"This was bound to happen."
Yeonjun's breath steams in the cold. "I wonder if Jimin hyung chose this place because of the proximity of the ice-cream place to the soju place."

"I wonder if Taehyun picked it."

They're standing outside in the frigid street while their friends all get shit-faced in the bar behind them. Beomgyu plays with the buttons on his suit, worrying his lip with his teeth. He's an idiot-every single thought of his now has something to do with colorful buildings and giant bulls, which are the first two things that popped up on his search for Spain in the ice-cream place's bathroom. He's not sure what to do with the information.

"So, uh. International work, is it?"

Yeonjun stiffens a bit. "Yes. The director-he's a friend of mine. I'll go, um, see locations a bit. Get some inspiration. Work on some visual boards and stuff."

"That's so cool, hyung."

"What will you do?" Yeonjun asks, his eyes steadfastly on the street-lamp across them. "The show's done, what's next?"

Beomgyu shrugs. "Don't know. There's always work to be done at the store. Soobin is doing some market sizing for an essential oils line. We might help with that."

"Oh. Soobin seems enterprising."

"He is. He can do anything," Beomgyu pulls his arms tighter around himself. The light from the yellow lamp turns the air around Yeonjun fuzzy, blurs all his edges. He takes a deep, uncertain breath. "Are you-were you planning on heading to the airport soon, or do you have to go home?"

Yeonjun casts his gaze skyward. "All my stuff is in the car," he says, and then clenches his fists like he no longer knows what to say to Beomgyu.

"Ah."

"I have the whole night to kill."

"What will you do? Hyung, please tell me you weren't planning on sitting in the airport the whole time. There is this comic book cafe nearby that stays open all night, and it has food and games and manga. Video games too! I go there sometimes to play," Beomgyu swallows, realizes he's rambling. "I mean, if you like comics. Do you like comics? I like comics."

Yeonjun says nothing for a few long moments, just scuffs his boots against the pavement and peeks up experimentally at Beomgyu. "Um. I was wondering-you never got that set tour, did you?"

Beomgyu says nothing. There's the weirdest feeling in him, like he's barely holding onto something that will slip away from his reach any moment. Like with the bulls and the bright cities of Spain, he's not sure what to do with this feeling. He swallows and thinks of how his mouth still tastes like ice-cream.

"Do you-do you maybe want to come?" Yeonjun asks, and the soft hint of hope in his voice twists Beomgyu's stomach. "On the set tour? It would make me feel better about all this shit."

His head is telling him no. His heart is all fire. "Yeah," he squeaks. "Yeah, cool."

"Okay?"

Beomgyu nods. "Okay," he smiles, falteringly. "Okay, hyung."

Yeonjun's car is familiar, of course. The last time Beomgyu sat in it, he'd played with the radio dial, put his legs up on the dash, basically drooled on the window in his sleep. The rain-drenched streets and contrails of light outside the windows are familiar. Even the way the light glints like stars in Yeonjun's eyes as he drives, looking straight ahead, is familiar.

Beomgyu sits still this time. His mouth feels dry. He closes his eyes and feels the brightness of the streets wash over his face. Thinks he can almost taste the neon, sharp and gleaming and over-sweet, like gently rotting fruit.

"It's strange when you're quiet," Yeonjun says. He sounds broken in, a bit, and Beomgyu's stomach flips again.

He looks at Yeonjun surreptitiously, stealing glances out the corner of his eyes, and feels one-thousand years old. What are they doing? Is this still an apology? If it is, Beomgyu doesn't want it. But if he doesn't want apologies, what does he want? It's not like Yeonjun's going to stay around that Beomgyu's silence or chatter will matter. It's not like he isn't probably doing this only so he can get on that airplane with the bitter chord of Beomgyu possibly exterminated from his life.

Fucking. Spain.

"You're still really mad, aren't you?"

Beomgyu bites his lip. He's not, he thinks. He's not mad. He's confused, maybe. And upset. And he still doesn't know what he's doing in Yeonjun's car, just the two of them, heading to the studios for a nonsense set-tour that doesn't even really make sense.

"How does it matter, hyung?"

"It matters because I want you to know that I don't hate you," Yeonjun says. "That it was never about you, Beommie."

