately opening the box to bite off a piece. The taste is good. Cheap, sweet, and more than enough to settle the gentle gnaw of late-night hunger that has been digging at him.
Just before he turns, a finger prods into his side, and he can’t help but jump away and let out one of the most embarrassing noises he’s heard in his entire life. His ears burn red, the heat unmistakable and alerting anyone within a ten foot radius.
His head whips around to find the culprit, expecting Wooyoung, just to freeze when he spots Yeosang standing next to him. One hand is up in apology or surrender, while the other covers his lips. Even though he can’t hear over the headphones, Jongho has that laugh memorized and plays it over and over in his head. It takes him too long to take the headphones down, faking a pout as he grabs for his water, sipping it again.
“Not cool, hyung,” he grumbles, distracting himself with another Pepero.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Yeosang drops his hand, finally letting his smile show. His hands dip into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Even for bed, he’s well dressed in a silky black pyjama set. He’s covered from head to toe, his hair pushed back by a headband that keeps his bangs out of his face. Jongho realizes far too late that he’s staring, but Yeo doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t mind.
“Am I in your way?” The youngest asks, taking a step away before his hyung can answer. “I was just grabbing water.”
“You usually aren’t up this late,” the red-haired man states, ignoring his question in favor of leaning against the counter. Exhaustion is clear on his face, yet he stands here and talks. “Rough night?”
That isn’t the easiest question to answer. Jongho can feel his body stiffen, briefly glancing down at his exposed ankles in hopes that they aren’t still red before answering with a shrug. “Just can’t seem to sleep. Figured a snack would help.”
“Ah, Pepero!” Yeosang gasps and steps forward, waiting for permission before taking one from the package and biting down with a hum. His hand covers his lips as he chews, nodding along. “I can’t sleep either. I came in for a drink, too.”
Jongho isn’t thinking. He immediately sets down his goodies before gathering another glass, filling it with water and passing it to hyung, who laughs and waves a hand at him.
“No, no, you didn’t have to!”
“That’s alright, I was blocking the cabinet anyways.”
Yeosang smiles and bows his head before taking a sip, starting for the doorway. “Well, we should get some sleep. Dance practice is tomorrow!”
“Hyung!” The word leaves his mouth before he can think, and his brain decides to stop there, staring like an idiot as Yeosang looks at him in polite confusion. He wants to scream.
“Yes?” He eventually asks, tracing his steps back to Jongho, the back of his palm finding his forehead. “You’re red, are you feeling alright?”
Jongho doesn’t let any of those thoughts invade his mind, shaking his head quickly before removing Yeo’s hand. “No, I’m- I’m not sick,” He takes a breath, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Do you remember what you said on my birthday?”
A smile comes back to his lips, confusion still dancing in his eyes. “Well, probably happy birthday?”
Damnit, he’s an idiot.
Instead, he laughs, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Ha, yeah, you uh… you did,” he clears his throat, taking another drink. “Sorry, I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you at practice?”
Yeosang nods, heading back to the doorway. But, he stops. Jongho feels his heart racing, beating so fast it may jump out of his chest. All he can think of is the humiliation he feels, and how badly he wants to hide in a pillow again. Why won’t Yeosang just leave and-
“I meant what I said, Jongho.” Yeosang turns, pink dusting his cheeks, and he won’t quite meet the maknae’s gaze. Jongho realizes after a moment that the older man is staring at the red on his legs. “If you need anything, I’m happy to help.” He pauses for a moment, finally looking back into his eyes. “With anything .”
And, before Jongho can think to respond, he’s gone.
Jongho has never been to hell, but the next few days certainly feel just about as close as one could get to the real deal.
Rehearsal sucks. He can’t focus, either getting lost in thought or staring at Yeosang as he performs every move with what seems like zero effort. They all know how hard he works, how much he puts into every step, and how much it breaks him if something doesn’t work well enough quickly enough. He puts his heart into everything he tries. Would he try that hard for-
“Jongho.”
The call of his name wrenches the youngest from thought, his head snapping up to catch the gaze of Hongjoong. The man’s face is hard, feigning annoyance, but his eyes always show the softer, more concerned side.
“We’re in the middle of practice. Are you with us or not?” It’s a very simple trick Honjoong likes to pull. A rhetorical command disguised as a way out. He can either nod and get back to practice, or take a break if needed. They don’t have time for breaks right now, and with how distracted he is, Jongho can use all the practice he can get.
