Chapter Text
The dorm was quiet, but Seungcheol couldn’t relax.
He sat hunched at the edge of his bed, staring at the glow of his phone screen without really seeing it. Messages scrolled by, practice schedules, brand endorsement reminders, a late-night meme from Soonyoung trying to make everyone laugh, but it all blurred together. His chest felt heavy, the way it always did when the others had finally drifted off to sleep and he was left alone with his thoughts.
Being leader meant never showing cracks.
He had to be the one who stayed steady when everyone else faltered. He had to take the heat when the company scolded them for sloppy choreography or a missed interview cue. He had to smile, reassure, keep pushing forward. And Seungcheol did it, because he loved the group, loved the stage, loved his members more than he could ever say.
But it left no space for him.
Not the real him.
Seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the dark window. Twenty-something, world-famous, adored by millions… and utterly, painfully alone.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to date. God, he did. He wanted to hold someone’s hand, to kiss them, to just… be known. But that was impossible. Dating was a scandal waiting to happen for idols, and for him, it wasn’t just about dating.
He was gay.
And in Korea, in the idol industry, that was a secret heavier than any leadership responsibility.
Seungcheol couldn’t even imagine opening a profile on an app. His face was too recognizable, his orientation too dangerous if exposed. A single screenshot would destroy everything. Not just for him, but for the whole group. And sneaking around? The risk of cameras, sasaeng fans, rumors… it was all too high. Meeting guys as Seungcheol the idol was dangerous. Meeting guys as Seungcheol the man felt impossible.
So he stayed celibate, by choice and by force. He'd fooled around with one guy during his trainee years. And a few girls during a phase he'd rather forget. But months turned to years and his body ached for touch, but more than that, his heart ached for someone who saw him: not the leader, not the idol, not the scandal waiting to happen… just Seungcheol.
He let out a humorless laugh and dropped his phone onto the sheets beside him. What a joke. He was famous, surrounded by people all the time, yet lonelier than he’d ever been.
—--------------------------
His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t group chat notifications or company reminders. It was from Minjae, one of his old trainee friends who never made it to debut, inviting him out for some drinks.
Seungcheol’s thumb hovered over the screen. His first instinct was to type no. He usually did. As the group’s leader, he couldn’t afford to risk being seen, photographed, splashed across gossip sites for something as harmless as drinking with friends. Every step outside had to be calculated.
But the thought of another night lying awake in his bed, scrolling endlessly, weighed heavier than the risk.
Seungcheol sighed and tossed his phone back onto the bed. He could already hear the company’s voice in his head: Don’t be reckless. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t give people a reason to talk.
But he was suffocating. Just for one night, maybe he deserved to breathe.
He pulled on a hoodie and cap, the standard idol disguise. By the time he slipped quietly out of the dorm, the city lights were already glowing against the night sky.
—----------------------
Hongdae’s streets buzzed with Friday energy. Students laughing, music spilling out of shops, neon lights painting the sidewalks. Seungcheol kept his head down, blending into the crowd as best he could. He found Minjae and the others tucked into a narrow bar, the kind of place where the music wasn’t too loud and the lighting made everyone look softer, safer.
“Hyung!” Minjae grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he slid into the booth. “I was starting to think fame erased your number.”
Seungcheol smirked faintly. “Still here.”
For a while, it felt almost normal. Drinks flowed, old stories resurfaced, laughter filled the corners of the table. Seungcheol let himself sink into the warmth of it, the kind of freedom he didn’t get much anymore. Nobody here cared about leader duties or chart rankings. They just wanted him to be Seungcheol.
But even as he smiled and nodded, he felt the ache underneath. Watching his friends talk about their dates, their hookups, their casual flings, he felt it twist deeper. Things he couldn’t have. Things he couldn’t risk.
By the second round of drinks, Seungcheol excused himself to the bathroom, the buzz in his chest making him a little unsteady.
And that’s when he noticed it.
A hole cut into the wall separating his stall and the next one, crude but deliberate.
Seungcheol froze in the middle of the stall, heart hammering. He knew exactly what this was. And for a split second, he thought about bolting.
But he didn’t move.
—-----------------------
A thin pair of fingers slipped through the hole making a vague gesture towards him. Seungcheol’s shoes felt glued to the tile. He stared at the hand still waiting through the hole. Steady, patient, like it knew he’d eventually give in.
He swallowed hard. This was crazy. Stupid. Reckless.
But the bathroom door behind him was marked clearly: MEN.
There was no doubt about it. On the other side of that thin partition was a man.
A shiver ran through him. A man. A man currently gesturing for him to come closer.
Not a fantasy, not a late-night daydream he shoved down until it hurt. A real one, flesh and blood, inches away. The thought twisted inside him, sharp and sweet. How good it would feel, even just once, to stop denying what he wanted. To be with a man in any way.
The hand shifted, fingers curling, beckoning for him again. The silver ring he wore caught the dim fluorescent light, glinting like a signal only he was meant to see.
