Chapter Text
September 2019
There are ten rooms, ten pairs of roommates, twenty shiny-faced, wide-eyed, definitely younger-than-Chan-remembers freshmen on the floor, this semester. It’s his second year as an RA, last at university—about time to move into a place of his own, off-campus, maybe. He’d had plans for that, over the summer. Plans that fell through.
Chan likes being an RA, though—genuinely, enthusiastically likes it in a way that most of his coworkers, jaded and weary upperclassmen, can’t seem to get. There's some part of him that likes to be a shoulder to lean on, a guide of sorts. In his friend group and at home he’s always been the oldest hyung. In his last relationship (his only real relationship,) he’d constantly been the one to give advice and provide comfort. And he hadn’t minded, at least, until he had. He’s got a motherly instinct streak. That’s Bang Chan: mature, steadfast, good.
Which is why he should probably tell the kid who is pitifully trying to suck his dick in the middle of Chan’s single dorm room to stop.
But he doesn’t. Chan gives him a pillow off of his twin XL bed for his knees, and lets him keep going.
Han Jisung—Chan only knows his name because he makes it a point to remember all of his freshmen’s names. Because it’s only the second week. Chan doesn’t really know anything else. That Jisung shares a double with another freshman boy, Lee Felix. That Jisung went to high school somewhere outside of Korea (Singapore, maybe? Malaysia?) That Jisung has never, ever has a dick in his mouth before.
Not that it’s bad, exactly. What Jisung lacks in expertise he most certainly makes up for with eagerness. It’s just a little sloppy—also not necessarily a bad thing. But there’s too much teeth. Far too much teeth.
“Jisung-ah,” Chan groans. “Shit, Jisung.”
Jisung removes his mouth from his dick with an obscene pop noise that immediately makes Chan want to be in his mouth again. The younger boy’s mouth is a little swollen, a little drool on the corner of his pink lips. His eyes are a little glazed over, just a tad cross-eyed. He looks ruined. He’s mid sucking Chan off, and he looks ruined.
It should be hot, and it is, if Chan’s stupid, twitching dick has anything to say about it. But mostly it’s cute, and that’s so, so much worse. Because Jisung also has flushed, chubby cheeks, dark eyebrows that scrunch up with an unfair amount of innocence.
“Jisung,” Chan repeats. Like a broken record. Jisung stop, Jisung you can’t do this. He can’t bring himself to actually get the rest of the sentiment out. Getting your dick sucked always feels good, of course, but the fact of the matter is that Chan’s been lonely recently. Horny, sure, but mostly really fucking lonely.
“Chan hyung?” Jisung asks, peering up from beneath long wispy lashes, and his voice is a little hoarse. Fuck.
He reminds himself how wrong this is. He reminds himself that he could lose his RA job, which would suck because money, but also what would his kids do without him? He reminds himself that Jisung can’t be much over 20. 20—shit, that’s 18 or 19 back in Australia.
Chan opens his mouth again, but what comes out is, “Less teeth.”
“Huh?”
“Try to use less teeth. And hollow your mouth more, kinda like you’re sucking a lollipop.”
Jisung returns to his dick with his instructions and renewed enthusiasm. It slips between his lips easily, and Chan bites his own lip, the muscles in his lower abdomen clenching. It's not lost on his sex-drunk brain that Jisung responds well to instruction. He’s close, after barely 5 minutes of this. It’s embarrassing, because Jisung is not winning any best blowjob awards anytime soon. It’s also fitting, because Chan likes to be wanted, and Jisung seems to want this so bad.
“Chan hyung,” Jisung had said just a little bit earlier, slipping into Chan’s room and shutting the door. The slipping in part was not so unusual—Chan leaves his door open on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for anyone on the floor to drop by and chat. It was the shutting the door behind him that was weird, and the fact that when Jisung did visit, it was usually with Felix at his side, or to pop in and grab something from the bowl of sugary snacks Chan never ate but always had on his desk. “Hyung, can you help me with something?”
