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It’s hot and it’s uncomfortable and with a jagged motion, Felix rips the hoodie off his body and discards it at his side. He doesn’t look to see whether or not it made it to the floor. Not that he cares. Not right now, when it feels like his head is both stuffed with cotton and buzzing with wasps at the same time.
He is restless. Has been since he got back from dance practice some- three? Four hours ago? He should’ve known something was off right away, as the usual pleasant post-workout ache never settled, and instead turned into muscles pulling and constricting, cramping up and leaving him perpetually uncomfortable. The quiet of the dorms didn’t help either, and cocooned in the darkness of his room, Felix felt like pushing air in and out of his lungs was the hardest workout he’s done today yet.
He tried to get distracted through the usual rotation of Tik Tok and Twitter, which sure did work, even a little too well. Felix is honestly not sure how long it has been when he shuddered awake and realized that he has been scrolling without processing a single word he heard; swept away in a cacophony of colors and sounds until the building pressure behind his eyes got unbearable. He exited the app and immediately plunged into the hostile waters of silence again. The high-pitched tone of irritation in his ears remained.
Felix could do nothing but groan and bury his face in his pillow.
Should he eat? He could eat. But- But his stomach already feels so heavy, adding food would probably only make him nauseous on top of it. But he can’t stay in his bed either. The duvet just feels too coarse on his skin, the room itself too suffocatingly still, and the air too stale. His feet are cold. But the hoodie he was wearing already felt too constricting, putting on socks would just bring the feeling back.
Felix rolls over, phone discarded somewhere between the cascading folds of his restless tossing. The covers were washed recently - he can smell the new lavender detergent Minho bought - and it smells nice, but it doesn’t smell right the way his things should smell.
It’s all too foreign, too irritating. Felix instinctively licks his dry lips, finding them distressed and shattered. The rough touch makes him wince.
Water. He should get some water.
There’s an empty water bottle on his bedside, scrunched up and dangerously close to the edge. Alright, he definitely needs to leave.
Felix hauls himself upright, a little too fast for comfort, and staggers towards the door on inertia alone. His room is painted in rash reds and bruise blues of a late evening, which makes his journey through the surprisingly well-lit living room just another attack on his already suffering senses.
He gets his glass of water, downs it in one go, and does actually feel a decent amount of relief at the sensation of the cold liquid making its way down his parched throat. The fact that the kitchen is drenched in relative darkness seems to help too. For the first time in a little eternity of this evening, Felix exhales freely.
He takes an extra minute or two to wash his glass, dreading the eventual return to his room. It’s not like there’s anything to do there, really. Usually, when he is stressed he would go to the studio and dance his frustrations out, but he just got back from there. It’s too late to go out anyways - the managers definitely wouldn’t approve. He could bake something, but the thought alone of having to touch and smell more than he already has makes him shudder. Maybe he should just wait for-
Oh, right. The lights were on.
Felix peaks his head out of the kitchen and assesses the living room. And sure enough, amidst the organized chaos of packages, clothes, and empty coffee cups, he spots the colorful splat of a person splayed across the couch. How did he not notice Jeongin?
Mirroring Felix’s range of activities for the past however long, Jeongin has his eyes glued to his phone. He scrolls, pauses, exhales through his nose and continues on. He doesn’t look all that impressed by whatever it is he is looking at but doesn't look too irritated either. It’s not uncommon to see him like this, really. In the fractures of time in the endless cycle of workouts, practices, performances, promotions, and every other possible combination of work, he is usually the one to settle like this to “rest properly” - motionless and detached from the worries of the day, if only for a bit. Sometimes he even manages to drag someone else with him, all of them too restless in nature for their own good.
Felix recognizes his current position - sprawled out on the couch in one of his colorful vests and sweatpants, over and underdressed at the same time - to be an open invitation for someone to come bother him.
He might as well.
Felix shuts off the overhead lighting in the living room, finally having enough of the eye strain, and makes a beeline for the couch.
