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Chapter Text

Why would anything bad happen tonight?

Is what Renjun told Sicheng before going to that wedding, as his cousin was certain he'd be the first one to get drunk at the party.

You see, Renjun was not that big of a drinker, it just happens that he recently turned 21, and has been trying out all sorts of liquors and odd cocktails just for the fun of it, as if there was some alcohol bucket list he had to complete. Their aunt was going to have the happiest day of her life getting married, and there was just no way Sicheng would allow it all to get ruined just like that because someone doesn't know how to drink plain water.

Now we do encounter multiple problems.

First, Renjun was only able to remember a few events of what happened last night, and that can only mean one thing (which got furiously confirmed by Sicheng later on). His second problem was the clock, hurrying him to get ready for his first day of university despite the throbbing pain in his head. He absentmindedly threw on the very first shirt he saw lying on his desk chair as his cousin was telling him about his last problem.

"God," Renjun groaned, interrupting his monologue.  His hungover brain was truly not functioning well enough to take in all of the information. "I'll never see that man again! Stop acting like it's the end of the world, will you?"

"Oh you do not realize the mess you actually created." Sicheng raised his eyebrows, seemingly dumbfounded.

"Like I said, you're making it seem worse than it really was," Renjun sighed, looking at his cousin through his mirror as he was fixing his hair the best he could. He looked zombified. Maybe getting drunk and going to bed by 4a.m wasn't exactly the way to go the day before going back to school, but there was no way he'd actually admit that.

"How the fuck would you know, you were barely able to walk?"

"Because you're a dramatic bitch."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

His eyes could barely stay open. He was sitting in a corner of the event hall with his cousin and other people he had made friends with there. The music was loud, but he couldn't actually distinguish it from the voices surrounding him. Actually he could, but it was blurry. Can voices be blurry? Or was it just some kind of gradient? Renjun liked art.

"Renjun likes art," he slurred, a little louder than he himself expected.

His forehead was resting on his friend's shoulder. Actually, he wasn't sure if it was his friend. Well, his forehead was resting on the shoulder of a person next to him, his eyes closed. Renjun was wasted. When he decided to open his eyes to peak at, hopefully, some reactions from the people around him, he was met with an overwhelming amount of light, and Renjun thought he could cry.

Awkwardly shimmying out of his bench, he was determined to get out of there. He stumbled with his steps, not really knowing where he was going but deep down, it was the right way. Well, at least he thought it was.

He stayed close to the wall, his hand sliding against it as he walked. Being drunk at a wedding was embarrassing enough, being drunk and in this state was even worse. So he tried to play it cool, and act unbothered. The music was piercing his ears. And his eyes were overstimulated, even when they'd finally adjusted to the light. There was movement everywhere. Everyone danced, nothing kept still. Renjun was really about to cry.

Air caressed his face when a figure moved in front of him. It was so close to him. Enough to make his attention completely shift. His eyes followed the movement as that somebody opened a door. A door! That must be the exit! He knew he was getting somewhere.

He went back to using the wall as his physical and apparently now emotional support (we all need someone, let's not judge Renjun for it), his hand still brushing it as he approached the door.

"Finally," he mumbled. No more loud noises, no more people, he is finally out. He rested his back against the door behind him and sighed in relief. It was cold. Concrete, and all dark grey. There was a buzzing light in the corner.

A quiet raining was heard, followed by an echoing zip, steps, another raining. He was in the restroom.

"Did you pee?"

The stranger washing his hands looked quite surprised, looking up from the faucet to the mirror. Renjun recognized him as the man who he had followed. The way he raised his eyebrows when looking at Renjun was happily appreciated. He waited a few seconds for an answer that never came to him.

"You're really hot." Renjun pointed out. He's almost sure he mispronounced a word. While he didn't get an actual answer to his observation, he did see the man frown at Renjun's reflection in the mirror before glancing at the cup in his hand. Renjun had a cup in his hand?

"How many drinks did you have?" his voice echoed. It was deep, and calm. Renjun decided that it was pretty.

The stranger stopped the water from flowing and although the lack of noise soothed his brain, he couldn't help but notice how dry his mouth was now that he was reminded that water existed.

"Give me water," he extended his arm, handing out his empty cup.

He didn't have to wait too long for it to be taken away from him. He closed his eyes, and how much time passed before his lips were met with a plastic surface was a mystery. Nevertheless, he drank like his life depended on it, and his task was made so easy by the fact he didn't even have to hold the cup. Wait, why was the cup floating?

Renjun's eyes opened, and the pretty man took it as a sign to remove the cup from his lips. He truly looked even better up close. And, God, he didn't wanna sound like a hormonal twink, but his face was maybe the most beautiful thing he's seen in a while. Even in his drunk state (allegedly, because Renjun knew he was simply tipsy at that point), he had to recognize the absolute beauty standing before him.

"Hey, I think you should really go home. What's your name?"

Renjun woke up from his shameless staring, and smiled as he got to hear the sound of his voice again.

"Can you take me to yours?" Renjun giggled absentmindedly, letting his head drop back. It hit the cold wall behind him with a soft thump. He noticed the way the man had flinched to the noise, his free hand sliding in between the back of his head and the wall.

"Be careful," he said, raising the cup back to his face so that Renjun would keep drinking. "Did you come here with family? Friends? You'll show me where they are, I'll take you back to them."

Renjun whined at the response, which wasn't a good idea when swallowing water at the same time. He immediately choked and almost regretted his decision, if it wasn't for the pretty stranger's hand dropping from his hair to his back, tapping him gently.

"Take me with you instead, blondie. You're much better," he maybe stumbled over his words, but still delivered his message successfully. "Renjun likes art."

"Let's go get your friends, yeah?"

Well, this stranger was clearly not interested in working with him. He tried compliments, he tried being direct, yet nothing worked. It wasn't heading his way and Renjun hated it.

His hand, until now just awkwardly staying unanimated, attached itself onto the other man, desperately trying to keep him from leaving. Renjun tugged at his black button up, which messily pulled it out of his pants. Unfortunately, his wrist was lamentably removed from its spot, and he surely did not miss the way it looked so small in that guy's hand. Renjun definitely thought he could start crying if it kept going. Why was everything going against him today?

"Come on!" he groaned, visibly frustrated. He pulled his wrist back, unsuccessfully trying to get him to come closer.

Renjun was done with the whole situation, and this man was not budging. At all. He tried to think of what could possibly make him reject him in the first place.

"Are you scared of people walking in on us?" Renjun tilted his head, a smile blooming short after on his face. "We can do it in a cubicle! Come on, now— come on!" he assured, but the man stayed stoic. Probably just shy. So it had to not be that.

"Do you not like men?" he mumbled, pouting. "I'm sorry, it was very inappropriate of me to assume. Inappropriate, very uncivil."

Blondie brought the cup back to his lips, probably to make him shut up, and feeling as ignored as heartbroken, Renjun shoved it away with his chin. He was still pressed against the wall not to fall, and his wrist still circled by a stronger hold. He couldn't believe how unresponsive this man was. Absolutely no reactions, whatsoever. But it looked really hot, the way he was looking down at Renjun, so giving up was not a plan.

"But you do like me, right?" he asked, a hint of insecurity hiding in his voice. His free hand found its way to the broad shoulder in front of him, for additional support and only that. "I can wear a wig. Or I.. I can wear a dress next time, for you! You like dresses, right?"

Nothing.

"I promise I'll moan pretty for you."

Renjun decided to take matters into his own hands and started pulling him by his own wrist towards the closest toilet cubicle, miserably tripping over his own feet as he attempted to. The man slipped his other arm around his waist to keep him from falling, spilling some water from the plastic cup in the process.

The door opened. He froze.

"God, Renjun, you're here!" a familiar voice spoke.

"No!" he cried. It couldn't all get ruined just like that. He didn't want to see him now.

"Do you know him?" pretty blonde guy interrupted, finally making his voice heard.

If Renjun thought he couldn't get any hotter he was so wrong. The way he spoke, looked at his cousin with his brow slightly arched, his hand securely around his waist made him feel a little fuzzy.

"Do you know him?" Sicheng questioned back.

His eyes were insistingly looking at the way Renjun was being held, his wrist, his waist. He had big hands. Renjun found himself enjoying it more than he should, and his thoughts drifted to places where he wanted them to be. He imagined the way his wrists would feel getting pinned above his head. He would have no issue almost wrapping around both of them with one hand, and that thought alone was ruining his sanity. He visualized the way they would fit around his thigh, around his neck, around his cock. His fingers would reach so much deeper too. He frowned and shook his head, decency not optional since they were having some visit.

"We were about to fuck," Renjun explained, seemingly frustrated. "He was about to fuck me, Sicheng, and you came!"

The stranger's eyes widened before letting go completely of him. He looked absolutely panicked as he shook his hands, desperately denying it all.

"That is.., That could not be farther away from the truth."

Renjun felt his body shift, and his vision spiraled. He found himself in his cousin's arms instead of his now lover's. At the very least Renjun guessed he was his lover now. He couldn't keep calling him a stranger forever, especially when he very clearly was about to get laid. In case he did not want to make anything official though, Renjun still accepted it and was very open to other suggestions.

"Leave me alone! You're ruining everything!" he whined, struggling his way out of Sicheng's hold, again, unsuccessfully.

His protests were ignored until they got in the car.

Chapter Text

Renjun wanted to be swallowed by a giant whale and disappear. He internally prayed for the ceiling to magically crumble and crush him to death as he speed walked to his university's restroom, following the signs on the walls.

"Jeez, slow the fuck down."

Donghyuck was following him through the hallway, trying to match his pace. He's been doing that the whole entire day actually, it's just that now, for some reason, Renjun decided to get a little speedy. And when Renjun was finally sat on toilet, his new friend in front of him was perched on the sink, catching his breath. Renjun decided to ignore the way he was asked if he had an explosive diarrhea, and instead kept on wishing for his own death.

Today was his first day at university. First ever classes, it was all supposed to go well. In fact, there was no actual reason for it not to. The building was pretty, a little old looking, but enough to be considered vintage and not dilapidated. He even met Donghyuck when he got lost in the metro that morning and miserably asked for his way. He turned out to be a student at the same school too, and the two of them got along pretty quickly (he was funny, honest, and authentic). Apart from his massive hangover, his day went well.

That was until philosophy happened.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Their lunch break was 2 hours long that day. That massive void on their schedule allowed them both to visit the city, trying to find good spots around their university where they could potentially go next time. Donghyuck knew the city a lot better, so he leaded the way between his favorite restaurant, parcs, libraries, and a crêperie. They definitely seemed to overestimate the time they actually had left.

One glance at their phone made them realize how far away the school building actually was. As soon as they realized how much they had wandered, panic set in. Without a second thought, they broke into a hurried pace, weaving through the streets in a desperate attempt to make it back in time. Donghyuck led the way, but even his familiarity with the city couldn't save them now. The closer they got, the more the weight of their tardiness pressed down on them.

He opened the door in one go, trying to calm his breathing down. He wasn't sure this was the right entry, since the main desk of the auditorium was the first thing he saw right in front of him. Silence.

His eyes moved to the side where a mountain of students was filling the room, and it all immediately intimidated him. He was so incredibly late.

"Excuse me?" a voice called through the speaker buzzing right behind him. Instinctively, he looked back to see where it came from, but all he got was Donghyuck standing with the same embarrassed expression he had.

"I'm guessing you two got lost. It's okay for this one time, make sure you get here earlier next week."

Then he saw it. Well, him.

The teacher covered the microphone, and his voice no longer resonated through the speakers. Oh, and Renjun froze. He stood there, convinced the world was playing a bad joke on him.

What were the fucking odds of his literal teacher being him. Memories of the night before came rushing back, and for the first time, he really wished his thoughts had stayed in place and behaved. He wished Sicheng had never told him anything. He wished he was told that he had just been a little tipsy and asleep the whole time.

His face burned. Any normally constituted human being could be able to detect the embarrassment radiating from him. He quickly turned his attention back toward the amphitheater, letting his eyes desperately roam around to find a seat. There he could melt and cry his problems away.

He truly felt under scrutiny where he was standing, yet he didn't exactly know which was worse: the amount of students staring down at him, or the recognition that flickered in the teacher's eyes. Because as Renjun walked to his seat, nearly tripping over a step in the process, Mr. Na's eyes followed.

Renjun sat down, threw his bag onto the table, and buried his face in it, sighing out all the air he had stocked inside his lungs like he desperately needed them emptied. And when he looked up (just to be sure) the same man was still there, introducing the semester's philosophy program. That, along with many other things, made Renjun's head fall back into his bag, wishing to get asphyxiated by it.

Don't ask him who Nietzsche is, or was, Renjun could barely even spell his name anyway. So let alone listen to a whole 10 minute long explanation of his mindset by no other than the guy he begged to fuck less than 24 hours ago. There maybe existed a dimension where he could've never had to see this man ever again, or maybe just have to spot him in a grocery store isle once or twice. This is either just the universe making fun of him, or nothing other than a lecture on the appropriateness of his alcohol intake. Either way, Renjun felt like dying.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The bathroom stall was barely big enough to contain Renjun's misery. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair like he could physically hold himself together.

Donghyuck, still perched on the sink outside, swung his legs idly. "So... Wanna tell me why you look like you've just seen a ghost? You sure it's not bowel related?"

"I do not have diarrhea." Renjun groaned into his palms. "I wish it was a ghost. At least then I could just... I don't know, run."

Donghyuck snorted.

Renjun shot the closed door a glare through the crack between his fingers, as if his eyes could magically shoot lasers that would cut right through it (and Donghyuck, preferably). "Shut up. You don't get it."

"Oh, I definitely don't get it," Donghyuck said, hopping off the sink. "Because the last time I checked, we were just late to class. But you walked in there like you committed murder." He leaned against the stall door. "So spill."

Renjun hesitated. Maybe if he just never said it out loud, he could pretend none of this was real. But then Donghyuck knocked on the door like he had all the time in the world, and Renjun realized he wasn't getting out of here without confessing.

"...I may or may not have-" he exhaled sharply, "-begged my philosophy professor to fuck me last night."

Silence.

And then—

A loud, wheezing laugh filled the bathroom.

Renjun kicked the door open so fast that Donghyuck barely dodged it. "Shut the fuck up," he whisper-yelled, cheeks burning.

Donghyuck's jaw had dropped comically. "Oh my God— Wait, you were serious? You— ...oh, dude, this is so much better than anything I could've imagined."

Renjun crossed his arms. "Glad my suffering is hilarious to you."

"It is," Donghyuck admitted, grinning. "Wait— okay, hold on. You...you hit on Mr. Na? That Mr. Na?" He mimicked the way their professor had stood at the front of the class, adjusting his glasses.

Renjun groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. "I didn't just hit on him."

Donghyuck blinked. Then his mouth fell open a second time. "No."

Renjun bit his lip.

"No fucking way."

Renjun shoved him. "Nothing happened!"

Donghyuck stumbled back, clutching his chest. "Holy shit. But you wanted it to."

"I was drunk!"

Donghyuck was grinning so wide it was starting to piss Renjun off. "Wait, wait, so, like, did he recognize you?"

Renjun groaned again. "I don't know! I think so? He looked at me like he did, but what am I supposed to do about it?"

Donghyuck leaned in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well... I do have ideas."

Renjun pushed past him, heading for the sink. "No. No ideas. No thoughts. I'm dropping out."

Renjun turned on the tap, splashing cold water onto his face. He closed his eyes, exhaled deeply. Maybe when he opened them, he'd be in the other universe, one where he hadn't made the worst mistake of his academic career before it even properly started.

But when he looked up, his reflection was still there, still flushed with shame. And Donghyuck was beside him, positively vibrating with excitement.

Renjun sighed. He was so screwed.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Donghyuck was relentless.

It started as teasing, endless jokes in between classes, exaggerated gasps whenever Mr. Na so much as looked in Renjun's direction, winks thrown across the lecture hall that made Renjun want to die. It didn't help that Renjun was already struggling to sit through class without internally combusting. How was he supposed to focus on Nietzsche when all he could think about was how he had drunkenly begged this exact man to take him home?

The worst part was e hadn't rejected him outright. He had just disappeared into the crowd. Which meant there was a nonzero chance that Mr. Na remembered everything. And Donghyuck, being the menace that he was, wouldn't let it go.

"You have to get in his bed," Donghyuck declared one evening, sprawled across Renjun's mattress, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't suggesting actual insanity. They were in the middle of a study session, and for the first time that night, Renjun preferred looking down at his notebook.

Renjun, who was nursing a headache from yet another too long philosophy lecture, groaned into his pillow. "Hyuck, I'm already humiliated. Please don't make it worse."

Donghyuck ignored him, still scrolling. "Think about it," he said, flopping onto his stomach, kicking his feet up like this was some gossip session and not a conversation about Renjun possibly committing academic suicide. "You already wanted to fuck him, right?"

Renjun let out a strangled noise. "Can you not say it like that?"

"But you did!" Donghyuck pressed, rolling onto his side, resting his chin on his palm. "And let's be honest, he recognized you. He knows what happened, and he didn't kick you out of his class or report you for harassment, which means..."

Renjun lifted his head just enough to glare. "You are way too invested in this."

Donghyuck smirked, looking insufferably smug. "Means he probably liked it."

Renjun groaned and threw his pillow at him. Donghyuck dodged it with a laugh, rolling onto his back.

"I promise you," Donghyuck continued, voice oozing confidence, "if you actually go for it, it won't be as big of a disaster as you think."

Renjun sat up, narrowing his eyes. "Go for it? And how exactly am I supposed to do that? March into his office and offer myself up?"

Donghyuck hummed, twirling a a piece of hair between his fingers. "That would be bold, but no. It clearly didn't work the first time. You need to play it cool. Get on his radar in a way that makes him see you as more than just another student."

Renjun frowned. "I am literally just another student."

Donghyuck scoffed. "Sure," he drawled. "And I'm straight."

Renjun sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Hypothetically, if I were to listen to your dumbass plan, how would I even do that?"

Donghyuck grinned like the devil himself. "You flirt with him."

"Are you insane?"

"Think about it!" Donghyuck sat up excitedly, crossing his legs. "Nothing explicit, obviously. Again, didn't work the first time." Renjun threw his pencil at him. "Just little things. Stay after class to ask questions that aren't really questions. Compliment his lectures. Laugh at his jokes."

"He doesn't make jokes."

"Then make him make jokes." Donghyuck shrugged. "Professors are just people, Renjun. If he likes you, he'll respond."

Renjun flopped back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. "This is such a bad idea."

Donghyuck grinned. "It's the best idea."

Chapter Text

Renjun didn't so much wake up as resurface, slowly, unwillingly, like a man dragged from the depths of a swamp made entirely of regret, and nightmare flashbacks of himself drunkenly flirting with a stranger who, as it turns out, wasn't a stranger at all. That stranger had a name. A profession. A place in Renjun's academic schedule.

He sighed, curling deeper into his blanket cocoon as if the fabric could protect him from the consequences of his own idiocy. The light filtering through his dorm room curtains was warm, golden, obnoxiously optimistic. Birds were chirping. The world had the nerve to continue existing as if his social life hadn't spontaneously combusted a few days ago.

His phone buzzed. Renjun reached for it with the enthusiasm of someone disarming a bomb.

hyuckles:
wake up soldier
it's the dawn of plan A

Renjun stared at the message. He didn't reply right away. He just stayed there, thinking about dropping out, faking his death, or getting a legally sanctioned identity change.

Renjun didn't quite know what to think of Donghyuck. Sure, he was funny, sharp-tongued, effortlessly dramatic. But he was also unpredictable. You never quite knew if he was going to set something on fire or perform a magic trick.

And yet, somehow, Renjun kept following his lead.

Maybe it was the confidence. Donghyuck moved through life like he'd been given secret instructions Renjun hadn't received, ones that said, "Yes, the world is ridiculous. Be more ridiculous back." It was infuriating but kind of admirable, and occasionally, dangerously persuasive. He'd once convinced Renjun to cut his shirt into a crop top to a house party "for the vibe" or to fake an accent at brunch just to "see if the waiter plays along." (He had. They'd both panicked and tipped 35%.)

Still, when it came to Mr. Na, Donghyuck had become... weirdly invested. Like, suspiciously so.

"You like him," Renjun had accused once, during one of their late-night snack runs.

Donghyuck had blinked at him, incredulous. "Of course I like him. He's hot. And brilliant. And the only professor who doesn't talk like he's allergic to fun."

"That's not what I meant."

Donghyuck had shrugged. "Okay, maybe I just want to live vicariously through your angsty academic romance. Sue me."

Now, sitting cross legged on Renjun's bed, Donghyuck was already sketching out "Plan A" on a stolen napkin from the dining hall. It had diagrams. There were arrows.

"You need proximity," he said seriously, as if he were a military strategist planning a siege. "You need to become a presence in his lecture space. Strategic seat placement. Minimal effort, maximum exposure."

Renjun stared at him. "You make it sound like I'm stalking him."

"You're not. You're just... cultivating opportunity."

He paused.

"Also, maybe wear that dark green sweater next class." And so, somehow, Plan A was born. God help them both.

Whatever, back to our current barely awakened Renjun. Eventually, he typed back.

me:
go away
i'm dropping out
i'm moving to the mountains

hyuckles:
dramatic. hot. sexy of u.
but also no
u said u wanted to fix this, so we're starting today. dress nice. bring brain cells.

Renjun let the phone fall out of his hand and onto the mattress, where it glowed smugly at him in silence. He contemplated sleep. He contemplated the priesthood. He contemplated texting Mr. Na with a formal apology. But none of those options included facing Donghyuck empty-handed. And he learned that Donghyuck, when motivated, was terrifying.

An hour later, Renjun stood in front of his dorm wardrobe, half naked, going through what felt like the seven stages of grief. Suddenly his closet had nothing. He tried on a denim jacket. Too casual. A button-up shirt. Too interview. A cardigan? Too grandpa trying to re-enter the dating scene.

His room looked ravaged by the time he settled on a dark green sweater, agreeing with Donghyuck's vision against his own will. It was soft, oversized, just pretentious enough to suggest that he read poetry. He glanced at himself in the mirror and gave a resigned nod. It would have to do.

Outside, Donghyuck stood there by the dorm gates, with two coffees and a grin so wide it could've been its own threat. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, dressed like someone who'd already won a war.

"You look cute," Donghyuck said, handing him a cup.

Renjun took the coffee with a glare.

He showed up to philosophy fifteen minutes early. He told himself it was to get a good seat. He told himself it was to focus better, take clearer notes, perhaps even participate in class discussion if the planets aligned and Nietzsche personally descended from the heavens to whisper answers in his ear.

He was lying to himself. Obviously.

He was wearing the green sweater Donghyuck had picked out, the one that, according to his opinion and only his, made his brain look bigger. And for that exact sentence alone he had almost changed three separate times on his way out the door.

The lecture hall was still half-empty, filled with pre-class murmuring and the soft shuffle of notebooks. Renjun scanned the rows, heart already pounding like this was a high stakes mission and not just... sitting down.

Strategic proximity. That's what Hyuck had said.

He spotted it: a seat two rows from the front, a little off-center, just close enough that Mr. Na might actually see him, but not so close that it'd look suspicious. Especially since, you know what happened last time he'd actually gotten that proximity. The seat screamed "hiii ! I'm invested in the material but not trying to seduce my professor, everyone!" It was perfect.

He slid into it, trying to look casual. Then he waited and for five long minutes, he tried to breathe like a normal person, flipping open his notebook and drawing a very detailed spiral.

The door opened. It was almost cinematic, Mr. Na stepped in, his coat draped over one arm, glasses perched lightly on his nose. He greeted a few students on his way down the stairs, the curve of his mouth relaxed.

Renjun sighed.

Mr. Na paused by the desk, setting his bag down. His gaze swept the room once, then.. lingered? It was probably just him getting hallucinations, but whatever image his brain made up in that moment definitely contained his professor's eyes staring right into his. So Renjun kept his head down, pretending to underline something.

"Good morning," Mr. Na said to the room at large.

Donghyuck's voice echoed in Renjun's memory like a ghost: You have to flirt with him, but academically. Be charming. Be curious. Be Socrates if he were hot and mysterious.

Class began. Mr. Na launched into a lecture on existentialism and free will, writing quotes on the board with slow strokes. Every time he turned back to face them, Renjun sat a little straighter, nodded a little deeper, trying (failing) not to hold his gaze for longer than two seconds at a time.

It was excruciating.

Halfway through, Mr. Na operated something on his computer. The room hushed. Stillness. No one even dared talk. Naturally, Renjun, against every survival instinct in his body, lifted his.

Mr. Na's eyes landed on him, his attention detaching from the screen in front of him in a second before finding it's way right onto Renjun. "Yes?" Fuck.

Renjun cleared his throat. "Is it possible.." (Why did i do that) "that Sartre's concept of freedom is less about personal agency..but—" (fuck fuck fuck what the FUCK) "but.. more about the burden of choice as a form of.." (autopilot has never been so useful) "let's say internal exile?"

A few heads turned.

Mr. Na tilted his head, visibly intrigued. "That's... an interesting interpretation."

He said it like he meant it. Like it had genuinely caught him off guard. In a good way? He hoped. Renjun felt the tips of his ears go red.

Mr. Na's mouth twitched, just slightly. There was a pause. Then an unmistakable shift in Mr. Na's expression. A flicker of surprise, then interest. His mouth curved, just slightly. Not amused. Pleased, maybe. Curious. Was Renjun looking too much into it?

"That's a beautifully phrased interpretation, actually," he said. His voice was calm as always, but something about it felt warmer. "And you're not alone in thinking that. Sartre doesn't say it in those exact words, but it's very much embedded in his work."

He stepped away from the board, letting the silence settle. His movements felt like he was laying something out just for Renjun.

"In Existentialism is a Humanism, Sartre writes: 'Man is condemned to be free.' It's not liberation, it's responsibility. Freedom isn't a gift, it's a sentence. And with it comes the solitude of knowing that every choice is entirely your own."

Renjun tried not to stare. But it was difficult with the way Mr. Na spoke, not just reciting facts, but drawing meaning out of them like thread through cloth. There was so much intent on being precise. it felt like it mattered to him that Renjun understood. But also, he was speaking to the class. He didn't know if he was being delusional because of Donghyuck right now.

"What you called internal exile..." Mr. Na looked at him again, "It captures that emotional weight. The idea that freedom is isolating, not empowering. That even when you're surrounded by people, you're ultimately alone with your decisions. It's poetic, but also accurate."

The corner of his mouth lifted, and a thought had visibly crossed his mind and vanished before it reached the surface. "Simone de Beauvoir expands on that too, how people run from freedom, pretend they don't have choices because it's easier than accepting the consequences. She'd probably admire the way you phrased it."

Renjun blinked. "She would?"

Mr. Na's eyes crinkled at the corners just for a second. "Possibly. You've managed to touch on something central to both of them with a single sentence. That's not easy." And then he turned, continuing the lecture as though nothing had happened.

Renjun sat there, heart thudding, unsure if what just happened was praise, a coincidence, or something else entirely. And he just moved on as if he hadn't just verbally shot Renjun into the stratosphere.

Renjun didn't absorb anything for the rest of the class. When it finally ended, he packed up his stuff as fast as humanly possible. Donghyuck was going to lose his mind when he heard about this. He was already composing the speech in his head, something between a declaration of war and a wedding toast.

As he turned to leave, he glanced back. Mr. Na was still by the desk, talking with another student. As if sensing the stare, he looked up. And then he smiled.

Renjun exited the lecture hall with his heart in his throat and a stupid grin fighting its way to his lips.

Plan A, evidently, was not a total disaster.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun was curled up on the dorm bed, one leg tucked under him and a bowl of cereal balanced dangerously on his knee. His roommate was out, and he still didn't get to meet him. Sicheng sat across from him on the floor, sorting through a stack of records he'd rescued from a secondhand shop.

"You keep buying them," Renjun said between spoonfuls, "but you don't even have a record player."

"I'm curating a vibe," Sicheng replied. "A record player will come. The universe knows I'm serious now."

Renjun snorted. "You're just hoarding. Call it what it is."

Sicheng held up an album with a dramatic flourish. "Okay, but look at this cover. This is a statement. This is art."

Renjun laughed quietly, then went back to his cereal. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute or two, the clink of Renjun's spoon was the only sound until Sicheng asked, without looking up: "You ever run into that guy again?"

Renjun didn't answer immediately. He just kept chewing.

And chewing... And—

"Renjun."

"..."

"..."

"I see him like... three times a week."

Sicheng blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Renjun sighed and set his bowl aside. "Turns out, he's Mr. Na. My actual philosophy professor. Mr. Na."

"No way."

"Yes way."

Sicheng burst out laughing. "Oh my God. I was right. This is worse than I thought."

"Thank you for your emotional support."

"No, no— I'm sorry, but this is incredible. You tried to pull a man who now literally grades your essays."

Renjun flopped dramatically onto his side, groaning. "I wrote a whole response paper on Sartre while remembering how I asked him to take me home."

Sicheng wheezed. "Did he act weird?"

"No. That's the worst part. He's completely normal. Chill. He either forgot it or has the self-control of a monk."

"Or he's just that professional."

Renjun peeked over the arm of the couch. "...Yeah, well. I'm not. Not in my mind, anyway."

Sicheng snorted. "Dude, imagine being him in all this. Like, you're the guy who almost got seduced in a public restroom by another guy who now stares at you through two hour long lectures."

Renjun buried his face in the pillow with a muffled scream. "Oh my God, you're right. Do you think he tells his therapist about me?"

"He better. He deserves to unpack that somewhere."

Renjun groaned again, louder this time, and let the pillow consume half his face. "If he ever brings it up, I swear I will fake my own death."

"Wouldn't be the worst plan you've had."

Renjun flipped him off blindly with one hand, the other still clutching the pillow. Sicheng opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated. "Okay, unrelated. Kind of. There's gonna be a thing next weekend."

Renjun narrowed his eyes. "What kind of 'thing'?"

"Family gathering. Kind of informal. Just food, garden, the usual suspects. Auntie wants to celebrate the whole 'newlywed glow' thing before they go on their honeymoon or whatever."

"Cool. So more drunk uncles and toddlers tripping on gravel."

"Probably. But listen, her husband's cousin's coming too."

"Huh?" Renjun raised an eyebrow. "I mean, sure but why do we care?"

Sicheng gave him a look.

Renjun stared at him. "You're joking."

"I wish I was."

Renjun rolled onto his back, pillow clutched to his chest like a shield. "Why is the universe punishing me for being a little flirty and a little drunk?"

"You were violently flirty and catastrophically drunk."

"Same thing."

Sicheng grinned. "Look at it this way. Maybe this is a second chance."

"Second chance to what? Embarrass myself again?"

Sicheng shrugged. "Or maybe to just... talk to him like a normal person. You know, outside of class. And outside of bathrooms."

Renjun let out a long sigh. "If I make it through that evening without accidentally proposing to him, it'll be a win."

Sicheng reached over and stole a few pieces of cereal from his abandoned bowl. "I believe in you."

"That makes one of us."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Donghyuck didn't expect to see Mark at the bookstore.

It was too specific a place, too quiet for someone like him to just appear. But there he was, crouched near the.. philosophy section? A familiar denim jacket stretched tight across his shoulders, a book in one hand, thumb idly brushing the edge of a page.

Donghyuck leaned against the shelf across from him. "Didn't know you read things without chords or lyrics."

Mark looked up, blinked once, and then smiled. "Didn't know you haunted libraries like a morally questionable side character."

"Bold of you to assume I'm not the main character," Donghyuck said, eyes narrowing playfully. "What are you even doing here?"

Mark held up the book, Existentialism is a Humanism by Sartre. "Homework. My new roommate's a philosophy major. I just got here, so I thought I could bring him a little something. Not sure what philosophy majors like, so I figured i'd take a look into their program."

Donghyuck snorted. "Let me guess. Quiet. Smarter than you. Broody. Big eyes?"

Mark's smile twitched. "You know him?"

"Well it just so happens that..," Donghyuck said, pretending to sigh. "I'm responsible for most of the bad decisions he's made this semester."

"Sounds about right," Mark murmured, standing up fully. He slid the book under his arm, then glanced at Donghyuck again, something unreadable in his expression. "You haven't changed."

"And you have?" Donghyuck asked, chin tilted. "You still talk and dress like an indie band dropped you off on the way to their gig." He definitely meant that as a compliment, and made sure it didn't sound like one.

Mark looked away, a soft huff of a laugh escaping him. "Still charming as ever."

There was a pause.

"I didn't think I'd see you here," Mark admitted finally.

Donghyuck shrugged, suddenly quieter. "I wasn't looking for you." He met his eyes then he grinned again, light returning to his face like a switch flipped. "Coffee?"

Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah. I owe you one, don't I?"

"You owe me three, actually," Donghyuck said, already turning toward the exit. "But I'm willing to negotiate."

Mark followed. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe something already had.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next philosophy class, the lecture hall was too cold, too sterile, too full of reminders that Renjun was very much not okay. He slid into a seat near the middle, where it was easy to disappear but still close enough to look like he cared. Donghyuck sat next to him, legs stretched out like he owned the row, and nudged Renjun in the knee.

"You got this," he whispered. "Think big thoughts. Be mysterious. Project tortured brilliance."

"I am tortured."

"Now just add brilliance."

The room hushed as the door opened. Renjun felt his whole spine lock up. Mr. Na walked in, coffee in hand, laptop tucked under his arm, wearing a charcoal blazer over a black turtleneck that made him look like the brooding protagonist of a French film. He set his things down at the front desk and scanned the room briefly. Renjun ducked his head, trying to dodge a sniper.

"Good morning," Mr. Na said, his voice low and smooth. "Today, we begin our unit on absurdism. Camus. Sisyphus. Death, etcetera, etcetera.."

Donghyuck leaned over and muttered, "Sexy."

It was going to be a long seventy minutes.

Renjun tried. He really did. He had never concentrated so hard in a lecture in his life (and that included the time he thought there'd be a pop quiz on The Republic and spent the entire hour trying to memorize Socratic dialogues in a panic). He wrote things down, underlined key phrases with more force than necessary, obviously because pressing the pen harder would etch the meaning into his brain. He even highlighted "the refusal to hope" in aggressive neon pink, a decision he immediately regretted. The words seemed to glow on the page like a personal attack. Because what was hope, really, if not a delusion that you could get in your teachers bed?

Every time Mr. Na spoke, Renjun's brain betrayed him. His voice was too familiar now, it had been designed to make thoughts crumble. When he paused thoughtfully mid-sentence, fingers tapping the edge of the desk, or when he reached up to adjust his glasses in that slow, casual way that made Renjun want to scream into a pillow, Renjun was gone.

He was no longer in a lecture hall, he was back at that wedding bar, halfway through a gin and tonic, boldly leaning forward and saying things like "Are you sure you're not a magician? Because you just made all my standards disappear." (well, he didn't remember what he said actually, but he guessed it was probably something close to that).

He wanted to crawl under the table and stay there until the semester ended.

But he didn't. Because he had a plan. (Technically Donghyuck had a plan, but Renjun had agreed to it, and that counted for something.) Plan A: Be just academically brilliant enough to intrigue the professor without tipping into full-on kiss-ass territory. It was a thin line to walk, especially when every five seconds his mind served up a new, deeply embarrassing memory of the way he'd giggled and leaned too close and tried...tried to... to wink....

When the lecture finally ended, the spell of concentration shattered. The soft hum of conversation and zipping backpacks filled the room, and Renjun didn't move. He sat frozen in his seat, a statue watching students flood the aisles in lazy waves. His hands were clenched around his notebook, it was a flotation device, and he was all alone trying to survive

He felt a kick in his ankle, breaking the trance.

"This is your moment," Donghyuck whispered.

"I'm not ready," Renjun hissed.

"You were never gonna be ready. That's not how war works."

There were many things Renjun wanted to say in response to that (most of them unkind) but before he could stall further, his body betrayed him and stood up. He walked down the stairs on autopilot, his feet moving before his brain did, each step heavy like he was marching toward a guillotine. He could feel the thud of his heartbeat in his ears, in his throat, in his fingertips.

Mr. Na was standing at the front, quietly stacking papers, his expression calm. His glasses had slipped a little down his nose, and he nudged them back up with one finger as Renjun approached. He looked up.

"Yes?" he said. Well probably, Renjun didn't hear him.

His mouth went dry. "I, uh... had a question. About the reading."

Mr. Na nodded once, patient. "Go ahead."

"Right, uhm.." Renjun cleared his throat, his mind flipping through possible questions. Why didn't they go over this part when making the whole plan up? fuck. "..You mentioned that Camus believed we should imagine Sisyphus happy," he started, voice steadier than he felt. "Is that just about accepting meaninglessness, or is there something more active in that acceptance? Like... is rebellion part of the happiness?"

A pause. Just long enough to make Renjun wonder if he'd said something stupid. But then Mr. Na smiled. It wasn't a big smile, but it was there. Renjun definitely let out a sigh.

"That's a very thoughtful question, Renjun," he said, before going on to explain something Renjun gave up on trying to listen to. He just said his name. He decided the sound of his voice was way more interesting than whatever it was saying. "It's about acknowledging the absurd and still choosing to continue. That choice is where freedom begins."

Renjun felt the words land in his chest like something heavy and important, but nothing seemed to sink in. He nodded slowly, as if absorbing philosophical insight, when in reality he was just trying not to combust on the spot. "Right. Okay. That... makes sense. I think..."

"..." Mr. Na tilted his head in silence, almost like he was unsure Renjun actually understood him.

"..." Renjun stared blankly in return.

"..."

"You remembered my name?"

Mr. Na blinked. "Of course. You left a memorable first impression." Renjun's soul left his body and began ascending. He was dead. He was done for. His skin burned with the heat of a thousand secondhand firsthand embarrassments. "I try to remember the names of students who arrive dramatically late on their first day."

Renjun choked on air.

"Don't worry, I'm just joking," Mr. Na added, amused. "It happens."

Mr. Na's eyes lingered on him for a moment that stretched just a bit too long. "Are you thinking of joining the seminar group next month?"

"I... wasn't, but maybe," Renjun answered, unsure if he was even speaking English anymore.

"You should. You ask good questions. And you seem curious. That's a good place to start."

Renjun mumbled something that sounded vaguely like gratitude and then turned on his heel, walking away with the stiff dignity of a man. Donghyuck was waiting for him in the hallway.

"Oh my God," he whispered, grabbing Renjun's sleeve with both hands. "Did he say anything? Did he touch your soul?"

Renjun blinked at him. "He remembered my name."

Donghyuck gasped so dramatically that someone walking past actually glanced over. "He's so into you."

"He said I was curious," Renjun muttered, dazed.

Donghyuck's grin widened. "In academic flirting, that means he wants to know your star sign."

"There's no such thing."

"There is," Donghyuck said, already walking ahead like a man with a mission. "And you, my tragic little philosopher, are nailing it."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Donghyuck, was draped across Renjun's bed like a Roman emperor in the middle of a state banquet, shirt riding up, one sock half-off, waving his phone around like a scepter. If he had grapes, he'd be tossing them into his mouth with dramatic flair. Instead, he was chewing on sour gummies and radiating unearned authority.

"You need presence," Donghyuck declared for the third time that hour, voice echoing off the walls like a general addressing his troops. "Visibility. Mystery is good, tragic is fine, but you're bordering on ghost-with-a-crush energy."

Renjun blinked at him, unimpressed. "That sentence was exhausting."

Donghyuck waved him off. "You're exhausting. You think brooding in the back row and asking one good question with your tragic little eyes is enough? No. You need to show up. Make him think about you when you're not in class."

"My eyes aren't tragic," Renjun mumbled into his can.

"They are when you talk about Camus like that in class."

"He makes sense when you're sad and sleep-deprived!"

"Exactly," Donghyuck said triumphantly. "That's why you belong in the circle."

Renjun groaned. "I'm not joining a cult."

Donghyuck sat up suddenly, legs crossed, eyes gleaming. "It's not a cult. It's a student-run philosophy discussion group. Very normal."

Renjun narrowed his eyes. "Why do you know so much about seminar sessions? Last time I checked, you're constantly on your phone playing candy crush and reading smutty harry styles fanfiction."

"Because I infiltrate all student groups for gossip purposes. Duh. Also—" He pulled out his phone and flashed a chat screen. "I already texted someone and said you're interested."

"You what?!"

"You're welcome."

Renjun groaned again, louder this time, and collapsed backward onto the bed, dragging a pillow over his face like it could muffle reality. Donghyuck took this as permission to stretch out beside him, sour gummies crinkling between them.

"You're lucky you're pretty," Renjun said, voice muffled.

Donghyuck grinned. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Objectively. Like, in a statistically annoying way."

"Wow. Be still, my heart."

Renjun moved the pillow just enough to squint at him. "Why are you like this?"

"Why are you so flustered when I say nice things to you?" Donghyuck shot back, "Has no one told you you're cute before?"

Renjun blinked. "...Not like that."

Donghyuck's voice dipped a little, softer now, but not without that ever present glint. "You are, though. In a delicate way."

"Okay, now you're just being—"

The door swung open. Mark stepped in, hoodie half-zipped, keys in one hand and a backpack strap lazily slung over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Donghyuck first (still on Renjun's bed, still far too comfortable) and something unreadable passed over his face before he masked it with a blink. Took in the scene: Donghyuck sprawled on Renjun's bed like he owned it, Renjun mid-sit-up, pink-faced.

Mark blinked. "...Am I interrupting something?"

Donghyuck, to his credit, didn't move. He just leaned back a little further on his elbows and smiled. "Hey, Mark." He leaned back on one elbow, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. "Not really. Unless you count meaningful eye contact as foreplay."

Renjun choked on air. "Donghyuck!"

Mark's eyebrows frowned just slightly Donghyuck caught it. "Nice to see you, Mark."

Renjun glanced between them. "Wait, do you two... know each other?"

Mark hesitated.

Donghyuck didn't. "We've met."

Mark looked at Donghyuck like he was waiting for him to behave. Then other just looked back like he wasn't going to.

"Oh," Renjun said, brows furrowing. "Cool. I guess?"

Donghyuck hopped off the bed with a bounce, smoothing his shirt down.

"Think about that study group," he said sweetly. Then, looking straight at Mark: "And hey. Don't be a stranger."

The door clicked shut behind him. Renjun sat very still as Mark dropped his keys on the desk, shrugged off his hoodie, and didn't say anything.

Renjun blinked slowly. "...What the hell was that?"

Mark paused, then offered a neutral, vaguely polite, "What was what?"

Renjun just stared at him.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Three days later, Renjun stood awkwardly at the back of a smaller, stuffy classroom that smelled like old books and even older ambition. The circle had already started. Twelve or so students sat in a loose semi-circle of mismatched chairs, each holding either a notebook, a copy of Fear and Trembling, or an aura of unbearable intellectual superiority.

Someone in the middle was passionately unraveling their view of despair as "the sickness unto death," while another person nodded solemnly and whispered "that's real" like they'd just been personally diagnosed.

Renjun stood perfectly still, clutching a cup of lukewarm herbal tea someone had thrust into his hands at the door. It tasted like the inside of a philosophy TA's desk drawer. He didn't know anyone. He didn't know what was going on. And he definitely didn't know how to join the conversation without sounding like a desperate fraud.

He mentally compiled a list of potential exit strategies:
1. Fake a phone call.
2. Claim lactose intolerance and say the tea was threatening him.
3. Set a small fire.
4. Accept his fate and die there.

That list shattered when the door creaked open behind him. "Sorry I'm late," said a voice Renjun would already recognize anywhere.

His heart stopped. Every molecule in Renjun's body short-circuited. Mr. Na stepped inside like a calm breeze in a burning building. Navy sweater. Slacks. Leather notebook tucked under one arm. He looked, as always, like he belonged in an indie film. It was offensive.

"I was invited to listen in," he said with a polite smile, scanning the room. Mr. Na's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly, but it happened. A slight uptick of the lips when he noticed Renjun. He forgot about the tea. Forgot about the room. Forgot about the fact that he'd hit on this man at a wedding while drunk and wearing a boutonnière. He was just standing there, wildly out of his depth, while his professor acknowledged him with familiarity and (maybe) fondness.