"Yeah. I know."

Yeonjun says, on the back of a sharp exhale, "I didn't really have great examples of relationships growing up. My parents fought a lot. My dad screwed around with other women, and it broke my mom's heart. Not that she wasn't a bitter asshole who trusted no one. Stole her own sister's husband, and then her house. That was a fucking great house," Yeonjun chuckles, darkly, shaking his head. "Her sister got her back, though. Exposed her ex for embezzlement. My uncle, I mean. Or step-dad. I don't know, it got confusing after a while. Anyway, my mom always said that trust is best placed on yourself and your money. Everyone and everything else fucks you over. I thought that was pretty wise."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. Worked for mom. She'd already talked my uncle into leaving her the awesome house when he got arrested."

There's a twinge of pain in Beomgyu's chest at how breezily Yeonjun says all this, because he knows for sure that the actual experience was anything but. For once, he wishes Yeonjun would just say things as is. His own heart pitches with guilt at what he'd said the night of the dinner.

"Wow. That sounds fucking terrible."

"Oh, yeah. It was. And then I came out to her when I was nineteen and she disowned me, so I found a loophole in the property documents and took that house for myself."

"Must be some house."

"Yeah, it has a pool and everything. Black money is amazing," Yeonjun glances out of the corner of his eye, winking at Beomgyu's bemused expression. "Point is, that's how I know to live. Stomp on people to climb up, and keep going until you reach the summit. I've done that at work, too. Ask Kai-he knows how much people hate me in this industry," he sighs, shaking his head a bit, a small smile creeping onto his lips. "But you-it hit me, back then in Tokyo, that you're not like that, Beomgyu-ah. You're not from that sort of world. Your heart's not hard enough. When you said that my work makes you happy...I couldn't do you like that. And I felt like-I felt like it might only be a matter of time before I said or did something that would really hurt you, you know?"

Beomgyu doesn't trust himself to speak. He closes his eyes again, shuts himself out to everything except the barcode pattern of light and dark filtering through his thin eyelids.

Yeonjun continues. "And out of all the crap I've pulled-with mom, with my past boyfriends, with friends, even-I thought that might hurt me. Seeing you...hurt. I thought that at least, if I just left right then, you'd only just hate me. I thought I can-I can live with that. You hating me, I mean. Not you hurt."

Beomgyu fiddles his thumbs. There's a strange, dark weight in his chest somewhere, warm and alive and vibrant. He grips his knees tight with his hands.

"Maybe that's your first clue that you're not as much of a cold, cynical bastard like you want to pretend you are, hyung."

Yeonjun's voice is a whisper. "Maybe," he says. And then, "I'm sorry, Beommie."

"Don't be." Beomgyu presses his lips together. "I'm sorry all that horrible shit happened to you."

"Don't be. Lots of people have it way worse."

"Suffering is not a competition," Beomgyu says, with a smile. "And hyung-I don't hate you. Probably couldn't if I tried."

"Okay."

Yeonjun's throat moves convulsively, but he keeps his gaze on the road. His nose is bright red from the lights. Beomgyu finds it wildly endearing.

"I like you," he says, quietly, head spinning and heart loud. "I really like you, hyung. A lot."

Yeonjun goes completely silent.

Beomgyu feels like any movement now, any word, would be like shattering glass.

He doesn't let the silence fester. He flails about a bit instead, pretending to be very interested in the song that just came on, and starts telling Yeonjun all about this dumb dancing challenge that he and Soobin and Taehyun all took turns trying out. He can feel his own pulse at his throat, thrumming hard. He memorizes Yeonjun's profile as he talks-the shape of his jaw and the soft blue tracery of veins in his neck, the lips that's touched every inch of Beomgyu's skin, the gentle fall of his hair in his eyes.

Beomgyu said it. If nothing-he thinks-he said it. And it still feels like a knife twisting through him, like everything he was afraid it would feel like, but he feels like this is character development or something. The Beomgyu before Yeonjun wouldn't have said it. The Beomgyu before Yeonjun wouldn't have put it out there, like a noose or a lifeline or both, for Yeonjun to take it and do what he wants with it.

