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It takes Heeseung longer to notice than he cares to admit to himself.
An almost slow progression from being in each other's business constantly to the deep chasm that's formed without Heeseung noticing. They've just released The Sin: Vanish and it's a busy time because comebacks always are. Heeseung barely has time to sleep and eat, let alone contemplate his relationship with the members. Let alone contemplate his relationship with someone he's made out with.
Recording the songs had been fun—Heeseung never tires of being in the studio, of getting to do something he loves—but Heeseung barely remember whether he and Jongseong had interacted much at all, let alone spent prolonged time together.
Jongseong.
Their friendship spans almost eleven years, with highs and lows alike. Heeseung knows Jongseong better than he knows his own family and it squeezes something in his chest to think that he could lose that. Could lose Jongseong sneaking into his room, pressing him into the wall and kissing him.
Is that what's happening?
Panic grips Heeseung at the mere thought of it.
When did the gap between them even start?
Before Desire? Before Romance:Untold? After?
The fact that Heeseung doesn't know seems to linger and he can't shake the feeling that he's done something.
It bleeds into his interactions with the members.
During videos, interviews, anything, he can't seem to focus. Mind drifting, fatigue curling the edges of his consciousness. He clenches his hands around his mic, around his own fingers, anything to ground himself in the moment. When the MC forgets he's there, Heeseung lets his voice fall silent, even when Jake protests. During videos, he knows he doesn't fill the silence as much as he could, but he can't find the drive—the will.
Something's broken and he doesn't know how to fix it.
"Heeseung-hyung," Jongseong says, poking his head around the door. "You coming to dinner?"
Heeseung shuts off his game and nods. "Yeah."
Jongseong doesn't linger.
He would have, before.
Would have stood against the wall and waited for Heeseung to shut everything down. Would have curled his fingers against Heeseung's hip and tugged him in for a kiss.
Heeseung tells himself he doesn't mind.
"Hyung," Riki stretches out on Heeseung's bed, phone lifted above his face. "Do you think Jay or Jake sang it better?"
Big Girls Don't Cry echoes out of his phone and Heeseung's hand slips on the mouse. He stares unseeing at his screen as Jongseong sings, the way his voice curls around the words. Heeseung will never tire of hearing Jongseong make a song his own, will never tire of watching him sink into the music. Heeseung swallows down the urge to immediately say Jongseong's name because asking who sang it better is almost too cruel. Jake is just as good, they're all good, and when Heeseung looks over his shoulder, he can see the teasing smile on Riki's face.
"You," Heeseung starts, and shoves his chair back, grinning as Riki moves up the bed, trying to get away from Heeseung's searching hands.
"Sorry," Riki says through his giggles, as Heeseung grabs his ankle.
The door to Heeseung's room flings open.
"Hyung—oh," Jongseong says, eyes darting from Heeseung to Riki. He seems to deflate a little. "Jungwon's starting a movie. Want to come and join?"
The door closes before either of them can respond.
Heeseung avoids the heat of Riki's gaze and squeezes his ankle. "Come on. Movie awaits."
"Hyung—"
"Riki, don't," he says quietly with another squeeze of his hand. "It's alright."
"Okay," Riki says, disbelieving.
When they make it downstairs, Heeseung drops to the floor in front of Jake, not looking away from the TV screen even as he feels multiple sets of eyes on him. His skin crawls and he itches to go back upstairs, to sink into bed and ignore the heavy weight around his shoulders.
Usually, he'd be squashed next to Jongseong on the couch, playing with the edge of Jongseong's hoodie or shirt, and sinking into the warmth of Jongseong's body.
"Heeseung-hyung," Sunghoon says, midway through the movie. He's holding out a bowl of ramyeon and Heeseung takes it automatically. He hadn't even noticed anyone getting up to cook. When he risks a glance around the room, Jongseong is missing—of course—and Jungwon's spot beside Jake is empty too.
"Thanks Hoonie," Heeseung says, only meeting Sunghoon's eyes when he doesn't release the bowl.
"Are you okay?" Sunghoon asks, eyebrows drawn into a frown.
Heeseung takes a moment, wants to give it the weight it deserves. He could say no, could admit to the raging turmoil in his chest, but he doesn't. A worn smile slips onto his face, tired but no less real because it's Sunghoon. "I'm fine."
Sunghoon nods, though his mouth turns down, sceptical. He releases the bowl.