So, he nods, and after a moment the track starts once more. He doesn’t let himself look at Yeosang, knowing that will only invite more distractions as his mind tries to play out every little scene it can imagine. Or it could never do that. That would be preferred. Thinking about his hyung in such… conditions makes him warm, uncomfortable, humiliated. Why would someone even think that? Especially someone like Jongho, who isn’t even gay, and who definitely is not into things like shibari or-
“Jongho!”
His whole body freezes, and he feels heat rise to his face almost immediately, staring down at his leader once more. The concern is more apparent this time, and the back of a hand is placed on his forehead.
“Are you feeling sick? You’re burning up.” He glances at Seonghwa, who starts towards them as well. Jongho suddenly feels more heat on his cheeks, swiftly stepping away and towards the door.
“Nope!” He calls, fumbling for his phone on the way out. “Just need a break, I’ll be-” He looks towards Yeosang, then away again before he can give any hint to what he’s thinking. “Sorry Captain, I’ll be right back, please don’t wait for me.” His back bends, dropping him into a deep bow before nearly sprinting from the room.
The only place Jongho can think to go is the roof. The autumn air is cool, which helps to ease the warmth in his face and stomach. And the privacy is always nice. Usually staff come up here to smoke, evident by the cigarette butts stamped out and swept against the wall. But, he just enjoys the privacy. Being able to lean against the railing, stare at the city, be by himself. It’s calming.
It’s also a good time to run through the thoughts that have been plaguing his mind. Clearly he’s only thinking about Yeosang because of the offer, but it seems like he does enjoy shibari. Maybe not in an exclusively explicit way, but even the more “acceptable” version is a bit frightening. That also means Wooyoung’s stupid gag gift ended up being dead on.
“Shit,” he whines to no one in particular, suddenly wishing that he had a bottle of soju. Or something to do with his hands, other than pick at his clothing and rub his now freezing arms. “What do I do?”
“Well, you could start by talking about what’s been going on for the past two weeks.”
Jongho jumps, head turning so quickly he thinks he may get whiplash. For a split second, he thinks it’s just his mind playing tricks, but as the man moves closer he can smell the cologne on him. That’s definitely Yeosang.
“You’ll really get sick if you stay out here without a coat,” his hyung says while stepping forward, draping a jacket over his shoulders. The leather one from his birthday. “I’m glad you liked this so much.” His hand smooths down the front, resting right overtop of Jongho’s racing heart. The maknae wonders if hyung can feel it through the leather.
“Of course I like it,” he barely whispers, shrugging the jacket on properly. “It’s an incredible gift. Thank you, hyung.”
And Yeosang just smiles, steps next to him, and stares out at the city. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pry or question. He just waits. He somehow knows exactly what Jongho needs.
“Hyung,” he starts, feeling the butterflies flutter in his stomach, heat rising in his ears and flushing down his cheeks. “I have a question.”
“Ask as many as you need.” The red-haired man doesn’t turn as he speaks. “I’m not in a rush. Take your time.”
The offer is accepted immediately. Hyung’s right, they aren’t in a rush, and that means he is perfectly content with just staring off into space while frantically trying to pull his thoughts together. For a brief moment, he thinks that Yeosang will just make his offer again. But, the fact that he clarified it even once was a bit surprising. This is a step he’ll have to take on his own.
Instead of jumping in, he takes a breath, lets it out, watches the small puff of fog float from his mouth before it’s blown away by the light breeze. The silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It never feels that way with Yeosang. The man has an air about him, one that just soothes every nerve in Jongho’s body.
“Hyung,” Jongho lets out a breath he forgot he was holding in, his gaze darting to the right, away from the man in question. “Your offer, on my birthday. It was about the, uh…” he pauses, wishfully thinking that Yeosang would have pity on him. But, of course, he doesn’t.
“Wooyoung’s gift,” he swallows, eyes closing. “Were you offering to help me learn shibari?”
The hum of a laugh makes his ears burn red, almost ready to tuck his tail and run before a hand snakes under his arm, latching on tight. How much more embarrassing could this get? He knew it was wrong, some stupid misunderstanding, and now-
“I was.”
Jongho’s breath catches in his throat, his entire body frozen on the spot. It feels like years before he finally looks down. Pink is dusting Yeosang’s cheeks, or at least the few spots that he can see. It looks like his hyung is hiding behind his fluttering hair, a perfectly timed breeze covering the majority of his face.
“Are you planning on using that offer?”