What Yeonjun does is drive. In silence, gaze distant, fingers gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles show white.

Beomgyu smiles to himself and watches the night blur a little through tears.

He said it. Now he can fucking live with it.

***

Even weeks into post-production, the sets are maintained pristinely at the studios. Beomgyu's enthusiastic about the retro bar and the alley between two warehouses that had been converted into an old-timey street. He smiles wide when Yeonjun lets him push the buttons that makes the bar floor spin, sections of the floor rising and disappearing to bring forth a new, mirrored set hidden beneath.

"The marvels of engineering," he says, running his fingers over one of the mirrored walls. In the reflection, Yeonjun looks pale, the cast of his mouth thoughtful and terrified. "I wanted to make cool shit like this. I'm not very good at math, though."

"I'm not, either," Yeonjun says. "I just draw the technical drawings and make scale models. Other people do all the hard work."

"I hope this thing gets picked up," Beomgyu says, fervently, when they move to another location-a little cafe, this time, steeped in nostalgia. "Everyone's worked so hard for it. If we get a series order, do you think you'd come back for it?"

Yeonjun shrugs. "Depends."

"On Spain?"

"On Spain."

Beomgyu nods. He walks through the cafe set and onto something else, a garishly lit, underwater-themed hotel set with a bed like a little oyster shell. The walls are blue and has recessed 80s style lighting, the mini-bar is dressed up in tackily stuck-together seashells, and the bedspread has a starfish pattern. There's even what looks like a stripper pole in the middle of it.

Beomgyu can't help his laugh. "Did you visit many love motels before you came up with this theme?"

"Oh yes," Yeonjun's tone is sardonic. "Have you ever seen a ramyun themed one?"

"No," Beomgyu says, trying to imagine fucking someone with giant noodle imagery all around him. He doesn't get the appeal. "I've seen a glow-in-the-dark one."

"I've seen some with cages and a mirrored ceiling," Yeonjun says, inspecting a lampshade with a mermaid base. "But we wanted something truly shady. Get that switch."

Beomgyu flicks on the switch. Immediately, flashing blue lights flicker on above the bed, changing in color from turquoise all the way to ultramarine. The effect is gaudy and weird and so fucking funny that Beomgyu giggles. "Hyung."

"What? It's supposed to be weird. Don't you feel underwater?"

"Truly immersed, yes."

Beomgyu goes to sit on the bed and picks up a little starfish that sits on the bedside table. It appendages wiggle when he turns it on. It lights up pink. "What even is this?"

"The prop unit calls it Porn Star."

Yeonjun crosses the room to drop heavily next to Beomgyu. They sit there for a while in the sea-tinged dark, Beomgyu playing with Porn Star and making it jerkily walk about on the mattress. Yeonjun picks it up and lets it crawl over his skin, holding his arm up as if Porn Star is a real, living starfish taking first steps on land. Beomgyu watches him, Yeonjun's skin mermaid blue in the lights, his gaze intent on the toy as it wriggles. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, quick and nervous, and Beomgyu almost looks away. Yeonjun puts Porn Star down, sighs quietly, and kisses Beomgyu.

It's a lot gentler than their first kiss.

Yeonjun props a knee up on the mattress to lean into him, and Beomgyu has to rest his weight on his elbows to hold them both up. Yeonjun's hand slips beneath the collar of Beomgyu's shirt to the smooth round bone of his bare shoulder, and Beomgyu splays his hand to Yeonjun's breastbone in a warm parody of Porn Star's general shape. He grabs a fistful of soft T-shirt and bunches it up, free hand seeking warm skin, curious. Yeonjun tastes and smells like soft rain, and he stops before the kiss can deepen to sit back and breathe in, breathe out; to look at Beomgyu with a question in his eyes as if it isn't the easiest thing to gauge from Beomgyu's face that the answer is always yes.

Beomgyu's mouth feels warm. He feels the next kiss on more than just his lips. He reaches out to braid their fingers together, and Yeonjun looks at him questioningly.

"Can't lie when we're holding hands," Beomgyu says. "So tell me this time. Tell me this matters."

