It's nice up on the rooftop. Cold, with the winter chill, but this is a nicer apartment in this area and there's a sort of gazebo-type thing with a table and chairs and a small radiator. Yeonjun's standing by the railing when Beomgyu gets up there, staring out at the Seoul skyline with an electronic cigarette at his lips. The moonlight and the dusty city sky conspires to wash him a pale blue. This is Choi Yeonjun the way he's been oft captured in film magazines-calm, collected, cold.

Beomgyu hides a little smile.

Choi Yeonjun is still terrifying-the sharp raise of his eyebrows now sets Beomgyu immediately to mixing their drinks-but Beomgyu has tiny little claws that can reach through chinks in armor. Now that he's seen Yeonjun flustered, in a moment of weakness, he feels a little more human to Beomgyu. A little less God-like. A lot more warmer and real.

Beomgyu likes that, he thinks. He really likes that.

Yeonjun turns to him, skewering Beomgyu with his gaze. "What's taking you so long?"

"I'm an air-head, hyung. My brain only works so fast."

"Ha ha," Yeonjun says, flatly. "Don't be petty."

Beomgyu laughs and pours the vodka. It's warm going down, and they both lean against the railing as they drink, watching the slow fade of the city's lamps as the night deepens. The overground trains are tiny glittering snakes of light from this high up, and the Han River shines like a thick black ribbon, reflecting the yellowy moon. Beomgyu turns the collar of his coat up against the biting wind, watching as Yeonjun zips up his jacket too, little shivers working their way down his spine.

"I wasn't lying when I said I have no tolerance for this sort of crap," Yeonjun grumbles, taking a sip of his drink. "What even was that?"

Beomgyu shrugs. "It's usually a lot more structured than that. I guess Soobin was too distracted."

"Structured," Yeonjun scoffs, a jittery edge to his voice. "It's a bunch of arbitrary mumbo-jumbo made up by idiots with nothing better to do. It doesn't even work."

"All team sports rules are also arbitrary, hyung," Beomgyu says, softly. He's familiar with people laughing at their eccentricities; doesn't mean he won't defend them. "Doesn't stop people from playing basketball."

Yeonjun doesn't say anything, but he shifts his stance a bit, drawing his shoulders closer and looking even more like a defensive, puffed-up bird than he had a few minutes ago. He looks indignant and exasperated, as he always does around Beomgyu, but there's at least a hint of a give to him now, the gentlest surrender. Like maybe he wants to listen.

"Come on, Beomgyu," he says, finally. "That's not the same thing."

"It really is. One's just more generally acceptable. Cool, if you want to use that word."

"Really. Think of a bloody deity," Yeonjun's voice is pitched higher for that last part, in a harsh imitation of Soobin. He rolls his eyes hard, picks the bottle from Beomgyu's slack grasp to pour more into his glass. "There's no...greater power, supreme being, whatever you want to call it. There's cold, hard science: birth, life, death. Everything else-fate, chance, magic-is uncontrollable, a series of circumstances and coincidences."

Beomgyu gives him a firm look. "My grandmother always said there's power in faith. Whether you put it on gods or other people."

"Faith is a crutch for idiots, Beomgyu," Yeonjun says, the frown audible in his voice, his face impassive even as his fists clench against the railing. "It's a cold, shit world where you can't trust no one. You're born alone and you die alone. The sooner you understand that, the better your life gets."

Maybe it's the smallness of Yeonjun's voice, suddenly, or maybe Beomgyu's tipsy, sleepy state is making him braver, but he reaches out and tugs at Yeonjun's sleeve to make him look at Beomgyu.

"It's not true that you can't trust anyone," Beomgyu says. "It's not true, hyung. Sometimes you just need to have some faith."

Yeonjun's mouth falls into a grimace as he downs his drink. "You put your hundred percent to something, you get a returns of eighty percent. Add another person to that mix, and it goes down to sixty. People fuck things up. I don't need them."

He meets Beomgyu's gaze then, face hard and jaw set in defiance, crossing his arms against the cold. It's like he's waiting for Beomgyu to disagree again so he can pounce on him, chew him out.

Beomgyu pouts at him, trying to put words to the thoughts running through his head, mind all tangled and sleepy. He doesn't agree, he wants to say. Beomgyu doesn't agree that success comes from going about life in such an inflexible, unemotional way. Beomgyu doesn't agree that it's silly to put faith in someone else. Sure, there are bad people in the world, but there are good people too, aren't there? More good people than bad, even. He's always had Taehyun. He's always had his friends. That's how he's gotten by: with a little help, and a lot of hugs.