The question makes the maknae’s stomach burn, in embarrassment and frustration that he isn’t the only one struggling over this situation. Yeosang is embarrassed, of course he is, he must have thought that Jongho didn’t want to accept his offer, or maybe even thought he was weird for saying it in the first place. How could he have been so selfish when his hyung was in almost the exact same position?
“Would you like to come to my room tonight?” The younger asks, finally catching hyung’s gaze when the breeze dies down. A dose of confidence burns in him, knowing that Yeosang might look even more embarrassed than he does. “I could show you what I’ve been trying.”
His heart skips a beat at the sweet smile that skips across his face. He’s happy when it isn’t immediately covered by one of the older’s petit hands.
“I won’t do it for free,” hyung seems delighted in the horror that flashes across Jongho’s face, a hand reaching up to pat at his burning cheek. “Don’t worry, it’ll be something easy! I’ll let you know tonight, okay?”
All that the younger can think to do is give a jerky nod. The cold that rushes up his body when Yeosang slips away makes him want to pout and pull him back in, but he stays against the guard rail, watching him return to the staircase.
Not a word is said between the two for the rest of the day, and maybe it’s better that way, because there’s a lump in Jongho’s throat that won’t quite go away. He heads back to the dorms early, deciding to lean into the “I may be sick, let me die in peace” idea that everyone has been shouting out. There are countless offers to call a doctor, get medicine, take him to dinner, cuddle on the couch (no thank you, Wooyoung, you’re gross), but every one is easily rejected and dismissed. He’s almost disappointed when not a single offer comes from Yeosang, even though it’s completely illogical for him to think that way.
The day is spent mostly in his room, headphones blaring anything that would drown out the noise of his psychotic flat-mates in favor of countless tutorials, Reddit suggestions, and patterns. At some point he knows that he’s joining his crazy teammates, because he starts grumbling to himself.
“I invited him tonight, I should have said Friday to give myself more time.” He wants to bash his head in as he practices knots, wrapping around his shin with far more tension than necessary. “Stupid, you dug your own grave, why did you even bother? This is dumb.”
And pathetic , he wants to add, knowing that his strange obsession with what will happen in the next few hours will surely be the death of him. Or, the anticipation will, at least.
The night stretches too long and not nearly long enough. Clearly, he didn’t think about how his headphones could cause a problem, because he receives a text. The notification is barely enough to steal his attention away from the length of rope that he is currently wrapping back into a neat bundle.
Sangie: Knocking on your door. Still up for tonight? Take your time
“Maybe I should just die,” he murmurs, staring at his screen for far too long before scrambling to his feett, hand hovering over the doorknob.
One, two, three breaths. On the last exhale, he twists and pulls, revealing Yeosang.
Hyung is dressed nicely, even though the outfit is painfully simple. A black compression shirt, loose, black sweats, and a pair of fluffy pink slippers. His makeup for the day has been removed, and he has two glasses of ice water in his hands, presenting one almost immediately. Hyung looks so casual, so comfortable. Is he not freaking out right now?
“You haven’t left your room, so I figured you could use a drink,” Yeosang starts, glancing behind the other man to peer into his darkened room. “Are you feeling well enough for me to come in?”
Jongho inhales, peering into the hallway before accepting the glass and standing aside. Words won’t form on his lips, won’t create false confidence or ease any nerves. He’s stuck, and so he just stays in silence, sipping at the water as he shuts and locks his door once more.
The overhead lights stay off, the room only illuminated by a small lamp on his desk and the glow of his laptop, which has been cleared of any incriminating evidence. The younger finds a seat on his bed, patting the empty spot next to him for Yeosang to join.
Neither man moves to speak. Jongho wonders if it’s because of nerves, or because of whatever game it seems that the older has been playing. A brief thought carves in that this is all a bet, some trick, but Yeo wouldn’t stoop that low. It would be cruel of him to assume that, for even a second.
“Yeosang,” he hates how rough his voice sounds, how much it wavers with such a simple word. But there’s no snide remark, no joke, just an intent gaze fixated on him. “Are you sure this isn’t weird?”
The following hum makes a shiver run up his spine, finally gaining the courage to look into his eyes. They seem to catch the small amount of light just right, glowing and shining with comfort, nerves, and something else that he doesn’t quite understand.
“Not at all. I’m always happy to help my maknae.” The nickname makes Jonho’s heart flutter, swallowing the lump that has kept him from speaking all day. “But, we don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”
“No!” He cringes at himself, clearing his throat before speaking in a softer tone. “I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. You’re important to me, and I wouldn’t want to ruin anything with-” His eyes settle on the red bundle, unable to look away. “With something like this.”