"It always mattered," Yeonjun says, whisper-quiet in this cold, fairytale room, and Beomgyu thinks it's some sort of magic that he believes him. "I was just a stupid ass before. You matter. Please believe me."

There's a raw, electric feeling in Beomgyu's veins. Yeonjun swipes his thumb across Beomgyu's cheekbones, holds his face gently as he kisses his mouth, the tip of his nose, his jaw.

"I'm so glad you came tonight," Beomgyu says, hoarsely, and Yeonjun swallows and presses his lips to Beomgyu's again.

For a long while it's just this, the two of them curled close together, merely breaking apart to breathe. Yeonjun's fingers twist in Beomgyu's hair and Beomgyu responds with sucking hungrily at Yeonjun's lip, scraping his teeth soft along the gentle flesh, smiling as Yeonjun gasps quietly into his mouth. For a while Beomgyu's hands are almost chaste on Yeonjun's shirt, his fingers splayed there, the lightly rain-spattered material bleeding heat through. For a while Yeonjun just touches his hair and his face, as if his fingertips are mapping out the sweetest spots along Beomgyu's jaw and beneath his ear, unerringly circling back to the sensitive spot right above the nape of his neck that has Beomgyu shimmying his hips closer.

For a while it's just this, until it isn't enough. Until Yeonjun starts working quietly at the buttons of Beomgyu's shirt.

Beomgyu lets him, and he thinks maybe that's stupid-maybe it's stupid knowing that this time Yeonjun really does have to leave. There's no conjecture this time, no thrill of possibility. There's work and money lassoing him from all the way over in Spain, and they have perhaps a couple stolen hours in this place that isn't even a real place.

What are they going to do? Fuck again and not talk about it? Disappear quietly from each others' lives again? Beomgyu knows himself enough to know that that's heartache waiting to happen, to drag him down. Isn't it better to hold off, think of things?

It's just that all of that thinking of things is really hard with Yeonjun ghosting kisses over his jaw, with Beomgyu's own roaming hands rapidly divesting Yeonjun off his jacket.

Yeonjun looks at him a little questioningly at this and Beomgyu just shrugs. He keeps his hands running up and down Yeonjun's chest as they kiss, and feels Yeonjun's own palms still against his hipbones, fingers cold even through the material of Beomgyu's shirt.

Beomgyu seems him kick off the crazy boots and wants to laugh at that, but doesn't think his breathing is steady enough to risk it. He settles for palming Yeonjun's cock through his tight jeans instead, smiling smugly when Yeonjun shudders and tries to push Beomgyu's legs apart.

Beomgyu huffs out a breath as he lets himself fall backward onto the mattress, Yeonjun crawling over to straddle him. He thinks he should say we should talk about this but then Yeonjun's knee presses softly into his crotch, and Yeonjun's hands are running up his sides and over his stomach, untucking Beomgyu's dress-shirt from his pants as he goes, and Beomgyu likes it too much to get him to stop. Fuck talking, anyway. Maybe this is how they work. And that's okay with Beomgyu-more than okay-as long as Yeonjun's made it clear that he isn't playing games. Beomgyu breathes out instead, shakily, and runs his own hands up Yeonjun's spine and then down again, squeezing his thigh, working gently at the button of his pants until it comes free.

And then Yeonjun rolls him over to get his shirt off his shoulders, and Beomgyu winces as he feels something hard and cold beneath him.

"Fuck, I think I just flattened Porn Star."

Yeonjun laughs quietly in his ear. Beomgyu feels Porn Star moving softly somewhere beneath him, close to his belly, body cold and wriggly as it tries to climb up the mattress. Its funny pink light spreads vibrantly outward from somewhere in the near proximity of his nipples.

"Porn Star might be interestingly experimental as a sex toy," he muses, watching the light, and Yeonjun gives a little groan and bites lightly at the back of his neck. "Depending on if he can fit."

"Do you want to try?" Yeonjun asks, and Beomgyu looks around at him in alarm. Yeonjun smirks back at him and kisses his mouth again. "Thought not."

