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The house is calm when Changbin wakes up.
Serene, the echoes of the day’s chaos long lost to sleep and the distant murmur of waves. It takes him a moment, three breaths in - out, to realise why he woke up.
Downstairs, a door locks shut so gently it's almost inaudible. Changbin wonders, briefly, if maybe he just imagined it, if it's one of those things where he's so attuned to everything his senses make things up to not leave him guessing.
But the bed next to him is empty, and if there's one thing he's certain of it's that his body will always have a reaction to Chan not being in his vicinity. It's what woke him up, after all.
Over the years of sleepless nights, Chan has mastered the art of slipping out quietly, walking without making a sound. Of becoming a ghost in the night.
Over the years of Chan disappearing, Changbin has mastered the art of catching him, making sure he's dressed for the weather and that his phone is charged. Of tethering his ghost to earth.
They aren't even sleeping in the same bed, having taken the two singles so their friends can share the other three bedrooms with their partners. It shouldn't have woken him up, wouldn't have woken anyone but him, and yet.
Changbin yawns and stretches his arms. His shoulder cracks. He flinches at the noise, too loud in the silence of the room.
It's weird, really, how the solemn hours of the night seem to turn everyone into spectres, not just Chan.
He always feels like he's teetering on the edge of becoming a ghost himself, when he tiptoes after Chan. A silent watcher, following behind. Half a soul in search of what makes it whole.
The hardwood flooring is cool under the soles of his feet, creaking ever so slightly when he stands up. Changbin grabs a hoodie, throws it on. He's never run as hot as Chan, and without him near the early summer night creeps into his bones too quickly.
Chan's flip-flops are missing from the mess of shoes by the door, there's a bottle of water less on the kitchen counter. Changbin grabs one of the beach towels hanging over the railing of the porch, checks if he has a key before he pulls the door shut behind himself.
It's only a short walk from their vacation home to the beach, a path trodden between dunes and other houses. All their windows are dark, and if it weren't for the silver light of the moon cresting on the sand, Changbin would be stumbling his way to the sea.
A light breeze blows in from the water, marram grass stalks rubbing together, whispering as Changbin passes. He wonders if they’re talking about him, about the young man who passed just minutes earlier. If they, too, are keeping watch to make sure Chan doesn’t disappear.
It isn’t hard to find him, once the dunes open up to a sandy sea that meets the ocean. Sand slips into his sandals as he trudges across it, towards the lone figure sitting by the shore. Chan is bathed in moonlight, the pale curls on his head glowing. A guiding light for Changbin only.
He sits down next to Chan, the sand cool under his thighs, looks out at the sea. Chan drops his head onto his shoulder, releases a long breath. Changbin can feel tension leak out of him the second he does.
It’s a snapshot of the way their relationship works, really.
Chan moves and Changbin follows, makes sure he gets to rest and leaves food on his desk, lifts his blanket for Chan to crawl into his bed when his own gets to be too much. Chan never asks for help, not really. But he accepts it when Changbin doesn’t give him a choice.
And in return? It punches the breath out of his chest when he thinks about it. Because what he does never feels like it’s enough to repay Chan for all that he does. In a world that’s constantly changing, rushing, and overwhelming, Chan is his guiding star.
A bright constant Changbin clings to in the choppy waters of their industry. Chan keeps him on course when he can’t remember where he is after one too many flights, when the scrutiny of the world gets overwhelming when exhaustion runs so deep his knees threaten to buckle.
He’s the reason why Changbin can do what he loves in the first place, the mastermind behind their career. Chan has given all of himself for this, for them. He’s given Changbin the gift of artistry and family, of adventure. Of love. It’s more than anyone could ever ask for and less than what Changbin thinks Chan deserves.
But he can’t say that, not yet. Some day, maybe.