There was a quiet shuffle as someone offered him a seat near the front. He moved with ease, flipping open his notebook like he was just another guest. But before he sat down, Na glanced back toward the door (toward Renjun) one more time.

He made it through the rest of the meeting without fainting. Barely, because at the end, Mr. Na walked past him on his way out and murmured a quiet, "Good to see you came, Renjun,". He clutched those words like a lifeline the whole walk home, and when he burst into the dorm room and screamed into a pillow, Donghyuck didn't even ask what happened.

He just smirked and said, "So. Plan A...?"

Renjun turned his head slightly, muffled. "Plan A is working."

Chapter Text

By Friday, Renjun still wasn't sure what Plan A had accomplished, per se. His stress levels were sky-high, his notebooks had become a Frankenstein's monster of legitimate lecture notes and desperate attempts to sound intellectually provocative, and he still couldn't make eye contact with Mr. Na for longer than three seconds without feeling like his skin might peel off.

But every time he walked into the lecture hall now, his professor would glance up from his desk. Their eyes would meet. He'd smile. It might not mean anything but it was something. Donghyuck declared it a victory.

"You're in," he said, sprawled across Renjun's bed with a bag of chips. "Plan A is working. He knows your name, he respects your brain, he thinks you're mysterious and cute and weirdly into Camus. That's three out of five stars on the seduction chart already."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun was too busy trying to balance a lukewarm cup of convenience store miso soup and a stack of highlighted articles, which kept slipping sideways in his grip. He turned the corner of the dorm hallway with a muttered curse and promptly walked straight into someone. The soup sloshed dangerously. One of the papers floated to the floor.

"Shit—sorry," Renjun said, stepping back.

The other guy had barely moved. Just a quick sidestep and a steady hand catching the edge of the falling paper. He held it out to Renjun without a word.

"Thanks," Renjun muttered, grabbing it and tucking it back under his arm. He looked up.

The guy wasn't one he recognized. He was dressed in a dark sweatshirt and jeans, hair slightly messy in a way that seemed intentional, or at least well-practiced. Something about him was clean-cut, but not in an obvious way, like he didn't try too hard but still looked annoyingly put-together.

"I just moved in," he said. His voice was low, casual. "Didn't think anyone would be speedrunning through the hallway at midnight."

Renjun blinked. "Yeah, I'm... You new here?"

"Room 315." He nodded toward the door behind him. "I'm Jeno."

"Renjun. Across the hall."

Jeno gave a small nod, more acknowledgment than greeting. His gaze flicked down to the papers, then back up. "Philosophy?"

Renjun narrowed his eyes. "What gave it away? The crushed existentialism or the soup?"

Jeno smiled, barely. Just a curve at the corner of his mouth. "A little of both." He stepped aside to let Renjun pass, but didn't walk away.

Renjun hesitated, then said, "You settling in okay?"

Jeno shrugged. "Still figuring it out. Got a weird guy next door who sings with his headphones on."

Renjun grinned. "Donghyuck. You'll hear him do Bohemian Rhapsody at full volume by next week."

Jeno raised his eyebrows. "Can’t wait for that one."

There was a beat of silence. Then Jeno nodded again, like that was the end of the interaction, and turned toward his door.

"See you around," he said, without looking back.

Renjun watched him go, feeling oddly off-balance. Soup still intact, he pushed open the door to the dorm room. He'd barely stepped inside when the atmosphere hit him.. He'd walked in on the tail end of a thunderstorm. Mark was standing by the desk, half-bent over a stack of papers, brows furrowed. Donghyuck was sitting on the edge of Renjun's bed, arms crossed, expression flat but sharp in the way only Donghyuck could manage.

"You can't just pretend it didn't happen," Donghyuck was saying, low and clipped.

Mark didn't look up. "I'm not pretending."

Donghyuck let out a humorless laugh. "Sure. That's why you keep acting like we're college friends who bumped into each other at a bookstore. So casual. So normal."

"I didn't think you wanted to rehash everything in front of your friend's new roommate," Mark said, a little too evenly, still not meeting Donghyuck's eyes.

There was a moment of silence, the air felt like it was holding its breath.

Then Donghyuck smiled. "God, you're good at this. Must be nice, forgetting things that don't fit the script."

That was when they noticed Renjun. Donghyuck glanced over his shoulder, all smooth indifference now. "Hey. You're back."

Mark straightened, finally meeting Renjun's eyes with an easy practiced smile. "Hey, man. We were just...talking."

Renjun nodded slowly. "Right." He wasn't sure what that had been, but it definitely hadn't sounded like "just talking."

Donghyuck hopped off the bed, brushing past Renjun on the way to the door. "I'll text you later. About Plan B." He didn't look back.

Mark sat down at the desk, flipping open a book like nothing had happened. There was so much to unpack here but he guessed Hyuck needed some alone time.

Renjun hummed noncommittally and headed for the kitchenette. "You two know each other?"

"Mm," Mark said, noncommittal right back. "We go way back."

Renjun poured water into the kettle, eyes flicking toward him. "Like high school?"

"Something like that."

And that was all he offered. Renjun didn't push. But he filed it away.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Donghyuck calls Plan B "Operation: Reintroduce Yourself as a Functional Human Being," which is generous, considering Renjun currently looks like he lost a fight with his closet and self-esteem. There's a button missing from his shirt, his shoelace won't stay tied, and he has no idea why his hair has decided to rebel this aggressively today of all days. The barbecue hasn't even started yet and he's already contemplating throwing himself into the nearest inflatable kiddie pool.

"You look fine," Donghyuck had said right before he left, flicking Renjun's forehead with zero sympathy. "You look soft and normal. Like someone who gives good birthday presents and carries tissues in his bag. That's the vibe."

"I am soft and normal," Renjun muttered, swatting him away. "That's the problem."

The plan had sounded manageable when Donghyuck proposed it. Just show up. Be casual. Help set up the folding tables. Maybe have a short, non-traumatic conversation with Mr. Na, who probably wouldn't remember every detail of the cursed wedding bathroom incident. Just... exist, like a person. A non-cringe, non-embarrassing, fully-functioning person.

And it is manageable until Renjun sees him. Jaemin (his cousin told him his name, because apparently he knows everyone now) arrives like it's a scene from a very specific nightmare. Casual but clean, white shirt, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses pushed into his hair, like he's not a philosophy professor but some kind of Pinterest-level boyfriend. He greets Renjun's aunt with a small bow, laughs at something she says, and follows her toward the backyard like he's been to a hundred of these already.

Renjun ducks behind a large potted plant.

"What the hell are you doing," His cousin hisses,

Renjun let out a yelp. "Sicheng? what the actual fuck are you doing here?"

"I am literally your family. You can't hide behind a shrub, Renjun. You're not a woodland creature."

"I changed my mind," Renjun whispers urgently. "I'm un-reintroducing myself. The plan is dead. We bury it here."

"What? What plan?" Sicheng looks around and the moment he realizes whats going on is visible on his face. He grabs his arm and bodily drags him out from behind the plant like a trash raccoon. "You are not going to ghost your own professor. Pull it together. Breathe. Pretend you're just a guy who owns reusable shopping bags and waters his plants on time."

Renjun doesn't have the heart to tell him his monstera died last week.

Sicheng gives him a shove that's gentle enough to qualify as encouragement but firm enough to send Renjun stumbling into the social fray. Children scream. A frisbee flies too close to his face. Someone's uncle is already drunk and arguing about property taxes. It's pure suburban chaos, and right in the middle of it, like some kind of cursed magnet, stands Mr. Na.

Jaemin.

Renjun isn't sure which name feels worse in his mouth right now.

"thats not what drunk Renjun would've said", donghyuck's imaginary voice echoed through his brain. Well drunk Renjun was also a weirdo with no social clues.

He doesn't approach. Not yet. He finds safety in small, manageable tasks, like carrying juice boxes to the cooler, rescuing a rogue balloon from the grill, helping his little cousin unstick a popsicle from her hair. He keeps his head down, avoids eye contact, and tells himself that this is enough. He's here. He's visible. Technically, the plan is working.

But then the speaker starts skipping like it's trying to self-destruct, and before he knows it, Renjun is kneeling in the grass, tangled in wires and cursing under his breath. That's when he hears it, low laughter, a familiar voice, and the soft crunch of shoes on dry grass.

"Technical difficulties?" Jaemin says, crouching beside him.

Renjun nearly kicks the speaker in panic. "Oh—uh. No. I mean, yes. It's being dramatic. Like me."

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. "Is that self-awareness I hear?"

Renjun huffs a laugh despite himself. "Don't get used to it."

The wires finally snap into place with a satisfying click. Music resumes, something mellow and summery. Jaemin leans back on his heels, nodding in approval. "I wasn't expecting to see you here again," he says, not quite a question.

Renjun winces. This was terrifyingly close to referring to the wedding, but for the sake of his own sanity he preferred thinking he was referring to their classes. "Yeah. I'm a recurring theme in your nightmares, probably."

A beat of silence. Then Jaemin—God, smiles. Like it's not even a little bit awkward. Like he's actually glad to see him. "I wouldn't say that."

And that's the problem, isn't it? He says it like he means it. Like he remembers the wedding, the bathroom, the clumsy flirtation and none of it bothers him. Or maybe it did bother him, and now it doesn't, and that's somehow worse. Whatever, if he forgot about it, he should too.

Renjun tries to steady himself with small tasks again, but the sense of being seen, really seen, has settled into his skin like heat from the sun. He keeps stealing glances across the yard, watching as Jaemin joins a group of adults talking near the barbecue, laughing at something someone says, his hand casually tucked into his pocket like he isn't currently throwing Renjun's entire emotional compass into disarray.

By the time they end up at the drink table together, Renjun is back in panic mode. It's one of those long plastic folding tables with a red gingham cover that keeps flapping up in the wind like it's trying to take flight.

The lemonade dispenser is almost empty and gurgling like it's dying a slow, sticky death. Renjun is trying to wrangle it with one hand and keep his cup steady with the other when Jaemin joins him, casually plucking a napkin from a stack and standing a little too close for Renjun's nervous system.

Renjun glances at him and offers a stiff, "Hey again."

Jaemin tilts his head. "Still surviving the chaos?"

"Barely," Renjun mutters, managing to fill the cup halfway before the spout sputters angrily. "This lemonade's giving up on life."

"Can't blame it," Jaemin says. "Have you seen the state of the fruit salad?"

Renjun huffs a small laugh and then nearly drops the cup as one of his distant uncles strolls by, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, a beer in hand and a smirk on his face. He nods at both of them with the appearance of a man who has opinions and absolutely no boundaries.

"Young love, huh?" the uncle says, winking. "Cute couple."

Renjun chokes.

Violently.

Lemonade goes down the wrong pipe, and he doubles over coughing, eyes watering. His elbow knocks into the table, almost sending a plate of cut melon flying. Jaemin steps in instinctively, steadying the plate and reaching for Renjun's shoulder.

"You okay?" Jaemin asks, even as a few drops of lemonade splash onto his wrist.

Renjun waves him off, still hacking, absolutely mortified. "Fine. Fine. I just—he always says weird stuff like that, he's not even—he doesn't mean—God, we're not—"

Jaemin wipes his wrist with the napkin, unbothered. "I guess we're convincing," he says mildly, lips curling into a dry smile.

Renjun wants to fling himself into the beverage cooler and never return.

"No. No, God, you're—I mean, you're my professor, and I'm not even.." He's stuttering, words tripping over themselves in his throat. "It's not like that."

Jaemin holds up a hand, quieting him. His voice is calm, almost gentle. "It's okay," he says. "I know."

And maybe he does.

Maybe he sees the exact storm Renjun is caught in: the confusion, the guilt, the way one look from Jaemin makes him feel like his thoughts are no longer his own. Maybe Jaemin understands how terrifying it is to want something you shouldn't, something complicated and boundary-crossing. Maybe he feels the weight of it too: the tightrope they're both walking, the roles they're supposed to inhabit thinning under the tension of something unspoken.

Or maybe it is just lemonade.

Maybe it's a warm spring afternoon and a nosy uncle and a plastic tablecloth flapping in the wind, and maybe Jaemin's smile is just politeness and nothing more.

But the way he's still standing there, still watching Renjun with that careful softness, it makes Renjun wonder.

It makes him hope. And hope is dangerous. Especially when Jaemin hasn't moved away. Especially when Renjun doesn't want him to. And somewhere across the lawn, Sicheng is definitely watching, sipping juice like it's wine.

Renjun sighs. He might actually be ready for another one of Donghyuck’s plans.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Near the garden, Sicheng was crouched in the grass, expertly tying a crown of daisies while a group of kids hovered around him in awe. One of them was in charge of "guarding the dragon egg" (a volleyball in a blanket), and another was trying to convince the retriever in the flower crown to take her role as "Queen Dog" more seriously.

"She needs a scepter," a little boy declared, holding up a spatula.

Sicheng nodded solemnly. "Every queen should have one."

"You're gonna be such a good dad someday," came a voice behind him.

He looked up. His aunt — now barefoot and radiant in a sundress she'd changed into — was walking toward him with a half-finished cocktail in one hand. She looked relaxed, glowing in the late afternoon light, newly married and happy.

Auntie Mei nudged him with her elbow as he stood. "Seriously. You've got kids worshipping you like a fairy king."

"I think I bribed them with juice boxes," he said with a soft laugh.

"And charisma," she added. "Don't forget that part."

He rolled his eyes but smiled. They stood there together for a moment, watching as one of the kids declared war on the sprinkler and another tried to explain the rules of a game that had no logic whatsoever.

Then she tilted her head, like she was easing into a more casual kind of mischief.

"So," she said, drawing out the word. "What did you think of Yeri?"

Sicheng blinked. "Who?"

She looked entirely too innocent. "My friend. Short bob, wore green, laughed at all your jokes at lunch?"

"I—" he hesitated, trying to summon a mental image. "She seemed nice?"

"Nice and single," she sing-songed, then added, "And very into flower crowns, apparently."

Sicheng gave her a look. "Are you matchmaking after your own wedding?"

She grinned. "Listen, I'm legally off the market now. Let me live vicariously."

He shook his head, trying not to smile too much. "You're unbelievable."

"Unbelievably right," she said. "I'm just saying, she asked about you twice. Which is more than I can say for most people after you go full fairy prince with the preschool crowd."

Sicheng laughed, a little helplessly. "She probably just liked the lemonade I brought?"

"She definitely liked you," she said, bumping his shoulder with hers.

"I'll think about it," he said, quietly.

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "That's all I ask."

A beat passed. Then the sprinkler kid slipped and landed directly in a puddle, shrieking with delight. The bride sighed. "And that's my cue to go stop a lawsuit."

"Good luck," Sicheng said, already turning to offer the Queen Dog another flower crown.

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder and called, "I'm telling Yeri your favorite coffee order, by the way. Just so you're not surprised."

Sicheng didn't answer, just shook his head with a small smile, letting the sunlight and laughter wrap around him like a moment he didn't mind living in for a little while longer.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

At the end of the afternoon, most of the kids are sticky with frosting and the remains of melted popsicles, wild-eyed from too much sugar and too little supervision. Someone's aunt has declared war on the ant colony that dared cross her Tupperware container, and she's doing so with cinnamon, vinegar spray, and the kind of military precision that suggests she's been planning this moment all week. The speaker is still hanging on, now playing something lo-fi. Someone's baby is crying for no reason. It's chaos but the kind that feels oddly peaceful at the edges, like the day has worn everyone down just enough to make room for soft silence.

Renjun stands near the porch steps, pretending to check his phone, pretending he's not scanning the yard with a quiet kind of dread. Because he knows Jaemin is still here.

And so is she.

She's talking to someone near the food table now, but earlier, God, earlier, he'd caught a glimpse of her and Jaemin deep in conversation near the back fence. Her laugh had been light, effortless. His posture relaxed. The kind of ease you didn't have with someone unless you knew them. And Jaemin had smiled at her, really smiled, with that subtle upward curve of his mouth that said a thousand unspoken things.

Renjun had watched for a second too long. Just long enough to hate himself for caring. Just long enough to wonder if he was being ridiculous. Because of course Jaemin had a life outside of lecture halls and awkward parties. Of course he had friends. Coworkers. Maybe even someone who knew where he kept his toothpaste. Still. It stirred something uncomfortable in Renjun's gut. Jealousy, probably, though he wouldn't dare name it.

Now he lingers near the porch steps, arms folded, eyes on the peeling paint of the railing like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. He wants the day to end already. He wants to go home, crawl into bed, and forget about everything: the lemonade incident, the "cute couple" comment, the fact that Jaemin had smiled like it didn't bother him. Like nothing bothered him. And that woman who, by the way, had the looks of a model.

"Hey."

Renjun startles. He looks up — and of course. Of course. It's Jaemin.

The sun's low behind him, turning his hair gold at the edges, and for a second Renjun wants to blame the light for the way his heart jumps.

Jaemin's standing there like he belongs in that kind of lighting, it was made for him. His hair, already a soft brown, gleams almost copper at the tips, wind-tousled in a way that looks accidentally perfect. His skin catches the glow, smooth and warm-toned, and the sharp lines of his face, cheekbones, jaw, nose, are softened just slightly by the fading sun. He's wearing a button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing forearms that are distractingly nice.

He shifts his weight to one side, and Renjun swears the light moves with him. There's a quiet confidence in the way he holds himself, like he knows people look, and he's long stopped minding it.

Renjun blinks. Right. Heart. Jumping. Totally the sun's fault.

"I'm heading back soon," Jaemin says, voice soft and casual, like this is just a normal interaction. "If you need a ride into the city, I've got room."

If Renjun still had lemonade around, he'd be choking on it again. "Oh—I was gonna leave with Sicheng," he says quickly, more out of reflex than plan. "My cousin, he drove."

Jaemin tilts his head. "He already left."

Renjun pauses. "What?"

"The one you came here with? I saw him go, like ten minutes ago. White Volkswagen, right?"

Renjun flushes. Great. Abandoned. "Right. Okay. That's— cool of him."

There's a flicker of a smile on Jaemin's face, but he doesn't say anything else. Just waits.

It's not that he doesn't want to go. He does. Too much, probably. But the thought of sitting in a car with Jaemin, after a day like this, after spiraling over everything, it feels dangerous. Like temptation in slow motion. Like daring himself to want something he has no business even looking at in the first place.

Also, what the fuck?

Do people get in their teacher's cars? He supposes this is a family setting, and the question then makes a lot more sense when he looks around and realizes the sun is setting, and there aren't many people around anymore. Again, family setting, nothing academic. If Jaemin doesn't see it like that, he shouldn't either.

He glances past Jaemin briefly, just enough to see the woman from before standing off to the side, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while she says goodbye to someone's grandmother. She looks like she belongs. She looks like someone who knows Jaemin's toothpaste location without asking.

Renjun swallows down the sharp edge of something he doesn't want to name and nods.

"Yeah," he says. "Okay. Thanks."

Jaemin's smile is small like it's meant just for him. "It was nice seeing you outside of class," Jaemin says.

It's a simple thing to say, but Renjun hears everything in it. The softness. The weight of something unspoken. Or maybe he's imagining that part. Maybe he's so desperate to read meaning where there is none that he's creating whole narratives from a polite sentence.

He wants to say something clever in return. Something casual and calm. Something that doesn't sound like his heart is being wrung out like a dishcloth. But his brain offers him nothing. Just static and heat and the distant sound of someone's kid falling off a lawn chair.

So all he manages is a short nod and a quiet, "Yeah. You too."

Jaemin lingers for half a breath, his gaze searching Renjun's face for something. Then he nods and turns toward the driveway.

Renjun doesn't follow immediately. He waits a second, maybe two, watching as Jaemin says something to that woman and she laughs again, but it's gentler now. She doesn't reach for him, doesn't touch his arm. Just gives him a wave and starts walking toward the other car, her sandals kicking up bits of gravel.

Renjun exhales.

Then he moves down the steps and toward Jaemin's car, telling himself this doesn't mean anything. Not yet. But the way Jaemin opens the passenger door for him before getting in himself? That makes it very hard to believe.

The inside of Jaemin's car was... clean. Unsettlingly clean, in a way that felt less like someone who tidied up for company and more like someone who always kept things this way. The dashboard was free of dust, no empty coffee cups or crumpled receipts in sight. Even the glove compartment looked like it had never known chaos. A canvas tote bag sat tucked neatly inside behind the passenger seat, half-zipped, with a glimpse of what looked like a book and a reusable water bottle peeking out. There was a faint scent of something sharp and fresh (peppermint or eucalyptus, maybe) and the leather seats were smooth and cool against the backs of Renjun's thighs. No flashy air fresheners. No flashy anything, really. Just quiet order. Understated calm. Like Jaemin had curated his car the same way he curated his thoughts: carefully, precisely, with just enough softness to feel like home (if home had rules).

Renjun sat stiffly, hands folded in his lap, suddenly aware of how much noise he made just by breathing. Because the car was quiet, except for the low hum of the engine. Jaemin didn't put on music right away, which surprised Renjun. He'd expected the kind of person who played jazz at low volume like he was starring in an indie film. But no, just silence, and the gentle sound of tires on asphalt as they left the neighborhood behind.

Renjun kept his gaze fixed on the passenger-side window, watching suburban streetlights flick past in gold streaks. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, or if he was supposed to say anything at all. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn't relaxed either. It was heavy with something he couldn't name. His chest felt too full.

Jaemin drove with one hand, the other resting near the radio, occasionally brushing his fingers over the dial but never committing to a station. At one red light, he glanced over.

"You looked a little overwhelmed back there."

The way he said it wasn't teasing. It wasn't even concerned in the typical, overly polite way adults used when they wanted to lecture without sounding like it.

Renjun exhaled slowly. "Is that your polite way of saying I looked like I was about to combust in public?"

"I wasn't going to say it," Jaemin replied, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "But, yeah. You did look like you were trying to vanish."

Renjun let his head fall against the seat. "That party was cursed. I spilled lemonade on myself. Uncle Lee thought we were dating. I tripped over a speaker cable and almost broke my face. I don't even think I made it five minutes without embarrassing myself."

"I don't think it was a disaster."

"You're being generous."

"I'm being accurate."

Renjun made a small sound that could've been a laugh. "You're seriously not phased by anything, are you?"

Well that slipped out by itself. But seriously, how long is it gonna take until this man realizes what keeps happening between them, and how its embarrassingly constantly Renjun's fault.

To that Jaemin gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I've seen worse. Family parties have a way of bringing out the strange in people."

Family parties. Fuck, right. Family parties. God, he could be crushing on his relative right now and that was not on this year's bingo card. That made Renjun turn slightly toward him. "Wait, can I ask—how exactly are we related again?"

Jaemin glanced over, amused. "Having a mild identity crisis?"

"No, it's just.. someone told me you're my aunt's husband's cousin, but then this woman (who we won't be talking about, because whether Renjun questioned a random woman there about his teacher or not, it is his and his problem only) said something else, and the baby called you 'uncle,' and I just—like—what are you?"

"Completely unrelated to you," Jaemin said with a quiet laugh. "If your aunt—the bride—is married to my cousin, then I'm her cousin-in-law. Technically, we're not family. If that can make the next few classes go smoother."

Oh, that makes an entirely different thing go smoother.

"So you're a stranger. At a family party."

Jaemin nodded. "Feels illegal, right?"

"Feels like a trap," Renjun muttered. "I was emotionally blackmailed into going."

"You could've left," Jaemin said. "Didn't."

"Because Sicheng ditched me!"

"I saw him leave," Jaemin said. "Ten minutes before you tried to fake a phone call in the kitchen."

Renjun groaned. "You saw that?"

Jaemin didn't say anything, just smiled again, slow and unreadable. Another beat of silence passed, and then Jaemin asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," (Hearing it, he smiled in a way that showed he understood a few things and Renjun hated every second of it.) Renjun said. "You?"

"Twenty-four," Jaemin replied. "Turning twenty-five this year."

Renjun looked over, surprised. "You're barely older than me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not. It's just..." Renjun gestured vaguely. "You're a professor."

"I'm a grad instructor," Jaemin corrected. "Still in the middle of my doctorate. I'm not that far ahead."

"But still," Renjun said. "You're teaching seminars. People listen to you. You talk like you've got everything figured out."

"I don't," Jaemin said. "I just sound like I do. It's the same thing, right?"

Renjun didn't answer right away. He watched Jaemin's face in profile, half-lit by the dashboard glow, the faint creases of tiredness near his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw like he was holding something back or maybe just holding still.

"What made you choose philosophy?" Renjun asked. "You don't seem like the cliché type."

Jaemin thought for a moment. "I liked the questions. I liked that there weren't always answers. In high school, I wanted to be a writer but I kept getting stuck because I didn't want to make up characters, and I wanted to talk about what they were thinking. I guess I was more interested in meaning than in plot."

"That's... really cool," Renjun said. "You sound like you've known what you wanted for a long time."

Renjun was in that one stage of his life where he had no job, no career experience or path whatsoever, and no idea of what to become. And listening to Jaemin telling him about how successfully he reached his goal made him want to hide in that tote bag next to him, getting folded in it like the loser he is, head and hands over his knees.

"I've changed my mind more times than I can count," Jaemin admitted. "But this is the one thing I kept coming back to. It made me feel like I was doing something that mattered."

Renjun nodded, slow. "Do you want to stay in academia?"

"Probably. I'd like to. But it's competitive. Uncertain. A lot of hoops. I need to publish, get postdocs, fellowships, maybe end up with a permanent position, if I'm lucky."

"That sounds stressful."

"It is," Jaemin said. "But I'm used to chasing things with no guarantees. It's kind of the whole deal."

Renjun looked down at his fiddling hands, then out the window again. "I don't know what I want yet." He also isn't sure whether this conversation is making him uncomfortable or not, but he's willing to engage in it.

"That's allowed."

"I like philosophy," Renjun said. "But I don't know if I love it. Some days I also like painting. And film. And sometimes I want to work at a flower shop and never talk to anyone again."

Jaemin chuckled. "Philosophy and floristry have more in common than you think."

Renjun laughed under his breath. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Philosophers disappear into flower shops all the time."

"Do they?"

"I don't know," Jaemin said. "But I'd believe it."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I."

Renjun was quiet for a moment. The weight in his chest had shifted, it still felt full, but not as tight. Something he hadn't realized he was holding had been gently set down.

"Do you think I'm doing okay?" he asked suddenly, not sure where it came from.

Jaemin looked over again. "Yes. I do."

Something about the way he said it, certain, but not patronizing made Renjun feel warm in a way that made no sense. Whatever, probably just the grain in his voice lighting a fire in his belly the way a matchstick could.

Then, out of nowhere, Jaemin asked, "You're interested in Kierkegaard, right?"

Renjun turned his head, surprised. "I mean... yeah? I liked what you said about him in class."

"You made a good point the other day," Jaemin said, eyes still on the road.

Renjun blinked. "That was, like... a half-thought."

"Still stuck with me," Jaemin said simply. "A lot of students don't think out loud the way you do. They just try to sound right."

"So you were... listening?"

"I'm your professor, am I not?"

Renjun rolled his eyes instinctively, but his face warmed. His chest ached in a way he didn't have the vocabulary for. Not romantic, not really.

After a long pause, Jaemin added, "If you're really into Kierkegaard, there's a private copy of Fear and Trembling in the campus archive annotated by a student from the '70s. Margins full of scribbles and heartbreak."

Renjun blinked. "Seriously?"

"I can recommend it to you," Jaemin said, turning into the dorm parking lot. "It's not technically part of the program, but I think you'd appreciate it."

It was such a small thing, such a nerdy, academic thing, but something about it made Renjun's throat tighten. He hadn't expected this. Not a ride, not kindness, and definitely not an actual suggestion tailored just for him. When Jaemin parked, Renjun hesitated for a second before reaching for the door.

"Thanks. For the ride," he said.

As he opened the door, Jaemin added, "I meant what I said. About that copy. Ask me for it next week."

The door of the car shut quietly behind him, and Renjun lingered on the curb, air thick in his lungs. He watched Jaemin's car pull away into the dusk-smeared street, the red glow of the taillights receding until they disappeared around a bend. Only when the silence rushed back in did Renjun notice how tightly his fingers were curled around the strap of his bag.

His mind was still tangled in that car ride. Jaemin's voice still low in his ears, and now he was back here, dropped into the ordinary world like someone waking up mid-dream. He barely had time to exhale before someone called out, voice familiar and low and laced with something like surprise.

"Hey—Renjun?"

Renjun turned.

Someone he recognized as being Jeno, the guy living a few rooms away from his, stood a few steps away, his hoodie tied loosely around his waist, t-shirt clinging in a way that left nothing of his broad chest or toned arms to the imagination. His hair was damp and tousled, like he'd just run his fingers through it after a shower, or after sweating through a workout. There was a sheen of leftover effort on his skin that made Renjun's throat inexplicably dry. The amount of testosterone he encountered today was suffocating at this point.

It wasn't like he'd just noticed Jeno's looks (he wasn't blind) but somehow, seeing him like this, slightly flushed and fresh from the gym, felt different. Less like something to observe and more like something that caught him off guard. Something a little unfair if we had to be honest here.

"I thought that was you," Jeno said with a smile, gesturing vaguely toward the road. "Was that... someone from the faculty?"

"Uh... yeah. Kind of."

"That was Mr. Na's car, wasn't it?" Jeno asked, still casual. "I recognized the sticker on the back. He usually parks next to the library."

"Yep, that's the one." Renjun muttered. Then, catching himself, glanced over. "You coming back from the gym?"

Jeno nodded, adjusting the strap of his gym bag. "Yeah. Tried to go early today but overslept. Didn't expect to run into you."

"Yeah, I—uh..." Renjun glanced back toward the sidewalk, trying to recalibrate his thoughts. "He offered me a ride back. It was a family thing."

"Sounds serious," Jeno said, not pushing, just curious in that open, comfortable way he always seemed to be. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." The answer came quickly, too quickly again. Renjun added, "Just tired, I guess. A lot of people. A lot of talking."

"Talking's overrated," Jeno said with a grin. "Wanna walk back together?"

Renjun nodded, already falling into step beside him as they crossed the courtyard. The evening had cooled down, the sky dusky and quiet, and Jeno's presence was steady and uncomplicated in a way that Renjun hadn't realized he needed.

"So," Jeno said as they passed under a flickering lamp, "what's it like? Having a family connection to one of your professors?"

Renjun hesitated. "Weird. He's kind of intimidating, but then sometimes he'll say something totally normal, and I forget he's also the person grading my essays."

Jeno laughed again, and it lit up his whole face. "I get that. I once saw him feeding pigeons on campus. Totally broke the illusion."

"Please don't tell me that's a regular thing."

"Afraid so," Jeno said, mock-grave. "You didn't hear it from me."

They reached the front door of the dorm, already knowing to bypass the elevator and head for the stairs. They both preferred it, even if neither had said it out loud. As they climbed, Jeno glanced over, softer now.

"If you ever wanna talk about it, you know, having a pigeon feeder teacher in your family, I'm around. Not to be nosy, but... I'm a good listener. And I can make microwave mochi."

Renjun turned to him with a blink. "Microwave mochi?"

"Don't judge until you've tried it. It's a comfort food masterpiece."

Renjun let out a soft laugh. "Maybe I will, then."

They reached their floor, the hallway dim and quiet at this hour. They paused by their doors, 313 and 315.

"You know where to knock."

Renjun nodded. "Right next door."

"Exactly." Jeno stepped backward toward his room, then added, "Sleep well, Renjun."

"You too."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Mark hears the door before it opens. Not the creak of the hinges, that's easy enough to ignore, but the uneven rhythm of steps outside. Hesitant. Slower than usual. Renjun.

He keeps typing, pretending to focus on his essay, though he's barely written two lines in the last hour. The cursor blinks like it's mocking him.

The door swings open.

Renjun shuffles in, hoodie up despite the warm weather, his expression a weird blend of dazed and don't ask. Mark glances up, eyebrows raised.

"You look like you got hit by a summer camp."

Renjun throws his backpack onto the bed and faceplants beside it. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Mark makes a hum of acknowledgment and spins slightly in his chair. "Was your family that bad?"

Renjun groans into the sheets.

Mark turns back to his laptop, but his eyes don't quite make it to the screen. Instead, they drift to the confetti stuck in Renjun's hair, like a mocking reminder of suburban purgatory. There's lemonade crust on his sleeve.

"I sat next to Mr. Na in a car for forty-seven minutes," Renjun mumbles into the mattress.

"Nice," he says, he doesn't know exactly who Mr. Na is, but he sure notices how Renjun's voice shifts whenever he mentions him.

Renjun rolls onto his side, his hair sticking up in all the wrong places. "And his friend was there. Long black hair, super pretty, maybe even more than a friend."

Mark's eyebrows twitch. "A coworker?"

"She's so pretty," Renjun says, tragic. "And cool. And smart. And she definitely thinks I'm a child."

Mark leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "Did she say that?"

"No," Renjun mutters. "But she looked like she did, they all do"

Mark snorts before he can stop himself.

Renjun hurls a pillow at him. "You're the worst."

"You're the one who wants to date your professor."

Renjun groans again, but there's no venom in it. Mark watches him for a second longer, then turns back to his screen. His fingers hover over the keys. He doesn't type.

That night, Mark takes a walk.

He doesn't need to, not really. But the air in the apartment feels heavy lately, so he heads out, hoodie up, earbuds in but no music playing. It's late enough that the bookstore lights are off but he still walks past it. Just to check. Just to see.

Donghyuck sitting on the curb just outside, sipping something from a convenience store cup, was tapping his fingers against his knee like he's trying to summon a song. He looks up when he hears footsteps, and the surprise in his face vanishes fast.

"Didn't peg you for the haunting type," Donghyuck says.

Mark stops a few feet away. "Didn't peg you for the brooding type."

Donghyuck shrugs, looks back down at his drink. "I'm multifaceted." A second of silence. It stretches. Something unsaid lingers between them, something that once could've been easy. Mark sits down beside him.

"You think Renjun's okay with that teacher guy? Am I the only one thinking it's weird?" he asks after a while, voice low.

Donghyuck hums. "Define okay."

"You know what I mean."

Another pause.

"He's in deep," Donghyuck finally says. "But he doesn't know how to swim."

Mark glances at him. "And you do?"

Donghyuck meets his gaze, just for a second. Then looks away.

"No," he says. "But I've drowned before."

Mark doesn't ask what that means, he doesn't need to.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The seminar room wasn't anything special, just another box of white walls and mismatched chairs, with a table too narrow for anyone to sit comfortably without knocking knees. Renjun had arrived early out of habit, which turned out to mean nothing, because he wasn't the first one there.

Three girls were already settled at the far end of the room, half-lounging across the benches, mid-laugh over something he couldn't catch. They looked so at ease that for a second Renjun wondered if he'd walked into the wrong group.

The tall one with the dark hair noticed him first. Her smile was immediate. "Renjun, right?"

He blinked, halfway through unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. "Um. Yeah."

"You're in our group," she said, shifting over to make space as the others glanced over. "I'm Karina. This is Giselle, and that's Winter."

Winter, the one in a pale oversized hoodie, gave a little wave with her fingers still wrapped around a can of iced coffee. Giselle offered a lazy peace sign, her expression unreadable but not unfriendly.

"Oh," Renjun said. "Okay. Cool."

"You wanna sit?" Karina asked, patting the spot next to her. "We don't bite."

"That's a lie," Giselle muttered. "She bit me once in first year."

"I was proving a point," Karina said flatly.

Renjun laughed before he meant to. Just a small sound, but enough to surprise himself. He sat down carefully, dropping his bag at his feet and smoothing out his sleeves like it gave him something to do with his hands.

"We were just talking about seminar survival rates," Karina said. "So far we've lost two students to mental breakdowns, one to transfer, and possibly one to a very dramatic study abroad escape."

"She wasn't even enrolled in the program," Giselle added. "She just liked the vibes and the coffee machine."

Renjun glanced at the whiteboard, then back at them. "This class sounds cursed."

"Oh, it is," Winter said brightly. "But, like, fun-cursed. The kind that builds character."

"You'll be fine," Karina said, nudging him with her shoulder. "You look like you've got the kind of quiet rage that gets you through it."

"I don't think I do," Renjun said automatically, but he was smiling now. "Maybe just the quiet part."

"Perfect," Giselle said. "You can be our moral compass. Or at least the one who doesn't say insane things when the professor asks questions."

"Speaking of," Winter said, glancing at the clock. "How long do we think Na's going to make us wait this time?"

Karina stretched, unapologetic. "Long enough for me to bring up that we're having a party on Friday."

Giselle groaned. "God, here we go."

Karina ignored her. "You're invited, Renjun. It's just at our place, off campus, nothing huge, but people drop in and out. Free food, bad decisions."

Renjun blinked. "Uh..."

"You don't have to come," Karina said quickly. "But it might help balance out the existential dread this course gives you."

Winter nodded solemnly. "School is best followed by loud music and something sugary."

"You could bring someone, if that makes it less weird," Giselle added. "Friend, enemy, secret nemesis. Whatever works."

Renjun looked between the three of them. They were already back to teasing each other, side conversations springing up like they'd known each other for years.

"Okay," he said finally. "I might come."

"Might is good," Karina said, smiling. "Might is hopeful."

And then, before he could second guess himself, the seminar door creaked open again and Professor Na walked in with a stack of books and a distracted look in his eyes. Renjun pulled out his phone.

 

me:
i accidentally made friends

hyuckles:
???
who did u threaten

me:
no threats
just vibes
seminar girls adopted me or smth

hyuckles:
WHAT GIRLS
are they pretty
do they like me yet

me:
karina, winter, giselle
you'd last 5 minutes before they collectively ended your bloodline

hyuckles:
ok so obsessed with me already
when do i meet them

me:
they're throwing a party friday
they invited me
i can bring someone

hyuckles:
and u thought of me???
my heart
it's literally glowing right now

me:
you're the only person i know who won't let me fake-text in a corner the whole time

hyuckles:
that's bc i will be in the corner fake-texting you
while u seduce girls and make ur professor jelly

me:
you're a menace

hyuckles:
and ur going
bc this is growth
also free snacks

me:
you're not allowed to say anything weird for at least 30 minutes

hyuckles:
define weird
bc u think "do u think love is a social construct or divine punishment" is small talk

me:
you asked a barista if their soul was for sale to get a discount

hyuckles:
and she laughed??
we follow each other on insta now

me:
30 minutes
of normal
or i'm letting the karina girl psychoanalyze you until you cry

hyuckles:
kinky
see u friday

 

"Something interesting?" Jaemin asked mildly.

His head snapped up like he'd been electrocuted.  His phone lit up again with kinky. see u friday, but he scrambled to flip it over, nearly dropping it into his lap in the process. Jaemin was standing by the whiteboard now, having just dropped his books on the front table. His gaze was calm, almost unreadable, but it was absolutely directed at Renjun.

Renjun blinked. Then flailed to flip his phone face-down on his knee, managing to smack it against the edge of his chair in the process. It clattered pathetically.

"No," he said too quickly, voice strangled and guilty. "Just—uh. Logistics. Sorry."

Jaemin tilted his head, one brow lifting, and Renjun felt it like a microscope settling over him. His cheeks burned. He could feel Winter watching him from two seats over, and Karina leaning slightly forward with the kind of intrigued look that meant she was filing this away for later dissection. Giselle let out a soft chuckle.

"Logistics," Jaemin repeated, not quite a question. His tone wasn't mean, but it had that lightly sarcastic lilt to it. "I doubt it's urgent."

He sank lower in his seat, pressing his palm over his phone as if that might somehow erase the last five minutes of his life.

"Phones away," Jaemin added with a faint smile, turning to the board. "Let's try staying present today. I promise it's worth it." He picked up a piece of chalk, pushing his sleeves up further as he wrote in all caps: PERCEPTION.

"Today I want to talk about how we construct ourselves," he began, turning back to face them. "How we see ourselves, how others see us, and how those versions often don't align."

Jaemin didn't look at Renjun when he said it, but the room did. Renjun wanted to melt through the floor and seep into the pipes. He nodded mutely, locking his phone and sliding it into his bag. Great. Just great. First he drunkenly hit on his professor in a wedding bathroom. Then he made eye contact with him over mini-quiches and spilled lemonade. And now he'd been publicly called out for texting Donghyuck about whatever his insanity had in mind.

This was not a crush. This was karmic punishment.

Renjun folded his hands in his lap and stared hard at the chalkboard.

"Let's start simple," Jaemin said, pacing a little. "Who do you think you are when you walk into a room? What do you hope people notice about you first?"

Karina raised her hand immediately. "That I know what I'm doing," she said. "Even if I don't."

Winter nodded. "Same. Confidence first, competence second."

Renjun sat very still. Jaemin was looking around, letting his gaze move slowly from one student to the next. When his eyes landed on Renjun again, just for a second longer than necessary, Renjun looked down and hoped someone else would speak up.

Giselle finally did. "I hope people think I'm funny. It's my defense mechanism. If I'm making you laugh, you're not noticing the rest."

The teacher looked back at the board, drawing three circles that barely overlapped. "There's who you think you are. There's who you want to be. And then there's how people actually see you. The trouble is, we rarely get to control that third one. Not completely."

He was never telling Donghyuck anything again. Ever.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The hallway was quiet this late. Too quiet. Renjun had always liked the stillness of night, when the world finally stopped performing. But tonight, it felt like everything was too loud inside him. The blanket was too hot, the room too dark, and his thoughts too restless to pin down.

Let me explain: he'd been lying in bed for at least an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted every time he remembered the party. Or more specifically, the casual offer: You can bring someone. And how his first thought hadn't been Donghyuck, though he had texted him, because of course he had. No. His first thought had been someone else entirely.

Jeno.

Which was insane, they'd spoken—what? Twice? Still. The thought sat heavy in his chest, refusing to move. And now he was doing the very thing he hated: overthinking.

He stared at the ceiling a moment longer. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, Renjun kicked off his blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet hit the floor silently, bare, cold against the laminate and he padded across the room to the door, dragging his sleeves over his hands. His pajama pants were soft and slightly wrinkled and his hair was still a little messy from how many times he'd shifted in bed.

He opened the door silently not to wake Mark up. The hallway was as dim and empty as he expected. For a full five seconds, he stood there like an idiot, completely still. This is so dumb.

And then he knocked.

It was soft, a hesitant little tap-tap against the door to 315. He almost turned and ran.

The door opened after a moment, and there was Jeno, blinking at him in the hallway light, a tank top, sweatpants, hair damp like he'd just showered or maybe just hadn't dried it earlier, and biceps. His expression went from confusion to surprise to concern in a second flat.

"Renjun?" he asked, voice low with sleep. "Hey. Is everything okay?"

Renjun opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, panicked at the realization he had no plan for what he was supposed to say — and Jeno's arms right there in front of him made it impossible to think of something on the spot.

"I, uh—yeah. Sorry. I just—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's nothing. Kind of."

Jeno tilted his head slightly. He didn't move to close the door. "You look like you just escaped a dream and came to file a report."

Renjun laughed under his breath. "Feels like that." He stepped back awkwardly, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this probably looked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. It's stupid."

"You didn't," Jeno said gently. "Seriously, what's up?"

Renjun looked at him. Then down at his own feet, then back up again. "There's this party," he said finally. "Some people from my seminar group. They invited me. Said I could bring someone, if I wanted."

Jeno's brows lifted slightly. "Oh. Cool."

Renjun rushed on, voice getting faster. "And I thought—well, Donghyuck's going, you know, the tan guy in that room next to you. But then I thought maybe you'd want to come? Too? With me? Not, like, with me, with me. Just... there. Also."

Jeno blinked. Renjun wanted to melt directly into the floor. But then slowly Jeno's face split into a warm, sleepy grin.

"You came all the way over here to ask me that?"

Renjun rubbed his sleeve over his face, groaning. "I knew it was weird."

Jeno leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "I'd love to go. With you. Like—not with you, with you."

They stood there for a second, the quiet stretching between them again. But it wasn't definitely even more awkward this time.

Jeno smiled, soft and a little shy. "Friday, right?"

Renjun nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll be ready."

"Okay."

"Do you want to come in?" Jeno offered, stepping aside slightly.

