"Taehyun said it's happened before?"

It's much later. The sun's down already, and Beomgyu's not sure how long he dozed and Yeonjun paced, but if he's been keeping at it at this pace for even fifteen minutes, Beomgyu's sure he's worn the carpet out.

"You called Taehyun? What did you ask?"

Yeonjun's face is unreadable. "Answer the question, Beommie. Has it happened before?"

"Yeah," he croaks, voice muffled by a pillow. "Couple of times."

"And...what, it's a panic attack?"

Beomgyu squirms and tugs his arms around himself. "Is that what he told you?"

"He said you'd space out sometimes. Get overwhelmed," Yeonjun's tone is gruff but the rising alarm stands out clear. "But that's not what happened at all. You just-you collapsed. You couldn't breathe for a minute there."

"Eh. That's happened before too."

Yeonjun blinks at him like he's crazy. "Why the fuck are you so calm about it?"

Beomgyu sits up, yawning, pressing a hand to his cheek as he settles cross-legged on the bed. "Because it's not a big deal, hyung. I'm not sick or anything. I just got unlucky."

Yeonjun pauses by the mini-bar to grab a can of beer. His mouth is curled in a sneer when he turns again to Beomgyu. "Yeah. Seems to be a theme with you."

He looks oddly disheveled, as if he's spent these past hours running his hands through his hair and generally freaking out. Beomgyu clutches his pillow and tries not to feel too guilty. Why is he so pathetic around Yeonjun? It's as if the only things he's capable of around Yeonjun is getting drunk, getting sick, or passing out.

Maybe it's a curse, he muses, tugging viciously at a loose thread on the pillow cover. When he'd first met Taehyun, they used to run into each other at a laundromat at all times of the day. Taehyun would walk in through the door and do a double-take every time he saw Beomgyu. Beomgyu already had the reputation as the weird kid and didn't like alarming Taehyun like that, so he'd try to pick odd times-two in the afternoon, three in the morning, six thirty-three AM on the dot. It didn't matter. Taehyun would always walk in on him-drunk or sober or on his way home or to the dance studio. Taehyun kept walking in on him again and again until they exchanged numbers and started co-ordinating laundry time. It led to conversations, hanging out, a widening circle of common friends. They were the best of friends and utterly inseparable in less than a month.

Beomgyu has always considered that magic. The universe, waving a friendly hand. Inexplicable and uncontrollable, just like Beomgyu's clothes thing.

If that is what is happening with Yeonjun, though...

Beomgyu sighs. Is there a spell, maybe, to counteract it? If there is, Beomgyu thinks he'll do it even if it requires him to stand in a pool of eels in moonlight or something. Because Yeonjun really doesn't want to care. Beomgyu and the universe is literally forcing him to. It feels fucked up and unfair, a distortion of balances. (Or maybe it isn't a cosmic conspiracy; just Beomgyu being Beomgyu. Doesn't matter: either way, he doesn't like the guilt nagging at his stomach.)

"I told you, hyung," Beomgyu mutters, in a small voice. " You shouldn't have come here with me."

Yeonjun whips around. "Are you kidding me?" he snarls. "You'd have hit your head on the table if I hadn't caught you."

"I've managed it before by myself."

"Taehyun didn't mention that."

Beomgyu runs a hand through his hair and sighs, soft and exasperated. "Taehyun doesn't know."

Yeonjun stills abruptly in his pacing. "...What?"

Beomgyu shrugs again. He wishes Yeonjun would just let this go. It's not important, and it's nothing that's going to bother Beomgyu until he gets unlucky again. Gods know when and if that would be. He's not worried about it, not in the least bit. He's confused and a bit rattled and a lot hungry. If he really thinks about it, all he wants is a cheap sushi-belt restaurant; maybe some curry udon. But Yeonjun's looking at him with such utter disbelief that Beomgyu thinks he should at least try to explain.