“Oh, Jonogho,” the coo makes heat rush to his ears, burning hotter than a sauna. “I would never put you in a position like that. If I would be uncomfortable, I would have never offered.” A pause, as Yeosang follows his gaze to the rope. “Do you want to know what I want in return?”
The younger man’s breath catches, having forgotten about the price, if only for a few moments. Maybe that would be important to know beforehand.
“Yes.”
“A kiss.”
The response comes almost immediately, and Jongho snaps to look back at Yeosang, whose finger is tapping on his cheek, just beneath the red birthmark under his eye. Pink floods his cheeks, eyes averted.
“Everyone is affectionate with one another,” hyung explains, his eyes slowly slipping up to catch Jongho’s stare. “Except for you. I just want something that no one else gets to have.”
The blood pumping in his ears is deafening, it’s almost a shock that he manages to hear Yeosang speak in the first place. He knows that what he heard is right, but wants to ask for clarification anyways. The reasoning is so sweet, so selfish, and so Yeosang that it makes his chest burn with something he can’t place.
“Ah, I’m sorry, I know that’s strange.” The resigned laugh makes him want to scream. “I’ll think of something else, or-”
“A kiss is fine, hyung.” Jongho’s hand settles on his elder’s cheek, bringing his gaze back. “I’m more than happy to pay you back that way.”
Every atom in the room crackles with tension and electricity. If he pulls away, he fears that he’ll be shocked, thrown back against the wall. So they hold that gaze, that moment, just staring at one another with trust and comfort.
Yeosang is the first to move away, gently pushing Jongho’s hand down before rising. His steps are swift and smooth as he crosses the room, hands grabbing at the bundle before tossing it to Jongho, a casual smile back on his face.
“What are we starting with?”
The pattern is simple. The movements are rehearsed. Everything has been practiced for hours, organized in his mind, and set up so that there is no way he can fail.
So why is this so damn hard?
The younger kneels on the bed, forehead brimming with sweat as his hands fumble over the rope, producing messy knots and uneven lines. Yeosang’s skin is soft against his hands, something he wishes that he could have never known, but the accidental brushes are nearly impossible to avoid.
Hyung seems calm. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t move, just gives his arm to Jongho without a single word and lets him stumble his way through this mess. It’s only when the maknae starts grumbling under his breath that his elder’s free hand settles on the black-haired man’s shoulder, stealing his attention.
“Are you nervous?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, as if he’s keeping a secret. “It’s okay to slow down, Jongie. I’m not here to judge you.”
Then why are you here?
But the question gets swallowed down in favor of a deep breath, a nod, and his hands are only slightly more stable as they undo the previous knots.
A new start.
This time, he counts his breaths as he moves, treating the flitting of his fingers almost like the steps of a dance. The first few twists are uncertain, sloppy, but there’s a constant support coming from the man next to him.
“Good job.”
“That looks great.”
“You’re so talented, maknae.”
Every word makes his breath catch, heat flushing his entire body, hands trembling for a different reason now. He shifts on the bed, knees pushing together harder before willing himself to relax again.
The ties are starting to take shape. A diamond stretches along the length of Yeosang’s forearm, the red almost harsh against his milky skin. It's bordered with a thicker line at the top and bottom, the rope digging in just enough to create a small bulge of skin and muscle, sure to leave a light mark once it’s removed.
But, it’s still messy. Jongho can’t help but pout, disappointment clear on his features as he holds onto hyung’s wrist, twisting and turning to catch every angle of the design.
“Do you like it?” Yeosang’s voice rings out, stealing his attention away from the messy knots and back to his pale face. “Or would you like to try again?”
Jongho’s mouth opens, ready to answer immediately, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to seem too needy, expectant, eager. Hyung is probably asking because he wants to leave, it’s already so late anyways.
“I don’t want to keep you up late.” His voice feels pathetic, so quiet and uncertain. It makes him wish this had never been offered in the first place.
“But I’m enjoying this,” he says, shocking the younger man. The small laugh that follows makes his chest burn, eyes darting across Yeosang’s features in search of a lie. “You’re very focused, it’s cute.”
As if that’s supposed to help me calm down!
“I’m not cute,” he grumbles instead, absently picking at the tail of the rope. “I can try again?”