Renjun hesitated. He wanted to. But the adrenaline was fading, and he was starting to remember he was barefoot and in pajamas and half-delirious from late-night emotion.

"I should probably go," he said, then added quickly, "Not because I don't want to. I do. I just. My brain's short-circuiting."

Jeno laughed. "Fair enough. But next time, come in."

"Next time?" Renjun grinned despite himself. "Goodnight, Jeno."

"Night, Jun."

And this time, when he padded back to his room and slipped under his blankets, everything felt a little lighter. Maybe the party wouldn't be so bad. Maybe this whole semester wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting something he hadn't expected, but already couldn't stop thinking about.

Chapter Text

Renjun had no idea how he'd ended up shirtless in Donghyuck's room, arms lifted, while Ningning dabbed something glittery onto his collarbones with infuriating precision. She was... terrifying in the way only very pretty, very stylish people who had total control over their lives could be. He'd met her exactly seven minutes ago, introduced as "my favorite menace" by Donghyuck, who then tossed Renjun a shirt he immediately deemed "too boring" and banished to the floor.

"She's in one of my classes," Donghyuck had said, as if that explained why she was currently contouring Renjun's jawline like her final grade depended on it. "And don't flinch—Ningning takes it personally."

"Because I do," she confirmed, tilting his chin up. "I've been entrusted with your face. That's a sacred responsibility."

Renjun opened his mouth to argue, but she tapped his lips with a fluffy brush. "No talking. You'll mess up your symmetry. So," Ningning said lightly, as if they'd known each other forever, "what's your deal?"

"My... what?"

"Your deal," she repeated, brushing shimmer along his cheekbones. "Hyuck says you're in love with your professor."

"I never said that—"

Donghyuck cut in with a snort. "You kind of did. With your eyes. And your soul."

Renjun looked in the mirror and saw his bed behind him. It was covered in clothes, some of his own and some he'd never seen before. In the middle of the whole bunch was an outfit layed down for him, and just him.

"This is not what I meant when I said 'casual party outfit,'" he grumbled, trying not to squirm as she tilted his chin up like a canvas.

Donghyuck lounged on his bed, one sock on, one sock missing, sipping a canned coffee like a proud director watching a masterpiece unfold. "You said you wanted to make an impression. I'm just making sure it's not a tragic one."

Ningning rolled her eyes but smiled. "Honestly, you have great bone structure. I should start charging for this."

"She's not kidding," Donghyuck added. "She can turn a mannequin into a main character. You're welcome."

Renjun snorted. "I'm not your puppet."

“Kinky.”

"Please," Ningning said, popping open a compact. "Now stop talking. Your lips are uneven."

In the corner, Mark sat at his desk, pretending to scroll through something on his laptop. His eyes kept flicking up from the screen, lingering just a second too long on Donghyuck's reflection in the mirror or the curve of Renjun's shoulder.

Renjun caught him looking and, for reasons he chose not to examine, felt the need to say, "I invited someone, by the way. Jeno. The guy from the dorm."

"Jeno?" Donghyuck perked up immediately, abandoning his coffee. "When did you meet a Jeno and why does that sound hot?"

"He lives across the hall," Renjun said, trying to stay still while Ningning did something to his eyebrows. "We bumped into each other. He's nice. Thought I'd invite him."

Mark looked up. "You know, I support this. Sounds like he's more accessible than..what's his name? Professor Untouchable."

Renjun flushed. "I never said he was untouchable."

"You didn't have to," Donghyuck grinned. "You get this face every time you say the words 'philosophy seminar.'"

Ningning giggled. "So Jeno's the new target?"

Renjun sighed. "He's just a nice guy. That's all."

Donghyuck leaned in, resting his chin on Renjun's shoulder like a devil on one side of a very annoyed angel. "Nice guys are underrated. Plus, if he shows up tonight, we'll know if he passes the vibe check."

Mark hummed, almost to himself. "If he makes it through Hyuck's interrogation, I'll ship it."

"Mark Lee, did you just use the word ship unironically?" Donghyuck teased, arching an eyebrow. "Who even are you?"

Mark shrugged. "I've been influenced."

"You're welcome," Donghyuck said sweetly, and for a moment, the air changed like they both remembered something neither of them wanted to say out loud.
Ningning, tossed Renjun a cropped shirt. "Wear this. If he doesn't fall in love with you, I will."

Renjun groaned, but he slid it on anyway.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The dorm's front doors swung open with theatrical flair — Donghyuck's doing, obviously — and the trio spilled out into the evening air like they were heading to a red carpet instead of a crowded student party with cheap drinks and worse decisions.

Renjun tugged self-consciously at the hem of his cropped black top, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to make him feel both exposed and weirdly powerful. "I look ridiculous."

"You look hot," Ningning corrected, looping her arm through his like she was escorting a celebrity. "People are going to write songs about you."

"They'll write tweets," Donghyuck said, slinging an arm around Renjun's other shoulder. "And if they're lucky, you'll like one of them."

Renjun opened his mouth to argue, only to walk directly into Jeno. For a second, there was just... staring. Jeno looked good. white hoodie, a little damp around the hairline like he'd just showered, all clean lines and soft eyes. He looked at Renjun like he hadn't expected to see him like this. Or at all.

"Renjun?" Jeno asked, eyes briefly flicking down and back up with a surprised kind of softness. "You, uh... look..."

"Say 'nice' and I'm leaving," Renjun said flatly.

Jeno laughed. "I was gonna say 'cool,' but yeah, nice too."

Donghyuck stepped forward with the precision of a shark circling fresh prey. "So you're Jeno."

Jeno nodded, glancing between them. "Yeah?"

"I'm Donghyuck," he said, hand already out for a shake. "Renjun's best friend, chaos manager, part-time stylist, full-time problem. This is Ningning. She's responsible for the glow."

Ningning gave a small bow. "You're welcome."

Jeno looked charmed and slightly overwhelmed. "Cool. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, can we not scare the guests away?" Renjun made a face.

"Not if they're this cute," Donghyuck said, grinning. "You're still coming, right?"

Jeno smiled at Renjun. "If the invite still stands."

"It does," Renjun mumbled, tugging at his sleeves.

Donghyuck was already walking ahead, scrolling through his phone. "Let's go. Glitter waits for no one."

They'd barely made it halfway down the sidewalk before Donghyuck and Ningning had surged ahead, locked in a debate about whether the party would have decent lighting or if they'd need to hijack someone's ring light for their pictures. Their voices bounced off the buildings, loud and theatrical, like they were starring in a drama only they understood. Renjun hung back without meaning to, walking side by side with Jeno, who matched his pace easily.

Jeno glanced at him. "You really do look cool."

Renjun rolled his eyes, but his cheeks betrayed him with the faintest flush. "You don't have to say that."

"I mean it. It suits you."

Renjun looked down at his boots. "It's mostly Ningning and Hyuck. I didn't even know I owned a crop top."

Jeno laughed. "They seem like the kind of people who would dig through your closet and judge your socks."

"Oh, Hyuck definitely has. He gave me a lecture about novelty prints."

They both smiled, the kind of quiet, lopsided smiles that weren't big enough to be embarrassing but were real all the same.

After a beat, Jeno asked, "So... what kind of party is this? Like, dancing? Games? Standing in corners pretending to text?"

"Honestly? No idea. I only met the hosts once. They're in my seminar group, super nice, super terrifying. I think it's just loud music, cheap drinks, and vague chaos."

"Sounds fun," Jeno said. "I'm good at pretending I know what I'm doing."

Renjun glanced at him sideways. "You seem like you actually do, though."

Jeno shrugged, looking sheepish. "I'm just good at looking calm."

They walked in silence for a few steps. It wasn't uncomfortable. Up ahead, Ningning laughed at something Hyuck said, the sound floating back toward them like a soundtrack.

Renjun slowed just a little. "You didn't have to come, by the way. I wouldn't have blamed you for staying in."

"I wanted to," Jeno said, simply. "It sounded like a good excuse to see you again."

Renjun looked over at him then, really looked. Jeno's smile wasn't huge, but it was warm. For a second, Renjun forgot about crop tops and glitter, and Jaemin's crooked smile living rent-free in his brain.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The party was already breaking several fire codes.

The apartment buzzed with energy: LED lights flashing too fast, bass shaking the sticky floorboards, people yelling over the music like that would help. The air smelled like spiked punch, perfume, and something vaguely citrusy that might have been a candle or a cleaning product or someone's body spray.

Renjun stood half-sheltered by the kitchen archway, next to Jeno, who looked infuriatingly calm for someone surrounded by sweaty strangers and questionable lighting.

Across the room, Ningning was mid-dance with Donghyuck, both of them having what looked like a dramatic dance battle to a remix of a song that absolutely did not warrant interpretive moves. Ningning spun, hair flying, and screamed, "I WIN!"

"Only because I'm letting you!" Donghyuck yelled, clutching his drink like it was a microphone.

"You're both losers," Winter said, sliding up to the group like she'd been waiting for her cue. Her drink was neon pink. Her lip gloss could probably blind a man at ten feet.

Karina followed, sipping something out of a cup shaped like a pineapple. "I look amazing."

"You do," Giselle said from behind them, casually adjusting her tiny sunglasses even though it was night and they were indoors. "It's disgusting."

Renjun blinked as all three of them turned their attention toward him and Jeno. He suddenly felt very aware of the crop top. And the eyeliner. And the way Jeno's shoulder kept brushing his every time someone squeezed by.

"Renjun!" Karina grinned, already pulling him forward by the wrist. "You look hot. When did this happen? Who approved this?"

"Hyuck and Ningning," Renjun muttered.

"Figures," Winter said. "You look like you belong in a K-pop comeback teaser. Ten out of ten. No notes."

Renjun opened his mouth to respond, but Karina was already zeroing in on Jeno. "And you must be the boy." God. Donghyuck, shut UP.

Jeno blinked. "I guess I am?"

"Not a guess," Giselle said, looking him up and down. "You're a boyfriend in a webtoon."

Jeno looked helplessly at Renjun, who just shrugged with a tiny, amused smile.

"Where'd you find him?" Winter asked. "He's cute."

"In the hallway," Renjun said.

"Romantic," Karina said. "Like a college AU. We love."

"You two are dancing," Giselle decided. "Now. Or I'm posting this entire conversation out of context on my story."

"What even is the context?" Jeno asked.

"Doesn't matter," Karina said, grabbing Renjun's hand and pushing them gently toward the living room. "Go. Suffer. Be flirty. Fall in love."

Donghyuck caught them mid-march, planting a dramatic kiss on Renjun's forehead and whispering, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do.” Which is nothing. He would do everything.

Renjun shoved him away, but he was laughing now, cheeks warm, Jeno still beside him as the music swallowed them whole.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Eventually, the music got overwhelming, and the room started to spin (not in a bad way, just in a wow, I need air and possibly hydration kind of way). Renjun grabbed Jeno's hand and tugged him toward the kitchen like it was muscle memory, dodging a pair of people making out against the hallway wall.

Jeno laughed behind him, just a little breathless. "Where are we going?"

"Drink break," Renjun said. "Before I pass out and get immortalized on someone's BeReal."

The kitchen was slightly quieter, slightly, but still filled with people crowding around counters and a drink table that looked like it had been organized once, maybe two hours ago, and then abandoned to chaos. There was a mostly-empty punch bowl, a row of soda bottles, and an alarming variety of unlabeled liquor bottles. This genuinely felt cliché, and Renjun regretted he hadn’t brought anything to the party. Whatever, there was enough already anyway.

Renjun poured something vaguely fruity and fizzy into two plastic cups, added a generous splash from a neon pink bottle with a glittery label, and handed one to Jeno.

"This is either delicious or a crime," he said.

Jeno took it with a grin. "Cheers to crimes."

They clinked their cups. Renjun took a sip and winced. "Okay. That's straight sugar."

"Yeah," Jeno said after tasting his. "But it's fun, sugar, I can feel my heart race."

Renjun noted there were two ways of hearing that sentence, and he didn’t dislike it.

They leaned back against the counter, a little too close, the kind of close that felt like gravity had made a decision on their behalf. Renjun could feel the heat from Jeno's arm, the way he was looking at him. The silence was getting awkward, even with the music blasting through their eardrums.

"You party a lot?" Jeno asked.

Renjun shook his head. "Not really. I'm more of a 'cry to sad playlists and eat yogurt at midnight' kind of guy."

Jeno laughed into his drink. "That's weirdly specific."

"I contain multitudes."

"I can tell."

Renjun tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Is that a compliment?"

"It's a you're very cool and I might be slightly obsessed with you," Jeno said, surprisingly casual for someone saying something that made Renjun's brain short-circuit.

Renjun choked on his drink a little. "You can't just say stuff like that."

"Why not?" Jeno smiled, leaning a little closer, just enough that Renjun felt it in his knees. "You're the one who dragged me into a party and gave me illegal glitter juice."

Renjun stared at him, heart pounding. "I didn't put glitter in the drink."

"Didn't you?"

"Nope."

They both looked into their cups. Tiny sparkles floated near the surface.

"...That's fine," Jeno said. "We're glowing now. It's romantic."

Renjun laughed, loud and crisp and a little tipsy. Jeno watched him with that same soft, open expression, like he could do this all night and he wanted to. And honestly, Renjun kind of did too.

Renjun was laughing at something stupid Jeno said, something about glitter drinks being illegal in at least three countries, when a hand snuck in between them, grabbed Renjun's wrist, and tugged.

"Borrowing him," Ningning said sweetly, already yanking Renjun in the opposite direction. "Don't worry, lover boy. I'll give him back."

Jeno blinked, halfway into a sip of his drink, and looked betrayed. "Am I being ditched?"

"Momentarily," Renjun called over his shoulder. "I think I'm being abducted."

"You're welcome!" Ningning said cheerfully, disappearing with him down the hallway and away from the noise. She pulled him into one of the guest rooms. It was dimly lit, with someone's coat pile on the bed and a half-deflated balloon in the corner. She immediately kicked the door half shut with her heel, the sound of the party muffled behind them.

Renjun blinked. "Um."

"Sit," Ningning ordered, pointing to the edge of the bed. "I'm not done with your face yet."

He sat cautiously. "Are you adding more makeup?"

"No. I'm adding truth." She crossed her arms, leaning against the dresser like she was conducting an interrogation. "So. Jeno."

Renjun groaned. "Oh my God."

"Oh my God yes," she said, grinning like a fox. "You've been hovering around him all night like you're in a coming-of-age movie and the confession scene is about to happen under string lights."

"I wasn't hovering," Renjun muttered. "We were talking."

"Yeah," she said. "Talking. With your faces very close and your voices all soft and twinkly."

He stared at her. "Twinkly?"

"Don't fight me on this, Renjun. I'm a gay whisperer."

Renjun flopped back on the bed dramatically, covering his face with his hands. "I just met him."

"Uh-huh."

"It's not like that."

"Uh-huh."

Renjun peeked through his fingers. "It's a little like that."

Ningning beamed. "I knew it."

There was a moment of quiet as she sat beside him, pulling a pillow into her lap and hugging it loosely. The music from outside was still distant, but the bass pulsed gently through the walls like a heartbeat.

"I don't know what to do with this," Renjun admitted, voice soft now. "He's so... nice."

Ningning's voice lost its teasing edge. "You're not used to nice?"

Renjun hesitated. "He has biceps Ningning.."

Ningning sighed: “God.”

"Right?"

"Does he make you laugh?"

"Not really but he’s trying."

"Does he make you feel safe?"

Renjun looked down at his hands. "I wanna bite his shoulders."

Ningning leaned her head against his shoulder. "Never get the glitter juice again."

He sighed. "I just don't want to mess it up. I tend to do that."

"Renjun," she said, looking up at him, "you wore a crop top to a party. You're already winning."

He laughed, and she smiled like she'd accomplished her mission.

"Seriously," she added. "You deserve someone who doesn't make you feel like you have to try so hard all the time. Jeno looks at you like he's already chosen you."

"You think?"

"I know," she said, standing up. "And if you don't kiss him tonight, I will. Just to speed things along."

He rolled his eyes, standing to follow her. "Please don't."

"No promises."

She took his hand, like she had earlier, and tugged him toward the door. The hallway seemed louder when they stepped back out, the thump of the music wrapping around them like a pulse. People were crowded near the kitchen, someone had turned the lights lower, and there was an impromptu dance circle forming in the living room. But Renjun wasn't looking at any of that.

His eyes found Jeno immediately, still by the drinks table now with Donghyuck beside him, the two of them half-turned toward each other in that casual-but-focused way that meant something real was being said. Jeno looked calm as ever, his fingers wrapped around a red cup, the corners of his mouth lifted just slightly like he was trying not to smile. Donghyuck, on the other hand, had a familiar glint in his eyes, the same one he wore when he was teasing someone just to get a reaction. Not cruel. Just... sharp.

Renjun slowed. So did Ningning.

"What are they talking about?" she asked, peering ahead.

"No idea," Renjun muttered. "Donghyuck looks like he's stirring something."

"He always looks like that," she said. "It's the eyebrows."

As they approached, Donghyuck caught sight of them first. His smirk curved wider. "Look who survived the girl talk session."

Jeno turned too, gaze landing on Renjun with that same gentle warmth from earlier. "Welcome back. Were you kidnapped?"

"Emotionally," Renjun said, stepping up beside him. "But I think I needed it."

"You did," Ningning said cheerfully, grabbing another drink. "He's emotionally constipated. I'm just here to help things flow."

Donghyuck choked on his sip. "Please don't say things like that."

Jeno laughed quietly, his shoulder brushing Renjun's as they both shifted closer in the crowded room. Donghyuck's eyes flicked between them for a moment. Barely a second.

Then he turned back to Jeno and said, "So. You're the guy, huh?"

Jeno blinked. "What guy?"

"I like you," Donghyuck said, with just a little too much meaning. "You're quiet, and you look like an absolute loser.”

"I'm really not," Jeno said, amused.

"Sure," Donghyuck replied, tilting his head. "Not yet."

Renjun shot Donghyuck a look, half warning, half confusion. Donghyuck just sipped his drink again and looked away, already pretending the comment meant nothing.

Ningning leaned in close to Renjun's ear and whispered, "That was weird, right? That was weird?"

Renjun didn't answer. He just watched as Jeno turned to him again, a soft little tilt to his head,

"You wanna go dance?" Jeno asked, voice low enough that only Renjun could hear.

Renjun's heart stuttered. "Yeah," he said. "I do."

And as they stepped away toward the dance floor, he couldn't shake the feeling of Donghyuck's eyes on their backs—or the strange look he'd given Jeno. Not hostile. Not jealous.

They watched them go, Renjun's hair catching the lights, Jeno following just half a step behind, close enough to touch but not quite doing it. Like he didn't want to assume. Like he was waiting for permission.

"God," Ningning said, folding her arms. "They're kind of adorable."

Donghyuck tilted his head, watching them weave into the crowd. "Mm."

Ningning shot him a sideways glance. "That's the sound you make when you're thinking something bitchy."

"No," Donghyuck said, dragging out the vowel. "That's the sound I make when things get interesting."

"You like him?" she asked. "Jeno?"

Donghyuck hummed again, this one almost amused. "I know him."

Ningning blinked. "From class?"

"Not exactly." He took another sip, his expression unreadable. "He's been around."

"That's ominous," she said flatly.

Donghyuck smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "Isn't it?"

Ningning looked back toward the dance floor, where Renjun had just laughed at something Jeno said and spun in a lazy circle, pulling Jeno into the music with a crooked smile.

"They look good together," she said.

"They do," Donghyuck agreed.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The café was nearly empty, save for a soft-spoken couple in the corner and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Outside, rain streaked down the windows, turning the world beyond them into a blur of headlights and mist. Jaemin sat tucked into his usual booth, sleeves pushed up, red pen gliding sharply across a page. He hadn't touched his coffee in twenty minutes.

Across from him, Xiaoting picked at a pastry, watching him with a mix of amusement and concern. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

She tilted her head. "The intense, silent murder of someone's paper."

Jaemin didn't look up. "It's justified."

"Mm. Says the executioner."

He circled something on the page — hard — then paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His glasses slipped a little down his nose, but he didn't fix them.

"Bad?" Xiaoting asked.

"No. Worse. Almost good."

She blinked. "How is that worse?"

"It means they know better," he muttered, scribbling in the margins. "But they don't stop to prove it. It's like they think clarity is beneath them."

Xiaoting leaned over, trying to catch a name, but the stack of papers obscured it. "A first-year?"

He didn't answer, which was answer enough.

She smirked. "You hate when the undergrads get cocky."

"I don't hate it," he said flatly. "I just don't reward it."

"Right. You rip it apart and make them question their existence."

"That's what I'm paid for."

She snorted into her drink. "You know, you'd make a terrifying therapist."

"I'd make an honest one."

Silence settled between them for a moment, save for the scratch of Jaemin's pen and the rain against the glass. Xiaoting stirred her chai with one hand, watching him like she was waiting for something more interesting to happen: maybe a name to slip, or a rare moment of personal vulnerability. It didn't come.

"You really won't tell me your birthday, huh?" she asked eventually.

"No."

"Why?"

"I like my privacy."

"Yeah, you said that. But birthdays are, like, a basic human fact. I could ask administration and find out in five seconds."

"Then why haven't you?"

"Because I'm respecting your boundaries," she said, raising an eyebrow. "But also because it's more fun to imagine you were just grown in a vat and emerged fully formed with tenure."

Jaemin didn't even smile. "Almost."

She laughed, leaning back in her chair. "You're lucky I like you."

"I know."

She took another sip, then glanced at the clock. "We should go soon. I still have exams to finish."

Jaemin nodded but didn't look up. His eyes were still on the essay in front of him, red ink bleeding through every margin. He wasn't sure what annoyed him more, the laziness of the phrasing, or the fact that he wanted it to be better. He reread the last paragraph again, slower this time, and underlined the word ontological with a little too much pressure.

Xiaoting pulled her coat on and stood. "Don't stay here all night, okay?"

"I won't."

"You say that every time, and then you text me at 2 a.m. about metaphysics."

"It was 1:45."

"Hopeless," she muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Jaemin didn't reply. He waited until she was gone, the door chiming softly behind her, and then looked back down at the paper.

The name in the corner, Huang Renjun, stared back at him like a dare.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The dim light of the upstairs hallway barely illuminated the space, the sounds of the party muffled through the thick walls. Renjun's heart pounded in his chest, his body pressed close to Jeno, their lips tangled in a kiss that started slow and then quickly deepened. His hands rested on Jeno's chest, but as the kiss grew more intense, his mind began to race.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Renjun wasn't used to this, to being this close to someone, especially not Jeno. He had always thought of Jeno as the dorm guy, and the alcohol swirling in his bloodstream was making it difficult to differentiate between what was real and what was the influence of the night. The heat of Jeno's lips against his, the way Jeno's hands moved to his waist, Renjun wasn't sure anymore if he was just caught up in the moment.

When their mouths parted for a breath, Renjun's eyes fluttered open, his chest rising and falling erratically. Jeno's expression mirrored his: surprised, flushed, and hungry for more. But Renjun pulled away slightly, stepping back and taking a deep breath.

"Renjun?" Jeno's voice was soft, concerned. He reached out instinctively, his hand brushing against Renjun's arm. "Is everything okay?"

Renjun's eyes flickered to Jeno, his gaze full of confusion and uncertainty. "I—uh, I think we should stop," he murmured, the words feeling strange as they left his lips. The alcohol in his system was still clouding his judgment, and it was hard to think straight. "It's just... I think it's the alcohol. It's messing with my head."

Jeno stayed quiet for a moment, his hand still lingering near Renjun's arm. Renjun's heart thudded as he glanced away, unable to meet Jeno's gaze for too long.

It was the alcohol, sure. But there was something else, too. In the back of his mind, Ningning's teasing comments about his feelings and how he'd seemed so confused about Jeno kept replaying. Now he was here kissing Jeno and wondering if it was all just... a product of the pressure he felt from the others.

He didn't want to burden Jeno with that thought, though. Didn't want to bring them into it. They weren’t the reason he was stopping.

Jeno's expression softened, his thumb brushing along Renjun's wrist in a soothing gesture. "Hey, it's fine," Jeno said quietly, his voice warm and understanding. "You don't have to explain. If you're not sure about it, we can just... take a step back."

Renjun's chest tightened, partly from discomfort. "Thanks," Renjun muttered, letting out a shaky breath. "I just... I don't know. I'm not sure what I want right now."

"Yeah, I get it," Jeno replied with a small smile. "We don't have to figure it all out tonight. No rush."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The hallway outside their dorm room was dim, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a blanket after the chaos of the party. Renjun leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a faint buzz still in his head but the thrill of earlier fading into a tangle of thoughts. He wasn't even sure why he'd ended up sitting here with Donghyuck instead of just crashing into bed.

Donghyuck sat beside him, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves hanging over his hands. He looked tired,but not in a sleepy way. Tired like his brain wouldn't stop spinning.

"You kissed him," Donghyuck said after a stretch of silence, gaze focused on a crack in the opposite wall.

Renjun blinked. "What?"

"Jeno," Donghyuck clarified. "You kissed Jeno. Upstairs. In a hallway." He said it casually, like it was a weather update, but something in his voice was off.

Renjun shifted, defensive. "How do you even know that?"

Donghyuck shrugged, leaning his head back against the wall.

Renjun flushed and looked away. "It was nothing. I mean... it was something. But I stopped it."

Donghyuck hummed, noncommittal. "Because of alcohol?"

 

There was another silence, longer this time, until Renjun said quietly, "Why do you always push Jaemin?"

Donghyuck didn't answer right away. His lips quirked into a smirk, but it looked forced. "Because it's fun. Drama. Forbidden love. Professor-student trope in real life?"

"Hyuck."

Donghyuck turned his head just slightly, finally looking at him. "I just think you and Jaemin make more sense. That's all."

Renjun frowned. "How?"

"You light up around him," Donghyuck said, quick. "And it's not the same way you light up around Jeno. With Jaemin, it's like you're always trying to be smarter, braver, more... something. That chase? It makes you interesting again. You get weird when you like people. You get cautious with Jeno. But with Jaemin—"

"It's dangerous."

"It's real," Donghyuck cut in, too sharp.

Renjun flinched a little. "Why are you so involved in this, anyway?"

Donghyuck opened his mouth, paused, and then smiled like he was tucking something sharp back behind his teeth. "Because I'm your best friend. Duh."

"You've been weird lately," Renjun said, narrowing his eyes.

Donghyuck waved him off. "I'm always weird."

"No. I mean—you care too much. About this. About who I like. You're playing matchmaker like it's your life on the line."

Donghyuck stood up abruptly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. "Maybe I'm just bored. Maybe I'm trying to keep you from settling. Maybe Jaemin's hot and I'm living vicariously through your questionable taste."

Renjun stared up at him. "You're deflecting."

"And you're overthinking," Donghyuck said with a wink. "Go to bed, Jun. Tomorrow you'll probably realize none of this matters."

"But it does."

And with that, he turned and walked down the hall, not toward his room, but somewhere else. Renjun watched him go, unsettled by the whole conversation. He didn't know why Donghyuck had suddenly become so invested. Why he'd shifted from chaos to control. Why he seemed to want Renjun to reach for something as uncertain as Jaemin, when Jeno—gentle, grounded Jeno—was right there.

The door clicked shut behind Renjun, soft in the dark. He toed off his shoes with a sigh and shuffled into the room like someone who'd just barely survived an emotional hurricane. Mark looked up from his bed, where he was half under the covers, laptop open and playing a muted anime episode he clearly wasn't paying attention to.

"You look like the party chewed you up and spit you out," Mark said, pulling out one earbud.

Renjun flopped dramatically onto his own bed. "I almost hooked up with someone in a hallway."

Mark blinked. "...Bathroom would've been more on-brand."

"Lalalalala! Can’t hear anything!"

"Was it Jeno?"

Renjun cracked an eye open. "Why does everyone know?"

Mark shrugged. "Donghyuck texted me. And also you're super obvious."

Renjun groaned. "I stopped it. I said it was the alcohol, but also—I don't know. I just felt like I needed to stop."

Mark closed his laptop halfway, sitting up a little. "Okay, so... how drunk were you?"

"Tipsy. Not hallucinating. It was definitely me doing it on purpose. Until it wasn't."

Mark nodded slowly. "And you like him?"

"I think so." Renjun sat up. "But then I keep thinking about Jaemin."

At that, Mark let out the smallest sigh, like he'd been waiting for it.

"Renjun. He's your professor."

Renjun flinched a little. "You don't have to say it like that."

"I'm saying it like someone who doesn't want to have to bail you out of a disciplinary hearing," Mark deadpanned. "Come on, man. Jaemin's cool—I've talked to him. But it's a bad idea."

Renjun didn't say anything, just pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"You've been killing it in class," Mark added. "Asking smart questions, getting into that seminar group. Are you really gonna throw that away for a crush?"

Renjun stayed quiet.

Mark leaned back against the wall, more gently now. "Look, I'm not trying to lecture you. I just—I've seen people do stupid stuff because they wanted something they couldn't have. Doesn't usually end cute. At least with Jeno, it's—" He paused, then grinned. "You know. Legal."

Renjun snorted despite himself.

Mark smiled, then asked casually, "You eat anything tonight?"

"Chips. And a sip of something that tasted like watermelon and kerosene."

"Gross. Want half a bagel? I saved one from breakfast."

Renjun blinked. "You're offering me food? Are you dying?"

"I'm offering you half," Mark clarified, already unwrapping it from a napkin. "That's roommate affection, not martyrdom."

Renjun took it, chewing quietly for a moment. "Thanks."

Mark pulled the covers back over his legs. "Anytime."

There was a comfortable silence, filled only with the distant hum of someone's shower down the hall. It felt like real life again.

"I talked to Hyuck earlier," Renjun said after a while. "He was acting... strange. Kept pushing me toward Jaemin again. Like, really insistent."

Mark's eyes flicked over, subtle but alert. "Did he say why?"

"No. Just kept saying I should stop overthinking and go for it. But he wasn't joking the way he usually does. It felt personal."

Mark stilled. "You think?"

"I don't get it," Renjun admitted. "Why he cares so much. It's not like he's involved."

Mark didn't answer that.

Renjun finished the last bite of bagel and laid back on his bed. "Thanks for the food. And the reality check."

"No problem," Mark said. "Just don't make me sit through a Renjun vs. The Ethics Committee plot twist."

Renjun let out a breathy laugh. "Noted."

Mark turned the volume back up on his laptop, but only slightly. The room fell into a familiar hush again, the kind that only came from two people used to sharing silence.

Mark tossed him a blanket from the foot of his bed. "Sleep. You'll feel less unstable in the morning."

"No promises."

Mark grinned. "Then at least you'll be well-fed and dramatic."

Renjun smiled, settling under the blanket. The room buzzed gently with soft light and the hum of Mark's laptop. The party felt miles away now.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It started with Aunt Mei's voice on the phone, all sugar and schemes.

"She's charming, pretty, and age-appropriate. You don't even have to marry her, just meet her for dinner! Be social!"

Sicheng had sighed and agreed, mostly because saying no to Aunt Mei was like arguing with a thunderstorm. And that's how he found himself standing outside a cozy Korean fusion restaurant, holding a bouquet that looked too formal, wondering if he should hide it behind a planter.

He didn't have time to make a decision, Yeri showed up five minutes late and looked like a walking contradiction: boots too high for comfort, earrings shaped like cherries, and an expression that said she'd rather be anywhere else. When she spotted him, though, her posture softened just slightly.

"You brought flowers," she said, amused.

"I wasn't sure what the vibe was."

"I think Aunt Mei wanted the vibe to be wedding photos by the third date."

Sicheng smiled. "She told me not to be awkward. So, naturally, I've been thinking about it all day."

Yeri laughed. "Well, you're doing fine so far. Let's eat, I had coffee instead of lunch so I'd look skinnier, and now I'm starving."

Inside, the restaurant was dim and warm, all low-hanging lights and mismatched chairs. Their server mistook them for a couple immediately. Neither corrected her.

"So," Yeri said, twirling her metal chopsticks. "What did Mei tell you about me?"

"That you're smart, ambitious, a little bossy, and not interested in small talk."

Yeri raised an eyebrow. "She really said bossy?"

"She said it like it was a selling point."

She grinned. "Good. And she told me you're polite, quiet, and 'more handsome than he knows,' whatever that means."

Sicheng blinked. "...She said that?"

Yeri sipped her water, pleased. "Don't let it go to your head."

The food came and for a while they just ate. Then she told him about her job, her chaotic group chat with her cousins, the girl in her apartment building who keeps stealing her Amazon packages. "I left a decoy box of bricks outside my door last week," she said between bites of kimchi pasta. "It's a slow-burn trap. I want her to try."

Sicheng blinked. "That's actually kind of terrifying."

Yeri shrugged. "You learn to be creative when you live around unhinged people."

They wandered into more comfortable topics, music, bad dates, worst birthday gifts. Sicheng told her about the time Aunt Mei bought him socks with cat faces on them "to inspire more affection."

"And did it work?" Yeri asked.

"I wore them once. My coworker made a comment. I never wore them again."

When dinner ended, Yeri eyed the boba shop across the street.

"I did only come for the snacks," she said.

"I know," Sicheng said. "I'm not offended."

She grinned, and they walked over together, bickering over toppings and tea sweetness levels. They sat outside with their drinks (hers milk tea, his taro) knees bumping under the table.

"So," Yeri said finally, tapping her straw against the lid, "was this a date?"

Sicheng looked at her, thoughtful. "I think it became one."

"Are you gonna tell Mei it went well?"

He smiled. "Not yet. I think I want to keep it to myself a little longer."

Yeri didn't say anything, but her expression shifted. And then she leaned back in her chair and said, "You're paying next time."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The seminar ended later than usual, the usual hum of chatter muted by the low buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Renjun lingered behind as his classmates filed out, his paper still clutched tightly in his hands. His heart thudded in his chest, confusion clouding his mind. He had worked so hard for this: participated in every discussion, stayed up late reading and revising his notes, but when he looked at the grade written at the top of his paper, it didn't match the effort he'd put in.

C+.

He couldn't make sense of it.

The sound of papers rustling and the soft scratch of pens filled the air as Mr. Na sorted through the stack of assignments at the front of the room. Jaemin didn't notice Renjun waiting at first, absorbed in his grading. It wasn't until Renjun shifted his weight, making his presence known, that Jaemin glanced up.

Renjun hesitated for a moment, still clutching the paper. "Mr. Na... I, uh, I wanted to ask about my grade."

Jaemin blinked, seemingly surprised. "Your grade? I thought it was pretty clear in the feedback."

Renjun swallowed, trying to push down the frustration building in his chest. "I—no, it's not that. I just... I participated a lot in class, and I studied for hours. I thought I did well on the paper, but this grade—" He motioned to the paper in his hand. "I don't understand."

Jaemin leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't look at Renjun immediately, instead taking a moment to sip his coffee, clearly thinking. Renjun's gaze dropped to the red ink on his paper, the long list of critiques and comments (some of which seemed contradictory).

Jaemin finally sighed, setting his cup down and looking up at Renjun. "Renjun, I'm not grading on participation alone. If I did, this class would be a lot different." His tone was even, but Renjun could sense the firmness in it. In full honesty, just by hearing that alone, he could’ve slipped right under that desk if he wasn’t currently so devastated about his test. "The grade reflects the depth of your analysis. You've got the ideas, but you didn't back them up with enough clarity and precision. I'm grading the argumentation, not the effort."

Renjun's brow furrowed. "But... I thought I explained everything well. I—"

"You gave surface-level points, but you didn't dig deep enough. Your conclusion was weak because it didn't fully address the complexities of the topic," Jaemin interrupted gently. "I'm giving you a chance to improve it, though. You can revise it for a better grade, but you'll need to put more work into clarifying your ideas and making stronger connections."

Renjun opened his mouth to protest, but stopped, feeling a wave of confusion. He had worked hard—he really thought he had done better than this. "So... it's not about what I did wrong, but what I didn't do?" he asked slowly.

Jaemin nodded. "Exactly. You have the foundation, but you're not pushing it far enough. I need you to take the next step. Don't just explain the theories, but apply them, challenge them. Critique them. Make it your own."

Renjun thought for a moment, absorbing the feedback. He couldn't deny it—it was a fair critique. He had played it safe, focusing too much on repeating ideas rather than offering his own analysis. But still, the grade felt like a punch to the gut, despite the clarity Jaemin was providing.

"Okay," Renjun said quietly. "I'll try again. Thanks."

Jaemin gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Good. And don't stress. You'll get it right next time. Just take your time."

Renjun turned to leave, the weight of the conversation still hanging on him, but before he could walk away, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey."

Renjun looked up and saw Jeno standing in the doorway of the classroom, his face lighting up when he saw him. "I came to pick you up," Jeno said, stepping into the room and walking toward Renjun. "You ready to go?"

Renjun gave him a tight smile, trying to push the frustration from his mind. "Yeah, just... needed to talk to Mr. Na for a second."

Jaemin, who had been watching the interaction from his desk, remained quiet as Jeno walked up to Renjun. Renjun quickly folded the paper in half and stuffed it into his bag, eager to escape the lingering awkwardness.

As they walked down the hallway together, Jeno tilted his head, noticing Renjun's quiet demeanor. "Everything okay?" he asked softly.

Renjun sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I don't know... I just don't get it. I worked so hard on that paper, participated in class, did everything I thought I needed to do, and then—this." He motioned to the paper in his bag. "I don't even get why I got a C+. I thought I did better."

Jeno's expression softened, his voice warm and reassuring. "Renjun, I know how much you care about this stuff, but you can't just beat yourself up over it. You've got the skills. It's just... this one paper, okay? It doesn't define you."

Renjun glanced at him, clearly unconvinced. "I know, but it still sucks, you know?"

Jeno gave him a small smile. "I get it. But you can't let one grade mess with your head like this. You're already working to fix it, right? You'll ace it next time."

Renjun looked down, chewing his lip. "Yeah, I guess. I just feel so... off today."

Jeno paused, then grinned, his eyes lighting up. "I know what'll fix this."

Renjun blinked. "What?"

"Let's go get ice cream," Jeno said, his tone playful. "You need a break, and I need an excuse to eat too much sugar. We'll talk about something completely random—no philosophy, no grades."

Renjun was taken aback for a second, his heart feeling a little lighter at the suggestion. He looked at Jeno, who was already half-smiling, waiting for his response.

"You're serious?" Renjun asked, a bit of amusement creeping into his voice.

"Totally serious," Jeno replied. "You can tell me all about your ice cream preferences, and I promise, I won't turn it into some existential debate about life's flavors."

Renjun chuckled despite himself. "Fine. I guess I could use a little distraction."

"Great. Ice cream it is," Jeno said, practically pulling him toward the door.

They walked out of the classroom and into the hallway, their voices light, and for the first time that day, Renjun felt his shoulders relax a little.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The seminar room was too warm. Or maybe Renjun was just sweating through his shirt out of sheer nerves.

He stood in front of the small group, notes in hand, eyes flicking briefly to Jaemin at the head of the table. The professor sat there, still as ever, pen twirling slowly between his fingers. No smile, no nod of encouragement, not even a blink of recognition.

Renjun swallowed and began.

His presentation was sharp, clear, and well-paced. He'd spent the last two nights polishing it, quoting from three different texts, even referencing one of Jaemin's favorite philosophers from week one. He made eye contact, added a joke in the middle that actually landed, and didn't once stumble over his words.

When he finished, there was a short pause. Renjun looked to Jaemin, waiting. Something. A nod. A word.

Instead, Jaemin turned to the room.

"Any thoughts?"

Karina raised her hand almost immediately. "I liked his point about how subjective morality shifts depending on power structures—but do you think that collapses if we view power as inherently morally neutral? Like, if morality doesn't need power to exist?"

Jaemin's mouth twitched slightly. "Interesting angle. Very sharp."

And that was it.

Renjun blinked. His presentation had lasted eleven minutes. Karina had spoken for thirty seconds.

He sat back down, his face hot, heart thudding not from nerves but from something heavier. confusion? Annoyance?

He barely heard the next person speak.

After class, most of the students filtered out in pairs, still chatting about theories and coffee. Renjun stayed behind, slow with packing up his bag. When the room had mostly cleared, he approached Jaemin, who was already scribbling something down in his worn leather planner.

"Um," Renjun said, careful. "You mentioned a book in the car the other night, about Kierkegaard ?"

Jaemin looked up. "Right. It's in my office, if you want to borrow it."

Renjun nodded. "Thanks. I'll just grab it now, if that's okay."

Jaemin made a small gesture with his hand — go ahead — and returned to his notes.

Renjun walked slowly toward the back offices, mind still spinning. It wasn't that he needed praise. It wasn't even about Karina's question, really. Sge was smart, and it was a good point. But after all the work he'd put in, after everything—

What had he done wrong? Why did it feel like Jaemin was constantly holding him to a different standard?

He found the book easily. It had a red spine, just like Jaemin said, and tiny Post-its poking out the top. Renjun turned it over in his hands and exhaled through his nose.

Was this what Jaemin meant by professionalism? By distance? Was he just doing his job, being fair, being neutral, and Renjun was the idiot who kept looking for something more? He didn't know. And he hated how much he wanted to know. Renjun tucked the book under his arm and headed back out, not bothering to say goodbye.

Jaemin didn't look up as he left.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The days after the party blurred together in a stream of ordinary moments that didn't feel so ordinary anymore.

Jeno started walking Renjun back from class like it was a routine they'd always had. No announcement, no plan, it just happened. Sometimes they talked about class, other times about which buildings on campus had the best vending machines. Once, Renjun spent twenty minutes ranting about a broken stapler and Jeno listened like it was a TED Talk. He was just... there.

Ningning joined them on a Thursday, breezing into the dining hall with a tray full of fries. She claimed Renjun had "abandoned her post-glitter duties" and now she had to make sure he didn't fall back into bland fashion choices. Jeno took one look at Renjun's all-black outfit and told her she was fighting a losing battle. Renjun rolled his eyes and stole their fries.

Karina and Winter popped in the next week, hijacking an open bench near the quad. They'd waved Jeno and Renjun over with exaggerated finger-wiggles and introduced themselves like they were royalty. Winter had a coffee the size of her face and Karina had lip gloss in every color imaginable, and both of them latched onto Renjun with gleeful interest.

Donghyuck, of course, was already there bouncing between conversations like a golden retriever that ran on gossip and mischief. He teased Renjun mercilessly about the hallway kiss at the party, but when Renjun started looking nervous, he cut it out and changed the subject to grilled cheese sandwiches with a wink, like he hadn't said anything at all.

One afternoon, they all ended up at a ramen place off-campus. Cramped booth, too many chopsticks, everyone yelling over each other about toppings. Renjun demanded Winter try the extra-spicy broth and she nearly died. Jeno handed her a water bottle before she even asked.

The next evening, it was karaoke. Karina somehow convinced Renjun to sing with her—badly, off-key, with dramatic hand gestures. Jeno clapped so hard he knocked over a cup of soda. Later, Ningning and Donghyuck did a duet that was half performance art and half chaos. Renjun laughed until his stomach hurt.

The group wasn't always together, but the time was piling up: group chats, movie recs, inside jokes Renjun didn't remember how they started. He was surrounded in a way he hadn't been in a long time. And Jeno was always somewhere in the mix, beside him or waiting up ahead, never pushing, never asking for more.

Still, Renjun felt it building.

It was after one of those days, after bubble tea with Ningning, a library run with Karina, and a late dinner with Jeno and Donghyuck, that Renjun found himself standing in front of Jeno's door.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun sat curled up at his desk, the room quiet except for the low hum of the radiator and Mark typing away on the other side. The philosophy book Jaemin lent him sat unopened, half buried under his hoodie. He wasn't reading tonight. He couldn't. His head was too full.

He didn't know exactly when it started, this slow pulling back. Maybe it was in class, when Jaemin didn't even blink at his presentation. Maybe it was earlier, when Hyuck first called his crush "a plan" and shoved him into the seminar group like it was some kind of mission. Maybe it was even before that right after the wedding, when he told Hyuck about the handsome stranger he drunkenly flirted with in the bathroom and Hyuck laughed and said, you should go for it. It was all a blur now. All of it. Every lingering glance, every overanalyzed word, every tiny, stupid moment he thought might have meant something. None of it felt like his anymore.