Beomgyu doesn't know if he'd have loved his work if he didn't have Taehyun and Soobin and Seokjin and Namjoon. Doesn't know if he'd even have been in Seoul.

But here's Yeonjun-this amazing, incredible, award-winning man who Beomgyu has adored for years-telling him he's doing it wrong. That he can't trust anyone. That he has to live his life-how? Afraid, burying himself, looking out from beneath a wall? Beomgyu's not sure what to say, but it twists through him: this weird, helpless feeling of being small and needing help. He hates it. Wasn't it Taehyun who got him to stop worrying about it? We all need help sometimes, Beommie. Everybody needs help, don't they?

Yeonjun squirms, then jolts as he leans his elbow against the ice-cold railing. "Stop staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You are. It's fucking annoying."

"I'm not staring."

"You're looking then. Look somewhere else."

"I want my head facing this way."

"Tough luck."

Beomgyu huffs, but then Yeonjun won't stop glaring so he's forced to look away. What's he supposed to do? The man is scary.

Over the river, somewhere far from them, there are fireworks shooting into the sky. Beomgyu gasps, eyes widening at the explosion of colors, thinks of pointing it out to Yeonjun, and then decides that he's probably going to be lectured on how fireworks make people happy and hence are wasteful, terrible things. He keeps quiet. He really wanted Coke, he thinks, frowning at his glass. Kai had only brought Sprite.

"Yah, I hate Kai," Yeonjun mumbles from behind him. "Always with the fucking Sprite."

"We can drink it neat."

"Are you an idiot? That's a horrible idea. Tomorrow's Monday," Yeonjun grumbles, but then taps Beomgyu's shoulder. "Pour some."

Beomgyu spills a little, already sort of tipsy from the accumulated worth of soju and vodka he's been drinking since dinner, and Yeonjun rolls his eyes and steadies Beomgyu's hands. His fingers are ice cold, and Beomgyu knows he himself always runs very warm. It's still surprising when Yeonjun wraps his fingers around both his wrists.

"So warm," he says, pinching Beomgyu's skin lightly. "You're like a little space heater."

So, okay, maybe Yeonjun's been drinking a bit more than Beomgyu has.

That light flush that Beomgyu mistook for the cold is definitely not just the cold. And for a guy who just recently spent a few seconds telling Beomgyu off for staring in his general direction, Yeonjun's doing a lot of it himself now, cheek squished against the collar of his coat as he watches Beomgyu moodily. Doesn't let go of his hands.

Even in the slushy haze-scape of Beomgyu's sleepy brain, this sets off a few alarms.

Beomgyu tries to suppress a hysterical giggle. He fails. At the sound of it, Yeonjun seems to come out of whatever weird trance he was in, shoving Beomgyu away with all the strength of an angry kitten.

And then he drinks all of his vodka neat in one terrifying gulp.

"Hyung," Beomgyu gasps, wide-eyed, blinking like an owl. "Fuck."

Yeonjun smirks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Bet you won't do that."

Beomgyu sighs, softly. Looks from Yeonjun's empty cup to his face, the arch of his eyebrows, the glossy dark of his eyes.

The way a smile's begun to curl up the corner of his mouth.

There's challenge, bright in Yeonjun's gaze. And Beomgyu's going to fucking regret this, but he's never dealt well with being challenged.

"Gimme some of that."

Beomgyu knocks back the vodka, no problem. Then he thinks he's probably burned right through his intestines. He coughs, sputters oh fucking hell, and catches Yeonjun's grin as he pats his back. And then Yeonjun has to upstage him, so the stakes get upped and Beomgyu pours again.

Yeonjun holds his wrist to steady him.

"Drink," Yeonjun says. He sounds a little slurred now. "You're the one with the wild hipster life. Drink."

Beomgyu scoffs at him and drinks.

"Good boy," Yeonjun mutters, laughing as Beomgyu coughs through the burn.

Then Beomgyu's got watery eyes, and he's blinking against it, gasping a bit and giggling against the railing. Yeonjun lets go of his wrist to splay his hand soft against Beomgyu's back, like he's making sure that Beomgyu doesn't trip over the railing or something.

Beomgyu looks for the fireworks and grins happily when it explodes, all purple and gold. They stay like that for a while, quiet and passing drinks, until Yeonjun swears that the bottle's nearly over. There's probably more down below, but neither of them want to walk into a porno. Beomgyu thinks his legs won't work anyway. Jellyfish, he tells Yeonjun, and Yeonjun just blinks back at him. Beomgyu doesn't know how to explain it.