He hears Jeongin startle, first from the sudden lack of light, and then from the weight of a body making its way on top of him. It’s not actually that dark in the room, with enough light from surrounding buildings and a departing sun filtering in, for Jeongin to see Felix settle himself. He slides in between Jeongin’s arms, winds his arms and legs around the younger, and drops his forehead against his sternum with a tired huff.
Jeongin just lets it happen and returns back to his scrolling, now with an addition of a human phone stand and a head of messy black hair partially obstructing his field of vision.
They stay silent like this for a while, Jeongin idly tapping his fingers on Felix’s back, and Felix simply breathing in the familiar scent of- well, Jeongin. Traces of bitter cologne, mint body wash, something like cotton, and even a hint of that lavender detergent. Surprisingly, It doesn’t feel as grating when mixed in with the comfortable essence of someone dear.
At one point the younger flicks Felix’s ear to get his attention and Felix has to blink a couple of times to focus on the blinding phone screen hovering before his nose.
“It’s you.” Jeongin laughs, and Felix feels the rumble of his chest before he even hears the sound.
The “himself” in question is a photo of a gray kitten nestled at the side of a tiny fennec fox. It’s cute, both the picture and the fact that Felix can see the search bar above it.
“Why are you looking up “cat and fennec” pictures?”
Jeongin shrugs, noncommittal, which makes Felix shift by proxy of being slotted together.
“Why not?”
Felix sighs and closes his eyes. They fall silent again, but this time punctuated by the soft thud of Jeongin’s phone hitting the carpet beneath the couch and Jeongin’s arms finally fully settling on Felix’s back. His fingers start moving across the expanse of his shirt, tap-tap-tapping along to a silent melody. It’s oddly reminiscent of him playing the piano.
“Hey hyung.”
Felix hums.
“What’s up?”
“The ceiling.”
Jeongin stops “playing” and instead digs his fingers into Felix’s sides, causing the other to yelp. Felix squeezes his arms in retaliation, and the two of them eventually settle the silent stand-off with soft laughter.
Jeongin’s hands return to Felix’s back, now softly wandering up and down in a soothing motion. The older preens at the touch. The fabric of Jeongin’s vest is a little rough under his cheek, too prickly and coarse, but he still rubs his face back and forth, for once welcoming the feeling. He tightens his hold as Jeonging tries to ask him again, now with just a questioning “Hm?” into his hair.
“I-” he winces at the sound of his own voice, suddenly so foreign and wrong to his ears. “I don't know. Just feel, sorta-”
He can’t really think of the right way to describe it. Uncomfortable, sure. Overwhelmed. Tired. Restless, yes, but also all too stagnant at the same time. He just grumbles something nonsensical, hoping that his strained tone will convey the message.
It seems to work, because Jeongin’s hands travel upwards and settle in Felix’s hair, infinitely comforting. His fingers immediately start working their way through loose knots of his hair. Felix sighs as he feels Jeongin drag the blunt of his nails across his scalp.
He might not be too fond of receiving the others’ affection, but Jeongin was always keen on lending some warmth and comfort to his favorite people. Especially Felix.
The latter wants to dissolve in this moment - the soft touch, the last remnants of daylight finally melting away, a muted melody Jeongin hums under his breath. It sounds strangely familiar, a rhythm he definitely heard before, and perhaps many a time if the way he immediately relaxes is anything to go by. His headache, which has been mellowing out since he crawled into Jeongin’s hold, finally dissipates completely, replaced instead by the pleasant fog of exhaustion.
A lullaby, Felix thinks somewhere in the corner of his consciousness.
And it is. An old song, something his mom used to sing to him, on nights quite like this. She used to stroke his hair when he would get too overwhelmed from his day to properly fall asleep. To think that he used to be so small that even her hands, the ones that he can now envelop fully with his, could cover his whole head. Her embrace could seemingly engulf his whole being, an overwhelming gesture of love and safety. He’s too tall for that now.
Felix is suddenly made aware of an awful, crawling ache in his chest. He misses her. Oh god, how much he misses her - her sunshine warm presence, and ocean-cool touch. It knocks the air out of his chest, replaced by a sudden flood of images, and for a moment, Felix is drowning.