The truth was it hadn't started because of him. Not really. It hadn't been some slow realization in a quiet classroom, or a feeling that grew every time Jaemin spoke. It was just a story. A funny, reckless story. And maybe he wanted to believe in it because it was easier than admitting he was lonely. Easier than sitting with how small and invisible he'd felt that first week on campus. Donghyuck had taken that tiny spark of drunken bravado and fanned it into something bigger, louder, more dramatic. He'd made it feel like a goal. Like something Renjun could win. But now, with everything slowing down and quieting inside him, Renjun could finally see it for what it was: not a crush, not even a real desire. Just... something he'd been pushed into chasing.

And then there was Mark. Mark, who had said it so plainly, so calmly, he's your teacher, Renjun. Just that. No scolding, no judgment. Just the simple truth of it. And hearing it from someone who didn't treat it like a punchline or a dare made the whole thing feel hollow. Embarrassing, even. Because Mark was right. Jaemin had always kept a line between them. He'd been polite, yes, and sometimes soft in strange moments, but he never once crossed that boundary. Renjun had been reading into silence, projecting onto blank stares. All this time, Jaemin had been his professor. Nothing more.

He hated how much it had gotten to him. How much he'd wanted it to mean something. But he wasn't going to sit in that anymore. He was done twisting himself up for someone who barely looked his way. Someone who graded him like he was a nuisance and barely acknowledged his effort. Someone who would never see him as anything other than a student.

But Jeno did.

That was the quiet truth sitting in his chest now. Jeno, who listened to him ramble about grades and self-doubt without ever making him feel dumb. Jeno, who looked at him like he was worth knowing, worth waiting for. There was no push with Jeno, no pressure, no plan. Just warmth. Just steady, easy kindness. And when Renjun thought about kissing someone now, when he really thought about it, it wasn't in the heat of a party hallway or the haze of alcohol. It was in that quiet moment when Jeno smiled and said, let's get ice cream instead. It was the way he tilted his head, soft and careful, like Renjun mattered.

Maybe the bathroom thing had been funny. Maybe it had even meant something in that surreal, golden-hour kind of way. But it didn't mean this. Not now. Not anymore.

Renjun breathed out, pressing his forehead to his knees.

He was finally, finally done.

Renjun stared down at the paper still lying on the corner of his desk, half-crumpled from where he'd gripped it too tight earlier. It was a B- this time. Not awful, maybe, to anyone else, but it felt like a punch in the ribs to him. He'd studied. Hard. He'd gone over the readings twice, written three drafts, outlined his arguments until the points practically recited themselves in his sleep. He'd even practiced aloud the night before in front of the mirror, just to make sure his pacing was clear. He'd never worked harder on a single assignment. And still, Jaemin had scribbled out long-winded criticisms in the margins like Renjun had just carelessly strung together half-formed thoughts on the walk to class.

And the worst part? He didn't even know what Jaemin wanted. The comments were vague, full of phrases like "unclear link" and "needs stronger conclusion," and Renjun wanted to scream because the conclusion was fine. It was clear. He had followed the structure Jaemin himself outlined in the seminar group. It felt less like feedback and more like Jaemin just... didn't like him. Or worse, didn't think he was worth investing in.

His eyes burned, and he blinked hard, swallowing down the feeling. The idea of cracking open a book tonight made him feel physically sick. What was the point? Why even bother putting in the effort when it never seemed to be enough? When it just felt like Jaemin was silently, steadily pushing him away? Every word from him in class now sounded like a wall.

Renjun let out a quiet, frustrated sound and shoved his chair back.

He didn't want to be in this room anymore. Not with his untouched textbook staring at him and Mark's soft keyboard clacking in the background and the paper still sitting there like proof of how small and stupid this whole thing had made him feel.

So he grabbed his backpack, tossed in a pack of strawberry gummies and a chocolate bar from his desk drawer, and threw on a hoodie. He didn't even think twice, he just slipped into his slides and padded out into the hallway, the fluorescent dorm light buzzing faintly above him.

He needed to talk. Not think, not brood, talk. And there was only one person who actually made him feel better just by listening.

He knocked on Jeno's door with his knuckles, soft but insistent.

Jeno opened the door with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and that sleepy, slightly confused expression he wore whenever someone caught him mid-routine. His gaze landed on Renjun, hoodie too big, hair messy, eyes red, and the confusion vanished instantly, replaced with concern. He didn't say anything, just stepped aside without hesitation.

Renjun walked in without a word. His backpack slumped over one shoulder, half-zipped, like he'd packed it in a rush. He dropped it at the foot of Jeno's bed, climbed up like it was instinct, and folded his legs beneath him as he sank into the mattress with a sigh. Jeno padded back into the bathroom and returned a minute later with a clean face and minty breath, pulling the desk chair over to the side of the bed.

"You good?" he asked, voice soft.

Renjun shook his head. "Not really."

Jeno nodded once. "Okay. Do you want to talk, or do you want to not talk and watch something dumb?"

Renjun pulled out a bag of strawberry gummies from his backpack and tossed them onto the bed. "Something dumb," he mumbled. "So dumb it kills a few brain cells."

Jeno smiled and clicked on his laptop. "Lucky for you, I've got 'Die Hard With a Vengeance' queued up. Very dumb. Very brain-cell-killing."

Renjun let out the tiniest laugh, quiet and grateful. "Perfect."

They settled in side by side, the laptop propped between them and the gummy bag lying open like an offering. At first, the room was just explosions and chaos and bad early 2000s dialogue. Jeno kept making little commentary, just enough to make Renjun smile. "Why is he yelling when the guy's right next to him?" or "I swear I've seen that exact explosion in like five other movies." Renjun responded with little hums or dry comments, slowly relaxing as he chewed his way through the gummies and leaned just slightly against Jeno's shoulder.

About thirty minutes in, Jeno leaned over and stole a gummy straight from Renjun's hand. Renjun raised an eyebrow and slapped his arm weakly.

"Bold of you," he muttered.

They kept watching. Somewhere in the middle of a car chase scene, a character shouted, "I tried my best, alright? I gave everything I had!" and something in Renjun's chest cracked open.

It came out of nowhere.

His throat tightened, his eyes stung, and suddenly he couldn't see the screen clearly. He looked away quickly, pretending to dig through his backpack, but Jeno noticed. Of course he noticed. Renjun heard the movie pause and then felt the stillness settle around them like a blanket.

"I—sorry, I don't know why I'm crying," Renjun said quickly, voice strained. "It's so stupid. It's not even about the movie—"

"You don't have to explain," Jeno said, voice low and even. "It's not stupid."

Renjun swiped at his cheeks with his sleeve, trying to laugh, trying to keep it light. "I'm just tired, I guess. And the grade thing—it just... really hit me."

"Yeah?" Jeno shifted closer, sitting on the edge of the bed now. "You want to talk about it?"

Renjun stared at the floor, lips trembling. "I tried so hard. For real. I studied, I wrote drafts, I did everything Mr. Na said we should do. I thought I'd nailed it. And then he just—" his voice broke a little, "he gave me a B- like none of that effort mattered."

Jeno didn't say anything. He just reached out and slowly pulled Renjun against his chest.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't the kind of hug that demanded attention. It was quiet and easy, like Jeno had been holding space for this moment all along. Renjun clung to the front of his shirt and let himself cry for real this time, shoulders shaking, jaw clenched, breath hitching in uneven waves.

"I just... I feel like he doesn't see me," Renjun whispered into his shoulder. "Like no matter what I do, it's not good enough. And it makes me not even want to try anymore."

Jeno's hand moved up to card gently through Renjun's hair. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "That's not fair. You shouldn't have to feel like that."

They stayed like that for a long while, with Jeno holding him, Renjun slowly quieting. When the tears had mostly stopped, he pulled back slightly, enough to wipe his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie and glance up at Jeno with puffy eyes.

"I feel so invisible," he whispered. "Like I'm doing everything right and it's still not enough."

Jeno tightened his hold, one hand gently rubbing slow circles between Renjun's shoulder blades. "You're not invisible. Not to me."

Renjun swallowed hard, face pressed against Jeno's chest, his heart aching from too many things at once. And then Jeno pulled back just enough to look at him. His hand came up, brushing hair away from Renjun's damp cheek, and before either of them could overthink it, he leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't like the kiss at the party, hazy, messy, fueled by alcohol and heat. This one was gentle, barely there, like a promise instead of a question. Just a small, tender press of lips that lingered a moment too long.

When they pulled apart, Renjun didn't speak. He just looked at him pink-nosed, heart thudding against his ribs like a warning.

Jeno gave him the smallest smile. "Sorry," he said softly. "That okay?"

Renjun nodded before he could stop himself. "Yeah," he whispered.

They stayed like that for a while. Jeno didn't let go, even when Renjun stopped crying. Even when the credits rolled in silence behind them. Eventually, Renjun pulled back enough to look at him, eyes puffy and cheeks blotchy, and asked, "Do you have any more gummies?"

Jeno reached over, grabbed the half-finished bag, and held it out. "All yours."

Renjun smiled, tired. "You're the best."

Jeno bumped their shoulders together. "I know."

And just like that, the night went on. No more tears. Just gummy candy and dumb movies and the kind of quiet that made everything feel a little more bearable.

Chapter Text

Renjun hadn't meant to fall apart in Jeno's room. He hadn't meant to cry either, but when he'd knocked on the door with the vague idea of escaping his own thoughts, Jeno had opened it with that soft, concerned look he always wore like a cardigan, effortless, comforting, and infuriatingly kind. And Renjun had just... folded. Right there in the hallway. Now, hours later, his headache was dull and his sleeves still damp from tears, but his chest no longer felt like it was actively collapsing. Jeno had listened, let him talk in stutters and fragments, offered time, a blanket, silence, and a stupid movie. Just that quiet ear that Renjun had come to rely on more than he realized.

He'd left in a haze, too embarrassed to make eye contact for long, promising some awkward variation of 'thanks' before fleeing down the hall to his own dorm. He changed, got ready for the night, and it wasn't until he was half in bed that he realized.

His backpack.

The damn thing was still on Jeno's desk, right next to the box of tissues and that gummy bag. He almost left it and almost decided he didn't need it, or that he could pretend he didn't exist for one night and crawl back for it in the morning. But his laptop was inside. And the notebook with his latest paper he should really start working on improving if he wants to get any better. Mentally and academically. He didnt exactly know when he would see Jeno again, since he learned their schedules were highly different. Whatever, there was no way Jeno was sleeping at this hour anyway: even though it's late, there was little chance he fell asleep that fast after letting Renjun go (it was hours ago, but hey).

So he pulled on a hoodie, dragged himself out, and walked the familiar steps back to Jeno's door. It was open just a crack. He raised his fist to knock, but paused. Voices. Two of them. Low. Familiar. He wasn't eavesdropping, he really wasn't. He was about to step back and leave Jeno alone. Screw the backpack, Jeno was busy and had someone over. Renjun was definitely not socially acceptable enough to knock, interrupt, and potentially have to go through a painful small talk with a stranger at 3A.M.

In all honesty, 3A.M. was a strange hour to hang out with a friend, but in the same way he and Renjun were just watching a movie together hours ago. He was about to leave when something shifted inside the room, there was a muffled thud and the voices grew clearer, and then—

He saw it.

Donghyuck. Pressed close.

Jeno. Leaning into it.

A kiss. Soft. Slow. Like it wasn't the first.

And Renjun froze.

It was only a few seconds. But something in him cracked down the middle. Not loudly. Not like glass. Just a small, sickening shift. A weightless betrayal he didn't know where exactly to put.

Because he'd been trying to stop thinking about Mr. Na. He'd been wondering if Jeno, sweet, gentle, steady fucking Jeno was something more than a safe place to land. If maybe he could learn to choose the kind of attraction that didn't burn him alive. He hadn't been ready to say it out loud, not even to himself but it had been there growing quietly. And now—

Now Donghyuck was kissing him.

Renjun backed up before they could see him. His legs moved on their own. Back down the hall, around the corner. He didn't stop until he hit the stairwell, then grabbed the railing like it might anchor him. The tears hit harder this time. No warning. He hated that it hurt. Hated that he'd been so stupid. Hated that he felt like this. And then he heard footsteps behind him.

"Renjun?"

Renjun didn't turn around.

"Hey," Mark said again, softer. "It's super late, why aren't you sleeping? You okay?"

Renjun laughed once, it sounded bitter. He didn't mean to let it all out on Mark, but rational thoughts weren't exactly very the first thing that popped into his mind. "Do I look okay?"

Mark hesitated. "What happened?"

"You should ask your little friend." Renjun wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie before turning. "They were kissing. In Jeno's room."

The silence that followed was thick. Mark's jaw moved like he was grinding down a dozen thoughts.

"I thought," Renjun said, voice hoarse, "he liked me." Mark didn't ask who, he didn't have to. Renjun just shoved past him, brushing against his shoulder. All he wanted to do was to get out of here, the dorm air was starting to feel suffocating."Guess I'm just everyone's emotional warm-up."

Mark didn't move for a moment. Then turned on his heels and walked straight toward Jeno's door. He was standing in front of Jeno's door, hand hovering, heart pounding. It was open again. Not wide, but just enough to let sound and light bleed out.

He pushed and the door creaked open.

Inside, Donghyuck and Jeno were standing close, way too close for there to be any doubt. Jeno's expression was still soft, dazed, like the kind of softness you only give someone you trust. Donghyuck's hand was resting lightly on Jeno's jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone. Mark's stomach turned. And then they kissed again. Mark's voice came out before he could stop it.

"Seriously?"

Donghyuck's eyes went wide, hand falling to his side. He looked up fast, lips still wet, expression freezing as he saw who it was.

"Mark," Donghyuck said, like the word itself was dangerous.

Mark stepped into the room making the door swing open all the way behind him.

"So that's what this is, huh?" His voice was quiet, but sharp. "This is why you've been so invested in Renjun and his little professor crush? So you could keep him looking the other way while you got what you wanted?"

"Don't," Donghyuck warned, voice tense.

"What? You don't want me to say it out loud?" Mark took another step closer, something dark twisting beneath his ribs. "You really didn't change at all."

Donghyuck's jaw clenched. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I do." Mark let out a bitter laugh. "You push me away, disappear, and then what? Try to start over with someone who doesn't know you well enough to see through you?"

"That's not what this is."

"No? Then what is it, Hyuck?" Mark's voice cracked. "Because I just watched Renjun fall apart. He thought Jeno actually cared about him."

Jeno flinched. "I do."

"You've got a funny way of showing it," Mark snapped. "You fucking loser."

Donghyuck crossed his arms. "You don't get to act all righteous, Mark. Not after what you did."

"What I did?"

"You think I didn't notice when you pulled away?" Donghyuck's voice rose now, angry and trembling. "You got scared and vanished and let me be the one who broke it. You always pretend to be the good guy, but you never stick around long enough to prove it."

Mark stared at him, stunned silent for a second. "Is that what this is about?" he finally said, voice low. "You couldn't have me, so you wanted to make sure Renjun couldn't have Jeno either? What the actual fuck is wrong with you for you not to realize how stupid you are being."

Donghyuck blinked like he'd been slapped.

Jeno stepped between them. "Okay, that's enough."

"Stay out of this," Dongkyuck let out, quietly.

"Honestly just shut up, man." Mark also turned to look at Jeno, despair and frustration showing on his face.

Jeno held up his hands. "No, seriously. This—this isn't helping anyone. Especially not Renjun."

"Oh because now you care! Good, great even. What is this to you, a game?"

Donghyuck's expression cracked for just a moment.

Mark looked away, breathing hard, like if he stayed any longer he'd lose his sanity.

"Just... don't come near him right now," Mark muttered, already turning toward the door. "Neither of you. You don't get a word about what would benefit Renjun, I can't believe what I'm hearing."

He didn't look back to see Donghyuck standing frozen in the middle of the room, arms still crossed, even though he felt like they were holding him together more than anything. The room felt smaller now.

"I should go find him," Jeno said, halfway to the door.

"No," Donghyuck said suddenly. "Jeno let's just..."

Jeno stopped. "You think he hates me now?"

Donghyuck didn't answer immediately. Jeno sat down again.

The room stayed quiet.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun didn't remember grabbing his keys.
Didn't remember pulling on his jacket, or shutting the dorm door behind him. He was already halfway down the hill when the sting in his chest finally registered as breathing. Or trying to.

The streets blurred with rain, with tears, and the kind of raw, throbbing haze that came with too much emotion and nowhere to put it. His footsteps echoed too loudly against the pavement and spattered everywhere around him. Rain slammed against the floor in sheets, soaking through his hoodie in seconds. That was his second breakdown of the night, and at that point he felt cursed. His shoes squelched with every step. His phone buzzed in his pocket — Sicheng, probably — but he couldn't bring himself to look. He'd texted once: coming over. emergency. That was enough, he was sure Sicheng would understand.

He just needed to get to the bus stop. Just a few more minutes, past the next block. Just far enough that the image of Donghyuck and Jeno — his Jeno, the one who made him watch a movie less than a few hours ago, fed him gummies through kisses and listened to him ramble about his life — would finally stop replaying.

Maybe that's what happens when you trust people too fast? Renjun wasn't sure. He tried figuring out a way to take this as a lesson but, God, this only made him feel more stupid than he already did. It was the party, it was the alcohol, it was the pressure, the stress, and it was purely about physical attraction. Renjun couldn't believe he had spent months just going out with this guy.

The worst part of it all, Donghyuck. He kept flashing in Renjun's mind. Donghyuck, with his stupid smirk and warm voice, the friend who had nudged him toward Jaemin with a laugh, who had called Jeno "safe" and "sweet" like he was recommending a comfort movie. The one who knew Renjun better than anyone else and still—

Still kissed him.

Still kissed Jeno.

Renjun's steps faltered, one foot dragging a little like his legs didn't trust him anymore either. The image warped again behind his eyes: Jeno's hand on Donghyuck's waist, Donghyuck leaning in like it was normal, like they'd done it a hundred times. Maybe they had. Maybe this wasn't new. Maybe Renjun was the one late to everything. He almost laughed. He felt like he should, to balance out the burning in his throat but no sound came out.

Because the part that really stung more than the kiss and more than the betrayal was how believable it was, just how easy it was to see them like that. Jeno had looked at Donghyuck like he knew him. Donghyuck had kissed him like it wasn't a mistake, like Renjun didn't exist.

The nerve. The actual nerve. Renjun kicked a rock childishly, watching the droplets of water follow the motion of his shoe as he wiped an angry tear mixed with rain. He didn't expect to see anyone he knew, so when he turned the corner and nearly collided with someone, his body froze.

"Oh— fuck, sorry—" he started, stepping back instinctively.

And then he looked up.

Jaemin stood there, one hand outstretched from steadying him, the other holding a black umbrella. His expression shifted fast, from surprised to concerned.

"Renjun?" 'What are you doing outside at this hour?' he could almost hear him say.

Renjun's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes stung, his throat burned, not here, he begged whatever god still had a shred of mercy, not now, not in front of him.

But Mr. Na was already frowning, gaze scanning his face like he could read every single thought Renjun was trying so desperately to suppress.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice low and even, gentle.

Renjun laughed, but it came out wrong, sharp and wet around the edges.

"Yeah, totally," he said, blinking hard, "just out for a tragic little walk, very poetic, I'm a walking metaphor."

Jaemin didn't smile. Instead, he shifted slightly, stepping aside to fall into pace beside him. "Where are you going?"

Renjun stared straight ahead, "Bus stop, going to my cousin's."

There was a pause, a careful one. "Did something happen?"

Renjun clenched his jaw, "just needed to get away from... some people."

Another pause. "Want company until the bus?"

He should've said no. He wanted to say no, to run, to fall apart in peace but the words that came out were quiet, small, "Okay."

So they walked. Not far nor fast, just quiet steps down the flooded sidewalk, the streetlights flickering in the rain above them. The umbrella barely covered them both, and Renjun's sleeve kept brushing Jaemin's arm, but he didn't move away. Rain pattered against the umbrella in a rhythmic hiss, and the wind blew sideways, making Renjun shiver through his soaked hoodie. He noticed.

Without a word, he shifted the umbrella to his left hand and shrugged off his coat, holding it out.

Renjun blinked, "You don't have to—"

"Humor me."

He took it, shrugged it on, it was warm and smelled faintly like cedarwood and something herbal, tea leaves, maybe. The silence settled again, and it was the kind that made Renjun feel like he was being crushed from the inside out.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, "if I'm making you uncomfortable since the beginning of the year or—crossing some weird line, I didn't mean to dump all my emotional baggage in your path, professor."

Jaemin looked at him for a long moment, all puzzled, "You're not."

"I'm sorry," his voice was tighter than he meant it to be. He wasn't looking at Jaemin now, just down at the wet sidewalk ahead of them, rain slapping into puddles. "I really am. For the wedding, for... for the way I acted. I didn't mean to keep making things awkward, or drag it into the semester like this."

Jaemin didn't say anything at first. Just walked quietly beside him, close enough that their sleeves kept brushing under the umbrella. Finally, softly, he replied, "Renjun, you don't have to—"

"No," Renjun cut in, voice sharp, sharper than he meant. "I do. Because I keep trying to pretend I don't care that things have been weird, but I do. I feel stupid. And guilty. And now I'm not even sure if I'm bad at this subject or if I'm just bad at separating things."

He wasn't making sense. He could hear it in his own voice, could feel the tension in his jaw, the throb behind his eyes. Jaemin stayed quiet, listening. That silence was too calm and it only made it worse.

Renjun exhaled hard. "And I know you're not doing it on purpose, but it feels like—like ever since that stupid family thing, you've been colder in class. Im not expecting you to dab me up, I'm not saying that, I just—... I'm trying so hard to do well, but I keep getting these crappy grades and it's just—" He stopped walking, shoulders tense, fingers clenched in the damp fabric of Jaemin's coat. "I can't help thinking that maybe you don't take me seriously because of what happened. That maybe I ruined how you see me, and now all of this is just me falling apart and you watching it happen."

Jaemin blinked, taken aback by the sudden flare of emotion. He stepped forward slowly, his tone calm and careful like it always fucking is. "Renjun, I don't grade you based on personal feelings."

Renjun scoffed, a short, bitter sound. "I know. That's the problem. You don't even look at me anymore, you barely look up when I speak in class, and when you do, it's like... I'm just another name on your roster now, because god that day erased me, and maybe that's fair, maybe I crossed a line first, but it's messing with my head, and I'm trying to do everything right, and still— it's not enough." He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated tears brimming but refusing to fall. "I studied. I worked. I tried to prove that I belong there, not just as the idiot from the wedding bathroom, because we both know, we both do, but as a student who actually gives a damn and all I get back are red marks and cold feedback. My essays look like they're bleeding when you hand them out. I know we both remember what happened at that wedding but- God, please, please. I'm not asking we don't pretend like it didn't happen, I just want you to look at me for me, and not for whatever I did that day. I'm sorry, I am. All I'm asking for is a teacher who doesn't punish me for it"

Jaemin was silent again, and Renjun didn't fill the space. It all sat heavy between them: his anger, his hurt, the months of quiet tension finally surfacing. Rain ticked on the umbrella, on pavement, on Renjun's thoughts. Jaemin was always silent anyway. Fuck, he just broke down in front of him and he just stood there like a mannequin. Couldn’t he react? Was he always this nonchalant or did he just decide to be like that with Renjun?

He looked away again, sniffing. "I don't even know why I told you all of this. I think I just needed to say it out loud."

They stood like that, under the umbrella, the city all around them. The bus wouldn't be there for another few minutes. Renjun suddenly felt tired, like down to the bones tired, he hadn't let himself be honest in months.

"I'm still sorry about that night," he murmured again. "Even if you say it's fine." He did not say it was fine, but Renjun needed to fill in the silence in the end.

They reached the bus stop, and part of the bench was slick with water. Renjun hesitated, then sat.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Renjun admitted quietly.

Jaemin didn't sit, but he crouched slightly under the umbrella, resting his hand on the edge of the bench.

"You don't have to know, not all at once."

Renjun looked at him, the lines of his face soft in the dim light, rain glinting off his dark hair.

"I thought I was making the right choice," Renjun said, "about who I trusted, who I let close, but apparently I'm just... really bad at picking people."

"I don't think you are."

Renjun's throat tightened again, "You don't even know me."

"I'm starting to," Jaemin said, "and for what it's worth I think you're brave."

That was the last thing Renjun expected, it cracked something in him. Before he could reply, the bus rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the rain like a blade. Renjun stood straighter, unsure of what to do with himself. Renjun hesitated, then, impulsively, before he could think himself out of it, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. It wasn't long. And when Renjun stepped onto the bus, he kept the coat wrapped tight around him like armor. It didn't fix the heartbreak. But it gave him something else to hold onto. And for now, that was enough.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sicheng's apartment smelled like warm rice and fresh laundry, and the heater hummed faintly through the floor. It was quiet, the kind of quiet Renjun forgot could exist: no footsteps stomping down the dorm hallways, no tension curling in the air like smoke. Just Sicheng, padding around in thick socks and a hoodie two sizes too big, stirring something in a pot while kpop crackled from a speaker on the kitchen counter.

Renjun sat curled on the couch, wrapped in Mr. Na's coat. He hadn't taken it off since last night. It was still a little damp at the hem, but it smelled clean now, faintly Sicheng-ish after spending the night draped over a dining chair.

"I told you," Sicheng said, without turning around, "you could've stayed in my bed. The couch is not that comfortable."

Renjun adjusted the coat tighter around himself. "It's fine. I wasn't really sleeping anyway."

"Nightmares?"

Renjun stared at the window. It was overcast outside, the sky a soft, sleepy gray. "Something like that."

Sicheng grabbed two bowls, filled them with whatever was simmering, and brought them over. "Here," he said, handing one to Renjun. "Eat. You look like a soggy Victorian child."

Renjun huffed a tired laugh and accepted it. "Thanks."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the steam curling around their faces, the world outside still and slow. It felt almost unreal, like the night before had been part of a different timeline. A crueler one.

Sicheng spoke first. "So... you gonna tell me what happened?"

Renjun didn't look up. He picked at the rice, fingers clenched just a little too tightly around the bowl.

"I walked in on Donghyuck and Jeno, just a random guy I happened to have something going on with. Whatever."

"Doing what?" Sicheng asked, though the tone in his voice said he already knew.

Renjun gave him a look.

"Oh," Sicheng muttered, setting his bowl down. "Shit."

"Yeah."

Renjun swallowed hard. His voice felt like gravel. "I trusted them. Both of them. I talked to Haechan about everything. I thought.. Well, he always said I should go for Mr. Na, you know? That it made sense. That I deserved something good."

Sicheng stayed quiet.

"And Jeno... he was just there. All the time. Not pushing. Just... kind. And soft. And he made it so easy to breathe. I didn't even realize how much I leaned on him."

"And now?" Sicheng asked gently.

Renjun looked away, out the window. "Now I feel like I made all of it up in my head. Like maybe I was just some passing thing to both of them." He pressed the bowl closer to his chest and blinked rapidly at the window, snuggling into his coat.

After a moment, Sicheng nudged him with his sock-covered foot. "So... Mr. Na, huh?"

Renjun groaned softly. "Can we not."

"No judgment," Sicheng said, holding up his hands. "Just. I can see the coat, you know."

Renjun flushed. "He found me in the rain last night."

Sicheng's eyebrows rose.

"I was crying. He didn't ask why. Just... walked me to the bus stop and gave me this coat and said I was brave."

"That's objectively the most cinematic thing I've ever heard," Sicheng said, eyes wide.

"It didn't feel cinematic," Renjun muttered. "It felt like barely holding myself together in front of the one person I should not be falling apart in front of."

Sicheng leaned back against the couch, eyes soft. "Yeah. But he held the pieces anyway."

Renjun didn't respond, but his fingers curled tighter around the coat. They sat there in the quiet again. The rice bowls slowly emptied, and the morning slipped past unnoticed. The city outside stayed gray, as if the clouds hadn't quite decided whether they were done grieving yet. Sicheng eventually got up and started rinsing dishes in the sink. Renjun stayed curled on the couch, fingers grazing the lining of the coat's sleeve. He didn't really want to take it off.

"I texted your mom," Sicheng said after a while, not looking over. "Told her you were with me. She said to tell you to stop ignoring your vitamin D and that your horoscope says you're overdue for a hard reset."

Renjun let out a short breath, half a laugh. "Of course she did."

"She also sent a picture of your dog. He's lying upside down in a pile of laundry and looks like a broken plush toy."

"Send it to me."

Sicheng dried his hands and tossed Renjun his phone. Renjun caught it, thumbed through the gallery, and found the photo. It made something unclench in his chest for a second. He stared at the image like it might pull him back into something warmer. He airdropped it to his phone. Then, as if on cue, his phone buzzed again.

Na (Philo):
I hope you got home safe.
Don't worry about the coat, keep it as long as you need it.

Renjun blinked at the message. He read it twice, then three more times, like it might change. His stomach did something annoying and fluttery, and he immediately locked the screen and tossed the phone onto the couch cushion like it had burned him.

Sicheng raised an eyebrow. "That the professor?"

Renjun didn't answer.

"Uh-huh," Sicheng said, walking back over and flopping into the armchair. "You're allowed to like him, you know."

"I don't," Renjun muttered.

Sicheng snorted. "Sure."

"I'm serious."

"Totally."

Renjun groaned and covered his face with the coat sleeve. "You're literally worse than Donghyuck."

The name hung there for a second, heavy in the air.

Sicheng hesitated, then asked carefully, "Do you wanna talk about him?"

Renjun stayed quiet. He let the silence stretch thin before answering. "Not really."

Sicheng nodded. "Okay."

A few minutes passed, just the soft clink of dishes and the music buzz in the background. Then Sicheng said, like it was nothing, "By the way, Yeri might come by this weekend."

Renjun tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Yeri? As in... the girl you pretended not to remember at New Year's?"

Sicheng made a face. "I didn't pretend. I just had selective amnesia."

"Uh-huh."

Sicheng leaned his hip against the counter, drying his hands. "Anyway. We've been talking. A little. She's funny. She makes these weird references to old dramas."

Renjun blinked. "Wait. She's been here?"

"Twice," Sicheng said, then added quickly, "Just for tea. And she brought those rice cakes you like, the ones with the sesame filling."

"And you didn't tell me?" Renjun stared.

Sicheng shrugged, suddenly sheepish. "I didn't want to jinx it. It's... kind of nice. She doesn't treat me like I'm breakable."

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "Do people treat you like you're breakable?"

"No."

Renjun smiled slowly. "Wow. That sounds dangerously close to an actual emotion." Renjun snorted, "So what, are you dating now?"

"Maybe. I don't know, it's not labeled. But she kissed me on the cheek when she left last time, and I didn't immediately dissociate, so... progress?"

Renjun laughed, and for a second he forgot why he was here. "You're such a mess."

"And yet still somehow more put together than you."

"Rude."

Sicheng grinned and tossed a kitchen towel at him. "You love me."

"Tragically," Renjun said, catching the towel and pressing it to his face like a dramatic fainting starlet. "Against my better judgment."

Sicheng turned the speaker up a little and disappeared into the kitchen to find something sweet. When his cousin came back with two chocolate-covered biscuits and handed one over wordlessly, Renjun took it.

"Thanks," he said.

"For the cookie?" Sicheng asked.

Renjun shook his head. "For being the one place I can fall apart without having to explain myself."

Sicheng just nudged his foot against Renjun's again, gentle and familiar.

"Anything for Renny Benny."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The dorm room was quiet when Renjun got back. It smelled like dust and leftover takeout. The lights were off, except for the dim glow of Mark's desk lamp in the corner. His roommate sat there hunched over his laptop, headphones around his neck (where they were most of the time) and a pencil tapping absently against a half-full notebook.

He looked up when Renjun walked in and didn't say anything at first.

Renjun dropped his bag with a soft thud and kicked off his shoes.

"You're back," Mark said, voice low and a little unsure.

"Yeah," Renjun replied. He didn't make eye contact. "Was just... at Sicheng's."

Mark nodded slowly. "I figured. You left your charger, by the way."

There was a pause. The room buzzed faintly from the overhead light. Renjun moved toward his bed and sat down stiffly, like his bones hadn't forgiven him for the past forty-eight hours.

"I didn't mean to make it weird," Mark said eventually.

Renjun didn't respond right away. He picked at the hem of his sweater, eyes fixed on the fabric.

"Donghyuck's your friend," Mark continued, softer this time. "I shouldn't have— I didn't know it was like that."

"It's not like that," Renjun said quickly. "Not really. It's just..." He exhaled, shaking his head. "He knew. About Jeno. About how I felt."

Mark stayed quiet. The tapping of his pencil stopped.

Renjun glanced over. "And I didn't even know they— I didn't see it coming."

Mark leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "He does that," he said after a moment. "Pretends things don't matter when they do. Or maybe it's the opposite. I don't know."

Renjun tilted his head. "You mean Donghyuck?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah."

There was a stretch of silence.

Renjun finally asked, "What happened between you two?"

Mark didn't answer immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on a knot near the nape of his neck. Then he laughed, quiet and bitter.

"We got close. Too close, maybe. And then I panicked. Started dating someone else like a complete coward."

Renjun blinked. "You left?"

"I didn't mean to. I just... didn't know what I was doing. I thought if I ignored it, it'd go away. But it didn't."

Renjun leaned back on his hands, processing. "That's why you two act like you're fine but aren't."

Mark gave him a small smile.

"Yeah. You're quick."

Renjun huffed. "Trauma sharpens the senses." He laid still for a while, the soft sound of Mark's music buzzing faintly in the corners of the room. He stared up at the ceiling counting the shadows he could see. He closed his eyes. Then opened them again. Renjun hesitated, "Can I ask something personal?"

Mark didn't flinch. He just nodded once. "Sure."

Renjun turned onto his side to face him. "Why didn't you tell him how you felt?"

Mark leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting toward the ceiling.

"I was afraid," he said simply. "Back then, it was all... blurry. We were always around each other, texting constantly, hanging out till sunrise, those dumb inside jokes, the way he'd look at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. It felt like something, but no one said it out loud." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Then one night, he kissed me."

Renjun's eyebrows lifted slightly. "He did?"

"Yeah," Mark said and his voice got quieter. "It wasn't even dramatic. We were just lying on his floor after some dumb movie marathon. And he leaned over and kissed me, like it was the most natural thing in the world."

Renjun sat up a little straighter. "What did you do?"

"I kissed him back." Mark smiled faintly. "Of course I did. And then I panicked."

Renjun blinked. "What kind of panic are we talking?"

"The cold-sweat, heart-racing, 'oh my God what does this mean for everything' kind," Mark admitted. "And I didn't talk to him for three days after that. I couldn't look him in the eye. I was terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of being honest. Of breaking the rules. Of him not meaning it, or meaning it too much. Of liking someone I couldn't control." Mark's voice cracked slightly on that last word. "Donghyuck's one uncontrollable loser. And I didn't want to lose him. So I did the one thing I knew how to do."

"You bailed," Renjun said.

Mark nodded. "Hard. I started dating this girl from class. Posted pictures. Made it obvious."

Renjun's stomach turned a little. "And Hyuck?"

Mark let out a slow, tight breath. "Didn't say a word. Just stopped showing up. Unfollowed me. Cut me out." There was a long silence. "I hurt him. And I knew I did. But I kept pretending it was fine, that we were fine, that it hadn't been real. I broke something that actually mattered."

"And now?"

"Now we act like we're cool.” Mark shook his head slowly. “We smile. We joke. But every time we talk, it's like walking through a minefield."

Renjun leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Do you still...?"

"Yeah," Mark said before he could finish. "I do. I never really stopped."

"And he kissed Jeno," Renjun said finally, quietly.

Mark nodded, his jaw tight. "Yeah. He did."

Renjun looked down. "Do you think he's over you?"

Mark looked tired when he answered. "I think he's trying."

They didn't speak for a while after that. Just let the rain patter outside the windows, the music hum softly in the air. Eventually, Mark stood and crossed the room again. This time he didn't say anything, just offered Renjun a quiet, steady look before dropping a folded blanket at the end of his bed.

"Get some sleep, man," he said gently.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The classroom was dim when Renjun stepped in, early enough that only a few students had taken their seats. The usual buzz of low conversation hadn't started yet; just the sound of rain drumming against the tall windows, the shuffle of notebooks and the occasional metallic clink of a thermos being set down.

He sat in his usual spot: second row, left side, close enough to hear but not close enough to feel watched. His hands were cold. He shoved them into the sleeves of his hoodie, hoping no one noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

Mr. Na wasn't there yet. The chair behind the podium was empty, the lights above the whiteboard still off. A single warm glow came from the desk lamp on the corner table, casting long shadows on the chalkboard.

Renjun exhaled slowly. He hadn't slept much, not really. He kept seeing it. Jeno and Donghyuck.
Did Mark interrupt them? He imagined it, the flicker of surprise in their eyes. The way Donghyuck would have pulled back like he'd been caught stealing something. Jeno's expression — guilt, or regret, or maybe just shock. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth.

The door creaked open.

Mr. Na stepped in, umbrella dripping at his side, blazer slightly damp at the shoulders. His hair was tousled from the wind, darker from the rain, and his tie was crooked like he'd put it on in a hurry. He paused briefly at the threshold when he saw Renjun.

Their eyes met.

Something flickered across Mr. Na's face, quick and unreadable, before he looked away and strode toward the desk. He set the umbrella aside, shook the rain from his sleeves, and pulled out a stack of notes from his bag with practiced calm.

Renjun's heart thudded dully.

"Morning," Mr. Na said, voice even as ever. "Hope you all stayed dry."

There were a few murmured replies. Someone coughed. Someone else yawned.

Class began.

The teacher moved through the material with his usual clarity. Measured voice, careful pacing, scribbled bullet points on the board. Today was about Hannah Arendt. The banality of evil, moral responsibility, the quiet danger of thoughtlessness. Renjun tried to take notes. His hand moved, but nothing stuck. The words blurred.

At some point, Mr. Na asked a question.

"What do you think Arendt meant when she said the greatest evil can be committed by people who refuse to think?"

There was silence. Then a girl in the back raised her hand, said something about complicity. Another student mentioned routine, how people follow rules to avoid responsibility. Mr. Na nodded, rephrased, redirected. Then his gaze drifted back to Renjun. He didn't call on him, didn't single him out, but he looked at him for a moment too long, like he wanted to.

Renjun stared down at his notebook, jaw clenched.

You have no idea how much I've let happen just by saying nothing.

His throat tightened.

Mr. Na's voice picked up again, and it was something about how evil doesn't always look monstrous. Sometimes it's just detachment. Shrugging. A refusal to care.Renjun wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or walk out. Instead, he sat there and kept writing nothings. By the time the hour was nearly over, the room had warmed with body heat and wet clothes. A few students were already shifting, starting to pack. Mr. Na glanced at the clock, then turned back to the class.

"For next time," he said, "I want you to write a short reflection. Not an essay, just thoughts. When have you looked away? And when did you choose not to?"

Renjun didn't move. Mr. Na glanced at him one last time before dismissing everyone. Classmates filed out, bags zipped, chairs scraped, Renjun stayed seated.

Mr. Na lingered by the board, erasing slow, methodical strokes. He didn't look at Renjun, but his presence stretched between them like static. After a long pause, Jaemin spoke — softly, carefully, not turning around.

"You weren't here yesterday."

Renjun's throat tightened. "No."

Another pause.

"I noticed,"

Renjun stood, shouldering his bag, fingers gripping the strap too tight.

"I needed space," he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

Jaemin finally turned to face him. There was something tired in his expression. Not exhaustion. Restraint.

"I'm glad you came back."

Renjun looked at him for a moment. The rain smeared the windows behind him, streaks of gray and light.

"You shouldn't say things like that," Renjun said. It came out sharper than he meant it to. "Not to me."

Jaemin didn't flinch. He just nodded, like he'd been expecting it.

"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry."

Renjun stared at him a beat longer, then turned and left. The door shut behind him with a soft click, muffled by the sound of rain.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun had never really understood the appeal of hanging out in coffee shops for hours on end. But, as he stood awkwardly in the corner of the bustling cafe, waiting for Karina to grab a table, he was starting to see the charm. The place was warm, smelling of roasted beans and cinnamon, and the chatter around him felt oddly soothing, like a hum of background noise to his thoughts.

It wasn't long before Karina waved him over, and he joined the girls at a large, round table near the window. Winter was already scrolling through her phone, her lips curved into a slight frown, while Giselle was flipping through a magazine with an idle smile. Ningning was also with them. Karina, ever the social butterfly, was checking the menu for a second time, her finger tapping against the laminated sheet. Renjun had no idea how he ended up in the middle of a heated debate about a fictional character's wardrobe, but here he was.

"I'm telling you," Karina said, eyes practically glowing with passion, "Chloe's wardrobe in this show is a crime against fashion. It's all leather jackets and combat boots! There's no versatility!"

Winter crossed her arms. "You're just mad because you'd never pull off a leather jacket."

Renjun snorted into his coffee. "You'd look like a biker mom at a PTA meeting."

Karina shot him a death glare. "I'll have you know, I could pull off anything. Let's not make me the butt of your jokes, okay?"

"Too late," Ningning piped up from across the table, flicking her straw at Karina's face. "You're already the group's target."

"Do we need a new group? One that doesn't gang up on me?" She pouted dramatically.

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, if we were to do that, I think I'd be the first one to get kicked out."

The whole table turned to him. Winter raised an eyebrow. "Why? Because of your fashion sense?"

"No," Renjun replied, deadpan.

Ningning chimed in with a sudden change of subject. "Alright, alright. What about karaoke? I've been dying to organize one of those group nights. But just us, no party."

Winter's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's exactly what we need! We can totally do it here, in one of the karaoke rooms. Everyone brings their best song, and no one is allowed to hold back. No judgment."

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "I'm not really sure I'm the type for that kind of thing."

Giselle nudged him. "You say that now, but after a couple of drinks, you'll be the one screaming 'Livin' on a Prayer' at the top of your lungs."

Renjun snorted. "If that happens, you have full permission to send me straight to the nearest hiding spot."

"We'll make sure to keep your dignity intact. But you'll definitely be joining, Renjun. That's non-negotiable."Ningning grinned.

"Oh, no thanks. I'm sure there are other people who would be better at karaoke than me."

"Are we really going to pretend you're not secretly a super star? Don't lie to me, Beyoncé." Ningning said as sheraised an eyebrow playfully.

Renjun rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. "Okay, fine. I might be able to hold a tune or two. But no promises on anything serious."

"Oh my god, we have to do 'I Want It That Way' together!"

Renjun laughed, the conversation finally settling into a more relaxed pace. "Alright, I'm in. But I'm warning you, I'll only sing if I'm really drunk."

Winter raised her coffee cup. "Deal."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The classroom emptied slowly. The quiet thud of books zipping into backpacks, the screech of chairs against the floor, the soft shuffle of feet. And then the door clicked shut behind the last student, and the silence settled. Jaemin gathered his notes without looking up, but after a few seconds, he realized someone was still there. He glanced toward the middle row.

Renjun hadn't moved. He was sitting forward slightly, arms folded on the desk in front of him, staring straight ahead like he was waiting for something, or maybe trying to convince himself not to leave. Jaemin didn't say anything at first, he just straightened the pile of papers in front of him, then set them down deliberately.

"So," he said quietly, "what's the question this time?"

Renjun blinked, startled. He looked like he hadn't expected to be addressed directly.

"Oh—uh." He stood up a little too quickly and walked down toward the front, bag still slung over one shoulder. "Right. Yeah. I had a... question."

Jaemin tilted his head. Waited.

Renjun cleared his throat. "I was just wondering—uh. If... you think Plato would have hated email."

There was a small second of silence. Jaemin blinked. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth curved, just slightly. "That's your question?"

Renjun rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not not related to the idea of diluted communication."

"That's generous."

Renjun gave a tiny shrug, lips pressing together. "I just didn't feel like leaving yet."