"Kid, are you a lightweight?"

"No? Yes?" Beomgyu ventures, and then breaks into giggles again. It's been creeping up on him like a cat looking for prey-slowly and then all of a sudden-the lulling, heavy pull of intoxication. He peers at Yeonjun and imagines that he's in a submarine, looking through thick glass at Yeonjun bobbing somewhere out in a vast ocean. "I was-my legs are jelly. Get it? Jellyfish."

"Sure."

"Hyung," Beomgyu says, through another fit of giggles, "Hyung, can I tell you something?"

Yeonjun looks suspicious. "What?"

Beomgyu leans in to whisper. "I don't even like alcohol. Okay? It tastes horrible, and I always just want strawberry juice, but-wow. Pretty fireworks."

Yeonjun sighs. "Just sit down before you fall over."

Sitting down is weird because it feels like the whole plane of the sky comes along with him. Beomgyu's very unsure of this. The moon, especially, seems to have suddenly changed angles, swooping down alongside Beomgyu to occupy a quarter directly to his left. Beomgyu sulks. Only he's sitting down, what the fuck is the sky getting into it for? He wants to talk to Yeonjun about it, but he thinks Yeonjun will just say some crap like life isn't fair and look at Beomgyu like he's dumb, and Beomgyu doesn't want that.

He really wants Yeonjun to stop thinking he's dumb.

"Hyung," he mutters. "Why do you hate me?"

Yeonjun frowns down at him. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Hyung," Beomgyu whines, and tugs gently at Yeonjun's pants. "Really. What did I do?"

"You didn't-fuck, I don't hate you, okay? We're just...very different people with very different- Beomgyu. Beomgyu, stop looking at me like that."

"Like what, hyung?"

"Like a-I don't know, like a wounded puppy or something. Stop it. Stop."

"'Kay," Beomgyu mumbles, and looks behind him instead. Through the rails, all the lights of Seoul down below looks like washed out, watery strokes of luminescence and color, just like in The Starry Night. He tilts his head to see better. The lights are pretty, he thinks. The lights, the fireworks, the glittering snake-like trains, the river and the people. Everything is nice and soft, gentle.

Life in this moment is sweet and soft, winter-laced, gentle.

It gets him a little emotional.

He's turning around before he knows it, tugging at Yeonjun's coat to get him to pay attention. "Hyung."

"What?"

He pats a spot next to him, and continues patting it until Yeonjun gives up and sits down. Yeonjun pulls his legs towards him and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on his knee, suddenly looking small and snuggly. Beomgyu has the very irrational, extremely suicidal urge to hug him.

"What you s-said," he says instead, very clearly now, this is very important, "About trusting no one. Taking no help."

Yeonjun freezes. "Yeah?"

Beomgyu looks at him earnestly, trying to put the truth of what he's saying behind his gaze. "It's not true."

"You're fucking drunk, Beomgyu."

"Not that drunk. Really! I promise on my dog," Beomgyu slurs, and then loses the thread for a bit in the depths of his sloshy brain. Why is he thinking of Blue now? Does Blue miss him? Beomgyu is abjectly sad that his dog is alone. He's also abjectly sad that Yeonjun doesn't think he can trust anyone. That sucks, right? That should suck. Almost as much as being a dog and being alone. "Uh-I mean. Sometimes it's okay to need h-help."

Yeonjun grits his teeth. "I didn't get where I was with help."

"I did. And I'm not-I'm not some rich, spoiled chaebol kid like you think I am, okay, hyung? My parents are farmers. My grandparents are farmers. My great-grandparents-"

"Are farmers!" Yeonjun splutters. "I got it. I got it, Beomgyu, jeez."

"Okay," Beomgyu says, happily. He's glad Yeonjun's following along. Listening. Listening to people is also important; that's what his grandmother always told him. Yeonjun's probably a good listener. "What was I saying?"

"Nothing important."

"Sad dogs," Beomgyu mutters, trying to get back to the point. Sad dogs, sad dogs-"Oh-yes! Help. I always had Taehyunie, and I had Soobinie, and then Jimin hyung and Taehyung hyung came along...I mean. What I'm trying to say-to say is-hyung, listen."

"I am fucking listening."

"No, look at me," Beomgyu says, and grabs hold of Yeonjun's face with both his hands because this is important. "I couldn't have done anything alone. Okay? I just...right people. You know? Friends. I trust them. They help."

"Let go of me, Beomgyu."

"No." Beomgyu says, and squishes Yeonjun's cheeks a little harder. "Did you hear me?