He keeps his gaze on his fists, clenched into the blanket. "Um. So Taehyun doesn't know about the bad part because he'll freak out. He thinks-well, the witch stuff is fun to him? It's just experimenting and channeling and dabbling in this cool alternative scene. It's really fun for me too, don't get me wrong, and we learn a lot of cool stuff we wouldn't otherwise, but I feel-uh. It's hard to explain. It's just-This isn't a side-effect he needs to know about. It'll just scare him, and that's not fun."

"Didn't look fun," Yeonjun snaps. "What even happened back there?"

Beomgyu smiles, sheepish. "Ah. It's nothing, hyung. Really."

"It was very clearly something, Beomgyu."

They run into an impasse. Beomgyu stares at the ceiling, desperately awkward and wanting to escape into the madness of Tokyo's streets outside. Or review the photos he'd taken. He really should probably do that-he needs to figure out what he's bidding on, and he and Taehyun need to FaceTime about it. If only Yeonjun would just let this go...

But Yeonjun has no intention of letting it go. He seems to come to some sort of decision, a flicker of some stoic determination crossing his face as he strides over to sit on the bed. Beomgyu squirms at the sudden weight of him dipping the mattress, but Yeonjun scoots up until they're sitting a hand's distance away, with nothing in between them but a pillow too small to hide behind. Beomgyu still squeaks a little idiotically when Yeonjun puts out his hand.

"My grandmother taught me this thing," he says, gently, taking Beomgyu's hand in his and holding tight. "If I'm holding your hand, you can tell me anything. But we'll both agree that it has to be the truth and nothing but the truth."

"I don't like this game," Beomgyu whispers, trying to pull away and failing. "Why're you so strong? It's not fair."

That gets him a reluctant grin and a snort from Yeonjun. "Don't be a fucking baby."

Beomgyu groans. "Why can't you just let it go, hyung?"

"Because you're the annoying one who thinks sharing is important. Didn't you say you can't live all walled up? What happened to trust your friends?"

"I trust my friends."

Yeonjun's expression is blank. "Apparently not enough. Now, come on."

"You won't believe me," Beomgyu says, accusatory. "You'll just call me a scam artist again."

"I'm holding hands with you," Yeonjun raises an eyebrow. "I'll believe anything you say. It's a promise."

Beomgyu considers. He reaches with his free hand for the bottle of water, takes a mouthful and swills it around his mouth. Yeonjun watches him patiently, his grip on Beomgyu's fingers tight, eyes soft and fixed on Beomgyu's face like he's willing to wait for as long as it takes. The low light of the desk lamp makes spidery shadows of his eyelashes.

Something inside Beomgyu twists painfully.

"The clothes speak to me," he murmurs, dropping his gaze to the lattice of his tanned fingers through Yeonjun's pale ones. Their hands are almost the same size, which is surprising, but somehow endearing. "Usually it's just fragments, glimpses, like a whispering. Where they've been. What they've touched. That sort of thing. I can tell if they're original because I can touch them and learn their stories."

Yeonjun takes a slow, rattling breath. His grasp tightens again. "Okay," he says, tone carefully neutral. "And...today?"

"Uh...what happened today...it's rare, but it's happened before. You know, how they say places where something violent happened starts to feel different afterwards? Like something remains. An invisible stain. It's like that with clothes, as well. And the glove I picked up, there was something attached to it. It was loud and overwhelming. It smothered me."

Yeonjun shifts a little on the bed and then pulls Beomgyu's free hand to the cuff of his shirt sleeve. "Tell me what you feel."

"From your shirt?"

"Yes."

"It's Urban Outfitters," Beomgyu says, morosely. "Someone gifted this to you. Then you put it in the bottom of a suitcase and forgot about it until recently. You wore it once to...Spain?"

Yeonjun inhales. "That's creepy."