Seungcheol’s chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. He thought of the years of restraint, of empty nights scrolling through his phone pretending he didn’t care, of smiling on camera while his insides ached for something real.
And then… he stepped forward.
His hand brushed the stranger’s, warm skin against skin, the cool edge of the ring pressing lightly against his palm. He let his own fingers catch the ring, carefully thumbing it so the ring spun on the finger. Feeling the smooth cold metal in contrast to the warm soft flesh. It reminded him of the group's own rings, the rings showing they were a team, the rings he'd deliberately left at home in another attempt to not get recognised. The touch was nothing and everything, a spark that shot straight through him. His breath left in a rush, shoulders slumping as if his body had been waiting for this single moment of contact.
The hand let go of Seungcheol’s own and reached further into his stall, lightly touching his pants before retreating. Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat. With shaky hands he slowly dragged the zipper of his jeans down. Letting a hand slide down and tug his already hardening cock free. Behind the divider he could hear shuffling before the fingers came back signaling him again. Seungcheol shuffled forward and took a deep breath before pushing his cock through the hole until his hips met the wall.
The first touch almost made him jump out of his own skin. A slow drag of a tongue, soft and testing across the head as a hand wrapped around the base to keep it steady. A strangled gasp tore from his throat before he could stop it. His whole body jerked, knees threatening to give way.
The mouth lingered, teasing him with kitten licks, light pressure of kisses and a swirl of tongue that sent shivers racing down his spine. He bit down hard on his lip, but the sound still slipped out, a ragged groan muffled by the stall wall.
And then finally…. warmth closed fully around him. Hot. Wet. Unforgiving.
Seungcheol's head fell forward against the wall with a dull thud, his chest heaving as the stranger set a slow, steady rhythm. Each pull dragged him deeper into sensation until thought itself unraveled. The tiny bathroom seemed filled with it: the slick, obscene noises of the stranger swallowing him down, his own unsteady gasps and moans, the faint sound of the stranger’s laboured breathing on the other side.
The pace shifted, faster, harder. Seungcheol's fingers clawed at the wall, nails scraping the paint as his shoulders trembled. He tried to hold on, tried to stay quiet, even as the man behind the wall swallowed him down and hummed around his length. But every nerve in his body betrayed him. Soft, broken sounds spilled out of him, muffled whimpers, sharp gasps, noises he hadn’t made in years.
The rhythm built, ruthless, drawing him closer and closer to the edge. His legs shook, his vision blurred, sweat prickled at his temples. He was gone, lost in it, undone by the heat, the pressure, the unbearable pleasure of being wanted, touched, consumed.
When it broke, it was like something snapping inside him. A guttural sound escaped, raw and unrestrained, as release tore through him. His whole frame shuddered violently, collapsing against the wall, his lungs dragging in ragged breaths.
The warmth lingered a moment longer, licking and swallowing every drop of his release, before slipping away. Silence rushed back in, deafening.
Seungcheol staggered back, his spent cock coming back into view. His fingers were unsteady and clumsy as he yanked his underwear back into place. His chest still rose and fell too fast, his throat raw from the sounds he hadn’t managed to bite back.
Then the hand appeared again. The silver ring glinted faintly in the fluorescent light as two fingers lifted in a lazy, almost playful salute.
And then it was gone.
Seungcheol stared at the empty space, his stomach in knots, his mind spinning with what he’d just done. The mirror showed him a stranger, flushed, dazed, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he’d confessed something forbidden.
He splashed water on his face, shoved his hoodie straight, and forced himself back out into the bar.
At the booth, his friends laughed and traded stories, oblivious. Seungcheol slipped into his seat with a crooked smile, pretending nothing was wrong.
But inside, he was still in that stall. Still hearing the wet rhythm. Still feeling the heat of the man's mouth. Still seeing the flash of silver.
For the first time in years, Seungcheol had been touched by a man.
And he knew he would never forget it.
—--------
By the time Seungcheol slipped back into the dorm, the night had gone still and heavy. A few of the members were in the living room, half-watching a late drama.
“Hyung, you’re back,” Mingyu called lazily, tossing him a small wave.
“Yeah,” Seungcheol muttered, tugging off his shoes in a rush. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Leader mode, even after drinking,” Jun teased, earning a laugh from Seokmin.
Seungcheol forced a tight smile, then ducked down the hall before anyone else could ask questions. He scattered into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
The silence was suffocating.
He dropped his hoodie onto the chair, then caught sight of himself in the mirror above his desk. His reflection stared back, hair mussed from his cap, eyes too wide, cheeks still faintly flushed.
Seungcheol leaned on the desk, gripping the edge until his knuckles whitened. His chest rose and fell, the weight of what he’d done pressing down hard now that the adrenaline had burned away.
“What am I doing?” he whispered to the stranger in the glass.
The reflection had no answer.