Yeonjun's fingers are surprisingly, blissfully cold when he gets his hand down Beomgyu's pants. Beomgyu drags his blunt nails gently down his back, whimpers at the finger lazily rubbing circles on the head of his cock. Beomgyu closes his eyes and presses his face sideways against the mattress until he can't take it, his skin on fire and the breath leaving his chest harshly. He shoves his hips upward and is met with Yeonjun rolling down on him and- oh, okay-this is a good idea.

A little moan tumbles out of Yeonjun as he grinds down on Beomgyu, his lips moving to suck a mark on Beomgyu's shoulder. He pushes Beomgyu's pants and boxers down, and the logistics is unwieldy and weird and Beomgyu starts being slightly concerned about the bed creaking too much under their weight as they struggle to manage. But then Yeonjun's denim-clothed crotch is rubbing hard down against Beomgyu's bare dick, and his back nearly arches off the bed in response.

"Shit," he gasps, eyes widening, and Yeonjun pulls back up to stare at Beomgyu, gaze dark and hungry. Beomgyu's stomach does a backflip. He rolls down again, and Beomgyu grabs wildly at the stupid starfish sheets for something to give his nails to do. Porn Star buzzes softly somewhere by his shoulder. Yeonjun ruts quietly against him until Beomgyu's breathing goes wild and erratic, nothing more than clenched little whimpers as his head spins from the stimulation.

"Sit up," Yeonjun says, and uses the momentary lull to get rid of his own jeans. Then his thighs are warm against Beomgyu's own and he's sort of got Beomgyu pinned against the garish oyster headboard. A pleasant shiver runs through Beomgyu's body as Yeonjun's fingers-so cold, always, and maybe Kai's hibernation jokes makes a little bit of sense now-press hard into his hipbones.

"No lube," Yeonjun says, tongue curling hot against Beomgyu's jaw, "'Coz this, of course, is not a real love motel."

Beomgyu swallows. "I'm sure we c-can make it w-work," he stammers, trying to keep his voice steady as Yeonjun's hands flutter lightly over his inner thighs.

"Hmm," Yeonjun says, and wraps his hand tight around Beomgyu's cock. Beomgyu breathes out slowly as his hand travels once up and down his length, pumping lightly, fingers growing slick on the downward stroke. "Sure we can."

Beomgyu throws his head back, gasping, and presses his skull hard into the foam of the oyster shell. He thinks vaguely of how weirdly sexual oysters really are, but then Yeonjun circles his slit with a finger again, and whatever coherent thread that thought belonged to vanishes like smoke in the wind. He breathes instead, stuttered and shaky, a moan catching in his throat, pressing his lips together because fuck, this is a set, and the walls are all fake, and what if someone's around?

"Hyung," he whines, even as he bucks his hips helplessly against the flick of Yeonjun's thumb at the head of his cock. "Is this-would you say-this place is p-public?"

"I don't know," Yeonjun says, coolly, firming his grip around Beomgyu and grinning at the unstoppable shudders that ripple through Beomgyu's body, "Do you want it to be?"

Beomgyu vaguely remembers the last time, Yeonjun asking him what he liked, a little grin in his voice like he wanted Beomgyu to say something kinky. "Maybe," he whispers, biting his lip, thinking of the impermissibility of it, the quiet thrill of getting away with it.

Yeonjun smiles and kisses him, the tip of one finger dipping lightly into his slit, and Beomgyu thinks he fades out for a moment with how his body burns and his head spins. He thrusts up hard into Yeonjun's hand, clawing unconsciously at Yeonjun's thigh, mouth falling open as he tries to breathe. Yeonjun licks into his mouth and Beomgyu feels himself tighten up, the fiery cold of bright, white pleasure starting from his toes and whiting out everything, all nerves blaring and spine pulling taut.

"So pretty, Beommie," Yeonjun purrs in his ear, and in his sand and velvet voice it's just rough enough that Beomgyu wants to scream. Instead he takes deep gulps of air, head pressed back so hard against the foam oyster that he thinks he might end up plowing through it and knocking the facade wall behind it to the ground. He doesn't last for it, though, jerking hard and fucking up into Yeonjun's tight fist as he spills, a loud moan vibrating through him. Yeonjun shushes him, saying something about guards, but he laughs anyway and pumps Beomgyu right through the waves of pleasure crashing through him, until everything is a blur of static and dizziness and Beomgyu whines to try and get away.