Chan sighs softly, next to him. Shuffles closer, so that Changbin can feel his hair tickling his jaw. The sea sings her song, waves crashing and rolling in, pebbles dancing over sand. He takes Chan's hand from his lap, tangles their fingers. In the distance, a seagull shrieks.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Changbin breaks the silence between them tentatively, with more care than he does just about anything. Chan isn’t fragile, by any means. But he doesn’t do well with being pushed like this, even if it's necessary. Changbin usually just offers his company and nothing else, quiet until Chan starts talking about a track he’s working on or decides to go back home.
It’s just that this feels different. He’s not sure if it’s because they’re on holiday, two weeks on their own in a remote seaside town where nobody knows them and if they do, they mind their own business. The freedom to let go of their stage personas of the performances they put on even off-stage.
Or maybe it’s the fact that Jisung and Minho have announced their plan to marry in whatever way they can. That Felix and Seungmin are finally together, that Hyunjin and Jeongin seem forever stuck in their honeymoon phase.
It’s settled over them like a blanket, warm and comforting and oh so familiar. Love seasons every bite of food Minho prepares, every laugh that rings out, hangs in the air and seeps through the walls and pulls and pulls and pulls until it’s at the tip of Changbin’s tongue, threatening to spill.
So he pushes. Just a little. Because his ribcage is cracking, his heart poised to fly free.
Chan hums something low in his throat. His hand finds the seam of Changbin’s shorts, fingers playing with the hem. Warm on the skin of his thighs. A shiver trickles down his spine.
“Do you ever wonder?” Chan asks. Slow, like he’s weighing each word before he says it. The question is open, wide as the sea and just as deep. He could mean everything and nothing, and yet Changbin knows.
Chan once said, for an audience of millions, that Changbin is the only person who truly understands him. What he neglected to say is that the same thing rings true for him. Changbin doesn’t consider himself a complicated person. He wears his heart on his sleeve, his affection like armour. He’s loud about his passions, confident in what he can do.
And sure, the others also know the quiet sides of him, comfort him on the days his skin wears thin. It’s just different with Chan. Not the inevitable diving devotion type of connection that Minho and Jisung share, two halves of one whole. Changbin’s pretty sure that what those two share is a once-a-millennium occurrence.
No, Chan sees him. All at once, everything he was and is and will be. A strangely intimate thing, to be seen at 3 in the morning, hair greasy and skin dry, words mangled and senseless, and to be loved and kept close all the same. The first time Changbin followed Chan, when he stumbled over his apologies for not leaving him alone, worry like bile in his throat. Chan had smiled something sweet and sad, and Changbin had known then.
Like he knows now. The question is as wide and deep as the sea, and Changbin knows where to dive and sink into the darkness, further and further away from the light. He thinks it’s probably a little like the sky. Endlessly blue and then black, dark, cold. Until, a faint shimmer of light, a star twinkling to guide him through. Calling for him. Waiting.
“About what?” He asks, anyway. Just because he knows where he’ll land doesn’t mean the fall isn’t scary.
Chan stays quiet for a long moment. Deliberating. His fingers grow still, the hem of Chanbin’s shorts still loosely held between them. Changbin itches to pick his hand up and press kisses along his knuckles, the pads of his fingers.
“You know what I mean,” Chan says softly. “You always know.”
Changbin tips his head to the side until his cheek rests on the crown of Chan’s head. Strokes his forearm with his thumb, intertwines their fingers again. Warmth seeps into his skin from where Chan is pressed into his side. He squeezes Chan’s hand.
“I know. Tell me anyway. Please.”
Chan inhales, sharp and short. Like his request is unexpected. In a way it is, Changbin supposes. They’ve never really acknowledged it before. It’s been a constant, thrumming between them at low frequencies, but always in the background, always ignored.
It always takes shape at night, when it’s just the two of them, but as a haunting one would ignore by closing their eyes, they’ve never acknowledged it. Changbin isn’t sure what exactly changed tonight, only that something did. A cosmic shift, a star tumbling.
“Do you ever wonder,” Chan starts slowly. “What would happen if I stopped being a coward?”