Heeseung tucks into the food, hand shaking when he hears Jongseong and Jungwon return, tries—and fails—to focus on the movie instead of the absence along his side, the memory of sneaking into the kitchen with Jongseong himself, letting Jongseong snatch kisses between cooking.
It's Jungwon who brings it up, because of course it is. He's spending time with Jongseong, knows Heeseung well enough to tell, and he's the leader. Even if the other members wanted to bring it up, they'd go to Jungwon first.
Heeseung's alone in the kitchen, one hand on the open cupboard door, trying to decide what to eat, when Jungwon comes to stand beside him. His voice is pitched low, and he sounds a touch concerned. "Hyung, is everything alright between you and Jay-hyung?"
"Fine," Heeseung says automatically, because it is. They're not fighting. They're not—anything. "Why? Has he said something?"
Jungwon looks at him carefully. "Should he have something to say?"
Heeseung bristles at that. "Because it would be my fault if something was wrong, right?"
"I didn't—"
"Everything is fine," Heeseung stresses. He closes the cupboard and steps back, avoiding Jungwon's eyes. His stomach growls, but he ignores it. "I'm not hungry anymore. You can have the kitchen."
"Hyung," Jungwon tries. "That's not what I meant."
Heeseung clenches his hands into fists before instantly smoothing them out. He doesn't like the anger that floods his chest, or the bitterness that tinges his tone. "Wonnie," his voice breaks a little and he ignores it, "I appreciate that you think you're looking out for Jongseong, but it's not like that. Sometimes people grow apart and that's okay."
It isn't, it isn't.
"It's not Jay-hyung I'm looking out for," Jungwon says, but Heeseung doesn't quite believe him.
The cold creeps up on him. The others have been sniffling and fighting the illness, but for some reason, Heeseung can't shake it. Powering through some of the promo, he does his best to keep up with the members, but it's obvious he's sagging.
Sunoo offers up some vitamins, Riki keeps checking on him during practice, and Sunghoon keeps shooting him concerned looks. Heeseung isn't looking at Jongseong enough to know whether he's noticed.
(He tries desperately not to think of the reason he and Jongseong would sometimes fall ill at the same time).
"I'm sick," Heeseung says quietly into the phone.
Jungwon pauses. "Do you need time?"
No, Heeseung thinks. Then, "Yes, please."
Another pause, and Heeseung can imagine the look on Jungwon's face, the concern warring with suspicion. It's not that Heeseung's lying—he's got a cold, he's tired, he's emotionally wrung out—and Jungwon knows, or suspects, because he just says, "Alright, hyung," quietly.
"I'm sorry," Heeseung says.
"Hyung's allowed to be sick," Jungwon says. He talks to someone else, voice muffled. "Rest up, Heeseung-hyung. You need to get better."
"Alright," Heeseung agrees. They hang up and Heeseung immediately burrows into his duvet, swallowing down the urge to cry. His phone pings. When he looks at it, their group chat lights up with messages from everyone wishing him well, concerned for him.
Take care, hyung.
Jongseong's message seems so—
He used to fuss, to make sure Heeseung was comfortable, had medication, and was warm.
This feels colder, and Heeseung's shiver has nothing to do with his illness.
11 Years.
11 Yrz rings.
The fan brings it up and it cuts deep into Heeseung's insecurity.
They joke off the rings, Jongseong saying something like we have to change the unit name, and it lodges itself into Heeseung's chest.
Different unit name.
Do they need one? They've always just been their years in friendship. Heeseung doesn't know if he cares to have a ring (he does, he does) but the more he focuses on Jongseong—knows some fans pick up on the intensity of his gaze—he can't help reassessing how deep the gulf between them has grown. Heeseung is too old to think does he like Jungwon better than me, but he does anyway. Wonders if Jongseong is kissing Jungwon, or someone else entirely. It's not fair to Jungwon and it's not fair to Jongseong. Heeseung knows better, because his insecurities, the fractures he lest fester in his relationship with Jongseong, are his fault and his fault alone.
When he's back in his room, safely tucked under his covers, shutting out the world, he thinks about it again.
11 years. It's a long time to know someone, to spend with them. He cares about Jongseong, feels hurt and destroyed at the fact that maybe they're growing apart. He doesn't want to lose Jongseong, not even for a moment. Doesn't want to miss the kisses, the concern Jongseong shows him and that he feels touched to be able to show Jongseong.
Jongseong, the other members, they're Heeseung's daily point of stability and Heeseung misses Jongseong. Misses the way Jongseong cared about him, loved him. Misses the press of Jongseong's lips against his, the soft curve of his smile when he said, "goodnight, hyung."