That, at least, sounded honest. Jaemin's smile softened at the edges, losing the practiced polish he usually wore like a second skin in class. In its place was something quieter. "Alright," he said gently. "Then don't."

Renjun exhaled and lowered himself into the front row — closer now, close enough to see the stray graphite smudges on Jaemin's desk, the tidy stack of graded papers beside him, the way his sleeves were pushed up, like always.

He wasn't even looking at Renjun, not right now. He watched as Jaemin's fingers brushed against the stack of papers, pausing to align them neatly. His hands were long-fingered, ink-stained near the knuckle, and Renjun stupidly remembered what they'd looked like holding an umbrella out to him in the rain. Steady. Thoughtful. That soft look in his eyes when he offered Renjun his coat. He hated how vividly he remembered things.

Because it hit Renjun, all at once, how far gone he really was. He'd told himself, just hours ago, that he was done with this. With the stupid crush. With the late-night overthinking, the invisible ache that came every time Jaemin answered someone else's question with a smile that never quite reached Renjun. But here he was sitting closer and staying longer, watching Jaemin in the soft glow of his desk lamp and realizing — painfully — that he could read a dozen philosophy texts cover to cover and still not understand the pull this man had on him.

It wasn't even the way Jaemin looked, though that didn't help. It was how he was. How he always knew the right thing to say, or when not to say anything at all. How he offered his coat without hesitation, how he carried the room with a quiet kind of gravity that made Renjun want to be better. Smarter. Worthier. And right now, that same man — who had every reason to be irritated, dismissive, distant — was just sitting there, gently making space for him to breathe. It didn't feel like pity, that was what scared him.

"You know," Jaemin said suddenly, eyes still on the screen, voice warm, "I do think Plato would've written the world's most insufferable email chain."

Renjun looked over, intrigued despite himself. "Like what? Philosophy memes in signature format?"

"Worse. He'd reply to his own emails mid-thread just to contradict himself and CC the entire Republic."

Renjun let out a quiet laugh, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. "Do you ever feel like you understand something better when you're trying to explain it to someone else?"

Jaemin hummed. "All the time. Teaching is basically me realizing what I don't know, in front of a very polite audience."

"I think I'm starting to get that. The explaining part. Not the polite audience."

Jaemin leaned back slightly, watching him.

"Keep doing it," he said. "Even if you're just talking to yourself."

Renjun looked at him for a moment, then he stood.

"See you Thursday?"

Jaemin nodded. "Don't forget the email question. Might be on the exam."

"I'll write a five-page response."

"Double spaced."

Renjun rolled his eyes, but he smiled as he turned to leave.

The hallway outside the classroom was nearly empty, the echo of Renjun's footsteps soft against the floor. The air had that in-between stillness of late afternoon, the hour when the sun had begun to dip, painting everything in warm, stretched light, but the day hadn't quite let go yet. He didn't notice Mark at first, not until he passed the alcove near the old vending machine and caught a figure leaning against the wall, half-shadowed by the slant of golden light. Mark didn't say anything and looked up when Renjun walked by, as if he'd been expecting him.

Renjun stopped. "You're still here?"

Mark gave a small shrug, one shoulder lifting like it wasn't worth putting into words. "Didn't feel like leaving yet."

Renjun hesitated, then stepped closer, letting his bag slide down his shoulder. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me neither."

There was a silence, comfortable in a strange way. They didn't usually talk like this (alone, pathetic and unguarded). But lately, the two of them had been drifting toward the same quiet corners, the same tired glances across classrooms, the same sense that something about the world had tipped sideways and no one else had noticed.

Mark pushed off the wall. "Walk?"

Renjun nodded, and they fell into step without needing to say anything else. The hallway stretched ahead of them, long and sun-drenched. Every few steps, the light from the windows broke across the floor in stripes, catching on dust in the air. Their shadows moved beside them.

Renjun let out a slow breath. "It's been a weird week."

Mark gave a soft, dry laugh. "Understatement of the century."

"Feels like everyone's acting. I missed the script."

Mark tilted his head. "Maybe you just don't like the part they gave you."

Renjun smirked faintly at that. "What part is that?"

"The quiet one who pretends nothing ever bothers him."

Renjun glanced at him. "Isn't that your role?"

Mark gave him a sideways look. "Please. I'm the guy who disappears right before the final act."

That made Renjun huff out a small laugh.

They reached the windows near the side stairwell and slowed without meaning to, drawn to the view of the quad below. The light outside was cooler now, shadows lengthening across the grass.

Renjun was about to say something else when movement caught his eye. Across the courtyard, near the edge of the parking lot, Jaemin stood beside a woman. It was that one woman from the family party. They were talking, and seemed as casual as comfortable. She said something, and Jaemin laughed, head tilted back slightly in that way he did when he was actually amused.

And then he reached out and hugged her. Not rushed. Not friendly and distant. His arms went around her, all the way, and she leaned in like it wasn't the first time.

Renjun went still.

Mark noticed immediately. "What is it?"

Renjun didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the car now — the woman's. That was not the car he was used to seeing his professor in. Jaemin was rounding the front of it, getting into the passenger side like it was nothing.

Like it was normal.

The door shut, and the engine started. The car pulled away, turning down the narrow drive that curved out of campus. Mark didn't say anything, and neither did Renjun but the hallway felt colder now.

Mark shifted slightly, standing just close enough that their arms nearly touched.

"They all have each other," he said after a while, voice soft. "And somehow we're always the ones left watching."

Renjun's jaw clenched. Not in anger. Just in that quiet, helpless way you do when the weight of something lands right where it already hurts.

He nodded once. "We were right to stick together."

Mark didn't smile, but his expression softened a little. "Yeah. We were."

They stood there a while longer, not speaking. Just watching the empty path where the car had disappeared, both of them quieter than usual, but not quite alone. Neither of them moved until the sun dipped fully out of sight.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Jaemin shut the door to his office with more care than usual. The faint click of it closing behind him was softer than he expected, kind of as if the room was holding its breath.

The last echo of students had faded from the hallway. The overhead lights buzzed quietly, a dull hum in the background, but Jaemin didn't turn them on. Instead, he moved through the dimness, letting the last of the daylight wash across the floor in thin, golden lines. His body moved on routine: coat off, bag down, the rustle of papers rearranged for no reason at all. He sank into his chair and sat there for a long moment without moving, eyes fixed somewhere past the window, where the sun had already dipped halfway below the skyline. It should've been just another day.

Xiaoting had offered him a ride after class. She always did when their schedules aligned, and today he didn't have the energy to pretend he preferred walking. They'd chatted in the lot, just out of habit about about nothing that really mattered.

When she hugged him it wasn't a surprise. She was like that: warm, intuitive, someone who knew how to soften sharp edges when they needed softening. But even as he'd leaned in, even as he'd smiled at something she'd said, even as her perfume lingered faintly on his coat he'd felt the hollowness of it.

Jaemin leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, and rubbed a hand slowly over his face.

He wasn't supposed to notice.

Wasn't supposed to care when students stayed after class longer than necessary, or when their shoulders slumped just slightly lower than usual, or when they offered a question so ridiculous it made Jaemin pause mid-sentence.

Plato and email.

God.

He'd wanted to laugh but he hadn't. Not at the time. Not when Renjun looked so damn earnest and tired at once, like he was barely holding it together under something unspoken.

And when Renjun had admitted, "I just didn't feel like leaving yet," something in Jaemin had twisted. He shouldn't have let him stay. But he had. Now the echo of that moment kept looping in his head, it was soft and persistent. There'd been something in the way Renjun spoke he hadn't said aloud. A weight in his voice that made Jaemin want to ask what had happened, what had hurt him, who had made him feel so small. But he hadn't asked and he couldn't.

Jaemin exhaled slowly. He opened his drawer. A neat stack of printed assignments lay waiting, paper-clipped and color-coded, like the promise of order. He flipped through them half-heartedly until he found Renjun's. It was near the top. Of course it was.

Jaemin hesitated, fingers curled around the corner of the page, then slid it free. He read the first paragraph twice. Once as a professor. Once as something else.

The ideas were clear, thoughtful, tentative but sharp. There were notes in the margins from Renjun's own hand — tiny, looping thoughts that second-guessed his own conclusions, circled back, rewrote themselves. It felt oddly intimate.

Jaemin set the paper down, leaned back in his chair, and stared up at the ceiling. For a few seconds, all he heard was the slow tick of the wall clock and the faint hum of the radiator, warming up against the evening chill.

He could feel it again, that bit of emotion pressing in. Not inappropriate, not yet. But unprofessional, maybe. Too human. Jaemin rubbed a thumb over the corner of Renjun's paper, and then carefully set it aside. He picked up the next one in the stack. He read it all the way through but the words didn't stay with him.

Chapter Text

It was quiet in the dorm hallway, too quiet, the kind of stillness that hums in your ears when the world around you has already shut down. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly over his head, casting long shadows on the linoleum floor. Jeno stood in front of Renjun's door, backpack in hand.

He could've knocked. He could've pretended this was just a casual drop-off, nothing more than a favor, but the words in his pocket said otherwise. He knelt down slowly, careful not to let the bag thud against the door. Renjun's backpack was worn at the edges, the zipper frayed from habit. He wondered how Renjun never came back to get it, or what he used instead. His notebooks, his laptop, basically all his things were inside. Jeno smoothed a hand over it without thinking, something about it felt personal, like he was touching a part of Renjun without permission.

He slipped the note beneath the strap, hesitated, adjusted it so it wouldn't fall, but still caught the eye.

 

You forgot this.
Didn't want you to be without your notes.
—J

 

It was short, stupidly so. He had rewritten it three times and still hated it. There were other things he could've had said (I remembered you liked that pencil you always tuck in the side pocket, or you left in such a rush, I wanted to make sure you were okay). But none of that made it onto the page for obvious reasons.

He stepped back and stood there for a second too long, staring at the door like it might open. It didn't. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed. A microwave beeped. The dorm carried on unaware of it all. Jeno turned and walked away, hands buried deep in his pockets. He was halfway to the stairwell when his phone buzzed in his pocket, screen lighting up with a name he didn't feel like ignoring.

He hesitated, then answered.

"Yeah?"

There was a pause on the other end, a familiar sigh, then a voice, muffled slightly like it was coming from a room with the windows open. "You need to come home next weekend. Your mom's expecting you."

Jeno rubbed the back of his neck, already bracing for whatever this was about. "What for?"

"She wants everyone there. Family thing."

He could already picture the vague wave his mom would give when pressed for details. Still, the timing felt weird. "Is it someone's birthday?"

"No. Just... It's for your sister"

A beat of silence. Jeno frowned, turning toward the stairwell.

"Okay. I'll be there."

The call ended with a soft click.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Outside, the rain hasn't let up. It's softened into a steady, insistent rhythm against the windows, making the city a blur of grays and streetlights. Inside, Jaemin has been reading for over an hour, glasses slipping slightly down his nose, posture tense from leaning forward for too long. The stack of reflections from his undergraduate seminar sits in front of him, some marked already, some still untouched. Most are fine. A few make earnest attempts. One or two seem written five minutes before class. He isn't expecting much else.

He picks up the next one and pauses. The handwriting catches his eye first: its slanted, sharp in some places but clean and unpretentious. The page is unlined, folded in half down the middle like a letter as if Renjun hadn't planned to turn it in until the last moment. Jaemin unfolds it slowly. There's no title, just words.

"There's a boy in my building who always holds the elevator door. Every time. Even when I'm ten steps away, even when I don't say thank you. He just waits. I never noticed how much that meant until I stopped holding doors myself."

He keeps reading.

"I used to think being kind was something you had to prove. Now I think it's something you lose, one small silence at a time. I've watched people say the wrong thing and told myself it wasn't my place. I've watched people get hurt and thought, 'At least it's not me.' I've laughed when I didn't mean it. I've been quiet when I shouldn't have been."

"I don't know if that makes me bad but I think it makes me part of the problem."

Jaemin's fingers curl slightly around the edge of the page. It reads like something Renjun meant to burn after writing except it made its way to him anyway, folded once, turned in like any other assignment. There's a note near the bottom that was added in a different pen, the ink was darker. It was a line scribbled between two paragraphs, slightly crooked. He lets the paper fall gently to the desk, the corner of his mouth twitches, it was something caught between admiration and guilt. He leans back in his chair as the room feels too quiet now, the hum of the radiator too loud, the soft buzz of his desk lamp stark against the dark corners of the apartment.

It's just a reflection. It's a few handwritten paragraphs, a student processing a lecture. He picks the paper back up and reads it again slower this time. And when he's done, he folds it neatly and slides it into a separate folder, not the one with grades or rubrics or feedback. He tells himself it's just for safekeeping.

 

Jaemin reaches for the next file in the pile:
Renjun Huang PHIL 204: Moral Responsibility
Assignment: Respond to Frankfurt's argument on moral responsibility without alternative possibilities. Do we need free will to be held accountable?

"I don't know if I've ever made a choice without wondering what would've happened if I hadn't."

His brow lifts. It's not how philosophy papers usually begin. It sounds like the start of a confession. He reads on.

"Frankfurt says moral responsibility doesn't depend on free will and that even if I couldn't have done otherwise, I can still be responsible for what I did. I think I agree but I also think it's scarier that way. Because then I can't hide behind what-ifs and it means I meant everything I did even when I stayed or when I said nothing."

Jaemin stops, pen hovering uselessly above the margin. He doesn't write anything yet.

"If someone else nudged me, or if the moment felt too big, or if I was scared, does that matter? Or am I still the one who didn't move? I think about how many times I've watched things happen and waited for someone else to speak, and how easy it is to tell myself I didn't have a choice and how convenient it is."

The paper goes on to bring in Frankfurt's example of the man who chooses to act before discovering he had no other option.

"I think we're responsible for the silences we live in and for the harm that we avoid naming even if we didn't start it, because the moment we realize we could have said something and still didn't, that's when it becomes ours."

He's read smarter papers, more polished ones, with citations and precise logic, but this one stays with him. This was not what he asked for, nor what the assignment was supposed to be. He skims it again, slower. This time he marks the margin with a faint underline, then another (a quiet "thoughtful" beside a passage). He should leave a comment and say something helpful to encourage him but everything he wants to write feels either too clinical or too personal. Eventually, he scrawls something simple near the bottom:

"This is clear, brave work. You're not afraid to sit with the uncomfortable parts of the question." He signs his initials, hesitates, then adds one more note smaller in the corner. "Structure is lacking. Revise the method." When he's done, he sets the paper aside and stares at it for a long time.

 

By January, Jaemin starts saving Renjun's papers for last just like dessert is a ritual. The days are colder now. Students come into class wearing scarves and wet sneakers. Jaemin starts noticing things, like how Renjun's writing tightens when he's tired. His sentences grow sharper when he's angry too. Some reflections read like arguments, and others like confessions.

He knows it's becoming something else when he finds himself waiting, checking the submission box at odd hours as he's wondering if Renjun will turn in something personal again. He doesn't expect it but when it happens, it knocks the breath from him. On the final assignment before winter break (an open-ended prompt about truth) Renjun writes:

"Maybe truth is the thing that sits between two people. The space between what's said and what's meant. Maybe we only know it when someone's brave enough to name it."

He doesn't grade it right away. He leaves it on his desk overnight, unopened again the next morning. By the end of the term, his comments are full sentences. Thoughtful, specific, and way too long to be neutral. He also stops signing his name. It feels too official and far away. What he doesn't write (what he can't) is that he's memorized the rhythm of Renjun's voice in writing so he can better read his work like poetry.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling after staring at Marks empty bed, the fabric of his oversized t-shirt bunched slightly around his stomach. The room was heavy with stillness. The fan at the end of the bed was doing little to push the warmth away, only stirring the air just enough to make his skin more aware of itself. Winter break was close, yet his room felt like an air fryer. The concept of "truth" still buzzed faintly in the back of his mind (the paper he'd scrambled to write at seven in the morning, exhausted, half-delirious, just trying to make sense of Jaemin's voice echoing in his head). Now hours later, the only thing that made sense was the heavy ache low in his belly. Raw and shameful.

He blinked slowly. He was so incredibly tired. All he could hear was the soft rustle of his sheets when he moved, and the rush of blood in his ears. His hand hovered just below his navel, fingers splayed on heated skin. He hadn't moved for minutes, or maybe even more as he was breathing through his mouth, each inhale slow, shaky.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be this... fixated on his voice, his eyes, the way he sometimes leaned against the desk with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, a book in one hand, gesturing with the other like he was sculpting meaning out of the air. He'd talk about desire like it was a theory, something abstract Renjun never understood the concept of before meeting him.  Renjun couldn't look too long or too hard without something inside him twisting painfully. It wasn't fair, how Jaemin made desire sound like something to solve.

Renjun wasn't solving anything right now.

He let his eyes slip shut as he pictured Jaemin standing at the front of the room again, the late sun behind him, backlit in soft gold. The white of his shirt was slightly wrinkled, open at the collar, one button too many undone. His hair would be slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it in frustration. His voice low and thoughtful when he explained things. God, his voice was so pretty.

"Desire exists because something is missing," he'd said, something like that, or just something that meant that but worded in a fancy way, maybe quoting someone. If it was a quote, Renjun hadn't remembered the source either way, just the way Jaemin's eyes lingered on him after he said it. Did they? They probably did, like maybe 10 minutes after he had quoted that but it still counted, and Renjun gladly linked those two moments together. And now he imagined what would happen if Jaemin didn't look away. What if the room were empty, if Jaemin walked down the aisle between the desks and stopped in front of him, looking down like he already knew and wanted to know what Renjun was thinking.

Renjun let his hand drift lower, fingers grazing the soft line of his abdomen. His skin tensed at the touch, his body was already anticipating what his mind was feeding it. His movements slow at first, up, down. His thumb brushed over the head of his cock, catching the wetness already there, spreading it in tight circles making his thighs tense. His chest rose unevenly, the quiet sound of his breathing the only thing filling the room.

In his fantasy, Jaemin was kneeling between his legs with his hand replacing his own, gentle in a way that felt cruel, because he could never be harsh. Or at least Renjun has a hard time imagining that part. Jaemin would stroke him like this, slow, teasing, watching every twitch of his mouth and the flutter of his lashes. He'd lean forward and let his lips brush over Renjun's flushed skin, murmuring things Renjun shouldn't want to hear.

Renjun whimpered, hips twitching up into his fist. "Fuck," he whispered, so quietly it barely counted and was barely worth mentioning. His other hand fisted in the sheets, twisting the fabric tight.

In his mind, Jaemin would take his time. He would press kisses to the inside of Renjun's thighs, drag his tongue over sensitive skin until he was begging. Renjun slid his other hand up his chest to satisfy that thought. He'd laugh quietly at how needy he'd become and whisper, "Look at you," like he already knew how wrecked Renjun was.

Jaemin's lips brushing the edge of his jaw, whispering between kisses. Renjun whimpered softly, hand moving with more rhythm now, fingers tightening. His thighs trembled as his free hand gripped the edge of his sheets, holding on like the fantasy might slip away if he let go.

His mind was filled with every possible detail, he thought of the weight of Jaemin's body against his own, the subtle rasp of stubble against his skin he'd noticed that one day at the family gathering, or the breathless laughter Jaemin might let out when Renjun got too impatient.

The pressure coiled low in his stomach. His breath was a mess, moans slipping out without permission. He imagined Jaemin's hand around his throat, not choking, just holding, like he was grounding him. Or maybe Jaemin would hold his hips down, make him stay still while he dragged him over the edge with his mouth alone. Renjun's body arched.

"Jaemin..." he whispered to nobody, the name slipping from his lips with a concerning amount of comfort. His pulse pounded in his throat. His stomach tightened, pleasure climbed faster than he thought, sharp enough to make his breath hitch and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Oh my god— fuck," Renjun breathed, the heat cresting fast.

His back arched slightly off the bed as he came, biting down on his lip to stifle the desperate sound that came out of his throat. The pleasure was sharp, overwhelming, spilling hot across his stomach and hand. His whole body clenched with it, then trembled in the aftermath, twitching through the waves that followed. His jaw felt tight as he rode it out in the silence of his dorm room. He stilled gradually as his chest was rising in deep, shaky breaths.

For a moment, he stayed like that, his hands covered in everything he was the most ashamed of in that moment, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, eyes wide in the dark.

Then the guilt crept in.

The ceiling came back into focus. The sweat on his skin cooled. His hand was wet, sticky and useless at his side. Shame sat heavy in his throat. He curled onto his side, yanking the blanket up even though it stuck to his skin. He didn't want to look at himself. Didn't want to see the mess. The memory of Jaemin's imaginary voice still clung to him like static.

He was disgusting.

And tomorrow, he'd have to sit in that lecture hall, pretending he hadn't moaned Jaemin's name into his pillow with his own hand slick between his thighs. Pretending he was just another student and none of this meant anything. He didn't want the fantasy to fade but it always did.

Because Renjun regretted everything the moment he stepped into the classroom.

It wasn't even nine yet, but the room was already too warm, and the air felt heavier than usual. But maybe that was just him. He clutched his coffee like it could anchor him to the ground, his fingers wrapped tight around the paper cup. His eyes were still puffy from sleep (if you could call whatever that hazy, half-dream state was sleep).

He hadn't been able to forget the night before, all because of the way it felt and imagined, and all the things he said out loud to the thought of his literal teacher. The guilt had almost soaked into his bloodstream at that point. Now, after all that, he had to sit through a 90 minute lecture across the room from the man who'd haunted every second of it.

Jaemin wasn't even doing anything. He was just there at his desk, flipping through notes, pen between his fingers. His hair was messier than usual and he was very soft-looking in Renjun's opinion. He wore a dark button up today, sleeves were rolled up, watch on his wrist. Professional. Polished. Effortless. And still, Renjun felt like he was seeing him naked.

He dropped into his seat in the second row with what he hoped was a casual exhale and tried so hard not to look directly at him. He was going to die. Right here in his seat. Instant spontaneous combustion. He could already feel the sweat prickling at the back of his neck. Was it obvious? Could anyone tell? Could Jaemin tell? What if someone could read his mind and know what he'd done? So he thought of ponies instead.

The lecture started normally. Jaemin's voice was smooth, measured, and the words he used were so familiar. It just really felt unfair that Renjun couldn't focus. Every time Jaemin said the word need, Renjun flinched like he'd been shot. Because he was almost (almost) completely sure moaning you need more from the ghost of your professor was not the most civilized thing one could do (almost).

He kept his eyes on his notebook. He wrote nonsense, and underlined things that didn't need to be underlined. At one point, Jaemin moved across the room, walking past Renjun's row and Renjun nearly forgot how to breathe. He could smell his cologne, not the exact scent he'd imagined pressed against his skin the night before but still, he didn't mind it.

When Jaemin paused beside the projector and leaned a hip against the desk, Renjun made the mortal mistake of looking up and Jaemin was already watching him. He didn't know if Jaemin was just being a good teacher or if he knew. He wasn't sure which would be worse.

By the time the lecture ended, Renjun bolted. No lingering. No waiting behind to ask a question. He packed up fast and left with his heart thudding in his chest and his thoughts a mess of heat, guilt, and something dangerously close to hope. Because Jaemin had looked at him and Renjun really wasn't confident he knew what he'd seen in his eyes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

So, he did that again. A few multiple times. It just made it easier and it was nothing illegal, okay. He was entering a stressful period, and what could help him fall asleep wasn't refusable. Whatever, class ended eventually. People filtered out chatting softly, laughter echoing down the hallway. Renjun packed up slower than usual as he hoped to fade into the tail end of the group. He did not make it.

"Renjun?"

His heart nearly stopped. He turned stiffly. Jaemin was standing at the edge of the row, hands in his pockets, eyes steady.

"I just wanted to check in," Jaemin said, voice quieter now that the room had mostly emptied. "You seemed a little... out of it today."

Renjun swallowed hard. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Jaemin tilted his head slightly like he didn't quite believe it. "You're usually more engaged. Especially during discussion."

"I didn't sleep much," Renjun lied, eyes skittering to Jaemin's collar, where one button sat undone again just like last time (the fantasy, he means). It was stupid. It wasn't even a particularly scandalous shirt but for some idiotic reasons his brain was already betraying him.

Jaemin took a step closer. "Is it the paper? I haven't graded them yet, if that's what's bothering you."

"No, it's—" Renjun forced a laugh that sounded all wrong. "It's nothing. Just... winter break brain fog, I guess." He sounded like a nickelodeon character.

There was a pause as Jaemin studied him quietly for a moment, eyes flickering between Renjun's face and the hands clenched around his backpack strap. "Okay," Jaemin said at last, with a small nod. "If it ever stops being nothing, you can talk to me."

Renjun's chest squeezed. He didn't know how to answer that. "Yeah," he whispered, too fast but also too soft. "Thanks."

But all he could think about was last night. Jaemin's name on his lips, the imagined weight of his body, the fantasy was still warm under his skin. He ducked his head and rushed out of the room before he said something he couldn't take back. Behind him, Jaemin didn't call out again but Renjun could surely feel his eyes on him all the way to the door.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sicheng's apartment smelled like oranges this time. Renjun was curled up on the couch like a limp throw pillow, all wrapped in one of his cousins's fluffy blankets and looking like he'd just been through something harrowing. Which, to be fair, he had, if you counted deeply inappropriate thoughts as harrowing. Sicheng was at the kitchen counter peeling tangerines with delicate focus, like it was a meditation technique. Yeri was sitting sideways on the armrest, scrolling through her phone, legs stretched out comfortably across Renjun's lap.

"I did it," Renjun said suddenly, voice muffled by the blanket.

Sicheng didn't look up. "Did what?"

Renjun peeked out from under the blanket. "You know. It."

Yeri glanced up from her phone. "Know what?"

Renjun hesitated, as if even saying it would burn his soul alive. "It. While thinking about him."

"You mean Jaemin?"

Renjun covered his face with the blanket again. "Yes, Sicheng. I hate myself."

Yeri choked. "Sicheng's aunt Mei's new husband's cousin Na Jaemin?" She almost kicked him in the ribs.

Sicheng finally looked up from the counter, squinting at him like Renjun had just said he'd licked a subway pole. "Renjun."

"I know, I know," he groaned. "It's been months and I'm still thinking about him. I think I'm broken."

"No, you're just..." Sicheng tilted his head, trying to find the right word. "Ovulating."

Renjun flung the blanket off. "Excuse me?"

"You know," Sicheng said seriously. "Emotionally. Or hormonally. Or spiritually. Whatever. Your brain is leaking or something."

"That's not how that works," Yeri said, barely holding back laughter.

"I feel disgusting," Renjun muttered. "Like I need to walk into the sea and dissolve."

"You're just touch-starved and emotionally repressed," Yeri said, patting his knee. "It's kind of your brand."

Sicheng popped a slice of a tangerine into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "You need cold showers, more plants, and probably to stop making eye contact with your professor like it's a K-drama."

"I already took a cold shower," Renjun muttered. "It made it worse. I just stood there thinking about his hands like some kind of sicko."

Yeri and Sicheng both made distressed noises at the same time.

"What?" Renjun rolled his eyes. "You know what, I liked it better when it was just me and Cheng here."

"Anyway," she said, shifting slightly, "I actually wanted to talk to you guys about something." She looked at both of them, alternating . "I want Sicheng to meet my parents."

Sicheng froze, halfway to grabbing another slice.

"Oh. Wow." Renjun blinked. "Definitely not the same subject."

"It's not, like, super serious-serious," Yeri said quickly. "But we've been dating for a few months now and they keep asking, and I think it's time. And..." She hesitated. "I want you to come too."

Renjun stared. "Me? Why?"

"Because you'll make it less scary," she said. "And you're good with awkward silences. Also, my mom already thinks you're my emotional support cousin."

"I am his emotional support cousin," Renjun said, pointing a dramatic finger at the awkward guy in the kitchen. "But also, wow. This is huge."

Sicheng was still processing. "Your parents?"

"They're nice," she said gently, smiling at him. "A little intense. But I think they'll really like you."

"I'll need to iron my shirt," Sicheng muttered, mostly to himself. "And maybe... learn how to make eye contact."

"You're doing great, sweetie," Renjun said dryly.

"Okay," Yeri said, grinning now. "So it's settled. We'll all go next weekend."

Renjun flopped back against the couch. "Can't wait to embarrass myself in front of your parents. Why would you need me there anyway?"

"Shut up.  You won't," Yeri said. "Because I'll be too busy embarrassing Sicheng."

Sicheng sighed, dramatic and resigned. "I need more tangerines."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

 

I don't really know how to start this without sounding stupid, or dramatic, or like I'm expecting something, so I'll just say it. I'm sorry.
I've been thinking about writing this for a long time, but I kept talking myself out of it. I didn't know if I had the right to say anything, or if it would even matter. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for actually, if it was for being hurt, or for pretending I wasn't.
For saying nothing when you disappeared.
For being so cruel in all the little ways I knew how.
For pushing your buttons.
The list got longer every time I thought about it. But I think the truth is I'm sorry for all of it. All the ways I let my pain turn me into someone I don't even like very much.

You didn't break any rules. You didn't owe me anything, not a relationship, not a promise, not an explanation. But you leaving the way you did, so suddenly without anything, no real goodbye, no honesty, it felt like being erased, or like I imagined the whole thing. And maybe it wasn't a big deal to you, maybe it was just something small, something that didn't need closure but it was a big deal to me. I didn't know how to handle that or how to sit with that kind of silence, so I got sarcastic. I flirted with other people. I laughed too loud. I made jokes about you to our friends, like that would make me feel more in control. If I looked unbothered enough, maybe I would be except I wasn't. I think that's why you don't like me, so I'd like to apologize I was still standing in the past, waiting for you to come back and say, "Sorry. I didn't mean to disappear on you like that. You mattered." I never got that. I don't think I ever will.

I'm not asking you for that now. I've stopped waiting for it. Mostly. But I think part of me is still stuck back there, in that version of us that almost happened, that maybe was happening before you walked away. I was angry. Not just at you for leaving but at myself, for letting it hurt so much and being that vulnerable in the first place. So I punished you for it. I didn't let myself want anything real after that, I just kept pretending. I guess that's what led to what happened with Jeno.

I want to be clear: I didn't kiss Jeno to hurt you. I didn't even do it thinking about you. But it was still selfish. He didn't deserve to be used like that, and Renjun definitely didn't deserve to be hurt by it. I didn't mean to make a mess of everything, but I did. And I'm sorry. I've apologized to Renjun, he refuses to talk to me. I never got a response, but I want to say it here too. I'm sorry I didn't think about how my actions would affect him. I knew he cared about Jeno. I just didn't care enough in the moment to stop myself.

The truth is, I was trying to bury all this stuff I never said out loud. About you.
About how it felt when you just stopped showing up.
About how I kept looking for you in rooms I knew you wouldn't be in.
I didn't know what to do with that grief, because that's what it felt like. I'm not writing this because I want anything from you. I'm not trying to win you back or drag the past out just to make you feel bad. You don't have to forgive me. Honestly, I don't know if I've forgiven you either. But I'm trying. I'm trying to stop keeping all this in my chest like a secret I'm ashamed of. I'm trying to be better than I was.

I miss you. Not the way I used to, not like I'm waiting for you to change your mind and come back. I miss being someone you laughed with. I miss the way you looked at me like I wasn't too much. I miss being your person, even if we never called it that. I think maybe we could've been something if we'd both been a little braver.

If you ever want to talk, really talk, I'll be here.

Even if it's just as friends.

—Dh

 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Ninguna:
renjun. bestie. do NOT bail tonight

Diesel:
yeah we already made playlists and one of thems "renjun's emotional breakdown (feat. power vocals)"

Brrrbrrseason:
you literally sang My Heart Will Go On last time and cried into the mic

motherkatrina:
and then tried to duet with the waitress

orenjuice:
okay first of all i had ONE soju shot and was going through a lot

Ninguna:
okay and? tonight's a healing session

motherkatrina:
by healing she means screaming Adele at full volume until we all feel something

Brrrbrrseason:
i've already claimed Someone Like You sorry not sorry

Diesel:
dibs on being the backup dancer
i've been practicing dramatic turns

orenjuice:
so are we singing or putting on a Broadway show?

Ninguna:
BOTH. stay on theme!!

motherkatrina:
renjun be honest
do you need to sing something petty tonight?
bc we have a "songs to indirectly call people out with" playlist ready

Diesel:
it starts with traitor and ends with taylor swift stuff

orenjuice:
i am unwell but not THAT unwell

Brrrbrrseason:
you sure? bc you texted me "why is life like this" at 3am and then sent 5 sad face emojis

orenjuice:
delete that. i was possessed.

Ninguna:
possession confirmed.
anyway we're picking you up at 7 wear something dramatic
feel your villain era

orenjuice:
i'm not in my villain era

motherkatrina:
you will be by the second chorus
whip-whiplashhh

Ninguna:
okay new topic
i just took a quiz called "what tragic forest creature are you?"
and renjun you're a fox

orenjuice:
????

Diesel:
omg he IS.
like one of those sly fairytale foxes who curses a prince but then regrets it

Brrrbrrseason:
no wait he's a raccoon.
emotionally messy
always digging through trash
(read: his ex's instagram)

orenjuice:
i feel like i'm being cyberbullied in my own phone

motherkatrina:
i actually think he's a swan
dramatic
looks elegant
fights everyone

Ninguna:
swans are mean i like this

orenjuice:
swans are gay and violent.

Diesel:
okay so: winter = red panda, ningning = squirrel, karina = probably a panther with a skincare routine

Brrrbrrseason:
what abt you?

Diesel:
i'm the possum that plays dead to avoid responsibilities

motherkatrina:
you answered that too fast

orenjuice:
can we go back to karaoke this feels like psychological warfare

Ninguna:
fox behavior

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun pressed his forehead against the cold bathroom tile, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing somewhere above him. His stomach twisted again, sharp and sour, and he heaved once more into the toilet. The karaoke bar pulsed faintly with bass through the walls. Someone was still screaming a ballad in the next room. Probably Winter. Or Ningning.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, legs trembling as he stumbled to the sink and splashed water on his face. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy. He looked like a disaster. Felt like one too.

Renjun reached for his phone with clumsy fingers. Donghyuck's name blinked at him on the screen, but he couldn't. Not him. Not tonight.

Jeno's name passed by next. His heart twisted.

He scrolled further.

"Na (philo)"

His thumb hovered. Stupid idea. Stupid.

He tapped the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

"Hello?"

He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

A pause. "Renjun?"

"I didn't know who else to call," he whispered. "I didn't want to be alone."

"...Where are you?"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Jaemin's car was warm. At the same time quiet and safe in the way elevators are right before they drop. Renjun curled up in the passenger seat, forehead pressed to the cool glass. His jacket was damp, rain soaking through the thin fabric. His hair stuck to his temple. Jaemin glanced over every few seconds, jaw clenched tight. The wipers squeaked across the windshield, slow and rhythmic. Nobody has said anything for a moment now. Renjun thought there was a silence none of them was fully ready to break until Jaemin tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

"You're gonna catch a cold," Jaemin muttered. "You should've called sooner. I can see you trembling."

"I didn't want them to see me like this," Renjun said softly. He had fully recovered from his drunken state by now, and hearing his own voice felt weird.

"Them?"

"Everyone." Another silence. The car turned another corner. Streetlights flickered across the dashboard in golden streaks that irritated Renjuns retina. "You didn't have to come," Renjun added, quieter.

"I know," Jaemin said. "But I wanted to." The silence stretched again, thicker this time.

"You're mad at me," Renjun said, still not looking at him.

"I'm not mad," Jaemin replied, parking the car on a quiet parking lot just outside the dorms. "I'm worried."

"Same thing."

"No, it's not."

Renjun finally turned to him, eyes heavy-lidded and still a little glassy. From the light. "I don't want to do this right now."

"You called me."

Renjun flinched like he'd been caught. "It was a mistake."

"Was it?" Jaemin stopped the car, he undid his seatbelt and turned to him as well, voice gentler now. "Renjun, what's going on?"

Renjun's hands curled into fists in his lap. "I saw Jeno and Donghyuck," he whispered. "They—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I didn't realize how much I needed them. Until they... until I didn't have them anymore."

Jaemin's expression shifted, something almost protective flashing across it. "Are those your friends? I'm sorry."

Renjun shook his head. It was filled with shame, apologies, and the realization Jaemin does not know him. He doesn’t know his friends, doesn’t know his interests, doesn’t know anything about him. He is nothing but a fantasy, and the only sympathy he gets from him is simply centered around the fact that they are somewhat from the same family. Thats it. "It's not your problem." Renjun looked up at him sharply. "Don't. Because I'm— I'm drunk and sad and confused and—" he cut himself off, breathing hard. "You're my professor, Jaemin." Something flickered across Jaemin's face. "And you're..." Renjun trailed off again, but the silence between them crackled. "This can't happen." Why hadn't he opened the door, thanked him, left?

"Renjun," Jaemin said softly, "I don't care about whatever rules you think there are right now. I care about you. You were dunk, crying, and the last time I've seen you outside of my classroom, you were also crying and it felt like you were gonna be exploding on the spot. Do you wanna tell me what's wrong? Even in class, I can't help but notice how detached you look."

And Renjun broke when he surged forward. The kiss wasn't soft, and surprisingly not hesitant at all either. Renjun's fingers fisted in Jaemin's jacket, pulling him closer as if he needed to disappear into him to stop shaking. It ended only because Renjun pulled away gasping, trembling, panicking. He stared at Jaemin, wide-eyed.

"Oh my god," he whispered.

"Renjun—"

"I kissed you," Renjun said, like he couldn't believe it. His shaky hands flew directly over his mouth, shamefully covering his lips from his professor.
"I kissed you. I..." His breath hitched. "Fuck."

He could still feel Jaemin's lips on his, the warmth of his breath, the impossible intimacy of it. His lips tingled like they were burned. His whole face felt hot with shame. He pulled his knees up instinctively, like curling in on himself could hide what he'd done.

He couldn't meet Jaemin's eyes. He didn't want to see what was in them, whether it was pity, confusion, or regret, anything but that quiet steadiness he always wore. Jaemin only slightly moved in the corner of his peripheral vision, gentle, reaching like he was going to say something, but Renjun flinched back so hard his shoulder hit the car door.

"I can't," he said, voice cracking. "I can't— I need to get out."

He fumbled for the handle, hands clumsy, breath shallow and fast. His chest heaved like he'd run miles, and his vision swam with panic. The car suddenly felt too small, too close, too filled with the ghost of something he never meant to let happen. His pulse thundered in his ears as he yanked the door open. Jaemin reached for him, but Renjun was already scrambling for the door handle. "I can't, I.. I have to go—"

"Wait—"

He was already out in the rain. The cold hit him instantly, soaking deeper into his clothes, into his skin. He staggered forward, barely able to see through the blur of tears and rain, heading toward the dorm entrance, toward anywhere that wasn't this.

Jaemin's car door slammed behind him.

"Renjun!" His voice echoed down the street.

Renjun didn't stop. "You're my professor!"

"I know."

"There are rules!"

"I don't care."

"..."

Renjun was soaking wet and shivering, chest heaving. "You don't mean that." His arms clenched around himself as the streetlights were bleeding gold across the wet asphalt. "Go home," he snapped over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be here."

Jaemin jogged after him, footsteps splashing. "Wait—please, just stop for a s—"

"You're my professor," Renjun repeated, more to himself than anything else.

"I know."

"There are rules. There are lines. You don't just get to show up and—"

"I know," Jaemin said again, louder this time, voice shaking. "I know all of it. I've been telling myself all the reasons I can't for months now. I know what this looks like. I know what it means. I'm not stupid, Renjun."

"Then why—… why would you do this to me?" Renjun's voice cracked as he turned around to face him. "You made me think I imagined it. You looked at me like I meant something, and then you went cold. You were kind, and then distant, and then kind and then—" He broke off, breathing hard. "I didn't know if I was reading it all wrong."

Jaemin flinched. "You weren't."

"Then what was I supposed to do? You made me care, and then you acted like I was just another student.."

"I had to," Jaemin said, desperate. "I'm your professor. I'm the adult in the room. I had to pretend."

Renjun laughed bitterly. "Yeah? You did such a great job."

The rain poured around them like static, like noise, soaking them both to the bone. Jaemin dragged a hand through his dripping hair, looking completely wrecked. "I tried to convince myself it would pass. That it was just admiration. Academic. Harmless. It wasn't."

Renjun stared at him, chest heaving.

"I shouldn't think about you when I'm planning my lectures. But I do. I start writing questions just to hear your answers. I watch you light up when something clicks and I feel—" He bit off the end of the sentence, jaw tight. "I feel proud. And then guilty. Every damn time. I shouldn't let any of this matter," he said. "But it does. You do, like I'm seeing everything through you now and I'm tired of pretending I'm not."

Renjun's expression shifted — wounded, skeptical. "Do you want me, or do you just want the version of me in your classroom?"

Jaemin's face scrunched like he'd been punched. "I don't know. I wish I could separate it. I wish it was that simple."

"Then why are you here?" Renjun whispered.

"I am not, it’s you, you are everywhere! And when you're absent, I notice it. And I'm trying to suppress it, but it's really fucking hard when my entire job starts revolving around you."

Renjun's voice dropped. "And what? You just say all this now? Jaemin, why did you come?"

"I was trying to protect you," Jaemin said quietly. "And me. My job. Your academic standing. Every version of this ends in disaster. But I still wanted to see you tonight."

"You're selfish," Renjun whispered, trembling from shame.

"I know," Jaemin said. "I know. And I'm sorry."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched thick and aching beneath the rain.
Renjun stepped forward like he didn't mean to, like he was caught in something stronger than gravity. And Jaemin didn't move at all. They don't know at what point their lips connect again.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It always started like this with Mark. The moment Hyuck asked for something honest, Mark got defensive. One sigh too loud, one demand too honest, and suddenly they were in a standoff again, kind of as if all the things they didn't say were loaded guns between them.

"You got what you wanted," Mark snapped, standing in Donghyuck's doorway like it wasn't a boundary he was crossing just then. "You got to feel better about yourself. You wrote your little letter. Why are you still mad?"

Donghyuck looked up from his bed slowly, like he was forcing himself not to get up and scream. "Because I did my part. I said what needed to be said. I owned up to the shit I did. I hurt people, and I faced it."

Mark scoffed. "Oh, so this is you taking the moral high ground now?"

"No," Donghyuck snapped, standing up. "This is me expecting something from you. For once. I said I was sorry, now it's your turn. Or are you still pretending you didn't do anything wrong?"

Mark's jaw tensed. "This isn't about me."

Donghyuck laughed, bitter. "It's always about you. You made it about you the second you got mad about me kissing Jeno."

Mark's face tightened. "You don't see why that would piss me off?"

"No," Donghyuck said plainly. "Because it had nothing to do with you. Renjun should be mad. Not you. You left me, Mark. You don't get to act like you're the one who got betrayed."

Mark took a step closer, eyes burning. "I left because I didn't know what else to do! You were always pushing and pulling and making everything feel like a test. I was going to fail no matter what I did!"

"And you think walking away without a single fucking word was passing?" Donghyuck's voice broke, "I waited for you to say something. Anything. You could've said you didn't want me. You could've said it was nothing but you said nothing. You left me to wonder if I was crazy for thinking we had something and you fucked some other girl." Mark looked away, guilt flickering over his face like he didn't want it there. Donghyuck took a step closer. "You don't get to be angry that I moved on, when I spent months trying to get over the fact that you didn't care enough to stay."

Mark's voice was quiet when it finally came. "I never said I didn't care."

"But you didn't act like it," Hyuck said, almost a whisper now. "You acted like I was just noise. And the worst part is— God, Mark, I still wanted you."

Mark's lips parted, like he might say something. But nothing came out. Still, he stayed quiet. once again.

"I'm tired," Donghyuck admitted. "Of being the only one who says what he feels. What are you even trying to do? What was the point in you coming here?"

Mark stepped forward again, almost cautious now. "I'm not good at this."

"Yeah," Hyuck said. "I noticed."

There was a silence.

"I'm mad," Mark said finally, "because I saw you with him, and it made me realize I still want you... and that maybe I always did and I don't know what to do with that."

Donghyuck blinked at him. "So you want me now that someone else does?"