Changbin’s grip on his hand tightens, and he draws his head back up, straightens his spine. Chan lifts himself from his shoulder, looks up at him through thick lashes, a single curl falling into his eyes. Changbin uses his free hand to tuck it behind his ear. Lingers.
“Silly man,” he says. “You’re a silly little man, hyung, if you think that you’re a coward.”
“We could’ve done this a while ago. It’s not like we couldn’t have-”
Changbin shushes him. “But we didn’t. You didn’t say anything, and neither did I. That doesn’t make either one of us a coward.”
And his hyung. His Chan, his lovely Chan, blinks at him, plush lips slightly agape. Changbin’s hand trails lower, cups his jaw. Thumb circling over soft skin. He’s so bright, soaking in the moonlight, that it’d be blinding if Changbin hadn’t been thoroughly burnt out by it yet.
Starry fire catching, sometime early on. Searing as it ate its way through Changbin’s skin and bones, liquid in his bloodstream. He’s a smoking shell now, hollowed out to fit Chan inside of his chest. He’d keep him there if he could.
“Binnie,” Chan whispers. It startles him out of his reverence. “My Changbinnie, do you know how precious you are? How much you mean to me? I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
Changbin breathes a short laugh. “You’d still be on your way to the top, hyung. I’d still be watching.”
Chan’s breath is hot on his face, his eyes impossibly dark, a canvas for the star-studded sky reflecting in his pupils. One of his hands, the shape and weight of it familiar from years of resting on his shoulder, his neck, his arms, finally slots in at the base of Changbin’s throat just above his collarbones. Perfectly warm, slightly calloused skin.
A wave crashes at the same time their lips do. Soft, warm, everything Changbin has dreamt of for years. It’s not like in the movies, no fireworks exploding in his stomach, no earth-shattering revelations. It’s more like a song finally coming together with one last element, going from an idea to something real, tangible. Satisfying, the way everything just slots into place, meant to be.
Chan kisses the way he does everything: impassioned and all-consuming. He's sure in his movements, curls his hand in the hair at the nape of Changbin's neck, licks at his lips until he lets him in.
Changbin half-wishes he could freeze them in time, live in this moment of a first and a finally forever. But Chan pulls him closer, almost into his lap and grins and God, really, maybe he can just chase this for the rest of his life.
Giddy joy bubbles up and into his chest, his, throat, until he overflows and breaks the kiss, breathless and giggling. Chan is staring at him, slightly flushed, just a touch out of breath. Smiling so big it eclipses the moon and the myriad of stars bearing witness above them.
“You're beautiful,” Changbin says. “You're so beautiful, hyung.”
Chan giggles too, hides his face in the crook of Changbin's neck. Changbin is ready to explode - a star about to go supernova, a rogue wave about to throw itself against a cliff.
“I'm in love with you,” Chan mumbles into his neck. Presses kisses into the skin there. “In case that wasn't clear yet.”
“Silly man.” Changbin cups his jaw and pulls him back up, peppers his face in kisses. “I know. I love you too.”
Chan goes back in, more forceful, even though it's clumsy and they're both grinning too much for it to be a real kiss. Their teeth clash and Changbin readjusts to really kiss him, sucking Chan’s lower lip between his. They're so soft and so warm, and he tastes like minty toothpaste and that nondescript wax of non-flavoured lip balms.
He feels like he's floating, weightless. Kisses Chan again and again and again until his lips are sore and he's sure that if they were to get any closer they'd be crawling into each other's skin. Become one.
Maybe he wouldn't mind that.
It's Chan who pulls back, gazes at him with a fond reverence Changbin knows from himself, looking softer and younger than he has in months. His hair is a mess, curls astray from Changbin's fingers tugging at them, and he knows, then, that he wants to marry Chan one day.
Not tomorrow, not next year. Just some time in the future. For now, this.
Changbin pulls one of Chan’s hands away from the base of his throat, kisses his knuckles one by one.
Chan smiles softly, all bashful and shy and Changbin is so so in love he's fit to burst. “Be my boyfriend?”