The heat of January summer on his skin. Salt and laughter, light in his lungs, and a familiar voice beckoning for him to come closer to the shore. Dreams of a future unsettled, dissolved by the waves, and carried far, far away until he has to squint against the sun to recognize them. People, woven from the same cloth of familiar greetings, customs, experiences, love, and sadness. Just like him, all around and within.
The sand under his nails and in the corners of his eyes. Endless sandcastles on the shore, collapsing over and over. But it’s okay because he keeps digging in and putting them back together. Time, for once, unfelt.
Felix chokes on the air that still carries a phantom of the life before.
He startles when a warm hand comes to rest on his cheek, suddenly washed ashore back into the present, by the touch. Even in the dark, he can still see Jeongin’s concerned frown.
Before Jeongin can ask anything, Felix hides his face in his chest and whispers.
“Do you ever think what things would be like…if you didn’t leave Busan?”
Jeongin frowns at just how faint Felix sounds and brings his hand to simply rest on top of his head.
“Not really?” he says quietly. “I guess I wouldn’t be here? I don’t know.”
The air is still.
“Do you… do you think about that a lot?”
Felix burrows further into Jeongin, perhaps in hope of getting absorbed by the younger’s warmth.
“Yeah.”
It’s not that he is unhappy here. In fact, he is probably the happiest he’s ever been, surrounded by wonderful people he has the privilege to call family, doing what he loves, and getting to experience life in a way he could only fantasize about before.
But he still misses truly belonging to a place. He’s long stopped being a foreigner on paper, but there are still moments when he is caught off guard, an odd phrase or experience to remind him that he’s not really from here. A stranger at heart, at the end of the day.
If he never left, he would never have to feel like that, right? He’d never have to learn how to communicate again, how to be himself in a context of a different culture, through a lens of a different society. He'd never have to feel like a foreigner.
And yet, a life not like this, without the team by his side? He can’t imagine a worse fate.
He quietly murmurs as much to Jeongin.
The younger hums in understanding and in thought.
“Well, I can’t-” Jeongin starts, softly, “I can’t really tell you if you’d be happier or not…but, I think even if you stayed in Australia, we’d still be together somehow.”
Felix raises his head, momentarily dislodging the other’s hand and it falls to settle on the back of his neck. He’s not really frowning, but there is a crease of confusion in his brow. Jeongin wants to smooth it out with his finger, but wills himself still.
“You know, I think you’d still run into Chan at some point, or maybe come visit South Korea and meet one of us by chance. I don’t think there’s a version of us out there that wouldn’t have been friends.”
That last phrase, murmured into the space between them, makes him still. What an incredibly comforting thought that is. He closes his eyes for a moment and imagines it. Meeting for the first time all over again, stumbling over shy introductions and getting to know each other, ignorant of how close they are, how close they will be. It makes him smile.
“I would definitely come to your fansign and befriend you immediately. A fan’s dream.” Felix huffs.
“Nah.” Jeongin’s hand starts stroking his back again, in a circular motion. “There’s no point of being idols if it’s not all of us.”
He says it so easily as if it’s the most natural thought in the world - that they are fated to be together. Felix squeezes Jeongin harder for a second. Then opens his eyes and smiles again.
“We’d probably meet online. In a video game lobby or something.”
“Ooh, I’d be your cool online friend from South Korea. And you would save up money working in a cute coffee shop to come to visit me someday.”
“Why do I have to visit you?” Felix laughs and the way his eyes crinkle alone would probably be enough for another Jeongin to swim across the ocean for him.
“To meet my lame neighbor hyungs I told you all about, duh.”
Felix sticks his tongue out at Jeongin, who retaliates with a wince, and settles his head on his chest again. Feeling a little more present, he can faintly hear the soft bu-dump of Jeongin’s heart. He tries to breathe in tandem with it. His voice is timid, as fragile as the dying light when he speaks up.
“Do you really think I’d be that lucky? To find you again?”
Jeongin’s hand stills at the question.
“Hyung, I think the universe would bend itself backwards if you wished it so.”