Beomgyu registers vaguely through the buzzing in his head and the boneless tingling in his limbs that Porn Star has stopped moving.

"He died," Beomgyu whispers, no context whatsoever, and thinks he's lucky that Yeonjun seems to understand what he means. "Killed by scandal."

"Rest in peace, Porn Star," Yeonjun rumbles, shoulders shaking as he runs his fingers wetly over Beomgyu's stomach. "Sole witness to the set tour that wasn't."

"Yet," Beomgyu says, ominously, and Yeonjun nods.

"Yet. I definitely think there are some guards around somewhere."

Beomgyu slowly peels himself off the foam oyster to tighten his hands in Yeonjun's hair, sucking a kiss into his collarbone as he rolls them around to climb on top. He holds Yeonjun's wrists to the bed until Yeonjun seems to get the idea and folds his arms behind his head instead, leaving Beomgyu free to press his lips to the skin of his chest, flick his tongue lightly at his nipple, his own hands running lightly up Yeonjun's sides as he licks a stripe down Yeonjun's stomach.

"Poor Porn Star," Beomgyu says, shimmying down to start kissing the insides of Yeonjun's thighs, "Missing half the show."

"Yeah?" Yeonjun says, quietly, and then groans rough as Beomgyu sucks lightly at the underside of his cock. "P-Pity."

Beomgyu hums in response, just as he wraps his lips around the tip, swirling his tongue playfully. Yeonjun pushes his fingers into Beomgyu's hair but doesn't tug, just lets the strands fall through his fingers as Beomgyu swallows lightly around him. Yeonjun's breaths sound short, a choked groan escaping him as Beomgyu sucks all of him into his mouth. His hand in Beomgyu's hair curls tight, and Beomgyu looks up, watching him get worked up as he tries very hard not to thrust forward, thighs tense and panting a little.

"Oh, fuck, Beommie, your mouth," he mumbles, dark eyes hot on Beomgyu's face, and Beomgyu hums again, pleased. He hollows out his cheeks and Yeonjun tips back into the mattress with a low moan, delicate furrows appearing between his eyebrows when Beomgyu pulls off to breathe. He pauses only to grin once at Yeonjun, knowing he probably looks a state with his swollen mouth and wrecked hair. He catches Yeonjun's hungry gaze before he dips back to lick a thick, slow line up the shaft and take it back into his mouth again.

Yeonjun moans a soft little curse and bucks his hips lightly up. Beomgyu looks up at him, nodding, and the fist in his hair tightens again to hold him in place. The sting of it only reminds Beomgyu to swallow harder around Yeonjun's girth, and the reaction he gets is instantaneous-shallow, staccato thrusts as Yeonjun gasps for air raggedly. His forehead is all creased up, back arching so fucking pretty, and Beomgyu swirls his tongue around the head again, barely gasping when Yeonjun grabs at his hair to buck into his mouth again. He tries to spit out a garbled little warning to Beomgyu when his thrusts gets more erratic, but Beomgyu just grips his hips and keeps sucking, mouthing messily along the length as Yeonjun's face finally crumples with pleasure, teeth catching on his lower lip as he spills into Beomgyu's mouth.

"F-fuck," he says, wide-eyed as Beomgyu swallows and keeps teasing, until he thrashes and kicks lightly at Beomgyu's ankle. The hand in Beomgyu's hair finally relaxes as Beomgyu pulls off to rest his head against the top of Yeonjun's thigh. Yeonjun's chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath still hitching in his throat, but his fingers brush soft up Beomgyu's cheek, rubs warm circles on the top of his head. And it's just that for a while, the quiet, just their breathing and the sweat on Beomgyu's skin cooling as he tries to keep his eyes open. Eventually, Yeonjun reaches out to pull him close, rolls him over to kiss his forehead and keeps his lips there a long time.

Beomgyu rubs a hand up his arm. "What now?"

"Hmm? God, I don't know."