Of course, Chan had said. That’s what he always says. And then Jisung was on his knees. And Chan was protesting—swear— but it was feeble, even to his own ears. Jisung was undoing Chan’s sweatpants strings, reaching into his boxers and pulling him out. No precursor. No explanation. Just a boy, probably not even out of the closet to his friends, yet, who wanted a dick in his mouth. Chan knows this story. Chan had been that boy, once.
And fuck, if it didn’t feel really, really good for Chan to have his dick in a hand that wasn’t his own. Even when it became clear, in seconds, that Jisung had never had a dick that wasn’t his own in his hands, it still felt good. To be the object of someone’s attention again.
And maybe that’s why Jisung was here, too.
“That’s better,” Chan says, and fuck it, he reaches down to thread one of his hands into the short, silky strands of hair against Jisung’s neck. He’s not imagining it when Jisung moans around him, just a little. So he repeats it. “So much better, baby.”
Christ. That was definitely a moan. He pulls Jisung’s hair a bit harder. “Come on, baby, I know you can take a little more.”
And Jisung can. Not quite the whole thing, but more than enough to get the job done. Tears are queuing up at the corners of Jisung’s eyes, and Chan’s not even fucking his throat, really. He imagines what it’d be like—to really ruin Jisung, to thrust into his mouth until he’s gagging around it.
It’s the thought of that, more than anything else Jisung is doing with his mouth, that has Chan spilling onto Jisung’s pink tongue.
“Shit,” Chan moans, low and breathy.
Jisung doesn’t swallow—and Chan doesn’t expect him to, using his foot to kick the little plastic trash can over so Jisung could spit in it before the mild look of panic crossing his features could become anything substantial.
Jisung spits in it, and again, that shouldn’t be hot. Chan tucks his spent dick back into his sweatpants before it can stir with fresh interest. There’s a little bit of spit-cum mix on Jisung’s chin, so Chan leans down and wipes it off with the back of his hand, a little more roughly than he intends to.
And no, Jisung had been carefully fine shoving his boxers to the ground and sticking Chan’s length in his mouth. But this— a little manhandling—was what has him all flustered. Chan’s dick twitches again. Traitor, he thinks, motherfucking traitor.
But he also thinks about how much fun it would be to play with Jisung, just a little longer. Jisung’s only a little bit shorter than Chan, but he’s definitely much, much smaller. Small enough to be thrown around, a bit.
Chan reaches out a hand to help Jisung to his feet. For what, he isn’t sure.
He’s not sure what to say, either. So like an idiot he goes, “That was really nice, Jisung-ah.”
And it comes out so soft and doting and fuck Chan’s stupid motherly instinct. Fuck Chan’s ex-boyfriend for ensuring that Chan would have a perpetual thing for praising people in bed. Fuck it all.
But Jisung—Jisung preens. Visibly fucking preens. And Chan wants to say more, do more, maybe start with the obvious and painful-looking bulge in Jisung’s pants, but Jisung beats him to it.
“Thanks, Hyung. Th- that was my first time. Doing something like that.”
“Ahh,” Chan says, like it wasn’t completely obvious. “You did well, anyway.”
Jisung does it again—tips of his ears flushing, and a little half embarrassed, half satisfied smile spreading across his face.
“Do you want me to…” Chan starts, gesturing at Jisung’s pants.
Jisung places a hand over his crotch lighting fast, almost like he’s just noticing itself. “No! I mean, no, oh my god. It’s okay. I have to go to class. Sorry. Thank you. Sorry.”
And then Jisung is leaving, hair a little wild, hand tightly covering his boner, slipping out of Chan’s room as quickly as he’d come in, before Chan is even able to get in another word.
Okay, Chan thinks. So, one-time thing. That’s probably for the best.
January 2020
When Changbin had broken up with Chan over the summer, it had felt like the end of the world. Or at least, the end of the very tiny bubble of what they’d considered their world to be.
They’d been dating since Changbin started at university three years ago.
They were in love.
He was even going to convince Chan to quit his dumb RA job and move in with him.
They were as serious as it gets. And then one morning, Changbin had woken up in a cold sweat. He was tired of Chan’s coddling. He was tired of being tied down. He was tired of feeling tired in his relationship.
Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin had practically begged for Changbin to change his mind, for Chan to be more assertive, for anything at all to give as long as they’d stay together. Hyunjin had cried. Almost as much as Changbin himself had, in those first few weeks.
End of the world, indeed. Except not actually, because Chan was just too fucking nice to hold a grudge against Changbin for feeling how he felt, and Changbin was too fucking weak to actually stay away. And their long time group of friends were way too close, way too obsessed with each other, to get by if Chan and Changbin stopped talking completely. And it was unfair, besides, to do that to them all, make them have to pick sides, or take turns inviting them to hang outs.
So here they were, in this weird purgatory that was being friends and being exes at the same time. No touching, or kissing, but talking, and hanging out. Read: excruciating.
“Hey,” Changbin says.
“Hey.” Wordlessly, Chan hands him a cup of something warm from Starbucks. Changbin doesn’t need to taste it to know that it’s his usual winter order, doesn’t need to ask to know that Chan has it memorized still. Chan’s kind of perfect like that. Kind of infuriating like that.
“Thanks.”
“Yup,” Chan replies, clutching at his own coffee cup with gloved fingers.
It’s just after winter break. This time of year is always a little weird for Changbin, full and warm from weeks of his parent’s home cooking but also back on campus, class not quite started yet. He’d expected the relief that would come with being away from Chan, finally, for a long enough time to at least begin to heal, but he hadn’t planned for this—how much he would’ve missed him.
Even in the harsh winter wind, Chan is sun kissed, hair freshly cut, looking sinewy and healthy, probably from time on the beach, maybe his own parent’s cooking. Changbin wouldn’t know the specifics. They don’t talk like that any more.
Apart from the awkward greetings, the two of them are mostly quiet as they weave through the campus buildings towards Minho’s apartment. Chan’s quiet is a thoughtful, pensive silence that Changbin hasn’t quite mastered yet.
“How was your break?” Changbin mutters, when he can’t stand it anymore.
Chan toes at some of the snow with new sneakers that Changbin doesn’t recognize—Christmas gift? It’s killing him, a little, not knowing every little thing about Chan anymore. Even having to ask—usually, he would already know.
“Okay,” Chan says.
Changbin raises a brow.
“Boring,” Chan allows. “I always miss home so much, and then I get home and realize, well, that this is home now too.” Then he flushes, lightly, like he’s saying too much.
“Nah, I get it,” Changbin replies, then shudders. “Parents hovering. Pretending you’re going out to fuck girls.”
Chan laughs, then. “That’s not really a problem.”
And then he’s blushing in earnest, like he really didn’t mean to say anything this time. And Changbin, because he’s Changbin, can’t let that go.
“Ahh." Changbin laughs. “I forgot you can’t do hookups.”
Chan huffs. “I can do hookups.”
“No, you can’t. There’s no way you’ve been fucking,” Changbin says confidently. He doesn’t know everything about Chan’s life right now , but he prides himself on knowing everything about Chan’s life in general. Then he hesitates. “Right?”
“Who says I haven’t been fucking?” Chan retorts.
“Minho,” Changbin says immediately. “And Hyunjin. Seungmin. Jeong—”
“Okay, okay,” Chan says. “I think I get it.”
“And me,” Changbin continues. “I say. You can barely get it up without some sort of emotional attachment. You have like, a love kink, or something.”
“I don’t—” Chan huffs. But then he stops, and just rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
But it’s too late, now; Changbin is too interested. He studies Chan like he’s grown a second head. “No way. Did you?”
“Just a blowjob,” Chan says. He feels his cheeks tinge.
“Just a blowjob,” Changbin repeats. His face is half delighted, half murderous, in a way that only his face can achieve. “Who?”
“One of my freshmen,” Chan admits, shuddering slightly. He holds the door open as they enter Minho’s apartment building, then shucks off his gloves, scarf, and hat immediately. Chan hates being bundled up in clothes, he remembers.
Changbin whistles. “Shit. Freshman. You. Christopher Bang? That’s fucked. So fucked. Is that even legal?”
“Shut up,” Chan says. He presses Minho’s apartment number on the intercom so that it beeps. “It’s us, Minho,” he says into the little microphone.