"No," Mark said, quickly. "It's not like that. I wanted you then. I just didn't know how to hold onto you without messing it up. And when I saw you with Jeno, I thought—Fuck it, I'm too late."

"You are," Donghyuck said, but it came out softer than he meant. He wanted to scream at him, tell him he makes no sense, tell him his stupid words won’t fix anything. He wanted Mark to know how much of a stoic idiot he was. He couldn’t get his words out.

Mark's hand reached for him, just barely brushing his wrist. "Then why did you write that letter?"

"Because I meant it."

Mark looked down. "I don't know how to say the right things."

"You don't have to," Donghyuck said. "Just don't lie. Don't vanish. Don't kiss me and disappear again."

They kissed. Donghyuck's fingers twisted in Mark's hair like he was trying to stay afloat, and Mark kissed him like he was trying to drown. It didn't solve anything, neither did it make anything go away, still, it was honest in the way their words never were.

Later, naked underneath his sheets, Donghyuck stared at the ceiling with Mark's arm barely touching his.

"You should've stayed away," he whispered.

"I couldn't," Mark said.

Donghyuck closed his eyes. "Don’t leave.. Just— Don’t leave again.. Please, mean it this time..."

Mark didn't answer right away. After a long moment, his fingers found Donghyuck's under the blanket. It was just a small touch and it felt hesitant. Donghyuck felt too tired not to let it stay.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun was lying sideways across his twin dorm bed, still damp from the rain, his phone held above his face as he stared at the screen, waiting for Winter to pick up. Jaemin's long black coat was draped over his body like a cape.

The call connected.

"Renjun?" Winter's voice was confused and scratchy with sleep. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes," Renjun breathed. "It's the time I kissed Mr. Na under the rain and now I'm dying."

A pause.

"...What?"

"I kissed him," Renjun said, eyes wide, voice wobbling with something halfway between euphoria and hysteria. "Like. A real kiss. Outside. In the rain. Like a drama. My mouth touched his mouth. And he kissed me back. Like with tongue, Winter. TONGUE."

There was a rustling noise on the other end of the line, and then Winter's voice came through clearer. "Okay, now I'm up. What the hell do you mean you kissed your professor?"

"Technically," Renjun said, dramatically flopping onto his back like a Victorian widow, "he kissed me. I just yelled a lot before that. But he kissed me. And I yelled again. And then I kissed him. And now I don't know what to do. Am I expelled? Arrested? Getting married? Did I ruin philosophy forever? Winter, I'm scared."

Winter let out a long, long exhale. "Back up. Start from the beginning. Why were you in the rain? Are you wet? Are you inside now? Are you dying of hypothermia?"

"I'm fine," Renjun muttered. "I've got his coat."

"...His what?"

Renjun peeled the phone away from his face and turned on the front camera. The image that greeted Winter was truly terrifying: Renjun's hair was plastered to his forehead, cheeks pink with post-rain adrenaline, eyes wide and glowing like he'd had caffeine injected into his soul. He yanked the coat up to his chin and swaddled himself tighter. "This! Remember? From the night he walled me to the bus stop? Oh— Wait I've never told you about that. Whatever, he gave it to me and I still have it. I forgot to return it. It became my emotional support coat."

Winter was silent. Then, flatly, "You've been snuggling your crush's coat for months?"

"I'm mentally ill," Renjun said with zero shame. "Also, it smells like bergamot. It's comforting."

"Renjun—"

"I KISSED HIM."

"I HEARD YOU."

Renjun writhed around in his bed like a noodle boiling in anxiety. The coat, very expensive-looking and now slightly damp from his rain-soaked jeans, twisted around him like a cocoon. He kicked a pillow onto the floor and yelled into the void. "Winter, I don't know what to do! It was so good. Like. Movie good. I think I blacked out for two seconds. His hand was on my cheek and everything."

Winter groaned. "Okay. Walk me through it. Like, the events. Timeline. I need data."

Renjun exhaled like he was about to recite his will. "Okay. So I was at that karaoke party—"

"Wait, the one we dragged you to?"

"Yes. That one. Sorry for disappearing. So remember when we all got there? So I sang. Badly. And then—wait, actually— fast forward. I called him. I called Mr. Na. Which I didn't mean to do, but Donghyuck's number was not appealing and you know, numbers can get confusing and— Whatever, I called Mr. Na. I yelled and then it was ringing, and then he was on the phone, and I told him I was at the karaoke and sad and wet."

Winter blinked. "You mean, like, emotionally?"

"No, literally. There was a leaky pipe in the bathroom stall. Anyway. He came to pick me up."

Winter gasped. "Professor Na came to pick you up from a random party in the rain?"

Renjun nodded furiously, then realized Winter couldn't see him. "Yes. And then we fought in his car."

"Oh my god."

"No, like, emotionally. I was like why did you invite me to the seminar and make eye contact for three months if you didn't like me and he was like I'm your professor, Renjun, this is literally a disaster, and I was like WELL THEN WHY DID YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE I'M A PHILOSOPHY QUIZ YOU WANT TO GRADE, and then he was like GET OUT OF THE CAR so I did."

"You got out of the car."

"I lied, that didn't happen, I went straight for the kiss."

"You went straight for the kiss?!"

"So naturally I get out of the car, it was raining harder by then so I did it dramatically. Like a stormy French film. Then he followed me. And then—" Renjun choked on his own breath, face scrunching. "—he kissed me."

A long silence.

Winter said softly, "Was it good?"

Renjun let out a squeaky noise and buried his face in the coat. "I think I transcended. I think I'm a better person now. My skin cleared. My GPA went up. My ancestors felt it."

Winter wheezed.

"He tasted like... chapstick. And he was so warm, Winter. And he had this look on his face like he regretted everything but wanted to regret it more."

"That's the most you thing I've ever heard," Winter said, sounding half-amused, half-concerned. "So. What now?"

Renjun went very still. "...I have no idea."

Winter sighed. "Okay, did you talk after the kiss?"

Renjun made a garbled sound. "I said 'okay thank you bye' and ran into the building. Like full-on ran. Like legs. Running."

Winter facepalmed so hard Renjun heard it. "You ran away after kissing him."

"It was a good kiss! I didn't want to ruin it with words!"

"Renjun, you're a literature major."

"Exactly! Words are dangerous!"

Winter groaned. "So now what? Are you going to talk to him?"

Renjun flopped again, dramatically tugging the coat over his entire face. "I don't know. What if I go to class and he's normal? Or worse, what if he's hot and unreadable like always?"

"Then you take initiative."

"I can't initiate! I can barely make eye contact when he says 'good point' in class!"

"Okay, praise kink, what if you give him back the coat?"

Renjun peeked out from the collar like a feral raccoon. "...But it's my blanket now."

"RENJUN."

"I sleep with it! I cried into it! One time I spilled ramen on it and cleaned it with a prayer and Febreze!"

Winter was clearly trying not to laugh. "He's going to notice it's been loved."

"He'll see it and just know I'm insane."

"I think he already knows," Winter said. "And he still kissed you."

Renjun went quiet.

Then he grinned. "I kissed Mr. Na," he whispered again, beaming.

"You really did."

"I'm going to scream."

"Please don't."

Renjun grabbed his pillow, smothered his face in it, and let out a muffled, gleeful shriek anyway. When he resurfaced, cheeks red and hair still clinging to his forehead, he looked dazed with joy. "I think I'm in love."

"You kissed him once."

"It was a really good once. Like a repeatable once."

Winter sighed again. "Fine. But if you're going to keep the coat, at least stop using it as a napkin."

"I'll treasure it forever."

"I give it three days before you panic and stuff it in a laundry bag and leave it outside his office with a sticky note."

"...That is an idea."

"Don't do it."

"Too late. I'm naming the coat Blondie."

Winter hung up.

Renjun lied in bed, grinning like a fool, buried in Jaemin's coat, his heart a flurry of sparkles and dread and joy.

The next day, the department lounge was quiet, save for the ticking of the ugly clock above the microwave and the soft hiss of rain against the tall windows. Xiaoting stood at the coffee machine, furiously tapping the side of it like that might convince it to brew faster. She was wearing mismatched socks again (one striped, one plain) and her glasses were slightly askew. Her hair was in a lopsided ponytail, but she still looked entirely too awake for a Wednesday morning.

The door creaked open.

Jaemin stumbled in looking like he'd survived a minor apocalypse— tie loose, shirt half-untucked, eyes bleary and underlined with exhaustion. His umbrella was dripping rainwater onto the floor, and his hair was plastered damply to his forehead like he'd either given up or hadn't noticed.

She didn't even turn around. "You look like a corpse."

"Thanks," Jaemin mumbled, voice hoarse. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, pushing it back only for it to flop forward again. "Good morning to you, too."

"You're welcome," she chirped, not unkindly. "Did you sleep in your car or fight God?"

He didn't answer immediately, just staggered over to the lumpy armchair by the window and collapsed into it like his body had given out. "Bit of both."

Now she turned. Coffee mug finally in hand, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I mean, not literally," Jaemin said, slumping lower until he looked more like a pile of laundry than a person. "But the night was... eventful."

"Oh god," Xiaoting groaned, dragging out the words like they hurt. "Who died?"

"No one."

"Who cried?"

"...Possibly me."

She blinked. "You?"

He nodded once, face in his hands. Jaemin sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking like a ghost recounting his unfinished business. "Someone called me last night. Someone I... didn't expect."

"You have like five people in your call log," she said.

"I know."

"That makes it worse."

He scrubbed his face with both hands, groaning into his palms. "It was raining. He was drunk. Sad. Something about a leaky bathroom ceiling and karaoke— honestly, it's a blur, then we kissed."

Xiaoting was already pulling up a chair, eyes sharp with interest, like this was a Netflix drama she'd been passively watching for weeks that had finally dropped a crazy twist. "Start over," she demanded, tucking one leg underneath herself. "You drove somewhere. In the rain. For a drunk person."

"Yes."

"You— Okay, no, why?"

"Because I care about him." Jaemin burst, too loud for a room that was supposed to be quiet. Then he immediately winced. "God. That sounded worse out loud."

"…Him? WH—"

"I'm not saying," he cut in quickly. "I legally cannot say."

She squinted at him, suspicion dawning like a slow sunrise. "Oh. Oh my god."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

"I genuinely didn't."

"Jaemin." Her voice dropped, "Did you kiss him?"

Jaemin froze like she'd just said a curse word. His fingers went still where they'd been fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

Xiaoting stared at him, horrified but not surprised. "You did."

"It wasn't planned!" he blurted, throwing his hands in the air like surrendering might save him from divine judgment. "I went there to help. I had a whole speech ready! Boundaries and ethics and professionalism, I even rehearsed it in the car and then we were in the car together, and he was upset, and then he got out in the rain and I— I don't even remember moving. I just—"

"Kissed him."

"It was one kiss," Jaemin said weakly. "Two. Technically. The second one was mutual."

"Oh, good," Xiaoting said dryly, taking a sip of her now-scolding coffee. "As long as it was a two-for-one disaster."

Jaemin let out a long, miserable groan and buried his face again. "I'm a terrible person."

She tilted her head, voice gentler. "So... was it just the moment? Or have you been—"

"I've been trying not to feel anything," Jaemin muttered, and something about the way he said it made her pause. "For weeks. Months, maybe. It was fine. I was fine. I was handling it and then he called me, and I heard his voice, and it was raining, and he sounded so… small. I didn't think. I just went."

"You just went," she repeated, watching him. There was a long silence that she  broke it with a sigh. "And now?" She stared at him, trying to see past the exhausted shell slumped in the armchair. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Does he at least feel the same?"

"I think so?" Jaemin looked like he hated even saying it. "I mean... he kissed me back. He was shaking, I think he was nervous. Or cold. Or both. He had my coat."

Xiaoting's eyebrows shot up. "Your coat?"

He nodded solemnly. "I gave it to him a while ago. Plus, even if i wanted to get it back yesterday, he looked like a drowned cat. I couldn't just let him freeze."

"God," she whispered, setting her mug down. "You like him."

"I didn't mean to!" Jaemin hissed. "It just happened."

Xiaoting pinched the bridge of her nose. "Jaemin, no offense, but you are so bad at having crushes."

He groaned again, full-body this time, flopping backward like he was trying to vanish into the upholstery. "I know. I just— It's the way he thinks. His brain's complicated."

She studied him for a long moment, coffee cradled between both hands like a barrier or a balm. "And you're sure this won't come back to bite you?"

"I'm not sure of anything right now," Jaemin said quietly. "I feel like I accidentally started a fire by trying to light a candle."

Xiaoting sighed. "Well. If you get fired, I'm not helping you pack."

"That's fair."

"And I get to say 'I told you so' at your hearing."

"Also fair."

There was another pause, longer this time. The rain tapped against the windows like it had opinions.

Finally, in a voice more careful than before, Xiaoting said, "I thought maybe you were over that phase. The whole falling for disasters thing."

Jaemin looked up at her, startled. "It's not like that."

"No?" she asked, eyes softer now but still guarded. "Because I've seen you like this before, Jaemin. The sleepless nights, the 'he's different' cycle. You always think it's different until it ends."

"This is different," he said, kind of as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. She didn't argue and instead watched him with an unreadable expression, then turned back toward the window.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I hope so."

Jaemin didn't answer.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The car ride to Yeri's house was uneventful. Sicheng had fallen asleep ten minutes in, his head bobbing gently with each turn, while Renjun stared out the window, mentally rehearsing polite things to say to Yeri's family. He didn't really know why he was nervous. Maybe because Yeri had that way of talking about her family like they were sitcom characters, dramatic but endearing, constantly in each other's business.

What he wasn't prepared for was war.

When they pulled up to a pretty, ivy-draped house in the hills, the front door was already wide open like someone had spotted them from the window. A woman stepped out, she was bright-eyed and stylish, with the kind of casual confidence that made it immediately obvious this was Yeri's mom. She pulled Yeri into a hug first, then turned to Renjun and Sicheng with a delighted grin.

"You must be Sicheng! And you must be Renjun—oh, Yeri's told us all about you both. Come in, come in, shoes off at the door or Yeri's stepdad will start yelling about floor scratches."

Renjun followed, smiling politely, nudging Sicheng to wake up from his daze. He was just starting to relax when a low voice said behind him:

"Hey. You made it."

Renjun turned around.

And there he was.

Lee. Fucking. Jeno.

Standing in the hallway, hair perfectly in place, a glass of lemonade in one hand, like this was his house. Which, apparently, it was.

"Oh," Renjun said, way too calm for the nuclear panic suddenly detonating in his chest. "You live here."

Jeno blinked, visibly stiffening. "Yeah. I—uh. Yeri's my stepsister."

Of course she is, Renjun thought, because of course the universe is a messy little bitch with no sense of boundaries. "I'm Sicheng's cousin."

The mentioned one, who had just registered the situation, gave a tiny inhale like someone had handed him a live grenade. Yeri's mom, oblivious to the growing static in the air, clapped her hands together.

"Jeno, you've met Renjun before, right? What a small world!"

The smallest. The cruelest. Renjun's smile could've been printed on glass, looking all thin and breakable. "Yes. We've met."

Sicheng moved closer like he was preparing to physically intervene if necessary. Yeri, catching on far too late, frowned between the two of them. "Wait. What is happening."

Jeno cleared his throat, not quite meeting Renjun's eyes. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't plan on doing so. I didn't know you lived here," Renjun said, still smiling. "So I guess we're both surprised." It was diplomatic and civil. So civilized it almost hurt. Jeno's expression shifted to maybe regret? Guilt? Something close to apology.

"I'll just go help in the kitchen," Jeno muttered, disappearing with his mother before anyone could respond.

"Do I need to kick him in the shins or...?"Yeri squinted at Renjun.

"No," Renjun said. "Just maybe don't ever do that thing again where you surprise introduce me to someone who broke my heart in your foyer."

Yeri looked horrified. "Wait. That's the Jeno?"

Sicheng groaned softly into his hand.

Renjun patted Yeri's shoulder. "I'm gonna need two things immediately. One: a cookie. Two: your Wi-Fi password, so I can live-text Karina about this betrayal."

Sicheng leaned in. "You're handling this very maturely."

Renjun was already typing furiously, "I'm thinking about setting his shampoo bottles on fire."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The dining room was warm and elegant, filled with soft light and the smell of roast duck. Renjun sat stiffly at the long table beside Sicheng, wishing he could disappear behind the too-tall floral centerpiece. Across from him sat Jeno, all perfect posture and effortless charm, like he wasn't the reason Renjun had nearly choked three different times while texting Karina before dinner even started.

Yeri's parents were lovely, they were constantly smiling, very talkative, and seemed proud. Thats only because they didn't know, of course. They couldn't know that Jeno, their sweet, thoughtful Keno, had kissed Renjun's best friend while very much flirting with Renjun himself just hours before.

"So, Renjun," The voice of Yeri's mom pulled him out of his thoughts, slicing into her food with gentle precision. "Sicheng tells us you're a philosophy student! That must be so interesting.."

Renjun smiled politely, "Yes. But I've been learning that the real challenge isn't finding answers, but more figuring out who's being honest with you."

Across the table, Jeno didn't miss a beat. He cut into his duck with the calm of someone used to pressure, and smiled faintly. "Some people enjoy a little mystery. Makes things less boring, don't you think?"

Sicheng, bless him, tried to keep things light. "Renjun actually joined a philosophy seminar group! It's hard to get into, but he asked this brilliant question in class and—"

Renjun didn't look at him. "I like clarity," he said, voice level. "I think it's important to be straightforward about what you want."

Yeri jumped in, her laugh a little too loud. "Exactly, and that's how he got in! Okay, wow. Mom, did you try the stuffing? Sicheng helped me make it!"

Yeri's dad nodded enthusiastically. "It's delicious! Sicheng, I didn't know you cooked. How many different hobbies do you have?"

"Oh well, I live by myself so cooking came naturally for me." Sicheng nervously answered the question, wiping his mouth. "My mom taught me."

"Why didn't you bring your parents here? Renjun is great, but we would’ve loved to meet them too."

"My cousin's kind of the only family I have. Our parents all stayed back in China, so we do everything together here."

"Amazing.. Well that's sweet. I don't think I could ever leave my kids like that." Her mom gave a weird expression after visibly imagining it. "Speaking of hobbies, Jeno's been the greatest movie enthusiast ever since he was a kid. Now look at him, filming all kinds of things, writing his scripts. Jeno, how's that film project of yours coming along?"

Jeno tilted his head like he was considering the question. "Pretty good. I've been working on giving characters bad traits to make them realistic. You know, the kind where someone says things just to irritate others out of nothing." He glanced at Renjun then for just a second and their eyes finally met.

Renjun stabbed his food in a way that could be interpreted as a violation of animal rights. "Some characters just steal scenes that weren't even theirs to begin with. I often watch movies and wonder why some character is awkwardly standing in the way. They have nothing to do there. Hope you know how to avoid doing that."

Sicheng made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a gasp. "Anyway! You know who would have great chemistry on camera?" He was speaking too fast. "Renjun and Jeno!"

Renjun turned slowly to stare at him. Yeri kicked Sicheng under the table so hard the dishes rattled.

"I mean," Sicheng added quickly, "just in terms of screen presence. Individually. Not together. Probably. Hypothetically."

"Oh my god," Yeri said, laugh bright and panicked. "Can you imagine them in a buddy comedy? Renjun's the snarky one and Jeno's the one who steals all his snacks."

"Classic betrayal," Renjun muttered.

Jeno just smiled. "I wouldn't be stealing other snacks if the snack was already promised to me."

"How the actual heck was the snack not promised already?"

Yeri's mom laughed. "You two are so funny!"

"No, we're not," they both said, too quickly and in perfect unison.

There was a pause. Yeri's dad raised an eyebrow. "Ah, young people. So complicated."

Yeri sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. "You have no idea."

After dinner, when Sicheng insisted on helping clean up, Yeri's mom had tried to wave him off with a cheerful, "You're our guest!" but Yeri had already grabbed his hand and declared, "Then we'll just do it. Right, Sicheng?"

So now they were alone in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, warm water running in the sink, the air smelling like lemon soap. The soft clink of dishes filled the quiet, broken only by their quiet chatter and the occasional muffled laugh from the living room where her parents had retreated with wine and dessert.

Sicheng was drying a plate very carefully, as if it might shatter if he held it too tightly. "Do you think they really liked me?"

Yeri snorted and bumped his shoulder with hers. "They love you. My mom asked me if you could come over for Lunar New Year before you even finished your first glass of water."

"She did?" His voice was small, a little stunned.

"Mm-hm," she hummed, taking the plate from his hands and stacking it neatly. "She said you have a 'peaceful aura.' Which, I think is code for 'He didn't speak much but he didn't say anything weird.'"

Sicheng made a face. "I didn't say anything weird."

"You didn't," Yeri confirmed. "You were sweet and polite and you complimented her cooking twice. You are now officially her favorite."

He laughed softly, but she could still see the flicker of nerves in his eyes as he passed her another bowl. "I just... I didn't want to mess anything up and Renjun looked like he was going to explode at one point."

"Oh, that?" Yeri waved it off, balancing the bowl on the drying rack. "They're just being dramatic. They have, like, ten layers of weird history right now. But it's not your job to fix that. You were perfect."

Sicheng turned his head slightly, smiling down at her, his shoulders relaxing just a little. "You think so?"

"I know so." She reached over and tugged gently at the collar of his shirt, straightening it out. "You charmed the entire household. Even Jeno looked like he didn't know how to argue with you, and that boy argues with toast." Sicheng laughed again, softer this time. "So mission accomplished," Yeri teased. Then she leaned in and kissed him quickly like a light brush against the corner of his mouth. "I'm really glad you're here."

He smiled at her, a little shy and a little proud. "Me too, even if Renjun might've murdered Jeno before dessert."

Yeri snorted. "Honestly? If it happened, we just wouldn't have mentioned it until Monday."

They both returned to the dishes, hands brushing now and then as the last of the plates were washed, the tension of the evening finally slipping into something soft and quiet between them. After the dishes were done and Yeri had gone upstairs to grab something, Sicheng sat down in the living room couch. The scent of roasted food still lingered in his sweater. He sat with his hands in his pockets, letting himself breathe when the door creaked open behind him.

"Didn't expect you to be the one cleaning up," Jeno said, voice light. "Yeri usually puts everyone to work but somehow you volunteered."

Sicheng glanced back, startled, then gave a polite smile. "I offered."

Jeno sat right next to him, too close for comfort but not close enough to be rude. His posture was relaxed, casual, like they were old friends and not... whatever this was.

"Renjun seems tense," Jeno said after a moment. "I wasn't sure if it was just the dinner or if he's still upset about... things."

Sicheng blinked. "Still upset?"

"Mm." Jeno looked at the ceiling like he wasn't choosing his words carefully and this was just an offhand observation. "It's just been hard to talk to him lately. He gets defensive so fast. It's like he expects the worst from me."

Sicheng hesitated. He didn't know how much he was allowed to say, or if this was some kind of test. He knows the full story, so this felt oddly suspicious. "I think he's just... going through a lot."

"I know." Jeno sighed, his voice softening. "I've been trying to give him space but it's frustrating when you're only trying to be there for someone and they treat you like the bad guy." There it was, the shift. The quiet pivot from curiosity to guilt, and Sicheng, ever gentle, ever trying to see the best in people, immediately softened too.

"I'm sure he doesn't mean it like that," he offered carefully. "Renjun's sensitive. He probably just... doesn't know how to say he's hurt."

Jeno looked at him then, "You get it," he said. "I can see why Yeri likes you."

Sicheng's face warmed, but unease prickled in his chest.

Jeno kept going, quieter now. "I never meant to hurt him. Things just... happened. I didn't even know Renjun felt that way about me until after. And then suddenly I was the villain. It's like no one ever stops to ask what I'm feeling."

Sicheng opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It was hard to respond to that without stepping into a trap. He was pretty confused why Jeno was eve talking to him about this in the first place. It felt so random, so out of context, that Sicheng couldn't understand it.

"You know," Jeno added, gaze flicking sideways, "I actually thought Renjun and I had something. Real tension, real interest. Maybe I misread it. Or maybe he was just using me to feel something."

"That's not fair," Sicheng said softly, before he could stop himself.

Jeno tilted his head. "Isn't it?"

The silence between them stretched. Jeno waited, letting the discomfort settle like fog.

"I don't want things to be messy," Jeno said, standing up. "I just want Renjun to be okay. If you talk to him... maybe let him know that." And then, as if it had been a casual chat between two concerned friends, Jeno smiled gently, almost apologetic. "Thanks for listening, Sicheng. It means a lot."

The door clicked shut behind him. What just happened?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun leaned against the porch railing, half-scrolling through his phone, half-listening to the murmur of dishes being cleared inside. When dinner had ended, he'd slipped out the moment it was polite to. He didn't hear the door open until it was too late. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, then a soft click of the door behind him, and the familiar sound of a lighter being flicked. He glanced up. Jeno was standing just a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other cupping a cigarette between his fingers. He lit it, the flame briefly illuminating the side of his face, and took a slow drag.

Renjun's stomach sank. His shoulders tensed instinctively, and he pushed off the railing, stuffing his phone in his pocket. "I was just heading back in," he said flatly.

"You don't have to leave," Jeno replied, exhaling smoke into the evening air.

Renjun didn't look at him. "I do, actually."

"You've been avoiding me."

Renjun scoffed, already turning toward the door. "No, I've just been avoiding being treated like an idiot."

He didn't get far, because Jeno's voice followed. "I wasn't playing you, Renjun."

That stopped him. He turned back. "You kissed Donghyuck."

"He kissed me," Jeno said, stepping forward. "You think I planned that? That I set out to hurt you?"

Renjun laughed once, bitter and quiet. "No. I think you're just... careless, with people, with me."

Jeno didn't answer right away. He took another drag of his cigarette slower this time. "I liked you," he said finally. "Still do."

"That's not enough," Renjun said, and internally got the ick from whatever fake cinematographic scene Jeno was forcing right now. "You don't get to flirt with me, kiss me, then kiss someone I trusted with everything and act like I'm overreacting."

"I'm not," Jeno said quietly. "I'm not acting like anything. I'm just trying to explain."

Renjun looked at him for the first time since that night. Jeno didn't look smug or defensive but actually tired and sincere, and God knows it pissed Renjun off even more. "I don't want an explanation," he said. "I want space."

"I'll give you that," Jeno said, his voice low as he crushed the cigarette under his shoe, the embers glowing briefly before fading (which, by the way, thank God, because the smell was unbearable). Renjun didn't respond, simply because he couldn't when he felt the weight of his own breath as he gripped the door handle. "But don't act like you're a saint."

"What?"

Jeno's voice was softer now, almost too calm. "I saw you. You think I'm the only one who's messed up?"

Renjun felt his pulse quicken as he sighed. "What are you talking about this time?"

Jeno let out a slow, almost pitying breath. "I saw you," he said, almost gently. "Outside the dorms. Last week. You kissed your professor."

Renjun's breath caught. "What—"

"Na?," Jeno clarified. "Philosophy guy, the one you've been trailing around like a lost puppy every time I came to see you after class? Kind of ironic you dared to talk about philosophy at dinner."

Something cold and ugly crawled under Renjun's skin. "You were watching me?"

"No," Jeno said, sounding almost wounded by the suggestion. "I looked out my window and literally there you were, arms around him, laughing, kissing him like it was nothing."

"That's not what happened, you must be confused about what you saw. I did not do that."

"Really?" Jeno tilted his head, his voice laced with disbelief. He sounded disappointed. "Because it looked a lot like you. It also looked a lot like you were moving on, pretty fast I'd say" His voice broke on the last word, not loud, but enough to crack something in Renjun's chest.

"I didn't plan any of that," Renjun said, jaw tight.

"But you didn't stop it either," Jeno replied, soft. "You let it happen."

"You don't know anything about what Jaemin and I—"

"I know he can fail you," Jeno said. "I know he has power over you. Now I also know you spent months pretending I meant something while you were figuring out how to sneak around with someone who's supposed to grade your work. You think I crossed a line because Donghyuck kissed me?" Jeno's voice dropped further, slower now, like every word had been rehearsed in his head. "You think that makes me the bad guy? He kissed me, Renjun. And I pushed him away. You saw that part, didn't you? But you never asked."

"You didn't push him away. I didn't— That part I didn't see... You were very much kissing him back, that is all I saw."

"Well yeah. I didn't do it right away," Jeno admitted. "Because I was confused. Because I'd just been kissed and ignored and I didn't know where you stood. Because your best friend — who you trust so much — told me you weren't interested, and that you weren't serious. He said you do this sometimes, you attached and then vanish."

Renjun stared at him, too stunned to get any words out. What?

"I didn't want to believe it," Jeno continued, softer now, like a hand pressing over a bruise. "But then you left.. And then there was Jaemin." He reached forward, brushing a strand of Renjun's hair behind his ear as he spoke, his fingers lingering a little too long against his skin, and Renjun felt like throwing up. "You really think dating your professor is a good idea, don't you?" Renjun looked away at the accusation, but Jeno pressed on. "It's not just a bad choice, Renjun. It's reckless."

Jeno's thumb ran across Renjun's cheek as he spoke, a soft, comforting gesture he's given him so many times before. He remembered all those days Jeno was there to listen to whatever inconveniences Renjun had to talk about.

"It's the kind of thing that feels exciting for a minute, like you're doing something forbidden no one else can touch, but all you're doing in reality is letting him play you."

His hand moved slowly, almost tenderly, down Renjun's jaw, before pulling back just a bit. "You think he's into you? Really? You think he's going to be there when you need him? Or do you think you'll be the one left holding the bag when everything comes crashing down?"

Jeno took one last step closer, his eyes never leaving Renjun's face. "Because that's how it always goes, you know. You're just one of the many students he can impress with his power, with his position. When you're done being a curiosity, when the novelty wears off, what happens then? You'll be the one left behind, dealing with the fallout, while he moves on to the next one." Jeno's voice was calm, like he was explaining a simple truth. "Professors don't fall in love with students, Renjun. They can't. It's not just unethical, it's dangerous. When it blows up in your face, don't act like you didn't know better. You're not as naive as you think."

Renjun's throat tightened.

"You're so quick to be hurt, but you don't look at what you did to me. You made me feel like I was wrong for hoping, like I was stupid for thinking we had something. But the second things got complicated, you ran straight to the powerful option you could find."

"That's not true," Renjun said, but it felt weak even to him.

"Isn't it? You keep blaming me so you don't have to feel guilty. But what about that little teacher? You lied about him, and you want to talk to me about betrayal?"

Renjun felt like the floor was tilting. Like the space between right and wrong had collapsed into a fog of too many feelings and too many versions of the truth.

"I liked you," Jeno said. "Really liked you. But you made me feel like an idiot. You kissed me like it meant something, and then turned around and handed that same kiss to someone else like it was just... yours to give away. You did that. You did. You, Renjun."

"I'm sorry?" Renjun whispered. "I didn't think you'd be hurt by it, I thought it was all over."

"But you did hurt me," Jeno said. "And you keep doing it. And maybe it's easier for you to point at me and Hyuck and pretend we're the problem. But maybe, just maybe, you need to stop running from the fact that you made a choice too. I'm not the villain here," Jeno was stepping back now, satisfied. "I never was."

The door closed between them.

Renjun stayed on the porch a little longer, staring into the dark, the smell of smoke still clinging to his jacket.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The bathroom mirror was fogged around the edges from the shower someone took earlier. Yeri stood in front of it with her hair pulled back in a loose bun, dabbing micellar water across her cheeks with a cotton pad. Her pajama sleeves were rolled up, and there was a soft hum in her throat as she moved through her routine, comforted by the familiarity of it all.

Jeno was beside her, leaning over the sink with a toothbrush in his mouth, foam gathering at the corners of his lips. His hair was damp, pushed back lazily, and he looked exactly like the kind of guy who didn't care if his toothpaste dripped onto his shirt.

"So," Yeri said, voice casual as she reached for her toner, "you like Sicheng?" He made a noise in his throat that might've been a laugh, or just a reaction to brushing his molars. "I mean," she continued, "he's sweet."

Jeno spit, rinsed, and wiped his mouth with the corner of a hand towel. "He's fine," he said. "Nice. Polite. Kind of too polite."

"God forbid someone's normal," Yeri muttered, wiping under her eyes.

"I didn't say it was bad," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "Just... you know. A little too easy to read."

Yeri gave him a look through the mirror. "That's what antagonists say in movies, don't talk about my boyfriend like that."

He opened the medicine cabinet, stared inside like he'd forgotten what he was looking for, then closed it again.

"When are you going back to campus?" she asked, dabbing cream under her eyes. "Mom said you're staying the weekend, but you're not, like, moving back in or anything, right?"

"Relax," he said. "I'm leaving tomorrow night. I just didn't want to drive with food coma."

"Mm," she said, unconvinced.

Jeno leaned against the doorframe, yawning, then glanced toward the hallway. "Hey—can you grab my zip-up? The one I wore to dinner, I stained the bottom like an idiot. It's still drying by the radiator, I think. "

"Yeah, sure."

There was a stool with a sweater neatly placed so that the pockets would be at the top and closer to the radiator attached to the wall. It was still faintly warm on one side from the heat. She grabbed it by the bottom hem, the way it had been lying, and as she handed it over, something slipped from the pocket and clinked to the floor.

Yeri paused. Looked down.

A small silver lighter rolled to a stop against the baseboard. Jeno didn't say anything, just stared at it like it had nothing to do with him.

Yeri bent down slowly, picked it up. Held it between her fingers. "Seriously?"

"It's not a big deal," Jeno said, too fast.

She stared at him, eyebrows raised. "You're smoking again?"

"It's not like that."

"What is it like, then?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I just keep it with me. Sometimes. It's not even—God, Yeri, it's not like I'm lighting up in stairwells."

She crossed her arms, lighter still in hand. "You quit two years ago."

"I mostly quit."

"That's not a thing!" she snapped. "You don't get to say you 'mostly' quit. That's like saying you kind of don't lie."

His jaw tightened. "Don't act like you're so above it. Like you haven't—"

"I didn't lie about quitting something that literally made your lungs hurt," she said sharply. "Don't pull this self-destructive shit at home."

Jeno looked away, jaw clenched. "It's just a lighter."

Yeri shook her head, holding it out to him. "Then you won't mind if I throw it out."

He didn't take it. Just stared at it for a moment, then quietly said, "You're not my mom."

"No," she agreed. "I'm the one who has to deal with your stupid shit when she's not around." She placed the lighter on the edge of the sink and turned back to the mirror, expression hardening as she picked up her lip balm. Behind her, Jeno said nothing as he walked out.

Chapter Text

September, Night before the first day of school

Weddings weren't really his thing — especially not loud, overdecorated, overly sentimental family affairs like this one. But his cousin had begged, literally cornered him on the phone two days before, guilt-tripped him into coming as a gesture of support. "There'll be cake," he'd said, like that was some magical balm for academic burnout or social exhaustion. So he said yes, because it was easier to say yes than to explain how deep in the weeds he already was with semester planning and research proposals, easier to show up with a smile and leave early than to argue with a cousin who cried during baby commercials. Jaemin told himself he would make an appearance for his wedding, stay polite, maybe sneak off after the first round of champagne. He'd just keep a low profile, as always.

He wore a black button-up and didn't even tuck it in right. He hadn't slept well in weeks, and he didn't want to be seen. That night, he only wanted quiet and anonymity, maybe.

Instead, he got Renjun but he hadn't known his name then. Just a boy, stumbling into the restroom like he was wandering through a dream, cheeks flushed, steps uneven, voice too loud for the small tiled space. Tipsy, dramatic, disoriented, yet strangely, absurdly pretty in the way people sometimes are when they're too far gone to pretend anymore.

He leaned against the wall like he needed it to stay upright, looked at Jaemin with such immediate, reckless familiarity, as if he'd been waiting to meet him all night. Jaemin watched the realization cross his face, infatuation definitely not grounded in any kind of reality (pretty much just liquor). He spoke blunt, unfiltered, absurd.

"Did you pee?"

It should've been funny. Jaemin had half a mind to laugh, maybe tease him gently, redirect him back to the party. But the boy kept going, slurring, flirting, attempting seduction with all the finesse of a knocked-over wine glass. Every word that came out of his mouth dragged them deeper into territory Jaemin had no interest in exploring, not just because of the inappropriateness of it all, but because something about it made him deeply uncomfortable, not just embarrassed or unsettled. He didn't want to hold that much power over someone that out of it. He didn't want to be anyone's hazy, regrettable memory. Worse, he didn't want someone else's shame to get tangled up in his name.

It wasn't that he hadn't been hit on before, not even that drunk people were unusual in his life. Universities and department functions were full of ill-advised hookups, confessions made in stairwells, awkward Monday morning apologies after departmental mixers.

However this was different. This kid was young. He radiated it, nineteen at most (Jaemin later learns he was in fact twenty-one years old), eyes glossy, posture slack, a sense of carelessness that wasn't confidence but something else entirely, overall just a frantic kind of desperation. It kind of felt like he was trying to escape his own skin and flirtation was just the vehicle. Jaemin had seen that before. Hell, he remembered what that felt like, in his own earliest twenties.

He didn't want to be cruel. He gave him water, steadying the cup with careful hands. He watched him gulp it down with almost childlike dependence, eyes closed, lashes trembling and even in the discomfort of it all, Jaemin felt the strange gnawing weight of responsibility. He'd just become the designated adult in a room neither of them belonged in.

Things escalated fast. One second the boy was whining about going home with him. Next, he was pouting, offering compromises Jaemin hadn't asked for, tripping toward a cubicle with clumsy determination. Jaemin caught him out of instinct only, one hand around the boy's wrist and the other around his waist, keeping him from slamming to the floor. Maybe that was the moment — the exact second — where it all shifted from uncomfortable to serious. The boy was too gone to understand boundaries, and Jaemin suddenly became aware of every pair of eyes that could walk in.

He hadn't asked for this. Hadn't flirted, hadn't encouraged. But still, the optics would be damning. A young man flushed and clinging. Jaemin, older, holding him up. A third party. A familiar voice calling his name.

This other man's entrance into the bathroom felt like a slap. Jaemin hadn't done anything wrong (he knew that he hadn't), but because now there was a witness. A real, breathing person saw them like that, caught the way Renjun leaned into him, heard the boy whine about getting "interrupted," about how they were "about to fuck".

His brain seemed to hiccup as his hands flew up in instinctual denial, stepping back like the air itself had burned him. "That is... That could not be farther away from the truth." It was all he could say, stunned into clarity.

He saw Renjun get peeled away, carried out like a drunken child, and all Jaemin could think was: Please let this never come back to me. Please let this night disappear. He didn't even stay for dessert. Slipped out while the family was distracted, jacket over one shoulder. He kept that night in a box, labeled it "unfortunate," sealed it with the kind of indifference he'd perfected over years of learning to detach.

So whatever, the next day, Jaemin adjusted the mic and glanced at the time as the door opened with a rushed clatter. His attention had been calmly focused on outlining the semester's structure. The first lecture of the year always required a balance of formality and warmth, a firm establishment of expectations softened by a tone that wouldn't terrify the students into silence. But the moment the auditorium door clicked open, that practiced equilibrium disappeared.

It was the boy. The boy. The one from the wedding. The bathroom. The flushed cheeks, the slurred voice, the soft grip on his wrist and the breathless, drunken pleas, looking like he'd seen death itself standing behind the podium.

It took Jaemin half a second to process the coincidence and another half to realize it wasn't one. The universe had, in some quiet mischievous mood, rearranged their paths back together in the most inconvenient possible way. The boy, man — Renjun, as he'd later confirm from the attendance list — had turned pale, like a ghost had passed through him. His eyes were wide and stunned, and Jaemin, even from the distance of the stage, could see the frantic calculation in them, like he was searching the room for a trapdoor.

He covered Nietzsche the way he was supposed to in the first week, an introductory overview designed to spark interest without overwhelming. One part carried out the lecture flawlessly, clicking into the motions he knew by heart. The other part kept drifting back to the flushed face he remembered from the bathroom mirror.

It was disorienting. He wasn't used to being shaken by a student, especially not like this. There was something absurd, it was just like the setup of a story he wouldn't believe if someone else told it, and Jaemin had always prided himself on being rational, grounded, difficult to catch off guard, but this was throwing him.

Bathroom guy didn't look much better. From where Jaemin stood, he could see the slump of his shoulders, the way his head practically disappeared into his arms on the desk. He looked utterly mortified. And maybe Jaemin should have felt guilty, should have looked away, should have filed it all away under "irrelevant distractions" and gone about his job like none of it mattered.

Jaemin could've laughed out of the unbelievableness of it all. Because what were the chances? Really? What were the odds that this specific guy would end up in his specific class?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

September,

Karina plopped down into the too-low couch just outside the seminar room, balancing her iced coffee on her knee while scrolling through her phone. "Nayeon said she's not coming again," she muttered, thumb pausing over a text.

Giselle looked up from her notebook, brows raised. "Again as in just this week, or again as in ever?"

Karina glanced over, lips pulling into a slight frown. "Ever. Said her schedule's packed and she wants to focus on her stuff instead."

Giselle let out a soft groan and tilted her head back against the wall. "That's like the third person and the year barely begun. Do we even count as a group anymore?"

Karina made a noise of agreement, sipping from her coffee. "I mean, when we started, we had what— ten people? We're down to, like, six who show up consistently."

"Six, including us," Giselle deadpanned.

A second of silence passed, broken only by the sound of distant footsteps down the hallway.

Karina sighed. "I just don't get it. It's not like the discussions are boring. I actually look forward to them."

"Yeah, but most people don't want extra philosophy when they're already drowning in required readings," Giselle said with a shrug. "It's chill for us because we're in love with pain."

That got a snort out of Karina. "Speak for yourself. I'm here for the hot takes and Mr. Na's five-second eye twitches every time someone misquotes Plato."

Right on cue, a familiar voice drifted in from the doorway.

"I heard my name," Jaemin said, stepping into view, a folder tucked neatly under his arm.

Karina looked up, startled. "Oh— sorry, we weren't talking about you in a weird way or anything."

"You absolutely were," Giselle added helpfully.

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, amused.

Karina laughed, but then her smile faded slightly. "Actually... we were talking about how people keep leaving the seminar group. It feels like we're disappearing."

"Nayeon just dropped," Giselle added. "And I think Ten's only been coming out of guilt at this point."

Jaemin nodded slowly, walking over to set the folder on the desk. "I've noticed." After a pause, he turned to them with that same calm tone he always used when he was easing into an idea. "I don't want to let the group fizzle out," he said. "If either of you know someone who might be interested, it wouldn't hurt to invite them. I can speak to them too, if that helps."

Karina tilted her head. "You'd be okay with that? What if they're not top-of-the-class types?"

Jaemin smiled faintly. "Curiosity matters more than grades. The group was never meant to be exclusive."

Giselle exchanged a look with Karina. "I mean... there is this guy who asked a pretty fun question in lecture last week."

Karina perked up. "Oh, you mean the one who walked in late and looked like he was going to throw up?"

"That's the one."

Jaemin looked between them, clearly trying not to smile. "Well, if he survived the embarrassment and still had the courage to speak up, that's something."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He arrived at the lecture hall early out of habit more than nerves. Renjun was already there.

He hadn't taken a seat in the back like most nervous undergraduates desperate to become invisible. No, he'd chosen a spot in the middle, slightly off-center. A position that said: Notice me, but don't call on me. See me, but don't look too hard. The kind of positioning Jaemin used to favor himself, back when he was still pretending he didn't care what people thought of him.

But maybe that was just Jaemin overthinking it. God, why's he even making suppositions right now? He just came to class and sat down on whatever seat was free. Renjun didn't notice him at first. He was fiddling with his pen, tugging it apart and clicking it back together with restless fingers. His green sweater (a soft, oversized thing with sleeves scrunched carelessly to the elbows) had something disarming about the way it clung to Renjun's frame, the way the knit had stretched a little around the shoulders, like it had been worn with hesitation. He looked like he'd fought with his closet. His hair was a touch too messy. His mouth moved, barely perceptible, like he was rehearsing something under his breath.

Who would've thought this same peaceful student sitting there was capable of things like that?