He loves Jongseong with every fibre of his being.
"Oh," he whispers, burying his face in the pillow.
He loves Jongseong.
"Hyung."
Heeseung startles awake. It's usually a gradual thing so it takes him a moment to realise there's someone in his room. Not Riki or Sunoo. Not Sunghoon. There's nobody else in their dorm—
"Hyung."
Jongseong.
Heeseung bolts upright, almost slamming straight into Jongseong's chin. "Sorry," he says quickly, looking at the floor. He rubs a hand across his eyes, and ignores the tremble in it. "Is everything okay?"
Jongseong looks tired, drawn, and he sags onto the bed next to Heeseung. "I heard you crying" he starts, pauses.
Heeseung stalls. They don't share a dorm so how could Jongseong know—
When he looks at Jongseong, he can see the tremble in his hands and Heeseung feels a surge of concern.
"Are you alright?" Heeseung says.
Expression incredulous, Jongseong lets out a humourless laugh. "You're asking me?"
"Yes," Heeseung says slowly, drawing out the word. "You're shaking."
Reaching between them, Heeseung takes Jongseong's hand. The trembling continues.
"Hyung," Jongseong says, just as slowly. "You've been—different." The word is said hesitantly, and finally, finally, Heeseung meets his gaze. Jongseong's brown eyes are so beautiful, Heeseung thinks. "I asked Jungwon to check, and Sunghoon, but you kept saying you were fine."
Heeseung closes his eyes, lets out a breath. Jongseong asked. Of course he did. "You didn't ask yourself."
Jongseong shifts their hands so that he can hold onto Heeseung. "Hyung." His voice is quiet. "I didn't think you wanted me—that you were with Jake and Riki and—"
Heeseung isn't stupid. His mind turns everything over quickly and he sucks in a breath. "I thought," he says, squeezing Jongseong's hand. "That you and I were—that we had just grown apart. You stopped," Heeseung continues, eyes darting back to the floor, "hanging out here and we haven't kiss—done anything really in a long time."
Eyes widening in surprise, Jongseong shakes his head. "We haven't. I care about you. I don't want you to ever stop being my hyung, to ever stop being you!"
"Oh," Heeseung swallows around the lump in his throat. "I thought maybe eleven years was too long."
They lapse into silence, hands tightly clasped, and Heeseung doesn't know what to say.
"It will never be too long," Jongseong says eventually. "You're my Heeseung-hyung."
Heeseung smiles, relieved, and feels some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Jongseong is watching him, eyes never wavering from Heeseung's face.
"I was the reason you were hurting."
"No," Heeseung says quickly, shifting so that he can face Jongseong. "I was. I let things get bad between us and we weren't talking. When you wanted to," Heeseung feels heat on his cheeks, "change the unit name, I thought maybe that was you asking to grow without me."
Jongseong looks horrified. "What, no? I just don't like that we don't have stable unit name! We know how long we've been friends, I just want to be able to say—"
"We stopped kissing," Heeseung says, finding his voice and needing Jongseong to understand, them both to understand, because they've been hurting each other and Heeseung never wants that, ever. "You stopped being here with me. I stopped doing it with you too, and we just got lost."
"I looked up one day and realised we hadn't seen each other in a week," Jongseong says. Heeseung doesn't ask which week, doesn't want to know how long they've been tugging at both ends of a broken friendship. "Whenever I tried, you were with someone else, or just looked sad. I thought it was you making a decision."
Heeseung laughs humourlessly. "It was me feeling the same as you. I was scared that we wouldn't be the same way again."
"Hyung," Jongseong says firmly, tugging Heeseung close. Heeseung goes willingly, lets Jongseong's arms wrap around him. "We'll always be this way. Always."
Burying his face in Jongseong's neck, Heeseung feels as though he takes a deep breath for the first time in weeks. He clings to the back of Jongseong's sleep shirt. "I missed you."
Jongseong's laugh is shaky, and he squeezes Heeseung, turning his face into Heeseung's hair. "I'm right here. I'm always right here."
They lapse into silence and Heeseung relishes the press of Jongseong's body against his, the softness of the hair beneath his cheek, and the steady breath against his temple.
"I love you, Jongseong-ah," Heeseung says, feeling brave and happy.
A shiver runs through Jongseong and his words are soft. "I love you, Heeseung-hyung."
The chasm between them closes, and the ground beneath Heeseung is once again firm and unyielding.