“Mhmm,” comes that hum, a shiver running up Jongho’s spine in response. “As many times as you want. I’m happy to wait as long as you need me to.”
All he can think to do is nod, still staring at the rope, at the uneven diamond.
As many times as you want.
Jongho reaches out once more, untying everything and starting fresh. He eyes the pink lines left behind, using those as a guide when he lays down the first strand.
As long as you need me.
His moves are more confident this time, more comfortable. He lets himself fall into a rhythm, finding an absent beat, every knot becoming a note. A melody that only he can hear, that only Yeosang can dance to, a performance that forms between their skin.
Jongho isn’t scared to touch him this time. He lets his hands rest on hyung’s pale flesh, twists and turns and holds and brushes as much as he needs, as much as it takes to get those perfect lines. He likes the way the color looks on him, likes the way it bites into his skin a little more than he should. And, in the end, it’s close enough to perfect.
Anything would look perfect on Yeosang.
His mind stops as his hands pull away, silence overtaking them once more as hyung’s arm lifts, eyeing the work in the dim light. He’s smiling, he has been the entire time, but it feels fuller now.
“Good job, Jongie!” He giggles, his body falling over to lean against the younger’s chest. He easily catches the lighter man, arms wrapping around his senior just enough to keep them both upright as he feels along the rope.
Jongho’s face burns, shifting awkwardly as he keeps Yeosang out of his lap, only letting shoulders meet his chest for stability purposes. But he can’t stop himself from reaching out, their hands brushing together as he feels along his work, working his lower lip between his teeth and shifting once more.
Fuck.
“You like it?” He gets out, the words just slightly too rushed, gentle as he pushes Yeosang up and away once more.
“It’s very pretty,” he coos in response, a pout overtaking his lips. “I’m sad I’ll have to take it off, you spent so much time on it.”
“That’s okay,” Jongho smiles, reaching forward once more to start undoing the knots.
“Wait, wait, I want a picture!” Yeosang fumbles for his phone, quick to open it and start posing his arm for a picture. Just before clicking, he looks up, taking note of Jongho’s nervous gaze. “If that’s okay with you?”
“What?” He blinks a few times, a hand reaching up to scratch at his neck. “Yeah, just, uh- don’t show it to anyone? None of the other members, at least.” He nods, as if bargaining with himself, then adds, “And don’t say it was me!”
Another laugh that sends butterflies to his stomach and heat to his cheeks, Yeosang’s hand flying up to cover his mouth. “Of course, yeah!”
Then he’s moving again, finding the same pose as before and snapping a few pictures. Surely they can’t look that good in the dim light, but if it would make him happy, he doesn’t mind letting it happen.
“We can turn more lights on next time, so you can get a better picture,” Jongho murmurs, hands carefully undoing each knot. He can’t help but feel along the grooves left behind, watching the white skin turn into a splotchy pink as the rope is pulled away. It almost makes him feel guilty, and the pressure growing in his lap from the sight only makes him feel worse.
“Next time?”
The younger’s heart stops beating for a moment, fingers pausing as he peers up, catching Yeosang’s eyes boring directly into his soul.
“We don’t have to,” he whispers, swallowing the words that want to rush out of his lips. “I’m sorry, I-”
“No, I’m asking when the next time is.”
The clarification doesn’t do much to ease his mind. Jongho likes to think he’s a smart guy, but the gears turning and pumping smoke out of his ears don’t do much to prove that.
“Like, I’m free next Wednesday?” Yeo continues, the merciful man that he is. “Is that okay with you?”
And like the stupid, stupid man that he is, all Jongho can do is nod. Too fast, too eager, but there isn’t any teasing comment that follows. Hyung just stands, stripping the rest of the rope and leaning forward. His fingers lift up, poking into his cheekbone.
“My payment?”
That’s enough to elicit a laugh, one of the few he’s had all night. Jongho is pleased with the embarrassed look that crosses Yeosang’s face, so much so that he leans forward without a second thought. A chaste kiss is placed right where he pointed, not even a second long before he has settled back onto the bed.
“Goodnight, hyung. And thank you.”
“Of course, Jongie,” Yeosang leans forward to ruffle his hair. The touch still tingles on his scalp when the man exits the room, leaving the youngest in silence.
This time, the silence isn’t comforting.
Jongho groans to himself, one hand pushing into his hair to hopefully get rid of the absent feeling left on his scalp, while the other reaches lower, palming himself through the thick sweatpants.
He’s half hard.
What the fuck is happening?