"It's just a thing I have," Beomgyu says, and pulls his legs defensively towards his chest. "My grandmother had it too. Usually it's just a useful little quirk. The bad episodes-the first time it happened, it was w-with a ribbon. It belonged to my mother's sister? She-uh, she died when they were kids, some accident. But that ribbon..."

Yeonjun is quiet for a while. Beomgyu bites his lip, waiting, still unwilling to look up at Yeonjun's face. Is he going to believe him, then? Or is Yeonjun going to brush this off as more nonsense, throw up his hands, call Beomgyu a fake psychotic hipster or something? He isn't letting go of Beomgyu's hand at the very least. His grip is so tight it's almost painful, but his fingers bleed comforting warmth. Beomgyu shudders a little.

"But why did you never tell Taehyun?" Yeonjun demands. "Or anyone else? Truthfully."

It takes a few minutes for the answer to come, but when it does, it spills out in a rush of worry. "He worries a lot. Right now he thinks the clothes quirk is just that-a fun magic trick, useful and harmless. And that's what it is, most of the time. But if he knows the bad side, he'll worry. He'll look at me different. Before him and Soobin came along, everyone just told me I was just weird and hyperactive and over-imaginative. I was...too much, you know. Too loud, too crazy, too much. They're the ones who taught me it was okay. It's okay to just be me. And it's just...I don't want to lose all of that, hyung. I don't want to lose him. He's my best friend."

Yeonjun meets his gaze and holds steady. "You won't lose him and you know it, Beomgyu-ah."

"I know. Objectively, yeah, I know. Taehyun is-he's my person," Beomgyu huffs a breath and then shrugs, smiling sheepishly at Yeonjun. "It's still scary."

"Being vulnerable like that?" Yeonjun's voice is soft. "Yeah. I know. Everyone has their own ghosts."

"Can I ask you something? You're not allowed to lie, either."

Yeonjun goes silent and stares at him. It takes a while, and Beomgyu thinks he'll pull away, so he shuffles a little closer and wraps his free hand around Yeonjun's as well.

"Fine. What?"

"What's your problem with me?"

Yeonjun sighs. For the longest minute Beomgyu thinks he's not going to answer at all, that he's going to pass the question or throw it back sharply at Beomgyu. And Beomgyu's okay, even with that. He's okay with unkind words, as long as they're true. He just wants to know.

"I don't even really know," Yeonjun says, finally, his gaze fixed elsewhere, resolutely not looking at Beomgyu. "When I met you, I just thought you were so...sheltered. With your weird little business and the witch stuff and the way you were so odd and loud and curious. It's like you were living in a different world, Beomgyu-ah. This other, softer, desaturated version of the world where you don't need to worry about a thing, and everything is handed to you on a platter. That's not a world I know. That's not a world that would ever have me."

"But we've had to fight too," Beomgyu says, sitting up straighter. "Taehyun and I, we've had to fight too. I told you, hyung, I don't come from money. My parents-"

"Are farmers, yes. I know," Yeonjun's lips twitch in a slow smile. "And you very clearly love your work and value it. It was just...easy, I guess. To brush you off as...too much."

"I try not to be like that. I try to be calm, and professional-"

Yeonjun interrupts him. "You're not."

"....What?"

"You're not too much. You're...weird and confusing, sometimes. But it's...sweet. You make people happy. So don't go changing that. Anyone that tells you otherwise is a stupid fucker, okay?"

Beomgyu blinks. He thinks his heart hurts a little but he's used to sweeping that under the rug, used to not thinking about it, so that's what he does now. Yeonjun's probably the last person he wants to open up that messy, tangled knot inside of him.

Beomgyu smiles instead, cheerily. "Okay," he says. "Thanks, hyung."

Yeonjun looks a little confused, but he nods. "I meant that."

"I know! I got you."

A sharp raise of the eyebrows. "Sure you did."

"Hyung. Can I ask you one more question?"

Yeonjun groans. "What is it, Beomgyu?"