"I heard you. You have a lot of friends. They help."

Yeonjun's quiet for a minute. Beomgyu thinks he'll let it go, is a bit anxious that Yeonjun didn't take him seriously enough, but then Yeonjun takes hold of his hands. He pulls them gently away from his face but doesn't let Beomgyu have them back, instead holding his wrists captive in his lap.

"And then they'll expect it back from you," he says, grave and angry, eyes like burning coal and face shuttered. "And suddenly you're beholden to other people, and it's them controlling your life. You'll change yourself so they'll like you, make it so they'll approve of you. It's such a waste of time. A bloody waste of potential."

Beomgyu gapes like a fish, shocked and confused. Where is this coming from?

"Hyung. Real friends would never do that."

"Real friends," Yeonjun laughs, and even through the sparkly haze Beomgyu's in, he knows this is a bitter sound. "No human being does anything without expecting something in turn. That's just how we are."

"That's not true," Beomgyu says. "You can't live walled up like that, hyung. Not letting anyone in. What about Taehyung hyung? Or-or Kai hyung-"

"I ask nothing from them. I don't want them to worry for me, or think that they owe me anything-"

"They're not like that. They'd never hurt you. That's not right-"

Yeonjun whirls on him. " You pretend like you're so happy in life, so precious, not a care in the world-it's all a fucking lie. You want things, just like everyone else, and all of this pure, innocent facade is a lie. That's what I can't fucking stand. The lying."

Beomgyu sits up, suddenly much sober. "I am happy, hyung. I just want to work with clothes, in my shop, with my best friend-"

"Then you're a fucking idiot. The world is a shitty place. It just takes and it takes. Your friends will want things from you, and they'll ask more and more," Yeonjun's tone is angry now, his fingers punishingly hard on Beomgyu's wrists. Beomgyu, for the first time since he's met Yeonjun, is genuinely scared. But not of him, he thinks. For him. "They'll ask until you have nothing to give and then they'll keep asking. So if you're leaning on any of them, Choi Beomgyu, you're making a big fucking mistake. It's you against the world."

There's a ringing silence.

Beomgyu stays, slumped against the railing, for an indeterminate amount of time. Snow accumulates on his lap, soft and pretty, dampening his coat. Yeonjun continues to hold his hands, like maybe he's free-falling, and Beomgyu's a lifeline. Beomgyu's too rattled and too drunk to make any sort of sense of it. He thinks his heart is beating very fast, and there's a nasty, twisted-up feeling inside him-like sadness.

How did they get here?

"Hyung-"

Yeonjun sighs. Then he stands up, slowly, seeming to shake himself out of a long stupor, the lazy drawl back in his voice when he says, "Do you ever just shut up?"

Beomgyu sniffles. His throat is tight and his eyes burn, and his voice comes out in a funny little squeak. "I-I just-"

"Come on, I'll take you home."

"I don't wanna-"

"Not an option. Stop making that face. Get up. Get-shit, you're fucking heavy."

"You're just dumb," Beomgyu mutters, listing sideways as he tries to get his balance. "Dumb hyung."

Yeonjun makes an exasperated sound. "Oh god. That's not-why the hell are you crying?"

"I don't know."

"Well, don't. Stop crying. Stop-do you need Taehyun?"

"No."

Yeonjun swears. "Fine. I'm just gonna take you home. You shut up, okay?"

"I don't-"

"Ssshh. Not one word."

It's said with a glare, so Beomgyu just nods, frantically. He doesn't think he can defend himself if Yeonjun decides he doesn't need a limb or two.

Beomgyu's honestly unsure how he ends up in a cab with Yeonjun, and completely clueless how he manages to type in the proper address to his apartment in the GPS. Everything blurs outside his window, the world still clad in that delicate blue, and Beomgyu thinks his heart hurts. He presses his forehead against the cool window, watching contrails flicker and streetlights pass them in long-tailed blurs, the Doppler whoosh of late-night traffic rushing through his ears like wind in a tunnel.

Yeonjun's quiet the entire way home.

When they get to the apartment, Beomgyu stands with his head pressed to the doorfame until Yeonjun figures out the complicated key and electronic combo lock.

"We k-keep the more expensive jewelry at home," Beomgyu murmurs, to Yeonjun's repeated muttering of what the fuck and why the fuck. "Shop's heavily secured, of course. But d-diamonds...some gold... one original Christian Dior that the man himself has touched..."

"Is that on the mannequin?"

Beomgyu blinks, very slowly, trying to think. "...yes?"

"For your sake, Beomgyu-ah, I hope that thing isn't sitting somewhere in the living room where my eyes might land on it."