Whatever, he looked charming in a way that snuck past his well-fortified rationality before he had time to intercept it. He gathered himself and walked to the front, moving like he always did, collected, measured, spine straight and breath even. He set his bag down on the desk with calm, methodical precision. Everything about his demeanor said: I am in control.

"Good morning," he said, directing it to the class with his usual warmth. His peripheral vision caught the way Renjun's back went stiff, like a violin string pulled too tight. The boy's hand jerked suddenly, pen skipping across the page, leaving behind the erratic beginnings of a spiral. His head dropped low over his notebook.

Midway through the lecture Renjun's hand lifted. His fingers hung there in the air for a second too long, as if second-guessing their own courage.

"Yes?" he said, gentler than usual.

Renjun cleared his throat. The first few words came out halting, like they'd scraped their way up through layers of anxiety. His eyes narrowed slightly in thought, and the hesitation was gone.

"Is it possible that Sartre's concept of freedom is less about personal agency," Renjun said slowly, "and more about... the burden of choice as a kind of internal exile?"

The question wasn't polished. It was spoken like a thought Renjun hadn't intended to share until it had forced its way out. But it was good. So good. it sounded like something that made Jaemin think of old notebooks and 3 a.m. dorm room debates. It was familiar not in content, but in tone. It echoed something Jaemin had scribbled in the margins of his philosophy texts back in undergrad.

Jaemin gave an answer. Renjun looked at him again with his eyes wide, as if he was recognizing a language he didn't know he could speak.

Every time he glanced up, that green sweater was there. Every time he reached for a thought, he had to drag it away from the image of Renjun in that bathroom five months ago, eyes glassy, lips parted, asking him in a drunken slur to "take him home".

That night after class, his apartment was wrapped in light of a single floor lamp, shadows stretching across the scattered textbooks and half-empty wine glasses on the coffee table. Xiaoting was stretched out on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest, and a glass of white wine on the side table.

Jaemin, perched on a kitchen stool, swirled his wine. He was clearly killing time, waiting for her to say something. His eyes flicked to her and back down at the glass, amusement simmering.

"You've been awfully quiet tonight," Xiaoting said finally.

He looked up slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Just savoring the peace before the grading. You know how it goes."

"Sure," she said, voice dripping with playful suspicion. "Or maybe you're still thinking about the wedding idiot."

Jaemin rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "You know it's more than that."

"Philosophical curiosity," she nodded. "Right. You're basically writing a dissertation on him in your head."

"Maybe," Jaemin admitted, "But I'm a professor. It's kind of my job to obsess."

"Clearly." Xiaoting stretched luxuriously, arching her back and sighing dramatically. "But maybe you should obsess over me more."

Jaemin laughed, setting his glass down and standing to join her. "Ah, the classic demand. Is that a formal request or a command?"

"Command, definitely." She reached out, tugging him gently by the wrist.

"Flattery will get you everywhere,"

She tugged him toward the bedroom, bantering softly as they went. He slid his hands around her waist. They tumbled onto the bed and Xiaoting traced lazy circles on Jaemin's arm, her voice dipping just enough to catch his attention.

"You know," she said, hesitating for a fraction of a second, "if you spent any more time analyzing undergrads, I might have to become one just to get your attention."

Jaemin caught her gaze, his expression flickering part amusement. Jaemin's smile faltered just a little, and he looked away. "Well," he said, voice light but distant, "I think I'm better off sticking to the professional side of things."

Xiaoting's smile tightened, a tiny crease appearing between her brows. She pulled back slightly.

"Right," she said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Professional."

There was a brief silence, then Jaemin cleared his throat. "But I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Xiaoting said, her voice barely above a whisper.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Jaemin's not sure what he expected from this barbecue, but it certainly wasn't a glimpse of him half-hidden behind a potted ficus. His first thought is: Is that Renjun? His second is: Of course it is.

Renjun looks like he gave up halfway through buttoning his shirt. His hair is doing something chaotic and clearly unsanctioned, and he keeps tugging at one of his shoelaces.

Jaemin watches the entire plant-hiding situation unfold from a distance, one brow raised behind his sunglasses.

There's a brief, spirited exchange with a cousin (Jaemin thinks his name is Sicheng, he's pretty sure Sicheng tried to make him eat something suspiciously jiggly at the wedding buffet, and nicely peeled Renjun away from him after their fun encounter), and then Renjun is being extracted from the foliage like a flustered housecat. Jaemin almost feels bad for how hard he's trying.

Somehow, he found himself amused rather than irritated. It wasn't that Renjun was smooth. God, no. But there was something weirdly likable about him. Even now, awkwardly hauling juice boxes across the lawn like they're evidence in a criminal case, there's a certain sincerity that makes Jaemin want to keep watching.

He pretends not to. He helps with chairs, dodges three different aunties trying to set him up with someone's daughter, makes polite conversation about grad school and tenure tracks and why no one ever brings enough ice to these things.

Jaemin's halfway through a glass of lemonade when the music cuts out.

It's Renjun again, hunched over the speaker system. His fingers fumble through a tangle of wires, and Jaemin finds himself walking toward him before he can stop the impulse. The grass crunches beneath his shoes. He crouches.

"Technical difficulties?" he offers.

Renjun jolts so hard he nearly takes the speaker down with him. "Oh— uh. No. I mean, yes. It's being dramatic. Like me."

"Is that self-awareness I hear?"

"Don't get used to it."

The wire clicks. Music returns. Mellow, warm. Not bad. Jaemin leans back on his heels, watching the way Renjun exhales like he's just disarmed a bomb.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here again," he says. And he means it. Not just here, at this specific barbecue. But here at all. In his class. At family events tangling himself up in Jaemin's day-to-day life like some kind of strange coincidence that won't quite fade.

"Yeah. I'm a recurring theme in your nightmares, probably."

Jaemin laughs. "I wouldn't say that."

He watches Renjun's face closely then, just for a second, sees the way that lands. It lands like he doesn't quite know what to do with it and he hadn't expected kindness to be part of the conversation. Though Jaemin doesn't forget easily, he also doesn't hold things against people just because they were messy once.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Wow," Xiaoting says, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between her fingers. "You really are a magnet for aunties with daughters, huh?"

Jaemin huffs out a soft laugh. "What can I say? I look like a husband."

She glances sideways at him. "You radiate something, that's for sure." Her tone is playful, but he knows her well enough to hear the weight underneath. There always is weight, with Xiaoting.

She stretches her legs out in front of her, the hem of her sundress brushing the grass, and looks toward the house where a group of older women are eyeing them not-so-subtly from the patio.

"They already asked me if we were dating," she says, nodding in their direction. "I told them no, but that you're emotionally unavailable and probably too mysterious to marry anyway."

"Did they appreciate the honesty?"

"They told me to try harder."

He shakes his head, amused, but not surprised. "And you? Are you trying harder?" It's the kind of question that could mean everything or nothing. He tosses it out like it's light, but Xiaoting doesn't take the bait. She just watches him for a second, then tilts her head thoughtfully.

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't actually exist outside of office hours and vaguely impressive outfits."

Jaemin arches a brow. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Mmm," she hums. "Physically, yes."

"I'm not that bad."

"You are exactly that bad," she counters, shifting to face him more directly. "You know every weird detail about my life, my old roommates, my childhood piano teacher, the name of my dog growing up. And I still don't know basic things about you. Like your middle name. Do you even have one? I sat on your dick and I don't even know when your birthday is."

"It's not personal," he says eventually. "I just keep things to myself."

"That's the thing," she says, voice softer. "It feels personal to care about someone who keeps editing themselves before they speak."

She follows his gaze across the lawn, where Renjun is now kneeling beside a cooler, laughing with a little kid who's dropped their ice cream. His hair still refuses to cooperate with gravity, and Jaemin can't help but think it suits him.

Xiaoting catches the direction of his stare. "You're always watching people," she murmurs. "But you don't really let anyone watch you, do you?"

Jaemin takes a breath. Feels the sun against the back of his neck. "Maybe I'm just more interesting as a mystery," he says finally, still watching Renjun laugh.

Xiaoting smiles, but there's no real humor in it. "Or maybe you're just scared someone might actually like you more if they knew the whole story." She stands, brushing grass from her dress, and doesn't look back when she walks away.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

 

From: Director Lee Dohyun

To: Professor Na Jaemin

Subject: Request for meeting regarding student-faculty boundaries

Professor Na,

I am writing to request a brief meeting regarding a concern that was recently brought to the Office of Academic Affairs. The matter pertains to a report involving a student interaction that may fall outside of typical academic boundaries. While we understand that faculty-student engagement often extends beyond the classroom in various professional and mentorship contexts, we have a responsibility to ensure all such interactions remain within the framework outlined in our Faculty Conduct Guidelines.

At this time, no formal investigation is underway. This is an initial conversation to clarify context and to confirm alignment with university policy. Please note that our goal is to address these matters constructively and proactively, and your cooperation is appreciated.

Kindly let me know your availability for a 20–30 minute meeting within the next three business days. I am happy to accommodate your schedule where possible.

Should you have any questions prior to the meeting, feel free to reach out.

Best regards,

Lee Dohyun
Associate Director, Office of Academic Affairs

 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Jaemin arrived a few minutes early, the cold air from outside still clinging to his coat as he stepped into the university administration building. The email from Director Lee Dohyun was flagged but unopened, an unread weight on his phone screen.

The waiting area was small, tucked between the admissions office and the counseling center, furnished with faded blue chairs and a low table scattered with outdated university brochures. The walls were a bland off-white, but the sunlight filtering through the blinds softened the austerity.

Jaemin sat stiffly, crossing one ankle over the other, his hands folded lightly on his lap. His gaze fixed a black and white photo of the university's main hall hanging across from him. He tried to settle his thoughts.

At precisely 10:04 a.m., the door opened quietly.

"Mr. Na?" A clear, measured voice called.

Jaemin stood, smoothing the front of his jacket even though no wrinkles were there. "Yes, that's me."

Director Lee Dohyun stepped into the room, his posture straight, expression unreadable. He was younger than Jaemin had imagined (probably late thirties, early forties). His dark hair was neatly combed, and his gray suit fit impeccably, neither too tight nor too loose. There was some sort of authority about him.

"Please, come in."

The office was minimalistic: cream walls, a round table in the center with two chairs opposite each other, and a low bookcase lined with folders and a few scholarly journals. A small pot of ivy clung to the windowsill.

Lee gestured toward a chair. "Would you like some water?"

"No, thank you," Jaemin replied, lowering himself carefully into the chair.

Lee took the seat opposite him and folded his hands on the table. "I appreciate you making time on such short notice."

Jaemin nodded, his throat suddenly dry.

"As indicated in my email, a concern was brought to the Office of Academic Affairs regarding your interaction with a student, Huang Renjun, outside of a classroom context. Specifically, it involves an instance where you and a student were in a car together."

Jaemin felt the words settle over him like a cold fog.

"Yes," he said evenly. "I gave the student a ride home that evening. The event was a family gathering. The student is distantly related to me, through a cousin's marriage. I attended in a personal capacity, not as faculty."

Lee nodded, his face impassive.

"Can you clarify," Lee asked, "the nature and frequency of your interactions with Renjun outside of formal academic settings?"

Jaemin paused. Only briefly. What was he even asking? This was so absurd in every way. Nothing happened in that car, nothing ever happened and being suspected of such a thing felt so wrong.

"Outside of class and university events, our contact has been very limited. Aside from that ride, there have been no personal meetings or communications. The student participates in a seminar I supervise, but our relationship has remained professional."

Lee nodded slowly, tapping a pen lightly on the table. "I see. And speaking of that seminar, could you explain how Renjun was invited? Was there a formal selection process?"

Jaemin felt a flicker of irritation, carefully restrained. "The seminar group was initially composed of students selected based on academic merit and interest in the subject. The student in question was invited after expressing sincere interest and demonstrating aptitude in prior courses."

"Understood," Lee said evenly. "However, we've reviewed recent grade distributions and noted that Renjun's performance has improved markedly compared to peers. Given the context of your interactions, this raised a question about potential favoritism."

Jaemin's throat tightened. "I assess all students based on their work and participation. Grades reflect their engagement and understanding. I do not grant any special treatment."

Lee's expression was neutral, professional. "I'm sure that's the case. But as you can appreciate, even the appearance of preferential treatment can undermine trust in academic fairness. It's important to avoid situations that could be misconstrued."

Jaemin gave a subtle nod. "I understand."

"This meeting is not an investigation," Lee said carefully, "but an opportunity for us to ensure faculty members remain mindful of how certain interactions might be perceived, particularly when they occur off campus. The university's Faculty Conduct Guidelines emphasize maintaining clear boundaries to protect both students and staff."

"I understand."

Lee's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer. "You've been with the university for three years, right?"

"Yes."

"Your record has been exemplary, Mr. Na. This is why we are addressing this with discretion. However, even well-intentioned gestures can be misinterpreted."

Jaemin inclined his head slightly.

"If there are any further developments, or if additional concerns arise, we will contact you," Lee said, standing and smoothing his jacket. "Otherwise, this concludes our discussion."

Jaemin rose as well, buttoning his coat. "Thank you for your time."

Lee extended his hand. Jaemin shook it. He stepped out into the corridor, then steadied as he leaned against the wall. Who could have reported this? The question circled relentlessly in his mind. He thought of Renjun. However, It seemed unlikely he would complain or cause trouble. Could it have been a colleague? But why would anyone choose to scrutinize him now?

December,

Jaemin drops his keys into the bowl by the door and kicks his shoes off without looking. He should shower. He should sleep.

Instead, he drops into the desk chair with the heavy thud of someone surrendering. The open laptop bathes his face in pale light, the cursor blinking on a mostly empty document labeled PHIL102: Ethics & Emotion.

He stares at it.

Then rubs his face once, hard, and starts typing.

The words come faster than he expects. The pressure of the deadline, tomorrow's class, three unread emails from the department chair, one grading extension request he hasn't had the energy to reply to. His fingers move like they're trying to outrun his own exhaustion.

He pauses, frowns at it. A little too... leading. He backspaces half of it, then types a new version. He's rewriting it for the third time before he realizes why it bothers him.

That's a question Renjun might ask. Or at least one he'd raise his eyebrows at in that skeptical way he does, like really? you want us to just accept that?  Renjun would probably argue with that. Or at least question it. He always questions things that other students let slide. He has that quick, restless spark, the kind that doesn't just want the right answer but wants to understand why you thought it was right in the first place. "What gives you the authority to decide?" He'd asked Jaemin once.

Jaemin exhales through his nose and pushes back from the desk.

This is ridiculous. He's tired, overworked, and halfway to being emotionally compromised by a student he is definitely not supposed to be emotionally compromised by. He should be focusing on the syllabus. On his own research. On the presentation he has to give next week. On the reading list revisions due by Friday.

Instead, he's wondering whether Renjun will even come to class. Whether he'll still sit near the front. Whether he'll look Jaemin in the eye. Whether he'll say anything at all. He sits back down, jaw tight, and finishes drafting the rest of the discussion prompts. They're sharper than usual. More open-ended. The kind of questions that invite debate, interpretation, doubt. The kind of questions Renjun seems to light up for.

By the time he's done, the clock reads 2:14 a.m., and his back aches from hunching.

He doesn't even reread what he wrote. Just saves the file, shuts the laptop with a soft click, and sits there for a moment in the dark, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard like they don't quite want to let go.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

His coffee's gone cold. The mug's been sitting untouched on the windowsill since Xiaoting walked in twenty minutes ago and closed the door behind her like she was sealing off something delicate. He leans back in his chair now, rubbing his temples as her words replay with needlepoint precision.

"It's starting to look a little weird, Jaemin."

She hadn't said it cruelly. In fact, her tone was almost concerned.

"I know you care about your students," she added, eyes scanning the spines of his books like she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. "But the car ride.. You're not being subtle."

Jaemin hadn't argued. Did she report me? It made sense in a way. She was the only one who really knew about that ride home. Maybe she felt like she had to say something. Or maybe she wanted to protect him. Or maybe she wanted to control what happened next.

Now, with the door shut and the air thick with silence, he opens Renjun's latest paper (something on moral subjectivity and constructed identity). Normally, he'd be curious. Normally, he'd expect at least a spark of that strange, quick-burning intelligence Renjun has.

But today, all he sees is the mess.

Poor structure. Lazy citations. The argument loses clarity halfway through and never really recovers. Paragraphs meander. The tone collapses into vagueness where it should cut. It's not that Renjun can't do better. Jaemin knows he can. That's what makes it so maddening. Because when he reads this, all he sees is hesitation. Self-editing. The deliberate flattening of thought to avoid exposure. Renjun's trying not to be seen too clearly, like he's writing around the point instead of toward it.

Jaemin exhales sharply, pen in hand. He circles a paragraph. Then underlines a muddled claim. Every missed opportunity earns a mark. Every underdeveloped thought gets a note. He's not cruel — he's never cruel — but he is relentless. Because he knows his brain. He's seen it spark, and if Renjun's going to pull back, hide behind laziness or fear or whatever this is, then Jaemin isn't going to coddle him through it.

"You're capable of far better. This feels deliberately cautious — why?"

His pen hesitates for a moment. Then he adds, smaller:

"Don't shrink your thinking just because you're scared of where it might lead."

He doesn't know if that note is for Renjun or himself.

Jaemin walked without knowing where he was going, he needed alone time. Work was stressful, everything was. It was 3.a.m and he'd just finished grading some papers.

The rain had started as a drizzle, just enough to make the air feel sharp against his skin, but it didn't stop. It thickened, steady and relentless, soaking the streets and pushing the city into that hushed, silver-toned quiet that only comes during storms. He didn't mind the wet. It gave his body something to feel besides the heaviness in his chest. His umbrella swung loosely in one hand, rhythmically clicking against his thigh. He wasn't heading home. Not after the day he had. Not after Xiaoting's voice echoed in his head for the third time:

"It's starting to look a little weird."

Weird. She had meant wrong, but softened it with something safer. He hated how easily it settled into his conscience. He just wanted to teach. To challenge his students watching the way Renjun's mind moved. The way he chewed his pen cap when he was about to say something bold. The way he second-guessed himself when he shouldn't. The way he was always half a sentence away from brilliance if he'd just let himself say it. That frustration wasn't because Renjun was failing. It was because he could be so much better and he wanted to be the one to see it happen.

The streets blurred under his shoes. He kept walking. And then a shape ahead of him, a hoodie soaked through, head down, feet dragging like they didn't trust the ground. He barely had time to think before they collided.

"Oh— fuck, sorry—"

Renjun looked up. His face was blotched, wet (from rain or tears or both, Jaemin couldn't tell) and for a moment he didn't look like a student, or a problem, or anything Jaemin had spent hours trying to file away into a clean box.

"Renjun?" he asked, already reaching out to steady him.

There was a beat of silence where Jaemin felt everything tighten in his chest.

"Are you alright?" The words came out softer than he intended.

Renjun laughed, but it was a terrible sound, all cracked and wet and brittle. "Yeah, totally. Just out for a tragic little walk, very poetic. I'm a walking metaphor."

Jaemin didn't smile. He didn't know what he was doing when he started walking beside him. They moved slowly, Jaemin adjusting the umbrella over them both, close enough to feel Renjun's sleeve brush against his. It was warm, that touch. Terribly wrong.

When he noticed the way Renjun was shivering, he didn't hesitate and just handed him a coat. He didn't say it, but it hurt watching him like this. Hurt in a way that made him want to kick something or himself.

"I'm sorry," Renjun said, "If I'm making you uncomfortable." Jaemin's stomach knotted. He wanted to say no, to say you're not. "I studied. I worked. I tried to prove that I belong there..."

Jaemin winced inwardly. God. That paper, the one he tore apart this morning, Renjun must've stayed up late writing it, muust've thought it would be enough, must've put everything into it, hoping to be seen as a student, and Jaemin— what had he done? Crushed it under a red pen and told himself it was fair.

Renjun's voice cracked as he spoke. "I just want you to look at me for me."

He does. Too much. All the time. And that's exactly why he tried to stop. Jaemin's mouth was dry. "I don't grade you based on personal feelings," he said, even though it felt like a lie in the worst way. The truth was more complicated: he wanted to separate everything, but he couldn't. So he crouched next to the bench, watched Renjun sit, and gave him the only honesty he could offer and when Renjun leaned in (brief, impulsive, shaking) and hugged him, Jaemin froze.

Only for a second, then he closed his eyes, arms moving gently around Renjun. The hug broke too soon. The bus pulled up. Jaemin stayed on the sidewalk, watching the door close, rain dripping from his sleeves, his coat wrapped around Renjun. He didn't know what any of this meant.

He knew, in a way he hadn't before, that he liked Renjun far more than he should. That thought was like poison. Shame crawled under his skin. How had it come to this? The student, the line that should never be crossed?  The city was still soaked, the night thick, but Jaemin barely noticed as he hurried through the streets. His clothes clung to his skin, but it was a weak barrier against the storm raging inside him. The memory of Renjun's words, the rawness in his voice, the way he'd looked at him, those things twisted in Jaemin's chest like a knot.

Xiaoting's apartment was close and he could see it like a warm light in the dark, or a safe harbor. Maybe he could convince himself of normalcy, of the life he should have, the right one, the one without complications, a man and a woman, a professor and a professor.

He knocked, and the door opened before the echo of his hand faded. Xiaoting looked tired, but it softened quickly into warmth. "Jaemin?"

He didn't answer, just stepped inside, closing the door behind him like this was his house. She was close before he really realized it, their bodies almost colliding in the small space. His hand was in her hair before he thought, fingers tangling like a desperate anchor.

Her breath hitched, confused but not pulling away. The kiss was frantic. He tried to bury the guilt beneath the heat. He pushed her gently, but firmly against the wall, the world shrinking until it was just the two of them pressed together in her quiet apartment.

"Jaemin?" Xiaoting whispered, voice trembling.

"I missed you," he said hoarsely, voice raw and cracked with something he didn't even fully understand. "I missed you so much."

She held his face, her fingers gentle. Her confusion softened into something warmer that made his chest ache more. Xiaoting pulled back just enough to look up at him, a small, knowing laugh slipping from her lips. "Someone's desperate."

Jaemin's hands tightened in her hair, fingers trembling slightly as if afraid she might slip away. "I'm not desperate," he said, "I just—"

"Yeah, yeah," she interrupted, "You just missed me. That's what you said."

She let go of his cheek for a moment but only to lace her fingers through the his hair, pulling him closer with a quiet authority. "Come on," she whispered, voice thick with something like promise.

Before Jaemin could answer, she guided him through the small apartment. The door to the bedroom closed softly behind them and Jaemin's hands found her waist, gripping lightly, as if holding onto something material was the only thing keeping him steady. Her body was warm beneath his fingers, the familiar scent of her shampoo and subtle perfume wrapping around him, but in that moment he hated it entirely.

He swallowed the knot in his throat. His mind was a mess composed of guilt, confusion and need. Xiaoting's hands roamed his back, her touch both comforting and demanding, attempting to pull him into the moment.

"You're wound tight," she murmured against his lips. "You need to let go."

Jaemin's breath hitched. "I don't know how."

Her lips found his again, softer this time, coaxing him out of himself. She trailed kisses down his jaw, his neck, each one a spark that ignited something inside him. Jaemin's hands tightened on her waist as his body responded despite the turmoil in his mind. Xiaoting's laughter, light and breathless echoed through the room as she led him to the bed, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

She pushed him gently down. For a little while, there was only this: the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart beneath his hand, the messy, beautiful catastrophe of being alive and wanting something so badly it hurt. In that moment, Jaemin let himself fall apart, piece by piece, under the softness of her.

He didn't need soft. He deserved something far worse for what he's done, what he thinks, what he wants.

Her fingers traced slow lines along his skin, her lips kissing his collarbone, voice dipping into that familiar, playful tone that usually melted him. "You're not exactly winning any awards for focus right now." She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

Jaemin's chest tightened. That should have made him smile. Instead, his mind snapped violently back to Renjun: the rain-soaked walk, the cracked voice, the desperate apology, the fragile hope in those eyes. He likes Renjun.

He swallowed hard, trying to shove the memory down, but it clung to his skin like his wet clothes he wore.

"Hey—hey, hey, hey.. Everything alright?" she murmured, "I didn't mean it like that." She leaned closer, searching his face as if trying to read a code. "You're... distracted. You're not here."

She removed herself from his lap, and lied down next to where he was lying.

Jaemin's throat tightened. He wanted to tell her the truth, that his heart was tangled somewhere else, wrapped up in a messed up guilt he wasn't ready to unpack, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he forced a small smile. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Just... tired."

Xiaoting nodded slowly but didn't look convinced. "Okay," she said after a pause. Jaemin closed his eyes for a moment, the room spinning gently around him.

Her hand moved carefully to Jaemin's arm, fingers curling softly around the muscle there. She rested her head on his shoulder, breath warm and steady, the faint scent of lavender drifting between them.

"Is it... school stress?" she murmured, voice low and laced with concern, as if she was stepping lightly around a fragile thing.

Jaemin's eyes lingered on the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the paint. The truth was way too sharp to tell. It would cut. He swallowed, "Maybe. More than usual, I guess."

Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm. "You've been pushing yourself so hard these past months."

He exhaled, a shaky breath that carried the weight of everything he'd been holding in. Xiaoting's nearness was a balm, soothing but also painfully there.

He turned his head slightly so his cheek rested near Xiaoting's hair. "I'm tired," he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. He liked a student. He was using Xiaoting to get away from his immorality. "I think I hate myself right now." he confessed.

Xiaoting lifted her head just enough to see his eyes.
Her hand slid from his arm, reaching up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind his ear. They sat like that, Jaemin's eyes drifted closed. Xiaoting sighed softly, nestling closer until her head rested once more against his shoulder, and Jaemin felt so impossibly guilty.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

February, After the dinner at Yeri's house,

It was almost midnight by the time Jaemin's car rolled up a few blocks down from campus. The street was mostly empty, the engine the only sound cutting through the quiet. The headlights dimmed as the passenger door clicked open. Renjun slipped in, hoodie pulled up over his head like he was hiding from the world. Neither of them said anything at first. Jaemin's hands were on the steering wheel, but he wasn't driving anywhere. Renjun was wearing his coat.

Renjun finally spoke, "Thanks for coming."

Jaemin glanced over, but his face was unreadable from how dim the dashboard glow was. "You okay?"

Renjun nodded. He leaned his head against the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass. "I just... I didn't want to be alone."

Jaemin didn't press. Instead, he adjusted the heating slightly, like warmth could fix whatever was wrong. Comfort could substitute for clarity. "You don't have to tell me anything," he said softly. "We don't have to talk."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Renjun said suddenly, voice raw around the edges. "With any of this."

Jaemin looked over at him again, more carefully this time. "Do you.. regret this?"

"No." Renjun turned his face away from the window but didn't meet Jaemin's eyes. "No, that's not what I meant." he said quickly then, quieter,  "Just... sometimes I feel like I don't know where I'm standing."

Jaemin nodded slowly, his hand coming off the steering wheel to rest between them. He wasn't touching him, but him offering his hand in support made Renjun's inner self smile. He looked down at it for a long moment, then curled his fingers around Jaemin's like he was trying to steady himself. His thumb immediately started brushing along the side of Renjun's hand. "You don't have to have it all figured out. Neither do I."

"That's not what it feels like," Renjun mumbled. "You always seem like you know exactly what you're doing."

"That's just the teacher voice," Jaemin said with a soft smile. "Trust me, I'm freestyling it as much as you are." Renjun let out a quiet laugh, before finallly looking at Jaemin, eyes soft and tired from the long Saturday he had went through. Jaemin watched him for a long moment, then said gently, "Something happened tonight, didn't it?"

Renjun didn't respond right away. He could still feel Jeno's fingers in his hair, still hear his voice wrapping around his doubts like a net. "Just dinner stuff," Renjun lied. "Family. Jeno was there, apparently."

He just nodded and squeezed Renjun's hand a little tighter.

"Do you want to go for a drive?" he asked. "Clear your head?"

Renjun shook his head. "No. I just want to stay here. Just... this. For a little while."

Jaemin leaned back in his seat and turned the music down lower. The world felt far away (there was only really the night sky surrounding them, the frost blurring up the car's windows, and the shared warmth between their palms). The silence in the car had settled into something still that made Renjun shift in his seat, Jaemin's thumb still brushing absently over his knuckles. It was the only thing grounding him, really.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it. It buzzed again, then once more in quick succession. Renjun sighed and finally pulled it out of his pocket. Three messages lit up the screen, all from Donghyuck.

hyuckles [11:53 PM]: can you just please answer me

hyuckles [11:54 PM]: i didnt mean for any of it to happen like that. i swear to god renjun

hyuckles [11:55 PM]: ill apologize over and ober again i promise u it could never be more sincere

hyuckles [11:55 PM]: i miss you. ur my best friend. please.

Renjun stared at the screen, jaw tightening. His thumb hovered over the thread like he wasn't sure if he wanted to open it or throw the phone out the window.

Jaemin noticed but didn't ask right away. His voice was soft. "Something unwanted?"

Renjun nodded. "Donghyuck."

Silence again, and then, after a second, Jaemin asked, more carefully this time, "Did Jeno say anything? At the dinner?"

Renjun stiffened just slightly. His grip on the phone tightened. The words from earlier echoed in his head — You think he's into you? You're letting him play you. Professors don't fall in love with students, Renjun.

His mouth opened, he could feel Jaemin watching him, waiting, patient and gentle like always. Renjun forced a smile. "Nothing important," he lied. "Just tension. You know how family stuff is. You were there to see it."

Jaemin didn't press. He nodded like he believed it, even if something in his expression flickered (because maybe he didn't, but he let it go.) The car felt a little smaller after that. Renjun turned his phone screen off and placed it face down in his lap, staring ahead out the windshield. He didn't want to see Jaemin's face if he repeated what Jeno said, and especially didn't want to watch Jaemin wonder if it was true. So he didn't say it. He just leaned back in the seat and let his head fall against the window.

"Actually, can we..." Renjun's voice trailed off, and he hesitated like he wasn't sure if the thought in his head was worth saying out loud. "Can we just go somewhere? Anywhere. I don't want to go back yet."

Jaemin turned his head, studying him for a second. "Somewhere like where?"

Renjun shrugged. "I don't know. Somewhere I don't have to think so hard."

Jaemin nodded once. "Alright. Let's go." He put the car in gear without another word, pulling away from the curb like this was already part of the plan.

They drove for a while, not saying much. Streetlights blurred past. Most of the city had gone quiet for the night, shops closed, windows dark. Renjun watched out the window, his fingers tugging at the too-long sleeves of Jaemin's coat. Eventually, Jaemin turned into a parking lot next to a 24-hour corner store. He killed the engine and turned to Renjun.

"Wait here."

Renjun blinked. "Where are—?" Jaemin was already out of the car. A few minutes later, he came back holding a paper bag and a mischievous look in his eyes.

"What is that?" Renjun asked warily as Jaemin hovered outside the car, leaning into the open window

"Emergency supplies," Jaemin said like it was obvious. "Now get out."

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "You took me here for gas station snacks?"

"No," Jaemin said. "I took you here because you're all sad looking, and I'm pretty sure no good decisions happen when you're curled up in a hoodie refusing to talk. So. Get out. Stretch your legs."

Renjun didn't move at first, but Jaemin opened his door for him anyway, stood there waiting until Renjun sighed dramatically and climbed out. They walked. Not far, just across the street and down a little slope toward a dried-up creekbed behind an old park. It was quiet out there, not in a dramatic, cinematic way, just normal quiet (damp grass, faint rustle of trees and the occasional car in the distance).

Jaemin sat down on a flat rock and pulled the paper bag between them, uncrumpling it with way too much ceremony. "Okay," he said. "Tonight's mental breakdown recovery kit includes: two slightly stale honey buns, one questionable packet of peach rings, not sure whats in it, and a Red Bull neither of us should drink this late but will anyway."

Renjun stared at him. "You're joking."

Jaemin handed him a honey bun. "Gas station therapy."

Despite himself, Renjun let out a small laugh. "You're an idiot." He quickly regretted saying that out loud, remembering Jaemin's official status.

"Yep. And you're eating that honey bun, because I refuse to have a heart-to-heart with someone who hasn't had sugar in six hours."

Renjun took it, peeled it open with exaggerated reluctance. "I hate that this smells good."

"I know. It's tragic."

They sat in silence for a few moments, chewing. Jaemin popped open the Red Bull and took a sip, grimaced. "God, that's awful. Here."

Renjun accepted the can, sipped, and made an even worse face. "Why do people drink this?"

"Because sometimes your options are this or making real changes in your life, and sugar water is easier."

Renjun snorted, almost choked. Jaemin just watched him, satisfied. After a while, Renjun stopped pretending to be annoyed and leaned back on his hands. "I feel stupid."

"You're allowed," Jaemin said, unwrapping the peach rings. "But also — you're not."

"I keep getting things wrong," Renjun muttered. "I trust the wrong people. I say the wrong things. And I—" He cut himself off. "You should probably be running in the opposite direction right now."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. "Why? Because you're a mess?"

Renjun nodded.

"That's funny," Jaemin said. "Because you seem to be under the impression that I'm not a mess. Which is adorable. And wildly inaccurate."

"Yeah, well, you're better at hiding it."

Jaemin chewed on a peach ring for a second. "Or maybe I just know when to call bullshit."

Renjun gave him a side-eye. "Are you calling bullshit on me right now?"

"Absolutely," Jaemin said. "You think everything's ruined, that you're too much, or too confused, or too whatever. That's just the panic talking. You're not actually broken, you're just reacting."

"I kissed someone else," Renjun said quietly. "And then I kissed you. Doesn't that bother you?"

Jaemin tilted his head. "No, actually. What bothers me is that you keep acting like that disqualifies you from being treated like a person. You're not a villain in some teen drama," Jaemin continued. "You're just a person who feels things and makes messy decisions and occasionally gets caught in emotional landmines."

Renjun stared at him, then looked away. "I cried in front of Jeno. I let myself believe he liked me and then I saw him with Donghyuck and it felt like I was the only one who didn't know what was happening."

Jaemin was quiet for a moment. "Okay. Real question."

Renjun looked over.

"Do you think Jeno knew what he was doing?"

Renjun hesitated. "...I don't know."

Jaemin nodded. "Because if he did — if he knew exactly how you felt and kissed you anyway just to make you feel seen, and then kissed someone else an hour later — that's not confusion. That's him being selfish, and a loser."

Renjun was silent.

"And if he didn't know? Then maybe he's just selfish, and an idiot," Jaemin said. "But that doesn't mean you have to keep bleeding for it."

Renjun let out a slow breath. The honey bun wrapper fluttered a little in the breeze beside him.

"I'm trying to distract you from crawling back into your own head," Jaemin said. "Is it working?"

"A little," Renjun admitted. "Still feel like a wreck though."

"Good," Jaemin said. "That means you're still alive. And since you're alive, I say we finish this sugar and go somewhere else next time."

They sat longer, finishing the Red Bull and the peach rings, until the sky started to lighten faintly in the east, like the world was remembering how to turn.

Jaemin glanced over. "Feel better?" Renjun paused, then nodded. "That's all I wanted."

The cold was settling in more now, their breaths were visible in soft clouds. Jaemin reached for the paper bag, crumpling it again. Renjun followed him back to the car and didn't look at his phone once. They talked about various things, all dumber and more stupid than the other.

And now Renjun is standing stubbornly by the curb, arms crossed like he'd fused with his own indignation. Jaemin leaned against the car, watching him like a man trying to figure out if touching a feral cat was worth the potential claw marks.

"You're being dramatic," Jaemin finally said.

"I'm being normal. You're the one emotionally whiplashing me in the middle of the night."

"I wasn't whiplashing you—"

"You flirted with me all semester!"

"I did not?"

"You did so with your existence."

Jaemin blinked. "That's not a real sentence."

"It's a real feeling!" Renjun snapped. "And now you're all 'actually I don't mix school and pleasure' after you—" he pointed at him, "showed up at a wedding bathroom looking like a Calvin Klein model with a morality clause."

There was a second of silence. Jaemin opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again.
"You're still mad about the wedding."

"I never said that."

"You literally just brought up the bathroom."

"I brought up Calvin Klein. It was a metaphor." Renjun covered his face with both hands. "We don't have to do this."

"I think we do."

"We absolutely don't."

"You told me I was hot."

"I was drunk."

"You tried to seduce me next to a urinal."

"I was trying to be romantic."

"That's not romantic, Renjun. That's a felony in some places."

"I was emotionally vulnerable!" Renjun peeked through his fingers. "And you brought me water, so whose fault is that, really?"

"I didn't know you'd think hydration was foreplay?"

"Shut. Up."

"You told me you'd wear a dress if that would help."

"It would've looked good."

"You told me you could moan pretty."

"And I can!"

Jaemin bit back a laugh, running a hand down his face. "It's been six months, Renjun. You should leave that page."

Renjun jabbed a finger toward him. "I've lived every day with the knowledge that somewhere out there, a stranger thinks I sexually propositioned him in a restroom. You had hands, okay? Like—hands." Renjun gestured wildly. "Big ones. And a black shirt. I was doomed."

Jaemin finally let out a short laugh. "You know, you didn't actually traumatize me."

Renjun narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I'm forgettable?"

"You also told your cousin, Sicheng if i'm correct, that we were about to have sex."

Renjun made a dramatic show of collapsing against the passenger door.

Jaemin opened the driver's side. "I'll write it on your diploma."

"Put 'moans pretty' in quotes, please."

Jaemin snorted. "Get in the car, Renjun." He unlocked the car with a beep.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He cracked the window open a little wider. The night air drifted in, cool against the warmth of his apartment. Renjun sat curled up on the end of the couch, a blanket wrapped haphazardly around his shoulders even though he hadn't stopped shaking since he got there. His tea was untouched on the table. Jaemin walked back over slowly. Renjun had insisted on going to his apartment, and he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about it.

"Do you want me to sit next to you?" he asked.

Renjun shifted, tugging the blanket tighter. "You can sit. This is your home, idiot."

So he did not too close. Close enough that their knees almost touched. Jaemin watched him for a moment, then reached over and set the mug of tea in Renjun's hands. His fingers brushed Renjun's lightly. "You're freezing."

"I'm fine," Renjun muttered, then looked down. "Actually, no. I'm really not."

Jaemin nodded, waiting.

"Jeno. He came out after dinner. I was just trying to breathe for a second, and then suddenly he was there."

"What did he say?"

Renjun's face twisted with the effort to stay composed. "Everything. That I was the one who played him. That I ran off to you because you were convenient. That I... used him."

Jaemin stayed quiet, but his eyebrows drew in slightly, a subtle burn starting behind his calm expression.

Renjun rubbed the edge of the mug with his thumb. "And then he brought you into it. Said he saw us outside the dorms."Jaemin's eyes lifted from the rim of his coffee, his posture still. "That I kissed you. That I lied about it."

Jaemin's voice was quiet, "Did you?"

Renjun's head snapped up. "No. He's either making it up or twisting what he saw."

"Okay," Jaemin said calmly. "I believe you."

That made Renjun blink. He blinked again, slower. "Just like that?"

"You looked at me like I'd slapped you just for asking. Why wouldn't I believe you?"

Renjun's breath caught, and his eyes suddenly stung. He looked down at the tea again like it could hide him. "He said it was dangerous," he said after a moment. "Us. Said you were gonna mess me up. I'd be the one holding the fallout when it's all over."

Jaemin let that hang between them for a second. Renjun's lip trembled slightly, but he covered it by taking a small sip of tea.  Jeno had seen them. He had spoken. That much was now certain. How much more did he know? What had he said, and to whom?

Fallout. The word echoed.

Renjun didn't know about the meeting. He didn't know about the email either, about Director Lee's careful tone and the inquiry wrapped in professionalism. Jaemin couldn't bring himself to say it—not yet. Not while Renjun's voice still wavered like that, not while he was looking down and trying not to break.

"Donghyuck told him I wasn't serious," he muttered. "That I get attached and then disappear."

Jaemin frowned now. "Did he say that?"

Renjun shook his head instantly. "No. No, he wouldn't. He'd yell at me, sure, but he wouldn't tell someone else that."

"Exactly," Jaemin said gently. "That wasn't Hyuck's voice. That was Jeno putting words in someone else's mouth so he could hurt you without getting his own hands dirty."

Renjun let the mug drop to his lap, cradled there like something delicate. "Maybe I'm overreacting, maybe I did hurt him, maybe I deserve this. But it was like he knew what I'd feel guilty about before I did."

Jaemin shifted closer and this time reached out and placed a hand firmly over Renjun's. Renjun stared down at their hands. "It felt like I'd messed everything up. I couldn't tell where my guilt stopped and where his story started. I did hurt him," Renjun whispered. "Even if it wasn't on purpose."

"That's not what we're talking about," Jaemin said, his voice gentle.

Renjun looked up then. His eyes were glossy, his lips parted.

"I think he wanted to win. And you're someone worth controlling to him," Jaemin said. "That's not love. That's possession."

Renjun didn't even notice the tears until one fell. He blinked, and Jaemin reached out without hesitation, brushing the tear away with the back of his knuckle.

"I feel so stupid," Renjun said again, more broken this time.

"Don't," Jaemin said. "You were trusting. And kind. You believed in something that should've been safe."

Renjun broke. A small sob left him . Jaemin reached for him and Renjun didn't pull away. He leaned into the warmth, into the hand behind his neck, the arms around his shoulders. He buried his face against Jaemin's collar and finally, finally let himself fall apart, breath shaky against skin, tears smudging fabric. Jaemin was holding him like something precious as he whispered, breath warm against Renjun's temple. He had never felt this close to someone before.

Then knock knock knock. At 2a.m.

Renjun flinched before he even registered the sound. Jaemin tensed, arms stiffening around him. Another knock followed. At 2a.m.

Renjun lifted his head, dazed, eyes still glassy. "Who...?"

He carefully untangled himself from Renjun's arms, smoothing his shirt, then stood without a word. He crossed the living room. Renjun wiped at his eyes with his sleeves, trying to blink himself back into reality. He watched Jaemin pull the door open a sliver and lean his body into the gap, shielding whoever was on the other side from view.

"Hey," came a female voice, low. "I'm— Wait, sorry, bad time?"

He couldn't tell what Jaemin was thinking as the only thing visible was his back.

"You haven't answered my texts," She said, her voice cutting softly through the narrow opening of the door.

Jaemin's posture stiffened in the doorway. His hand gripped the edge of it, not aggressively, but like he needed the contact. His shoulders were drawn tight under the fabric of his shirt, a small tell that Renjun, from across the room, couldn't miss.

"I've been..." Jaemin paused, searching for a word that might land gently, "occupied." His voice was quiet.

"Right." A pause. The silence between them stretched for a moment too long. "Is someone—?"

"Xiaoting." Jaemin cut her off with a finality. His name in her mouth seemed to sour something in the air. "Now's not the moment." Silence again. "You and I, we were never really..."

Her voice, when it came again, was more tired than angry. "I know. I just thought maybe there could've been more."

Jaemin exhaled through his nose. "I didn't mean to mislead you. I wanted to keep things professional between us and I thought I had."

"You did," she said quickly, then softened, like she regretted how fast the words came. "At least... you never promised anything. I guess I just hoped you'd change your mind." Her voice faltered. "But I knocked, and— It's kind of obvious, isn't it?"

Renjun, from across the room, flinched internally. Had she heard him crying? Jaemin's voice comforting him?

"You're allowed to move on," Xiaoting added after a second, quieter now, like she wasn't even sure who she was trying to reassure. "I just thought I'd matter a little more before you did."

"I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression. That wasn't my intention. It genuinely has nothing to do with you."

She gave a short, tired laugh, "You didn't. Not really. I just wanted there to be something more than there was."

There was another pause.

"I'll see you at work," she said, straightening her shoulders.

She didn't wait for a goodbye. There was the soft sound of her shoes turning on the hallway floor, then retreating steps. The door eased shut with a muted click. Jaemin stood still for a moment. His head dipped slightly, hand still resting against the wood.

Renjun's chest ached faintly, his skin was still warm from where Jaemin had held him, but now there was something colder crawling in and he hoped it wasn't jealousy. He was wondering whether he'd misread something. When Jaemin finally turned, his expression was composed again. He looked carefully calm.