Beomgyu lies there with his face buried half in Yeonjun's neck, his mind a riot now that the post-sex buzz is beginning to fade. What are they going to do? He thinks talking is supposed to be on the menu, judging by the serious set of Yeonjun's eyebrows as he raises his head to look at Beomgyu, but he only ends up smoothing a finger over Beomgyu's cheekbone without saying anything at all. It's easy enough to be caught up in the lull of it, with the shared heat of their bodies and the pleasantly messy tangle of their legs and the starfish bedspread. Easy enough to believe that there isn't a time limit to this; another looming deadline to flee into another fucking country.

"I'm sorry I have to go," Yeonjun says, and sounds like he means it. He kisses Beomgyu hard enough to bruise, and Beomgyu sighs. There's a lot in Yeonjun's smile, a wry sort of sadness, hope, a bit of happiness tucked right at the corners.

Beomgyu takes his chances. "Maybe stay for a bit longer?"

Yeonjun looks terribly conflicted. His gaze is honest, fingers gentle as they brush against Beomgyu's lips. "I don't know how to do this."

This. This, their mouths perilously close to saying all the right words but pulling back, just a hint. This, Yeonjun's fingers brushing at Beomgyu's hair, gentle and curious. This, the idea of them, perhaps, meeting somewhere in the middle not with barbs and distrust but warmth, bright and brilliant and overflowing.

"I like you too, Beommie," Yeonjun says, and Beomgyu presses his fingers sharply into his wrist bone. "Like. An awful lot. And I don't know how to do this."

"It's easier than you think."

"What if I hurt you again?"

"Then we talk, like normal fucking people, and work through it. Or we fight like crazy. Or neither," Beomgyu says, shrugging. "We won't know if we don't try. Look," he sits up, and Yeonjun looks away with a loose smile that borders on melancholy. "All I'm saying is- you know how superhero franchises start?"

"What?"

Beomgyu tugs impatiently at Yeonjun's hand to get him to properly look up at him. His soft face is blue and purple in the weird mermaid light. "Hyung. Superhero franchises, how do they start?"

"What the fuck, I don't know. With someone's parents dying."

"No. With an origin story."

Yeonjun's mouth quirks. "I have no idea-"

"There's always an origin story. Before all the big shit happens and the ultimate villain deletes half the people on the planet, there's the origin story. And, like, seriously, that's where we are, okay? We'll deal with all the shit when it comes to it. Right now we just, um. We need to find our sea legs first."

Yeonjun ponders this for a second, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you seriously comparing us to...what? The day after Peter Parker got bit by a spider?"

"Those are the coolest parts of Spiderman movies," Beomgyu says, earnestly. He's aware that his brain is tired and throwing shit at him, but he feels pretty warm and nice and this all makes sense, he swears. "But yes. Yes, we're exactly at the point where confused teenage Spiderman tries to do tricks with his webs and eats concrete instead. Or we could be. If you want it to be."

"Fucking metaphors," Yeonjun says, but then his face contorts in a laugh. Beomgyu beams, feeling a strange surge of accomplishment now that Yeonjun's looking at him less like he wants to study all of Beomgyu before he bolts. Now that Yeonjun's tentatively, gingerly calling them us. "Come here."

Beomgyu plops back down next to him, nuzzling quietly at his neck. "Can you screw Spain over?"

Yeonjun sighs."No."

Then he hesitates for just a moment before his fingers come back to rest against Beomgyu's skin, the nape of his neck, his hair. His hand lingers in Beomgyu's hair for a long, silent while, and Beomgyu lets his eyes close, warm and comfortable with Yeonjun's breath fanning hot over the top of his head. He doesn't really want to sleep, thinks he might probably wake up alone again if he does, that Yeonjun might probably judge it too hard on the both of them to drag Beomgyu alone to the airport. But sleep crawls thick over him like a blanket anyway, and he wiggles around to look at Yeonjun as long as possible, the lines of his face made softer without the heavy cloak of his grumpy pretense, younger somehow with the crooked smile still on his lips.

This is Yeonjun, without performance, and it sets wild joy whispering in Beomgyu's heart.

"I hope those fucking guards find us," he whispers. "Because otherwise I might think this is a dream."

He thinks Yeonjun says something in response to that, or just laughs, maybe. The sound of that laugh is a dark, rolling thing and Beomgyu drinks it up like an anesthetic.

He closes his eyes.

***