"You know you make people happy too, right?"

When Yeonjun does nothing more than scoff and glance away, Beomgyu scoots closer until the proximity forces Yeonjun to look at him.

"You do, hyung. Your work, you don't know how much it speaks to us. To me and Taehyun. And countless others. I got into styling for film because I admired you. There's heart in your art, and sometimes it's a little sad, but it always means something. And when people see that, it makes them happy."

Yeonjun's quiet for a moment. Then he asks, hesitantly, "You don't think it's a house of cards?"

"What do you mean?"

"This," Yeonjun waves a hand around the room. "Recognition. Stability. Fame. You're not scared it's all going to collapse any moment?"

"So what if it does?"

"What's the point of anything we do if it does? Nothing lasts, Beommie. It's why I like my job. A new set, a project, a new group of faces every time. Lesser risk of collapse. I don't know how you do it, tying yourself down to one place, one set of people. Depending on them. It scares me."

Beomgyu frowns. "It's not a big deal. If it falls apart, you just start over again. I'll have help. Taehyun and Soobin and Taehyung hyung and Jimin hyung. All these people I know in the industry. They'll pick me back up."

"Not everyone stands by you in foul-weather."

"Not everyone leaves, either. Nothing lasts forever if you don't want it to, hyung. You have to work at people the way you work at everything else. 'S worth it, though. Look at Taetae hyung and Jimin hyung, they built that huge media house up from scratch. Doesn't mean they don't fight all the time. Jimin hyung crashes all the time at the shop's couch. Sometimes you just have to trust in someone else to have your back."

Yeonjun snorts. "Like you trust Taehyun with your bad episodes."

Beomgyu worries his lower lip with his teeth, thinking. Then he reaches for his phone. "I'm gonna tell him."

"What, now?"

"Yeah, why not? You were right, hyung. Should have told him long back."

"Beommie, he sounded tired when I called. He probably had a long day."

"It's okay," Beomgyu smiles, pulling up FaceTime. "It's just Taehyunie."

"Beomgyu-ah, I get your point," Yeonjun says, a bit of fond exasperation in his voice. "You don't have to do this now."

"No, no, I really want to-"

Yeonjun reaches out to gently pinch Beomgyu's wrist. "Didn't you want to show me Tokyo? Let's go see Tokyo."

"Really?"

Yeonjun looks out the window and grimaces. "Sea of people. Suuuure. Looks fucking great. Let's go."

Beomgyu jumps up. "But I'll wear my special Harajuku outfit I brought," he warns. "I really want to."

"Go wild," Yeonjun mumbles, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't look pissed. "As long as it's not a rubber duckie."

***

It's not a rubber duckie.

It's a genuinely awesome Commes des Garcons tiger-print bomber jacket, a green ruffled shirt, and vintage slacks from Yohji Yamamoto. Yeonjun only raises his eyebrow at the necktie Beomgyu manages to shape into a bow-tie, and even allows him to (reluctantly) tie a red bandanna around his own arm for a splash of color.

"All you really need is those boots, hyung."

"I'm glad," Yeonjun says, dryly, inspecting the spiky boots. "I always think they look a bit much."

"I agree. You look like a hot fantasy librarian."

"A librarian?" Yeonjun scoffs. "How the fuck is this giving you librarian vibes?"

"Hot librarian," Beomgyu clarifies, and then elaborates shyly at Yeonjun's pointed look: "Maybe it's the glasses."

"Give me those, then," Yeonjun says, pointing to the red and white cat-eye sunglasses Beomgyu had been trying on. "Let's get the librarian in me murdered."

Beomgyu has to admit that Yeonjun looks good in those stupid glasses. Definitely not librarian. Maybe 70s chic bad biker boy. He tells Yeonjun as much and is met with another pointed smirk.

"Why do you always think of me in terms of porn cliches, Beomgyu-ah?"