The door finally opens. Beomgyu hears Blue yip loudly from somewhere within the apartment, probably his playpen. He stumbles and Yeonjun grabs his elbow again.

"You keep doing that."

"You keep being gravitationally challenged," Yeonjun grumbles. "Where are the lights?"

Beomgyu tries to point in the direction of the switchboard and realizes that he has no idea how directions work.

"Never mind. Where's the bedroom?"

Beomgyu points. Yeonjun drags him along, deposits him unceremoniously on the bed, and then stands back to wipe a hand against his brow.

"I'll bring you water," he grunts. "And a bucket, for when you wake up tomorrow with a hangover."

Beomgyu just lies there, on his back, staring at his childish ceiling full of childish glowing stars. There are still nine planets because he didn't want Pluto to feel left out. Blue barks again, slightly plaintive.

He frowns and throws a leg over his pillow. Why is Yeonjun so difficult? He wonders. Why mistrust everyone, close yourself off like that? It can't be healthy. He can't be happy.

In all of the interviews and projects and campaigns of his that Beomgyu has followed, marveling at Yeonjun's clear passion and clever mind, never once had he guessed that Yeonjun isn't even happy doing this.

Beomgyu can't imagine. Happiness is his one true north. Sure he has his moments of self-hate, like everyone else, but he's fought to get to a place that he loves, with people he love.

He can't imagine.

Yeonjun comes back to find Beomgyu sitting up, playing with the hem of his shirt. The skylight lets in a scrim of brightness that catches on Yeonjun's cheek like a crescent moon. He reaches for Beomgyu's blanket and throws it at him.

Beomgyu swallows convulsively."Hyung," he starts, burying his face into the soft fabric of the blanket, blinking to bring the world to proper focus.

"Don't."

"I just want to talk."

"You're no one to talk about this," Yeonjun says, bluntly. "You're just a business acquaintance."

Beomgyu winces. "I know. But-"

"Look, Beomgyu. I think you're bizarre and ridiculous. I think Taehyung hyung is some sort of an idiot for buying into your fancy posturing. That hasn't changed. All that's changed in the last hour is that I know at least you can hold your liquor," Yeonjun shakes his head, sighing as he gives Beomgyu a once-over. "Somewhat."

"No, listen-"

"I don't have to listen to you," Yeonjun says, exasperated. "God, Beomgyu, that's the whole point of everything I said. I don't have to listen to anyone. I don't want to. Least of all you."

It doesn't even really hurt. Why should it? It's just like Yeonjun said: Beomgyu's no one to him. He's an acquaintance; one that Yeonjun doesn't even particularly like. But Beomgyu's the kind of person that elicits midnight confessions and drunken declarations. Beomgyu's the kind of person that adopts friends for life and then clings on like some particularly bull-headed sea-anemone. Beomgyu's the kind of person who will sit in the dark, barely thinking through a drunken stupor, feeling his heart swell painfully for someone who can't even look at his face.

Yeonjun pushes the water bottle at him, not making eye-contact. "Drink," he mutters. "Please. I don't want you complaining of a hangover tomorrow for the dress trials."

Beomgyu takes the water bottle.

"Do you want me to go let your dog out?" Yeonjun asks. "He sounds indignant."

"No, I'll do it myself."

"And die falling on the stairs? Fuck that. I need wardrobe consult tomorrow."

Beomgyu grins. "I'll be there bright and early!"

"It'll probably go on for half the day."

"I'll bring some donuts too!"

Yeonjun looks at him with something bordering on abject distrust. "Why are you smiling?" he asks, tone flat, glaring daggers at Beomgyu. "Stop it, you look demented."

Beomgyu tosses him a smirk. "For someone who hates people so much, you're pretty good at taking care of them, hyung."

"Fuck off," Yeonjun says, with no real heat. "Just-be there at ten. For my sanity's sake."

Beomgyu throws him a double thumbs-up. Yeonjun rolls his eyes so hard they nearly disappear, but he stays there for a minute longer, waiting for Beomgyu to get settled with his pillow and water and blanket. Then he leaves without ceremony, but Beomgyu hears him stumbling around, trying to locate Blue's playpen. And then the low rumble of his voice as he tries to make friends.

It laves over him, layered quietly over the hum of the refrigerator and the clicking of the AC, warm and lulling and domestic.

He's got this, he thinks, just as sleep descends over him with the weight of a metric tonne of bricks. He's not sure what he's got, but he's got it. This-this Yeonjun thing.

Beomgyu 's got this.

***