Chapter Text
"Okay but-no, listen-this one actually goes hard," Martin said, shoving his phone between Seonghyeon and Keonho's faces just as the car hit a pothole, making the screen blur into an incomprehensible streak of colors. Keonho snorted, batting the phone away like an annoying fly. "Hyung, that's just you blinking for three seconds with 'Super Shy' over it."
Seonghyeon, slouched against the window with his hoodie pulled halfway over his face, peeled one eye open. "It's giving... middle school power point." Martin gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded, while James cackled from the front seat, nearly elbowing Juhoon in the ribs. Juhoon, ever the picture of serene patience, merely sighed and adjusted his seatbelt.
The van ride back to the dorm was always chaos after MV shoots, exhaustion and adrenaline turning them all into giggly, punch-drunk versions of themselves. Seonghyeon had spent the last ten minutes debating whether to nap or succumb to the energy buzzing under his skin. His eyes drifted shut again just as Martin announced, "Fine! You guys are begging for me to spam the group chat later."
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Back at the dorm, Keonho flopped onto his bed face-first, groaning into the sheets. Seonghyeon kicked off his shoes and rummaged through his drawer for clean clothes. "Shower?" he asked, already halfway to the door. Keonho gave a muffled "Mmhmm" into the mattress, and Seonghyeon grinned, disappearing down the hall just as Martin's voice echoed from the living room: "James, why would you edit that part?? It's literally just me sneezing—"
Alone in the room, Keonho rolled onto his back, stretching his arms above his head. His fingers brushed his phone where it had fallen beside him. He unlocked it absently, thumb hovering over the group chat, which was still buzzing with Martin's promised spam—before curiosity got the better of him. He typed his own name into the search bar.
Keonho's lips curled up as the first edit loaded—him mid-laugh during a variety show, captioned *"WHY IS HE LIKE THIS"* with some peppy song he didn't recognize. He tapped the screen to save it, chuckling under his breath. "Damn, I do look good," he muttered, sending it to the group chat with a string of flexing emojis. The algorithm, pleased with his engagement, immediately suggested another. And another.
By the fifth video, a slow motion fancam of him winking at a concert. He was fully immersed, legs swinging idly off the bed. Then the recommendations shifted. A thumbnail loaded: Seonghyeon, backlit by stage lights, sweat glistening on his collarbones as he unbuttoned his jacket halfway through a performance. Keonho's thumb hovered. He shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't. But the video was already playing, Seonghyeon's hips rolling in time with the bass, his fingers dragging through damp hair and Keonho's breath hitched, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
The next video autoplayed before he could stop it. Then another. Seonghyeon biting his lip during a live. Seonghyeon laughing, head thrown back, throat exposed. Seonghyeon in the practice room, shirt clinging to his shoulders. Keonho's grip tightened around his phone. His stomach swooped like he'd missed a step on stairs.
Keonho's pulse roared in his ears, suddenly hyper aware of the way his sweatpants were straining against him. He dropped his phone face down onto the mattress like it had burned him, but the damage was done, his brain was already replaying Seonghyeon’s fingers hooking under his own shirt collar in some behind the scenes clip, the way his abs had flexed when he—
"Shit," Keonho hissed, scrambling upright just as the bathroom door squeaked open down the hall. He yanked a pillow into his lap with frantic precision, heart hammering when he heard Seonghyeon’s voice mingling with James’ laughter. The footsteps grew closer.
He grabbed his phone again, this time pulling up a random game, and fixed his face into what he hoped was casual disinterest. The door swung open before he could check if the pillow was actually covering anything.
Seonghyeon stood there, hair still damp, skin flushed pink from the shower. A droplet of water slid down his neck. Keonho's throat went dry.
"You look like you just got caught stealing snacks," Seonghyeon said, tilting his head. He had that stupid lopsided grin, the one that always made Keonho want to shove him playfully or…or something else entirely.
Keonho's grip on his phone tightened so hard he could feel the case creak. "I-what? No. I just-" He gestured vaguely at the screen, where some cartoon bird was mid-flight in a game he'd never played before. "Trying to beat Martin's high score."
Seonghyeon raised an eyebrow, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. The scent of his body wash—something citrusy and warm—drifted across the space between them. "Since when do you play Angry Birds?"
"Since-" Keonho's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, shifting the pillow minutely higher. "Since today. It's nostalgic."
Seonghyeon hummed, unconvinced, but mercifully turned away to rummage through his dresser. Keonho exhaled slowly, watching the way Seonghyeon's damp t shirt clung to the dip of his spine. Then Seonghyeon tugged the shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it into the laundry bin, and Keonho nearly choked on his own tongue.
The door burst open before Seonghyeon could call him out further. James stumbled in, hair sticking up at odd angles, clutching his phone like a holy relic. "Martin’s wrong," he declared, shoving the screen toward Seonghyeon. "Look at this lighting! This is cinema-"
Keonho barely registered James’ theatrics, too busy willing his heartbeat to slow down as Seonghyeon leaned over James’ shoulder to inspect the phone, close enough that his damp hair brushed James’ cheek. Too close. The irrational thought prickled at Keonho’s skin before he could shove it away.