They don't do much out on the crowded Takeshita street. Beomgyu insists on dragging Yeonjun down to a large basement full of Purikura photo-booths where they're promptly lost among tons of giggling schoolgirls. For someone who's so reluctant at showing emotions, Yeonjun is surprisingly dorky once he gives up and lets loose a little. Beomgyu is delighted. They make dumb faces into the booth until Beomgyu runs out of change and his stomach growls. They collect the photos ("I will murder you if you post these on social media. Slowly and painfully. Am I clear, Beomgyu?") and then go back up to the street to get crepes. It's way too sweet for Yeonjun, but Beomgyu is content in eating all of it himself, and they wander.

It's nice out. Beomgyu drags Yeonjun to all his favorite little stores for clothes and accessories and candy. Beomgyu buys some kawaii headbands for himself and Taehyun, and slams a kitten-ears one on Yeonjun. He doesn't even protest, just rolls his eyes irritably and makes Beomgyu wear the puppy ones. They go look at dumb souvenirs and cheap shit in the 100-yen Daiso store, and then come across a large store selling even spikier boots than Yeonjun's.

"Definite sex dungeon vibes," Beomgyu whispers, wide-eyed, slightly startled by the proprietor dressed all in black with more piercings than skin. "Do you want to try it on?"

"Why not?" Yeonjun drawls, and Beomgyu gulps. Inside, the store is all leather and chains, metalhead T-shirts and vinyls, goth drag-queen outfits and an array of silver jewelry from knuckle rings to spiked collars and rings. Yeonjun puts some rings on and throws him a few gang signs. It looks both extremely terrifying and adorably cat-like with the stupid headband he still hasn't taken off. Beomgyu's brain is confused, he thinks, following Yeonjun around as he tries on something with so many studs and spikes and metal toes that it could come of use as a murder weapon.

How is one person both spiky metal boot and kawaii cat-ears?

Beomgyu's not even the only flustered one. Even the shop's proprietor-the same massive dude who looks like he'll set off every security scanner in a mile's radius with all the metal on his skin-looks vaguely upset by Yeonjun.

"Hyung. That thing looks crazy."

"Go big or go home, Beomgyu-ah."

"That thing looks like it belongs in a torture museum exhibit. Or in a sex dungeon."

"Life's too short to not have a good pair of boots," Yeonjun mutters, turning his leg this way and that to get a good look at the mirror. "You're right though. This thing looks like I should be asking you if I want to step on you."

"Hyung."

Yeonjun turns to the proprietor. "What do you think?" he asks, modeling the boot for the dude to see. "Does it work?"

The proprietor looks from Yeonjun to Beomgyu, pierced eyebrows knitting in concentration. "Yeah, man," he says, enthusiastically. "You can step all over him."

Beomgyu groans and slams his head into the nearest pole. "I'm really regretting bringing you here."

Yeonjun just laughs at him.

Beomgyu sneaks a glance at him, his heart clenching. Making Yeonjun laugh feels charged, a strange and glossy achievement, like reversing the earth's polarity or sending missions to Mars. Beomgyu can't get the sticky, dopey grin off his own face as they leave the death-metal shop behind (spiky boots purchased and all).

Yeonjun seems to be in a good mood, anyway, asking questions and pointing out things as Beomgyu takes him through the quieter, more avant-garde portions of the area, where the vintage shops are. "We have lots of favorites here," he says, stopping in front of one that exclusively sells vintage sunglasses. "This one's only eyewear. There's another one up the street that only deals with lingerie. That's hard, you know? Vintage lingerie? We carry very few pieces because it's harder to sell."

Yeonjun comes to stand next to him, staring at the window display. "Did you get into vintage because of your clothes magic, Beommie?"