Minho’s voice is staticky through the machine. “Coming.”
“Did you… you know, return the favor?”
“Nah,” Chan says lamely, focusing on his coffee. “Not really.”
Changbin shakes his head again. “I don’t believe it.” And then he adds, for good measure. “Well, I’ve fucked a bunch of people. Just saying.”
Chan frowns at him. “Yeah. I figured.”
And then Changbin almost wishes he hadn’t said anything. Almost. Is talking about your sex life a healthy practice with your ex-boyfriend? Probably not. Not that him and Chan had ever been the picture of a healthy relationship, anyway.
“When was this?” Changbin asks, just as the door creaks open.
“Hyungs!” It’s Jeongin, not Minho, who buzzes them in, no doubt bullied by the others to come down into the cold.
They exchange hugs with him. Jeongin’s not that young, anymore. Not that small. And it’s kind of sad, Changbin thinks as he reaches up to knuckle at Jeongin’s hair even though Jeongin could probably wrestle out of his grip now. Because that means things are changing. Chan’s graduating, this semester, he realizes with a start.
“Last semester. Right at the beginning,” is what Chan finally answers as they begin the trek up to Minho’s 6th floor walk up. And then never again, is the unspoken end of that admittance.
Changbin wants to twiddle his fingers with glee like the grinch, or something just as stupid. The beginning of last semester was ages ago, and nothing since? Chan was practically celibate. And Changbin feels bad, but not bad enough to not be smug about it.
When they get into Minho’s it’s the typical shit, the way they’ve existed for years, even when Jeongin was still in high school and Seungmin was too uptight to accept hanging out much and Hyunjin was going through his hook-up-with-every-person-who-would-have-him phase (the venn diagram of people who Hyunjin wanted to sleep with and who would sleep with him back was a circle.) The way they existed back when Changbin and Chan were still together, and they’d sneak away to the penthouse apartment Changbin’s family rents uptown and fuck and come back in time for the movie to start.
They’d drink together, the six of them, and laugh and maybe, if they were lucky, Seungmin would get fucked up enough to start belting the national anthem in his voice that was usually pretty decent, a little bit nasally after a few beers. And Chan, perpetual designated driver, would pull Changbin—designated most-likely-to-black-out-drinking—into his lap, arms around Changbin’s waist, face nuzzled into the back of Changbin’s neck, warm and familiar.
It wasn’t like that, anymore. Even though Hyunjin was still going on about some person or the other, and Jeongin was complaining about being denied beers, the change in the air was palpable. Even when Minho’s cats turn their noses up, disinterested, when Changbin toes his boots off (as normal as things possibly get,) things feel different.
Like something’s missing, and maybe a while ago Changbin would’ve said, easily, that it’s just the tension from they’re breakup that’s got everything skewed. They were the parents, after all, as everyone used to joke. Divorces make family dynamics a little weird, that’s a fact of life.
But that’s not it, this time. It’s not that simple.
When Changbin is a little tipsier, Hyunjin tucked cozily into his side as Minho and Seungmin argue passionately about the rankings of every girl group comeback that had happened last year, the feeling doesn’t leave him.
Something’s missing, but Changbin can’t quite put his finger on what.
May 2020
“My ex just graduated!” the shorter boy yells into Jisung’s ear.
Jisung has done it, made it through his first year of college. If you ignore that first, horrid, month—well, it had actually gone pretty decently.
Jisung thanks his roommate Felix’s choppy, stunted Korean and his own years schooling abroad for the success, because they communicated just fine, in a weird mix of Korean and English that became unique only to them. Even after Felix had gotten more confident, making fast friends with two other boys in their year from a different dorm, Seungmin and Hyunjin, those first few months hanging out with only each other had cemented their friendship. Jisung did well on his finals, at least he thinks so, and Eunji and him had finally graduated from on-and-off, to officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Overall, things were good.
Different from the first month of college, when the sudden freedom had gotten to his head, and Felix’s relaxed, open minded nature from growing up in Australia had made Jisung feel kind of panicky, kind of confused. When it wasn’t just Felix’s broken Korean, but his artful splatter of freckles, his unfairly deep voice first thing in the morning, that had made Jisung feel, on the whole, very confused.