Face-splitting grin, brilliant as the sunrise, warm and affectionate and gorgeous. A kiss, gentle and careful, still getting to know how to fit together the best.
“Of course. Be mine?”
Changbin grabs Chan's face between his hands and presses their lips together as an answer. Moves to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. He feels drunk on happiness. Out of his mind with how lucky he is to kiss the man of his dreams and do what he loves with his family.
He has to break away and take a deep breath to get rid of the tightness in his chest. It’s almost too much, but only for a moment. Chan jumps to his feet.
“Bin, baby.” It sets his face aflame, goosebumps across his skin. They’re not necessarily strangers to pet names, but this? It’s new, it’s different, and it’s good. Chan holds out his hand.
“Let’s go swimming.”
Changbin stares at him. He’s radiant, prettier than anything he’s ever seen, starlight silver woven into his curls. He’s also suggesting something insane.
“Hyung, it’s the middle of the night. It’ll be cold.”
Chan shrugs. “It’ll be fine, I bet the water retained some of the warmth from yesterday.”
Changbin wants to protest, talk about how it’s dangerous, how nobody knows they’re out here. But Chan smiles, and his hand is right there, and really. He’s never been able to say no to him when it makes him happy.
Smitten stupid. He takes Chan’s hand.
The night air hits his skin cool and crisp when he shrugs his shirt off, following Chan’s lead. Changbin almost doesn’t notice it, his body feels hot, smouldering like coal, as Chan strips. He’s always been slightly paler than him, and now the vast expanse of his shoulders, his back, is right in front of him and he looks carved from marble and moonlight.
Changbin wants to put marks there, sink his teeth in to make sure he’s real. To remind Chan he is, too, with the sting of it when they’re healing. The image of Chan painted with purples and reds in the shape of his mouth makes his throat go dry.
Chan shrugs off his boxers, too, and fuck. They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times, but it never ceases to amaze Changbin, how good Chan looks. A Greek statue, really, the ideal man.
His, he reminds himself. Finally his.
It’s what spurs him into action, shucking off his shorts as well, stepping out of his sandals to follow behind Chan. He’s waiting for him, hand outstretched yet again, childlike excitement painting his features. Water laps at their feet, cool but not cold, and Chan leads him into the sea.
Changbin follows, as he always does.
They wade out, water rising to their ankles, thighs, hips. Chest. Chan stops then, dunks his head underwater for a moment. He comes up spluttering when a small wave crashes into him, and Changbin laughs. Chan launches himself at him, tries to dunk him under, and they wrestle for a moment, like kids, before Changbin kisses him again.
Chan tastes like salt and sea and happiness, and Changbin pulls him closer, seeking warmth. Their bodies collide, skin against skin, pressed together by the vastness of the sea around them and the desire that burns inside Changbin’s skin.
He loses track of time, caught in the spell Chan’s lips and hands on his body cast. The ocean wraps around them like a blanket, no longer cold when he finally lets his fingers wander down the lines of Chan’s hips and tug on him for the first time.
Waves jostle them slightly, sending them stumbling and giggling into each other’s mouths. They whisper over sand and empty seashells, a rush in and out when breaths turn to soft moans, compliments turn into hissed curses.
The tide swells and Changbin is taught like a wire, desire coursing through him hot and fast. Chan’s hands, deft and fast as in their everyday lives have him on edge, clinging to his shoulders.
A wave, taller than the others, crashes in on itself. Sea spray and foam shoot out onto the beach, into the air. Probably strong enough to move the earth, rumble, for those organisms small enough to feel it. Or, the ocean throwing herself at a cliff, all her force behind it, taking rocks and debris with her.
Changbin kisses Chan through it all, fingers curled into the wet hair at the back of his head. Gasping.
When he finally pulls back, a slight dusting of rose shimmers on the horizon. Chan is warm against him, holding him close to his chest. Water still clings to him, dangling from the tips of his curls, pearls in the waning light of the moon.
Behind him, amidst a rapidly lightning sky, the North Star shines.
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