"Partly, yeah. I like the stories. Every dress feels like a piece of history," Beomgyu says, skipping ahead to another store that sells second-hand clothes owned by local celebrities. "My grandmother had this giant chest at our place. She kept really old clothes in it, and she had the same clothing voodoo as I do. It was great. I'd touch an old hanbok's pieces and get this weird old world vibe. We had one that belonged to a priest-most peaceful peace of clothing ever. Even touching it was like stepping into calm, still water."

Yeonjun's gazes have gotten longer over the past day. They stay on Beomgyu, prickling light at his skin, something about it seeming to calibrate and probe and lay out Beomgyu like an open book. Beomgyu's not complaining: he finds that he likes the attention. Yeonjun, when he listens, listens like no one else in the world. He gives his everything. And this-these glances, longer and longer-seem to be trying to learn Beomgyu's very soul.

Beomgyu swallows and says, hastily, "Anyway. This job-the old clothes, and finding them in odd places and all-sort of reminds me of her. That's the other reason I got into it. Why?"

"Nothing."

"Did you think I was in it for the-ah, what was that, hyung-snob appeal?"

Yeonjun winces. "Yes. Maybe."

Beomgyu grins. "That's okay, hyung. I really like the canapes and cheese too. Taehyun's the one who likes the wine, though."

They end up eating tonkatsu ramen at a little hole in the wall izakaya. It's cold outside, and Beomgyu is still shaky from the afternoon, and so they accompany it with warm sake. They've walked far enough away that they take the metro back to the station near the hotel, stuck like sardines amongst hundreds of businesspeople and students crowding for space in one of the last few trains for the day.

Yeonjun is grinning when they reach the room, pink from the wind and the alcohol. Beomgyu yawns and starts stripping off his clothes until all he's left is with his boxers, and shrugs when Yeonjun gives him a quizzical look. "You said it, hyung. It's only weird if we make it weird."

He chuckles a bit at Yeonjun's expression, then pulls his silk pajama top on and plops on the bed, too tired for anything else. Auction's not until eleven in the morning; that still gives him a few hours to go over the pieces with Taehyun. He's just about to doze off when Yeonjun climbs into bed on the other side, wearing something that whispers a lot of wandering hands and warm skin.

He jerks in surprise and halfway turns towards Yeonjun.

Yeonjun turns his head. "What?"

"Hyung," Beomgyu starts, and thinks he sounds oddly strained. "Your t-shirt is being...loud."

Yeonjun looks at him in puzzlement for a few minutes before it slowly dawns on him. "Oh," he says, craning his neck to look down at what exactly he's wearing. Something seems to click. "Oh."

He makes no move to get up, though. Doesn't seem to want to try at all to take it off, to spare Beomgyu the mental torture of so many more what ifs rapidly growing in his brain. He just half-shrugs a shoulder and stares up at the ceiling.

Beomgyu bites his lip and settles onto his side. There's no ignoring the whispering. It's low and soft and all its sussurations are about smooth, pale skin. Strong, long fingers. Distant, ghostly echoes of pleasure.

He's so fucked.

A shiver runs up Beomgyu's spine. What if, he thinks, he were to roll over and eliminate the space between them. What if he were to touch his fingers to Yeonjun's loud, loud shirt, bunch it up in his fist, figure out what it really wants to say. What if he were to reach out and touch his fingers to that sharp jaw, the sun-kissed tan of his own skin a stark contrast to how pale Yeonjun is...

"Are you all right there, Beomgyu-ah?" Yeonjun asks, and Beomgyu's not imagining that he sounds distinctly smug, is he?

"I'm great."

"Yeah? Because you sound a little out of breath."

"That's coz your sex shirt is not letting me sleep, hyung."

"Ah, this shirt," Yeonjun says. "Funny story, really, Beomgyu-ah, but have you come across that study that talks about kinks? It was in the newspaper recently. Did you know that a whopping 48% of respondents found clothed sex hotter than naked sex?"

Beomgyu makes a sad noise. "All my clothes are too expensive to get fucked in."