But his head’s on straight now. Metaphorically. Literally. The four of them, Jisung and Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin are celebrating in style tonight, at what’s probably the last party of the school year.
Eunji is somewhere off with her girlfriends, his friends are nowhere to be found, and Jisung is here, in the middle of the kitchen floor, dancing.
“Graduated?” Jisung yells back, hips jutting awkwardly in time with the bass. “Is that good? Bad?”
The other guy is shorter than Jisung, but more muscly, clearly older. His hair is parted stylishly and the belt around his slim waist could probably cover Jisung’s meal plan for the semester.
“Both!” The guy yells back. “I’m relieved because I won’t have to see him anymore and also sad because I won’t have an excuse to see him anymore!” And then he twirls, an assured, sexy thing that sends Jisung’s head spinning, a little.
“Shit!” Jisung says, because his successful year of higher education is clearly working.
“Shit!” the other guy mimics, laughing to himself in a way that’s not cruel, per say. But Jisung gets the feeling that he’s the butt of the joke. And he doesn’t mind. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Han Jisung.”
“Han Jisung,” he repeats—and Jisung has never, ever heard his name sound like that before. Sultry. Sensual. He wants to hear it again and again. “I’m Seo Changbin.”
Changbin. Seo Changbin. Jisung doesn’t repeat it, but the name sends a shiver down his spine anyway. They keep dancing, and when Seo Changbin tugs him closer by the loops of his jeans, Jisung’s mind is kind of going, Eunji. His girlfriend, Eunji. And he’s hyper aware of the fact that they’re very much in the middle of the dance floor, and that his friends are all milling around somewhere.
“I’m going to kiss you, now,” Changbin says at a normal volume. Not loud enough to be heard over the music, but Jisung is only looking at his lips, anyway. He understands.
So this was kissing. So different from the quick pecks with girls during kiss the bottle games in high school, or even the awkward fumbling thing he does sometimes with Eunji on his lap that Felix (chaotic good) calls making out and Hyunjin (lawful evil) has named “absolutely pitiful.”
Seo Changbin is none of those things, he is everything, he is nothing at all. He tugs Jisung down with a strong hand to his neck, and Jisung learns that kisses can make you moan. Changbin presses into him in a way that makes Jisung feel so, so, tiny, and Jisung learns that kisses aren’t restricted to the lips, but also the collarbones, the jaw, the little mole on his cheek. Changbin bites on Jisung’s bottom lip with his teeth, and Jisung learns that oh—some kisses you can feel directly in your dick.
Jisung swallows when Changbin gives him a chance to breathe. “Wow.”
Changbin looks smug, barely a hair out of place. “Jisung-ah!” he shouts. “Follow me!”
So Jisung does, accepting the hand Changbin offers him and clutching it tightly as they weave through throngs of other kids dancing and talking and making out. Jisung follows him all the way outside of the building, until the rap music inside sounds like someone has pressed a big towel over the speaker. The cool of the night should feel good on his clammy skin, but Jisung’s whole body is in that hand that is linked with Changbin’s right now. And Changbin’s skin feels so, so warm.
“Sit,” Changbin commands, so Jisung does, stumbling his way onto the front steps outside the party house. Changbin sits next to him. It feels familiar, when Jisung leans his head back against the stair railing so that Changbin can crowd back into his personal space.
It’s familiar, when Changbin’s breath, warm and sweet-smelling fans out over the lower half of Jisung’s face. Not quite a kiss, this time. Just a meeting of their lips. And that feels familiar now, too.
“You taste like… grapefruit?” Jisung breathes, his eyes still shut.
Changbin laughs lightly, and Jisung feels that on his face, too. “Oranges,” he corrects. “I had a sangria. Many sangrias.”
Changbin pulls his phone out. “I can get us a taxi,” he says. “I live alone off-campus, so my place is empty, if you want.”
“What?” Jisung’s eyes fly open.