“It’s just you eating a sandwich,” Seonghyeon deadpanned, poking James’ forehead. “Cinematic gluttony.”
James squawked, whirling around to defend his “artistic vision,” but Keonho’s attention snagged on the way Seonghyeon’s smirk softened when he glanced back at him—like they were sharing a secret. His stomach did another traitorous somersault.
Then Martin barreled into the room, phone aloft like a torch. “James, you bastard-you stole that sandwich bit from me-”
Martin lunged, trying to wrestle the phone from James’ grip, but Juhoon stepped between them with the effortless authority of someone who’d broken up too many dumb arguments to count. “Enough,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to shower before I lose brain cells.” He plucked Martin’s phone from his hands on the way out, ignoring Martin’s indignant squawk.
Seonghyeon snorted, shaking his head as the door swung shut behind Juhoon. His gaze flicked back to Keonho, who was still hunched under the hoodie like a turtle hiding in its shell. “You good?” he asked, tilting his head.
Keonho’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “Yep. Great. Perfect.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Suddenly, all attention seemed to have landed on Keonho. Martin and James were now eyeing him suspiciously too. Keonhos tighted his grip on his phone, feeling beads of sweat form underneath his hair.
“Wait-Keonho.” His eyes narrowed. “Why’re you sitting like you’re guarding a treasure?”
Keonho's brain short-circuited. "What?? No-" he sputtered, but James was already reaching for the pillow with a mischievous grin. Panic lanced through him. He twisted away, nearly elbowing James in the face, but the movement only made the situation worse, the fabric of his sweatpants pulling taut in a way that was absolutely, horrifyingly obvious.
Seonghyeon, blessedly, mercifully, chose that moment to step between them, tossing a crumpled hoodie at James's head. "Yah, stop harassing him," he said, though his voice was light, teasing. "He's clearly having a spiritual crisis over Angry Birds."
"Oh. Is that all?" James said, his voiced laced with boredom and disappointment.
Keonho scrambled for an excuse, any excuse. “I was—I was texting my mom,” he blurted.
James groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “Lame.”
“Your mom rules,” Martin countered, ever the contrarian, but his attention was already shifting. He snatched Keonho’s phone off the bed before Keonho could react, thumb jabbing at the power button. The screen flickered to life, still mercifully on Angry Birds, and not displaying the gallery of Seonghyeon thirst traps that had seared themselves into Keonho’s retinas.
"See?" Martin pouted, shoving the phone back at him. "Boring. You lied about texting your mom."
Martin's thumb swiped upward lazily, just messing around, just annoying, when the screen flickered to Keonho's watch history. Keonho's stomach plummeted. There were more videos than he remembered. Way more. Seonghyeon's collarbones, Seonghyeon's hips, Seonghyeon's mouth, filled the screen in a grid of damning evidence.
Martin froze. His finger hovered over the screen, eyes widening incrementally. "...Oh," he said, voice oddly measured. "Oh wow."
Keonho lunged, but Martin twisted away with surprising agility, holding the phone aloft like a trophy. "Martin-give it back-" Keonho's voice cracked mid plea, hands grasping at air as Martin scrambled backward onto Seonghyeon's bed. James, who had been mid eye roll, perked up instantly at the shift in energy.
"What? What'd I miss?" James craned his neck, but Martin angled the screen away, eyes darting between Keonho's flushed face and the phone like he'd uncovered state secrets.
Martin's grin widened, slow and wicked. "Oh, nothing," he drawled, thumb swiping deliberately. "Just Keonho and his... research." He emphasized the last word with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Keonho's soul briefly exited his body.
James gasped, scrambling upright. "Research? Like—science research?" He blinked, then gasped louder. "Wait—not science research—"
Keonho made a noise akin to a deflating balloon. "It's not- I wasn't-" His protest died in his throat as Martin, ever the menace, tilted the screen just enough for James to catch a glimpse. James' jaw dropped.
"Holy shit," James breathed, eyes comically wide. "Is that-all-?" He gestured vaguely at the phone, then at Seonghyeon, then back at the phone like he couldn't decide which was more shocking.
Seonghyeon's brow furrowed. "Is what all—?"
Martin, grinning like he'd won the lottery, turned the screen toward Seonghyeon with exaggerated slowness. Keonho's stomach twisted into knots. The screen was a mosaic of Seonghyeon—Seonghyeon biting his lip during rehearsal, Seonghyeon's shirt riding up as he stretched, Seonghyeon sweating under stage lights like some kind of—
Seonghyeon blinked. Then blinked again. His mouth parted slightly-oh god, his mouth-before his expression smoothed into something unreadable. "Huh," he said, voice oddly even.
Keonho wished the floor would swallow him whole.