"Damn. We need to fix that."

At this rate, Beomgyu's heart might probably win the Olympic gold medal for gymnastics. "We?"

For a minute there's nothing. Only the murmurs of the most villainous piece of clothing in existence. Anyone else, Beomgyu thinks, would have been embarrassed by the sex shirt. Anyone else, anyone decent, would have spared him the torture.

Yeonjun just sort of chuckles and rolls over. Beomgyu freezes up when he feels him, close enough that Yeonjun's breath is a hot tickle at his ear.

"Hey, Beommie," he whispers. "It's really only weird if we make it weird. Do you want to make it weird?"

It's posed as a genuine question. Beomgyu wonders, with a shiver, what exactly will happen if he says he does want to make it weird. He's considering it. Beomgyu thinks it's maybe the influence of the sake. (Sake isn't even that alcoholic, the Taehyun voice in his head says, but the Taehyun voice can go to hell.) Still, drunken consent might lead to regret. And he's honestly not sure if Yeonjun's even serious. He's probably not. Beomgyu's heart is a fucking traitor but his brain knows better, and his brain is telling him that Yeonjun's probably just having a laugh at him.

Isn't that all this is, some fun flirting? It's not like Yeonjun really wants him. It's only Beomgyu and his weird brain, throwing wild what if scenarios his way.

He squirms uncomfortably and smushes his face into his pillow.

Yeonjun laughs, confirming his suspicion. "Asked you a question."

"Oh, God. Fuck you."

"Not precisely the dynamic the metal-shop guy thought we had, but fine, if that's what you're into."

Beomgyu's not even going to pretend that his dick has started a what if series on its own. "Hyung," he groans in exasperation. "Seriously-"

Yeonjun pats the top of his head in a mockery of kindness. "There, there," he says, soft and slick, utterly evil. "You should get to sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."

Beomgyu grits his teeth.

He should just jerk off. Repay rudeness with rudeness. Anyone who knows Beomgyu would never in their wildest dreams call him mean-spirited. He isn't. It's just what Yeonjun deserves in this situation.

But Beomgyu's been raised right. Every time he thinks of doing mean shit to people he thinks of his grandparents, quietly explaining to him why revenge and vendettas are bad, negative things. Not for their Beommie. And, goddamn, he loved his grandparents, but could they not mentally show up in these sort of situations?

Yeonjun mutters, "How are you doing?"

"Great. Thinking of my grandparents."

"That should help."

"It's helping."

"Doesn't quite look like it."

Beomgyu shuts his eyes tight. "Are you hovering over me to stare at my-you are. You fucking are, aren't you."

Yeonjun's voice comes from somewhere above. "I'm a curious person," he says, a little laugh escaping him. Beomgyu hears him plop back down on the other side. "You're more impressive than I thought."

"If that's a compliment on my fucking personality, I'll eat my Borsalino hat."

"Keep your hat, I meant your dick."

It takes a great effort not to bash Yeonjun over the head with the bedside lamp. (Thanks, grandma.) Instead, Beomgyu smashes his face into his pillow again and thinks sobering thoughts of tacky, indistinguishable, mass-produced clothes. Racks and racks of the same V-neck black sweater. Skinny camo pants with fake pockets and five-thousand identical copies.

Fuckin' instant boner killer, guaranteed.

Yeonjun sighs a little and Beomgyu isn't sure if it's disappointment or relief. "Goodnight, Beomgyu-ah."

"Goodnight, hyung."

In the quiet, though, he still thinks of that dumb question. Do you want to make it weird?

They'd joked about it, and bickered about it, and Beomgyu had passed it off as a crazy idea, but what if he'd said yes? What if it hadn't been just a joke?

Yeonjun would probably kick you out of bed, his brain suggests helpfully. And then bully reception until they gave him a new suite.

Of course. Of course it was just a joke. Had to be. Beomgyu sighs and hugs his pillow.