“Huh?”
Felix doesn’t have to lift his head to know Jeongin is flustered at how determined and sincere he sounds, not with the way his heart starts pitter-pattering away in his chest, or the way he starts drumming his fingers again.
“I mean-” he starts, clamps up, clears his throat. “I think you’re someone the world likes too much, it would do anything for you. It can’t not treat you with kindness, or make you happy. You’re too good.”
Felix isn’t really sure what to say, but he doesn’t have to, because Jeongin tightens his hold on him and continues.
“I know people call you sunshine and stuff, and yeah it’s overused, but they’re not wrong. You’re like the whole Sun in itself, you have so much light and care to give to the world and you do, you give it to every person you meet, and every plant you get, every animal you see and even the silly drawings I stick to your door sometimes. You don’t have to keep them - I’ll draw you a thousand better things, hyung - and yet you still put them on your shelf so I can see that they’re still there.”
He takes a gulp of air, a long enough of a pause for Felix to lift his head and lock eyes with him.
“I think- I think you’re really wonderful, hyung. In things you do and the way you carry yourself. You make everyone really happy. You make me happy.”
They stare at each other for an agonizing eternity of at most 10 seconds, until it gets just too much to handle, and both look away. Felix feels his cheeks burn (his whole body is on fire, really), all while Jeongin shifts uncomfortably beneath him. He should probably let him go, but it’s the last thing he wants to do right now, so instead, he uncurls his hands from around Jeonging’s torso and scoots up to wind them around his neck. The younger squeaks a little but doesn’t fight it. In fact, he hugs Felix back and burrows his face in his hair.
“I can’t really tell you to not be homesick hyung, and I’m sorry you have to feel that in the first place.” He murmurs, and Felix wants to bury further into Jeongin’s neck just to feel the vibration of his voice, “But I’m really glad you came here.”
Homesick. It’s strange to be homesick for somewhere that isn’t really his home anymore. Perhaps it’s more nostalgia than anything, a yearning for the unattainable comfort of being young and carefree, of living in a smaller world confined to his room, a classroom, the beach. He’s too tall for his childhood bed now, and he can reach the cupboards in the kitchen without needing to climb the counters. His family doesn’t even live in his old house anymore, it belongs to someone else’s childhood now. And yet, as illogical as it is, he still aches.
“I’m glad I came too. Not the worst version of us, huh?”
The way he huffs into Jeongin’s neck makes the younger squirm, but he can feel a laugh in his hair nonetheless. Then, an inhale and a momentary pressure. A kiss.
Felix snaps his head when he realizes. Jeongin stares back, a little too flustered to feign innocence, and after finding whatever he was looking for in Felix’s eyes, he dives forward and connects his lips to his forehead. Felix gasps at the touch, but doesn’t shy away when Jeongin leans in again and presses more tiny kisses, featherlight against his eyelid, and his cheekbone, and where his brow creased in confusion before, the tip of his nose, the corner of his lips. The attack does nothing to help Felix’s poor heart, on the verge of combustion, but he can’t stop a delighted laugh from escaping. The sound only invigorates Jeongin more, until Felix has to untangle his hands and raise himself up, pressing on the other’s shoulders, just to finally catch a breath.
He can barely see him now, the night finally taking hold, but the streetlamp outside the window is enough for Felix to see the lovely smile on Jeongin’s face. He looks so beautiful like this, hair a mess, and clothes crumpled from an odd hour of hugging. Felix feels a tidal wave of affection build up between his ribs, a feeling crashing at the shore of his consciousness. Another sand castle collapses as he leans down and presses a kiss to the bow of Jeongin’s lips. He’ll build another one, as Jeongin’s hands come to rest at his sides.
Perhaps the phantom pain of a home abandoned will never fade; the anxiety of this life definitely won’t. But in the warmth of this moment, the flustered exclaim he’ll let out when Seungmin and Minho will get home and flick on the lights, in Jeongin’s bashful smile, and the way he’ll let him hide against his chest from Minho’s teasing, he is happy. He can only hope all other infinite versions of himself are happy too.