Changbin’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Unless you want to go to yours? That’s cool. I just—I don’t know, you seem young. I figured you still live in a dorm.”
Jisung suddenly feels very, very sober. “I do live in a dorm.”
“So, my place—”
“But I can’t go home with you.”
Changbin frowns. “You can’t?”
Jisung flails his arms around. “I can’t!”
“Okay, okay,” Changbin says. “Don’t freak out on me. We don’t have to do anything. We can go back inside… ”
But it’s too late. Jisung already feels mildly panicky, his mouth moving before his brain can catch up. “I really can’t.”
“It’s fine,” Changbin says, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Jisung’s knee. No one is really around, but he still lowers his voice when he asks, kindly, “Still a virgin?”
“What?” Jisung says, horrified. “No! No.”
Well, not technically. He’s slept with Eunji. Nothing mind blowing, but he’s done it. Why is he sweating? Jisung gets to his feet abruptly, and—oh no, is his body going to start pacing? Please, Jisung, he begs his legs, do not start pacing.
He starts pacing. “I have a girlfriend,” Jisung explains. “Yeah. And I’m not—. I don't—. I like girls.”
Changbin stands up, too, and Jisung’s waiting for him to look offended, or disgusted, maybe with the blatant act of cheating Jisung had committed during the past half hour. But he kind of seems… amused? “Really? Just girls?”
Jisung swallows noisily. “Um, yeah.”
Changbin laughs. “Dude.”
“Sorry I, um, led you on,” Jisung continues. “I think… I think I drank too much?”
Now that he says it, Jisung does feel a little woozy. The beers he’d had back at the dorm with Felix, the shots he’d taken here with Hyunjin—they slosh in his stomach uncomfortably. The pleasant buzz that he’d felt when Changbin was kissing him is turning slowly, but steadily, into nausea.
“Okay,” Changbin agrees. He looks pensive. “Want me to help you find your friends?”
Jisung’s stomach lurches. “Please.”
Back inside the music that had once seemed electric feels too loud, grating on Jisung's ears. He looks around, hoping to find Felix or Seungmin, even Hyunjin, even with the inevitable teasing. Anything to get him away from Changbin and the sinking suspicion that he's going to melt into a puddle of humiliation on the older boy's shoulders. But just looking up into the crowd, with the harsh strobe lights that had felt sexy and fun when they danced over Changbin's body earlier in the night, makes Jisung's head spin.
It’s Eunji, of course, that they stumble into first, Jisung’s legs barely working, Changbin hanging tight onto his waist.
“This yours?” Changbin confirms.
Eunji considers the both of them. “Um. Yeah?”
Jisung lets himself be passed from Changbin’s strong arms to Eunji’s slighter ones, reminded distantly of being carried by his parents as a kid.
He hears the rest of the conversation from far away, like there’s water clogging his ears.
“Thanks for taking care of him, um…”
“Seo Changbin.”
“Changbin-ssi,” Eunji says, sounding annoyed. She probably is. God, she hates when Jisung makes a fool of himself in front of her friends. Jisung’s a little too drunk to care enough to pull himself together, but not drunk enough to not be aware of the scolding he’s going to be receiving sometime tomorrow morning.
There’s lips at Jisung’s ear, just for a second. The scent of citrus, then a whisper. “You don’t like just girls, babe.”
Then Changbin is pulling away. Louder, he says, “See you around, Jisung-ah! I hope you feel better.”
He bows towards Eunji, and then he’s gone.
“Ji-yah,” Jisung tries.
Eunji just stares at him, lips pursed. She leans a little closer, and Jisung’s drunk brain almost thinks he’s being forgiven, but she's just reaching into his back pocket to grab his phone. She maneuvers his body, which feels heavy and sluggish, so he can himself lean against the wall.
His phone feels foreign when Eunji presses it into his hand. “Call Felix to help you,” she hisses.
And as she walks away, and Jisung begins to wrack his brain in an effort to remember his phone password, he realizes the sinking sensation in his chest is not just alcohol, but also an uncomfortable feeling of awareness. He’s come full circle. Ending his first year of college just like he’d started it: absolutely embarrassed, and absolutely confused.