"That was someone I used to work closely with," he said.

Renjun hesitated. "Were you ever—?"

"No," Jaemin said gently. "Not in the way she wanted and not in the way that matters now." He crossed the room slowly. "I wanted to tell you before," he added, sitting back down next to him, "but I didn't know if it would sound like I was hiding something."

Renjun's eyes dropped to his hands, still twisted into his sleeves. "Is she the one from the family gathering?"

Jaemin nodded. "Yeah."

Renjun exhaled, the breath catching faintly. "I thought you liked her."

"I liked working with her. I liked her mind, her energy but I never saw her like that. It was nothing but casua—"

"Casual? …You slept with her?" He looked up immediately.

"I mean it," Jaemin said, voice low. "She's not who I want."

Renjun's throat worked around the knot there. Maybe it was stupid to feel so deeply so soon. Maybe it was naïve. He nodded, once. "Okay." Renjun sat there, silent for a long second. "How long did it last?"

"Maybe a few months, four at most. It wasn't even consistent."

"Did she want more?"

Jaemin hesitated. "Yeah."

"Did you?"

"No."

Renjun's eyes flickered. "Then why'd you keep going back?"

"I was lonely. We were working together all the time, it just... happened."

"Things don't just happen, Jaemin."

"I know."

"Did you kiss her first?"

"No."

"She kissed you?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In my office," Jaemin said. "Late one night."

Renjun bit the inside of his cheek. "Did you stop her?"

Jaemin didn't answer right away.

"You didn't," Renjun said. "Did you kiss her again after that?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"I don't know. Not that often."

"But you still let her sleep in your bed."

Jaemin rubbed his hands over his face. "Once. Maybe twice."

"Did you hold her afterward?"

"Yeah."

"Did she try to hold you?"

"Yes."

"And you let her?"

"For a bit. Then I pulled away."

Renjun's jaw clenched. "Did she like your bed?" he asked suddenly.

Jaemin blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I don't know? She never said."

"Did you make her coffee in the morning?"

"No."

"Did you let her use your shower?"

"Renjun—"

"Did she cook for you?"

"No."

"Did you ever cook for her?"

"No."

"Did she stay the night?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Until morning."

"Did she snore?"

"...Yeah."

Renjun folded his arms tighter. "Did you look at her when she was sleeping?"

Jaemin shook his head. "What kind of question is that?"

"What did she smell like?"

"Renjun."

"Tell me."

Jaemin sighed. "Lavender. I think she wore something with lavender in it."

"Do I smell better?"

"Yes."

"You hesitated."

"I didn't hesitate."

"..."

Jaemin reached toward him again, slower this time. "You smell like citrus and fabric softener.. And ink."

Renjun looked at him for a moment. "Did you like sleeping with her?"

"No."

"Then why do it again?"

"I already told you. It was habit. Convenience. I didn't care."

"Did she make you come?"

Jaemin's eyes widened slightly. "Renjun—"

"Just answer."

"...Yes."

"Did you make her come?"

"I don't know."

Renjun blinked. "You don't know?"

"She didn't say anything."

"She faked it?"

"Maybe."

Renjun gave a laugh. "Impressive."

"It wasn't good," Jaemin said honestly. "It wasn't meaningful."

"Was it fast?"

"Sometimes."

"Was it better the second time?"

"No."

"Did you do it with the lights on or off?"

"Off."

"Did you kiss her during it?"

"I mean—"

"Did you think of anyone else?"

Jaemin shook his head. "I just... went through the motions."

Renjun's voice dropped. "Have you ever thought of her while you were with me?"

"Never," Jaemin said, firm. "Not even close."

"Do you miss her?"

"No."

"Do you ever wonder how she's doing?"

"Only professionally."

Renjun looked at him for a long time, then finally said, quieter, "Am I just a phase, too?"

Jaemin's face twisted. "You're not."

"Do you ever think about what people would say? About us?"

"I do," Jaemin said, inching closer. "But it doesn't change what I feel.."

Renjun's breath stopped, his gaze flicking from Jaemin's eyes to his mouth and back again. The space between them was barely there now, too close and not close enough. Jaemin leaned in slowly, and Renjun didn't move. His hands curled nervously at his sides, heart racing. The room itself faded, muffled by this almost, this maybe. For a second, everything stilled.

Renjun's voice was barely a whisper. "Did she ever go down on you?"

Jaemin stared at him. "What?" He was caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. For a second, he wasn't sure he'd heard Renjun correctly, then was just trying to understand where the hell that had come from.

Renjun didn't look away. He couldn't take the question back and wasn't going to try. The words had come out before he could soften them. "When you guys had sex. Xiaoting, did she ever go down on you?"

Jaemin's lips parted. "Yes? ...Wh—"

"And did you—"

"Renjun."

Jaemin's voice cut through the air firmly.

Renjun blinked at him.

Jaemin leaned in. "My god, Renjun. Stop. You've asked me everything. You've picked it all apart. I get it. I do. But you need to calm down." He exhaled.

"I just want to know—"

"No, you want to compare," Jaemin said gently. "You want proof that she meant less. What we haven't done doesn't make you less."

Renjun said nothing.

"And I'm trying to be honest," Jaemin added. "But if you keep asking me to relive it, piece by piece, it's going to hurt you more than it hurts me."

Renjun's voice cracked. "I'm scared." Jaemin reached out, hand cradling his jaw. "Why did you do all that with her?"

"Because I didn't know what I wanted."

Renjun's eyes shimmered. "And this is it?"

"Yes," Jaemin whispered.

A shaky breath left Renjun. "Do you still want to—"

Jaemin laughed softly as his hand moved to cover Renjun's mouth. "You've asked enough questions for tonight."

Renjun's lips smiled under his palm.

"God, and tomorrow."

Chapter Text

"You grade like this?" Renjun said, eyeing the sprawl of papers on the living room floor. Dozens of them, each one spread like petals in a disorganized circle around Jaemin, who was sitting cross-legged in the middle. His glasses were low on his nose, and his hair was doing that thing where it fell into his eyes.

"It's spatially efficient," Jaemin replied without looking up. "I sort them by how much they make me want to cry."

Renjun let out a breath of a laugh and moved further into the room, his steps soundless on the wood. He hugged his notebook to his chest more out of habit than necessity and tried not to feel like he was trespassing on something domestic. There was a fresh mug of coffee on the table and a mess of pens, highlighters, and sticky notes. On one end of the coffee table, neat, unlike everything else, sat a clean stack of stapled paper. Renjun glanced at it without thinking and let his fingers brush the corner of one.

"What's this?" he asked casually.

That got Jaemin's attention. He glanced up and his red pen paused mid-air.

"Oh. Group project lists for the big department collaboration. I'm just helping with some of the admin stuff."

Renjun raised an eyebrow, turning toward him. "Wait, is this for us?"

"Yeah." Jaemin stretched his back with a soft sigh and leaned one elbow on his knee, red pen now stuck behind his ear like a hairpin. "The English and Philosophy departments are trying something new this term. Everyone gets sorted into mixed-major groups to work on something."

Renjun sat down on the floor across from him, cross-legged, letting his knees almost touch the outer ring of scattered papers. He reached forward and tapped the top sheet in the neat pile again.

"Are the groups already assigned?"

"Mmhm. Software-generated." Jaemin reached for his coffee. "Xiaoting set it up. Total algorithmic randomness. Supposedly. I'm not involved in that part."

Renjun's eyes lit up. "This actually sounds amazing."

Jaemin hummed, watching him over the rim of his mug. "You think so?"

"Yeah. It's more interesting than another round of essays. Plus... I don't hate group work if everyone pulls their weight."

"Bold optimism," Jaemin murmured, half-teasing.

Jaemin let himself smile, small and soft. The sunlight glanced off his cheekbone, and his voice lowered just a little.

"You'll like it."

Renjun's heart did something traitorous. He tried to roll his eyes to cover and didn't notice when Jaemin glanced once, just once, back toward the stack of group lists on the table. He won't find out until later that Jaemin's name is written, twice, next to his own on the project's organizational notes. One under "faculty advisor." One under "don't interfere."

They both often sat near the window of the café across from campus, steam curling between them, their hands never quite touching on the table (though they both noticed when they almost did). Jaemin would glance at the door more than once, just in case someone he knew walked in. Renjun never asked why. Then came the bookstore trip. Renjun had mentioned a book title he couldn't find, and Jaemin had casually offered to help. They spent an hour wandering aisles, the air charged with something that made Renjun laugh a little too softly and Jaemin look at him a little too long. At the register, before Renjun could take out the correct amount of money out of his wallet, Jaemin pressed his card against the machine, contactless. It felt easier than explaining.

A week later, they found themselves walking through a park at dusk, sharing a bag of roasted chestnuts from a vendor neither of them remembered approaching. The conversation meandered through music, movies, and childhood stories. The lights from the streetlamps cast Renjun's face in gold. Jaemin had to look away. He told himself it was because someone might see.

Their first real night alone happened after a department event when Jaemin offered Renjun a ride home, again. They sat in the parked car outside Renjun's dorm for far too long. Renjun talked about his thesis ideas. Jaemin watched the way he gestured when he got excited, how he bit the inside of his cheek when he was unsure. There was another night where it rained. Neither of them had brought an umbrella, and they ended up sprinting under an awning, soaked and breathless. Jaemin wiped the water from Renjun's face without thinking. Renjun didn't blink. Neither of them moved for a long, quiet second. Jaemin's fingers lingered on his jaw. The rest of the world didn't exist, until it did again, crashing back with the sudden roar of a car splashing through the street behind them. Jaemin stepped back first.

On some (too early) mornings, Jaemin brought coffee to the library under the excuse of checking on Renjun's progress. Late-night texts blurred the line between academic and personal. Study sessions lingered long after the work was done. Technically "group plans," somehow ended with just the two of them. Walks through side streets, a quiet hour in a museum on a Tuesday, his hand brushing Renjun's under the table, the way Renjun started waiting after class (not right outside the lecture hall, but near enough), were all indicators.

They were cautious. Always cautious, but Jaemin hated that part. Every laugh had to be quiet, every moment had to be weighed against the possibility of being seen. After the meeting with Director Lee, the reality of it pressed harder on him. He remembered how calmly Lee had spoken, how politely the warning had been wrapped. "This isn't an investigation," he'd said but the message had been clear.

So Jaemin started saying things like, "Nobody has to know." Softly, at the end of the night. "Let's just stay here a little longer." When they parked far from any familiar buildings. "Don't tag me in anything." Half-joking. Half not. Nothing explicit. Nothing official. But they were dating, in the way people do when they're pretending not to.

Renjun had come over with the latest seminar readings tucked under his arm, intent on getting feedback for his outline. They'd been sitting at Jaemin's kitchen table for hours with the notes spread out and their mugs half-drunk.

"You're seriously defending the theory of forms?" Renjun asked, eyes narrowed in challenge, but his mouth fighting a grin.

Jaemin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, clearly amused. "Not defending. Just maybe the world does make more sense if we accept there are ideal versions of everything. A perfect form. A truth beneath the copies."

Renjun scoffed. "That's cute. But reality isn't that neat."

Jaemin raised a brow. "You don't believe in absolutes?"

"I think people use absolutes to avoid dealing with the mess."

"Maybe," Jaemin said. "But sometimes the mess feels like it's trying to point us toward something clearer."

"Or maybe we just want it to."

There was a long pause. They stared at each other across the table. Jaemin tilted his head, eyes softer now. "So you don't believe in anything absolute? Not even—"

"Don't say love," Renjun cut in, rolling his eyes, but smiling. "Too predictable."

Jaemin laughed, and it broke the tension just enough. "Fine. Then beauty."

"Beauty's subjective," Renjun replied. "Contextual. You see it more clearly when you're paying attention."

Jaemin's eyes didn't leave his.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The library was mostly deserted, just the two of them in that one back corner. A single table lamp glowed between them, casting a little pool of light across their mess of books, drinks, and half-open laptop tabs neither of them were looking at.

Donghyuck was balancing a highlighter between his upper lip and nose.

Mark stared. "Are you... okay?"

"I'm testing the limits of gravity. And your patience," Donghyuck said through a pout, adjusting the highlighter to keep it from falling. "Also, bored."

"We came here to work."

"You came here to work. I came here because I got an emotionally vague text that said 'wanna meet at the library' and I'm a whore for nostalgia."

Mark exhaled slowly, almost smiling. "You didn't have to come."

Donghyuck let the highlighter drop with a clack. "Yeah, well. I'm available, I have nothing to do with my life. What's your excuse?"

Mark shook his head, returning to his book. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet," Donghyuck said, propping his chin on his hand, "you still text me. Wonder what Freud would say."

"Nothing helpful."

Donghyuck reached for Mark's drink without asking. "Are you still drinking oat milk?" Mark gave him a look, which Donghyuck ignored as he took a sip and made a dramatic face. "Tastes like air," he declared before putting it down. Donghyuck tapped his pen against the table absently. "This is kind of a date," he said lightly. "Two somewhat exes who pretend to be friends."

Mark looked at him then, "Are we pretending?"

Donghyuck didn't blink. He tilted his head, grin still in place, "Aren't we always?"

Mark didn't answer so Donghyuck leaned back in his chair, stretching with a theatrical groan. "Anyway," he said, reaching for a random book and flipping it open upside-down, "we can keep pretending, or you can finally admit you missed me."

The lamp buzzed faintly. Mark squinted at his laptop, trying to pretend that Donghyuck's highlighter mustache routine wasn't happening three feet away from him.

"You look constipated," Donghyuck said, balancing the pen again. "You always do when you're trying to concentrate."

Mark didn't look up. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

"Maybe I wouldn't look like this if someone wasn't putting on a one-man circus in front of me."

Donghyuck gasped theatrically, dropping the highlighter. "I'm the most delightful part of your night, and you know it."

Mark finally looked at him. "You're the least productive part of my night."

"You didn't text me for productivity. You texted me because you missed my face and needed to be reminded of how charming I am."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "I texted you because I needed a study partner."

"Liar." Donghyuck grinned. "You could've texted literally anyone. You chose me which means you're either desperate or in love."

Mark took a sip of his oat milk.

"I'm leaning toward the second." Donghyuck whispered suggestively.

Hedidn't deny it. Instead, he looked down at his notes, trying to refocus. "You said you needed to finish your paper."

"I lied," Donghyuck said cheerfully. "It's already done. I just wanted to see if you still twitch when I use your highlighters without asking." He reached across and stole one (one of Mark's carefully color-coded green ones) and dragged a dramatic line across a random page in his notebook.

"You keep inviting me places."

Mark hesitated. "Because sometimes... you actually help." That wasn't the kind of thing Mark usually said out loud.

"Help with what?" he asked, tone suddenly softer.

Mark finally looked at him again. "If we're going to do this, whatever this is, can you at least pretend to study?"

Donghyuck grabbed the upside down book back. "Look at me. So studious. So committed to my education." He quickly put it back down and started doodling on Marks post its.

Mark shook his head and tried not to laugh, tried to go back to reading. He rubbed his temple and let his eyes drift away from his screen. "Renjun's been kind of off lately."

Donghyuck didn't look up from his lazy doodle in the corner of Mark's notes. "He's always off."

"No, I mean... more than usual." Mark tapped his pen against his laptop absently. "He's been spending a lot of time with Professor Na. That philosophy guy. The one who runs the seminar."

Donghyuck stilled for a moment. Then he went back to scribbling. "Yeah. I heard."

Mark didn't seem to notice the shift. "It's probably nothing. He's obsessed with impressing that guy, though. Every time I see him he's carrying a different book with a depressing title."

Donghyuck gave a quiet laugh. "That sounds like him."

Mark looked at him, curious. "You still talk to him at all?"

"No. Not really."

"Oh." Mark hesitated. "Sorry."

Donghyuck shrugged, spinning the pen between his fingers. "It's fine. He doesn't want to talk. I get it."

Mark didn't say anything, but something in the way he glanced back at his screen said he was thinking too hard about things again.

"He's a good person," Donghyuck said, quieter this time. "You don't meet a lot of people like that."

Mark nodded slowly. "You miss him?"

"Yeah," He said eventually. "But I don't think he misses me."

Silence stretched between them for a few moments.

"I don't think anything's happening between him and that professor, though," Mark offered, almost like reassurance. "Renjun would never... you know."

Donghyuck just smiled faintly. "You'd be surprised what people keep quiet."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "That's cryptic."

"I'm a cryptic guy. Want to crash at mine tonight? I've got an extra bed. Still no roommate. I even changed the sheets, can you believe that?"

"You're inviting me over?"

He gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah. You look like you've been overthinking everything since Monday"

Mark hesitated. Then slowly nodded. "Yeah... okay. Yeah, sure."

"Wow," Donghyuck said, standing. "Didn't even have to bribe you with snacks this time."

Mark packed up his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Renjun sat cross-legged on the couch, clutching a ridiculously fluffy throw pillow, cheeks a little sore from smiling too much. He was happy. Actually, dizzyingly happy. It had been a while since he and Jaemin had finally crossed that invisible line, no official declarations, no Facebook relationship statuses (because who even did that anymore?), but it was unmistakable. The last time they met, Jaemin kissed him twice before saying goodbye, fingertips brushing over Renjun's jaw.

Sicheng returned from the kitchen holding two mugs and handed one to him. "You look like you just got laid or levitated."

Renjun laughed, nose scrunching as he wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic. "Neither, thank you very much. But... things are good."

"With your professor."

"Shhh—"

"No one can hear us." Sicheng smirked. "Come on, spill."

Renjun ducked his head, cheeks warm. There was a lull, comfortable for a moment, but then Sicheng tilted his head and added, "Though, speaking of people who don't listen, this conversation I had with Jeno stuck with me."

"huh?"

"After the dinner at Yeri's. Said he was worried about you. Said you'd hurt him."

Renjun sat up straighter. "Wait, he said I hurt him? To you?"

Sicheng nodded slowly. "I didn't really get into it with him, it sounded like he meant it."

Renjun set his mug down. "That's... weird. I mean, yeah, we had a weird moment, but—" He paused, eyebrows pulling together. "That night, the one after dinner, he told me I was unfair to him. Accused me of playing with his feelings."

Sicheng frowned. "But didn't you say you two were never... like that?"

"We weren't. Not really. I told him I was sorry. And then later, when I told Jaemin about it, he just... he got quiet for a second. And then he said Jeno was gaslighting me, like, twisting things around to make me feel guilty."

Sicheng's brow furrowed. "Jaemin said that?"

"Yeah."

They both sat quietly for a moment. Renjun tried to chase down the thread of doubt that had just pulled taut in his stomach. At the time, it hadn't felt off. Jaemin had been comforting, reassuring. But now, with Sicheng's face creased in concern, the memory of the conversation felt blurrier, softer around the edges, selectively colored in.

"Did Jaemin seem weird about it?" Sicheng asked gently. "Like... too sure? he knew something more?"

Renjun's heart gave a faint knock against his ribs. "I don't know," he murmured. "He was calm."

Sicheng didn't say anything but just sipped his tea and looked at Renjun like he wanted to say something but didn't know if it would help. The front door clicked open.

Renjun nearly leapt off the couch, grateful for the interruption. "Yeri?"

"In the flesh," she called back, followed by the familiar thump of her boots being kicked off. She strode in with a tote bag full of books and a scarf half-unraveled around her neck. When she saw Renjun, her face split into a grin. "Hey, loverboy."

Renjun rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone suddenly know my business?"

"Because you've got heart-eyes and no poker face." Yeri tossed her bag onto an armchair and flopped down beside them.

Renjun looked at Sicheng, who looked back at him, concern still ghosting his features. Maybe things weren't as easy as they'd felt an hour ago and maybe Jeno's version of the story wasn't a lie after all. Yeri pulled her hair into a bun with a practiced twist, then reached for Renjun's half-finished tea without asking. "So? Give us the professor romance report."

Sicheng didn't even blink, just handed her a spoon.

Renjun sighed, giving up on any chance of steering the conversation. "It's... going well. We're not official, obviously, but it feels good. Natural."

"He better be worth the drama," Yeri said, stirring the tea like she was conducting a potion.

"He is," Renjun replied without thinking. "It's different with him."

Yeri raised an eyebrow at Sicheng, who gave a small smile and rested his chin in his palm.

"Different how?" she asked.

Renjun hesitated. His thumb toyed with the seam of the pillow in his lap. "Like... when I'm with him, everything else feels calm. Even when I'm nervous, I want to stay. I want more."

More.

He didn't say what kind of more but it rang in his head, loud and insistent. Because lately, when he thought about Jaemin, it wasn't just about conversations that went too long or the thrill of a glance exchanged across a lecture hall. It wasn't even just about the stolen kisses or how Jaemin's voice softened when they were alone. It was about skin. About proximity, the press of Jaemin's hand at the small of his back, and what might happen if he didn't pull away, mouths meeting without fear of interruption, breathy laughter tangled in bedsheets, knees brushing.

He hadn't even seen Jaemin without a button-up on. But sometimes, late at night, Renjun would close his eyes and imagine him in nothing but a very dim light, shoulders bare, mouth parted, the curve of his neck softening into shadow. But that part we already know.

He wanted to be wanted like that. He wanted to give in and feel what it would be like to be chosen completely, not just in quiet moments or passing smiles.

Renjun blinked and realized Yeri was talking again. He nodded, trying to focus, but his cheeks felt warm and his pulse had picked up without warning. He grabbed his tea back and took a long sip, forcing his thoughts back into their box, locking them away like he hadn't just spent the last two minutes mentally undressing his professor.

Jaemin hadn't rushed anything. He'd been careful, gentle, even when Renjun had kissed him first. He always asked. Always made space. So Renjun would wait. God, he wanted. He just wouldn't say it out loud. Yet.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

orenjuice:
winter

brrrbrrseason:
what
what did you do

orenjuice:
winter i wanna fuck jaemin

brrrbrrseason:
????
EXCUSE ME
HUH
RENJUN
PEOPLE CAN SEE MY SCREEN

orenjuice:
ok but consider this: i have been suppressing this for three days
and i just saw him again
and his hair was messy
and his sleeves were rolled up
and his glasses were hanging from his shirt collar
i had to say it somewhere

brrrbrrseason:
YOU HAD TO SAY IT TO ME???

orenjuice:
yes
ur responsible and don't encourage my mistakes
giselle would've printed this and mailed it to the ethics committee

brrrbrrseason:
RENJUN
i dropped my chili-lime cashews

orenjuice:
rip to the cashews
but my brain is worse

brrrbrrseason:
so what happened this time
why are we freaking out

orenjuice:
he adjusted my posture
in class
like physically

brrrbrrseason:
oh my god

orenjuice:
i was slouching
and he just walked over
and gently tapped the middle of my shoulders
and said "straighten your spine, you'll breathe easier that way"

brrrbrrseason:
NOPE
GOODBYE

orenjuice:
he physically pushed me into a straighter position
with his hands
like
his
i haven't stopped thinking about it for 72 hours
i dreamed about it
i looked up ergonomic chairs
it gets worse

brrrbrrseason:
how. how could it possibly get worse
do you hear yourself

orenjuice:
it's just... i'm not even sure if we're dating
but either way
i wanna
crawl
into
his lap
and

brrrbrrseason:
no
okay
real question
does he know you're like this

orenjuice:
i mean. i think he suspects
he once said i have a very expressive face and i was trying not to think about his forearms

brrrbrrseason:
please just go lie down

orenjuice:
i can't
i'm seeing him again tonight
and he said "bring whatever you're working on" and winked
what does that MEAN winter. what does it MEAN

brrrbrrseason:
it means he's being NICE
and PROFESSIONAL
stop reading between the lines

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

There Jaemin was, standing in the doorway in nothing but a plain white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, looking criminally casual and entirely too beautiful for someone who probably spent the last hour writing footnotes. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, soft wisps curling against his forehead and temples, and Renjun's gaze betrayed him by locking onto a single droplet of water trailing lazily from Jaemin's hairline, sliding with infuriating purpose down the long, smooth line of his neck.

Renjun's brain shut down.

"Oh," Jaemin said, raising his brows and stepping aside with a polite nod. "You're early."

"You're wet," Renjun replied automatically.

Jaemin blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Shower," he said simply, gesturing vaguely to his hair, like the logic of hygiene should have been obvious.

Renjun nodded and stepped inside, aggressively focusing on the nearest wall, anywhere but on the slightly damp shirt that clung to Jaemin's back, or the way the sweatpants hung low on his hips with precisely zero regard for Renjun's emotional wellbeing.

"I was just making tea," Jaemin said casually, his voice a soft hum as he padded barefoot into the kitchen. "You still like lemongrass?"

Renjun was so incredibly tired of drinking tea wherever he went, but he nodded again. "Yes," he croaked. "Lemongrass is great. I love grass."

There was silence. A long one.

"I mean," he backpedaled, "I love leaves."

Another pause.

"Plants in general," Renjun concluded weakly. He wandered into the living room and sat on the very edge of the couch, spine straight and hands folded.

The coffee table in front of the couch was covered in a loose pile of books and papers, some open, some closed, some stacked at weird angles like they'd been moved around a lot. Right in the middle was a book, open face-down as if Jaemin had been halfway through reading it before answering the door. There were pens and highlighters mixed in, a few post-its stuck to pages, one coffee ring staining the corner of a printed PDF. It looked like the inside of Jaemin's brain had spilled out onto the table.

Next to the couch, on a small wooden side table, was a Bible. Not tucked away or hidden under anything but just there, placed neatly beside a lamp and a coaster. It looked used, a red ribbon marking a page somewhere in the middle. The sight of it threw Renjun for a second. For all the heavy philosophy books, he hadn't expected something so... religious. It wasn't treated like decoration. It looked like Jaemin actually read it.

That surprised him.

He hadn't thought about whether Jaemin was religious or not. It just didn't occur to him maybe because in his mind, people like Jaemin didn't need religion. They were the answer to complicated questions. Too rational, too self-possessed.

He wasn't even sure if he believed in God anymore himself, or if he ever really had. He'd gone to church when he was younger, sat through sermons that all blurred together (talk of grace, obedience, sin). He remembered the way his chest would tighten whenever someone talked about "living the right way," even before he knew exactly what that meant for him.

He stared at the worn spine of the Bible, trying to make sense of it. Is Jaemin Christian?

It wasn't a big deal, obviously, but for a second, it made Renjun feel like he'd missed something important. Does that mean he's not...?

He didn't finish the thought. Because Jaemin had kissed him, more than once, softly, like it wasn't by accident and he wanted to. But then there was Xiaoting, they had history. They'd been close, at least for a while and it looked exactly how it was supposed to: a guy and a girl, smiling at parties, talking quietly in corners, Renjun had noticed those corners.

So now his brain was spinning, trying to connect dots. If Jaemin was religious, if he actually read that Bible, then how did he square that with the way he touched Renjun's wrist when he was nervous, or the way he'd leaned in and kissed him? Does he even see this the same way I do? The thought made his chest tighten. He didn't know what Jaemin believed. He didn't know if the Bible was just something from his childhood that he kept around out of habit, or if it was something deeper. Renjun hated that the thought even crossed his mind but it did, because wanting someone was one thing. Being wanted back and being wanted in the same way was something else entirely.

He looked away from the Bible and back at the pile of rational scientific books on the table, like maybe they held a better answer. They didn't.

Jaemin returned with two mugs and handed him one, settling onto the couch beside him with effortless ease.

"Thanks," Renjun murmured, taking the tea. His fingers brushed Jaemin's for half a second, and it sent a pulse of warmth up his arm that he didn't know what to do with anymore. He sat, not too close — Jaemin never overstepped — but close enough that their knees brushed just slightly when Jaemin shifted. Just enough to destabilize Renjun's entire molecular structure.

He wished he hadn't seen it. He wished it had been a novel or a notebook or literally anything else. Now it was burned into his brain, and suddenly even this tiny moment felt heavier. What if Jaemin never overstepped because of that? He'd always assumed Jaemin's restraint was academic, professional boundaries, ethical lines. Now he wasn't so sure. What if it wasn't just about being a professor, but about sin?

"Thanks for coming by," Jaemin said, sipping his tea with an ease Renjun envied. "I thought we could go over your paper draft before it's due."

Renjun stared at him. "Right," he said, clutching his mug like a lifeline. "Actually..."

His eyes flicked toward the small table beside the couch. It felt out of place in the apartment. Or maybe it just felt out of place with the memory of Jaemin's mouth on his, his hand on Renjun's jaw, the way he'd leaned in without hesitation.

"Is that, uh. Yours?"

Jaemin followed his gaze, relaxed. "Yeah."

"You... read it?"

"Not devotionally," Jaemin said, setting his mug down. "I mean, I was raised around it, but I keep it mostly for reference now. It comes up a lot in literature."

Renjun blinked. "Right. That makes sense."

"It's a foundational text," Jaemin continued, with that same calm ease he always had when talking about big ideas. "It's hard to study Western thought without bumping into it at every corner."

Renjun nodded slowly. "So... you don't, like, practice? Or believe everything in it?"

Jaemin's brows rose slightly, but not in judgment. "Not everything, no. I'm not... evangelical or anything, if that's what you mean. Some parts resonate with me. Others don't."

"And the rules?"

Renjun kept his eyes on the Bible to avoid the silence, afraid to look directly at Jaemin when he asked it.

Jaemin's voice was soft. "I think context matters. History matters. Who was writing, and why. Some of it's beautiful."

Renjun nodded again, this time more to himself. It wasn't a full answer, but maybe it didn't have to be.

"Sorry," he added after a moment. "That was kind of a weird question."

"Renjun. It's just a book on a table. You're the one on my couch." Jaemin smiled a little. "Want to talk about your introduction instead?"

"Desperately," Renjun croaked.

"Exactly," Jaemin said, smiling.

Jaemin leaned to grab his glasses from the mini table next to his side of the couch, and Renjun's soul temporarily left his body. The hem of Jaemin's shirt rode up slightly, revealing just the faintest sliver of skin, far more distracting than anything had the right to be. He looked away fast, gaze landing — unhelpfully — on the Bible on his right.

And just like that, the heat in his chest curdled into something complicated. Guilt? Something sour and itchy, sitting right under his skin. He knew it was just a book. Jaemin had said as much (context, history, interpretation, blah blah blah). Still, it was there, sitting politely on the table while Renjun tried not to combust over a man's abs like he was one breath away from writing scripture about it.

He shifted, pressing the tea mug to his lips even though it was still too hot. Maybe if he burned his mouth he'd feel more in control or less like he was doing something wrong. It was stupid, he knew that, Renjun tore his eyes away and focused on the tea again, wondering if it was possible to drown in a ceramic mug.

"You alright?" Jaemin asked, flipping through pages with casual precision. "You're quiet."

"I'm thinking," Renjun said quickly.

"About?"

Renjun's mind scrambled trying to figure out something cool to say. "About how you're..." he cleared his throat. "...Really consistent with your highlighter colors."

Jaemin chuckled, seeming genuinely pleased. Well that worked. "Thanks. It's kind of a nerd hobby."

Jaemin didn't realize he was undoing people just by existing. Renjun wanted to scream into a throw pillow, grab him by the shoulders and beg him to please stop breathing like that, because every inhale was another nail in the coffin of Renjun's composure. Instead, he leaned in to look at the notebook, their shoulders brushing slightly. Jaemin pointed at a line he'd underlined.

"Mm," Renjun murmured, absently nodding. "Totally. Deeply relatable."

He wasn't listening. Not even a little bit. Whatever Jaemin was saying had turned into a background noise, literally just a soft buzz that only occasionally spiked into words. His focus had narrowed completely on Jaemin's hands.

They were absurd, frankly. This man went to the gym, definitely, and he could tell by the length of his fingers, the bonyness? the way they curved with elegance and control, the smooth glide of his pen across the page as he underlined something in the article. There was slow confidence in his movements, he had all the time in the world to make Renjun suffer. Renjun was suffering.

He imagined those hands gripping his waist. Pinning him to something. Anything. The desk. The couch. A chalkboard. The floor of this very apartment, which had a rug soft enough to burn against in the best way. Jaemin could probably lift him. No, Renjun knew he could lift him. He really really looked like the type who went to the gym. Renjun took another scorching sip of tea as punishment. His tongue burned.

Jaemin shifted beside him on the couch, tugging his notebook closer, and Renjun tried to sit straighter. Tried to look like he was engaged in the discussion and not seconds away from passing out from panic.

"Here," Jaemin said softly, almost a whisper. "This part's a good example of what we talked about earlier." He lifted the notebook and gently laid it across Renjun's lap.

Renjun blinked. Froze. The weight of it was nothing but it felt like something ceremonial. Good god, he'd been knighted. He stared down at the underlined passage, but the words were nothing but ink smears. How was he supposed to concentrate on whatever was written when Jaemin was so close to him? These weren't proper studying conditions.

Jaemin's hand rested lightly on his knee. Not even suggestively. Jaemin had angled himself a little closer so Renjun could see the page better, and maybe for balance, maybe for support, his fingers curved just barely over the inside of his knee.

Renjun stopped breathing. His soul left his body.

He could feel the heat of Jaemin's palm through the denim of his jeans, the pressure of his thumb as it lightly tapped against his leg in a little distracted rhythm as he said something about rhetorical structure.

Jaemin leaned a little closer as he spoke, his head tilted down toward the notebook in Renjun's lap. Each inhale brought Jaemin's scent deeper into Renjun's lungs, soap and skin and whatever heat clung to him post-shower. He spoke right near his ear, close enough that Renjun swore he could feel the breath of each syllable fan warm against his cheek. The tone of his voice had dipped low, soft, and focused and the combination was lethal. Renjun's brain, entirely unhelpful in every moment of his life, whispered: He's touching your knee. He's fresh out of the shower. He smells like a forest. He's so close. You're going to die here.

"I—" Renjun choked out, the word barely formed. He stood up too fast, almost knocking the notebook to the floor. "I should go."

Jaemin blinked, clearly startled. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Renjun said, already fumbling with his bag and backing away like the room was on fire. "No, I just remembered I have a meeting. With... someone. Important. Very time-sensitive. Someone's dying."

Jaemin's brows furrowed. "Wait, what—"

"Nothing! It's fine. They'll live. Maybe. I have to go."

He tripped slightly over the rug near the door, caught himself, then panicked harder when Jaemin started rising from the couch.

"Should I walk you out?" Jaemin offered, concerned.

"No!" Renjun yelped, spinning around and flapping a hand like a lunatic. "You stay. Stay seated. Annotate things. I'll see you in class."

Jaemin still followed him to the door, of course. Because of course he did.

"You'll text me if you want to go over more stuff?" he asked gently, like he didn't just send Renjun into a thirst-fueled meltdown with one hand placement.

"Absolutely," Renjun managed. "Yeah. Text. Annotate. Grass. Bye."

The door clicked shut.

"...Grass?"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The email came mid-morning, just as Renjun was halfway through a biscuit and staring blankly at his notes in the quiet campus lounge. His phone buzzed twice against the table.

motherkatrina:
WE HAVE OUR TEAMS!!! I'm scared but also excited LMAO

Renjun blinked and sits up straighter. His biscuits forgotten, he clicked open the email and scanned quickly:

Subject: Group Assignment – Interdisciplinary Project
Your Assigned Group: Cluster 4
Faculty Advisor: Prof. X. Shen
Additional Oversight: J. Na (Philosophy)

His eyes catched on Jaemin's name and his heart did a weird flip. That wasn't in the plan, was it? He glanced around, as if Jaemin might've suddenly appeared out of the carpet, and then tried to focus.

There were six names listed under his group. His was first followed by five more. But for some reason, his brain had only registered the top half before Winter bursted into the lounge in a flurry of scarves and iced coffee.

"Renjun! Cluster Four?" she practically threw herself into the seat across from him.

"Yeah," he said, startled but smiling. "You too?"

"Mhm! I was hoping I'd end up with someone I liked. And you're tolerable, so."

"Wow," he said flatly. "I'm touched."

She sipped her drink with a grin and pulled out her phone.

"So it's you, me, Karina, some kid named Soobin I don't know, and—" she paused, scrolling, "a couple of others, but they didn't put full names or anything."

"That's vague," Renjun said, frowning. "Do you think they did that on purpose?"

Winter laughed. "Probably. Mrs. Shen is kind of the type to do that. She called this project a 'social experiment' in class last week. She's funny, you'll see. We should get a group chat going. I want to meet everyone before this officially starts."

Renjun leaned back in his chair and stared out the window, a small smile curling at his lips. Outside, trees were all naked from their leaves, and no signs of hot weather were announced any time soon.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Are you alone?" Jaemin asked.

"I live with Mark, remember?" Renjun murmured, face pressed into his pillow. "But yeah. He's away."

They'd been talking for hours. His room was quiet except for the faint hum of the dorm fridge and Jaemin's voice over the phone. The conversation had drifted from assignments to childhood stories to music to nothing at all. Now it had slowed.

"Can I ask you something kind of personal?" Jaemin said finally.

Renjun blinked at the ceiling. "Yeah. Ask."

"It's about that night," Jaemin said eventually. "After Xiaoting."

Renjun's stomach did that uneasy little flip. "What about it?"

"You asked me a lot of things," Jaemin said.

Renjun turned onto his side. He didn't know what to say yet. He hadn't meant to be so transparent that night, but everything had slipped out.

"I didn't mean to interrogate you," he murmured finally.

"I know," Jaemin said. "And I wasn't mad. I just—" He let out a breath. "You seemed really scared, I guess I didn't realize how much."

Renjun traced the hem of his pillowcase between two fingers. "It wasn't her, exactly," he said. "It was the idea of her, or anyone before me. I was already too late to be something you hadn't had before."

"But you are," Jaemin said softly. "You are."

Renjun swallowed. "I guess it's hard to believe that sometimes."

Jaemin didn't answer right away. They'd both grown used to these pauses.

"I think part of it," Renjun continued slowly, "is I've never really known what I'm doing. Not only with you but in general, I've always been a little behind."

"You're not behind."

"I mean it," Renjun said. "I didn't date much. Or sleep around. I used to think it made me boring."

There was the soft shift of fabric on the other end of the line. Maybe Jaemin was turning over, too.

"I don't want to ask in a weird way," he said. "But after everything you asked me that night, you sounded... insecure?"

Renjun didn't respond, but he could feel his own pulse pick up.

Jaemin's voice stayed steady. "I realized I don't know how you feel about... that part of yourself. Sex, I mean. Or even what you want. What's your relationship with sex? Like, what do you like? Or... I don't know. What kind of person do you think you are when it comes to that stuff?"

Renjun's brain stuttered for a second. He hadn't expected it. He still internally smiled at Jaemin's philosophy habit of repeating the same phrases in ten different ways.

"You're not just asking to mess with me, right?"

"No," Jaemin said quickly. "I wouldn't."

Renjun turned onto his side, curling the blanket under his chin. "Okay. Um... I guess I'm still figuring that out? I've had experiences. A few. But nothing that made me want to do it again right away." Renjun, you are a liar.

Jaemin hummed softly to show he understood.

"I think I need... more. Like I need to feel safe. Comfortable in that 'I know you're seeing me and not just using me' kind of way."

"You don't strike me as someone who fakes things," Jaemin murmured.

Renjun smiled faintly into the dark. "I've never done anything I didn't want to do. But there's still a lot I haven't tried, like, I've never gone.. all the way. And I mean like, all the way."

"Because it didn't feel right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think about it. I want it, just not with someone I don't trust." He hesitated. "I think I want the first time to be with someone who's patient... What about you?" Renjun asked. "You seem more experienced. Not in a gross way."

Jaemin let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "I've been with a few people, nothing super wild. I guess I figured out pretty quickly that if I don't care about the person, I can't really enjoy it."

"I don't mean I have to be in love or anything," Jaemin continued. "But there has to be... something. I have to want them, not just the idea of it and I need them to want me back."

Renjun's voice was quiet now. "What kind of stuff do you like?"

Jaemin was quiet with thought. "I care more about how they sound and what they look like."

Renjun's cheeks were warm. "That makes sense."

"And I like closeness," Jaemin added. "Not just sex, the whole thing. Lying around half-dressed, tracing skin, stupid things."

Renjun's cheeks were still warm. "Tracing skin doesn't sound stupid."

Jaemin gave a soft laugh. "No, but I know it sounds like I'm trying to be poetic or something."

"You kind of are."

"Only a little" Jaemin was quiet for a moment. "You ever imagine that? Like, not the sex part, but the stuff around it?"

"All the time," Renjun admitted. "Probably more than sex itself."

Jaemin sounded almost relieved. "Me too."

Renjun shifted a little under his blanket. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You said earlier you've been with a few people. Do you ever regret it? Like... wish you'd waited?"

Jaemin let out a slow breath. "Not really. I mean, I didn't sleep with anyone just to do it. But I do wish I'd been more aware of why I was doing it. Some of it was... I don't know. Loneliness. Or wanting to feel wanted, even if I didn't care that much about the person."

Renjun nodded slowly, phone pressed close to his ear. "I think that's what I'm afraid of. That I'll say yes because I want to be wanted, and not because I'm ready."

"Have you ever come close?" Jaemin asked gently.

Renjun hesitated. "Once. We were kissing and it was getting... there. And I wanted to want it, but I kind of froze up. Not in a scared way, just... I didn't feel anything."

"Did they notice?"

"I think so. They didn't say anything though. We stopped after a while and I made an excuse."

Jaemin was quiet, but not with judgment, more like he was picturing it.

Renjun shifted onto his back again. "Do you ever get in your head too much too? During?"

"Yeah," Jaemin said. "Especially if I don't feel totally safe. I've had moments where I just kind of... disconnected."

Renjun bit his lip. "Do you think that's common?"

"I think it's human."

There was a moment of silence, and then Renjun asked softly, "What kind of stuff do you notice first? About someone you're into."

"You mean physically?"

"Anything."

Jaemin thought for a second. "Their voice, maybe. Or the way they talk when they're not trying to sound clever. I like people who aren't afraid to say what they're feeling, even if it's messy."

Renjun smiled faintly. "You'd hate me then."

"I think you're better at that than you think."

"What about during sex? What do you pay attention to?"

Jaemin didn't rush to answer. "Breathing," he said eventually. "Small things. How they touch."

"That's kind of intense to imagine."

"I mean... isn't it supposed to be?"

Renjun hesitated. "Do you like being praised?"

Jaemin gave a short laugh. "I think everyone does."

"Would you say it back?"

"I think I'd say more than that."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Depends on the person. Depends on what they need to hear or what I need to tell them."

Renjun turned his face deeper into the pillow, suddenly warm all over. Shut up shut up shut up.

"If you ever went all the way with someone," Jaemin said slowly, "do you think you'd want to be in control? Or would you rather be led a little?"

"I think..." He tugged lightly at the edge of his blanket. "I'd want to be led. But really not overpowered, that kind of scares me and I find it weird to be honest. Just... gently."

Jaemin hummed, like he was imagining it. "Yeah," he said. "That makes sense. That's kind of how I feel too. Depends on the person."

"I'd want to feel guided, not cornered."

"That's a really good way to put it."

Renjun smiled faintly into the dark. "Is that how you are, usually?"

"Hmm. I think I like giving the other person space to want things," Jaemin said. "I can take the lead if that's what they need, but I don't want it to feel like I'm deciding everything."

Renjun nodded slowly, the motion more for himself than Jaemin. "So... would you say you're more of a top or a bottom?" He laughed awkwardly after it came out. "God. That sounded so blunt."

Jaemin laughed too, but it was warm, not mocking. "No, I like that you asked."

Renjun pulled the covers up to his chin. "I mean, if we're already this deep into the conversation..."

"Yeah," Jaemin said. "Okay. Um... I guess I've mostly topped. But I don't think of it like a fixed role. It just depends on the person, the dynamic. Some people make me want to be more giving. Others... I want to be taken care of."

"What about with me?"

Jaemin was quiet a second longer than expected. "With you?" His voice lowered a bit. "I think I'd want to take care of you."

Renjun's fingers curled around the edge of his blanket. "Like...?"

"Like not just physically. I mean, that too. But I'd want to know you're okay every step of the way. That you're actually enjoying it. That you're not pretending to be ready just to keep up."

Renjun swallowed. "I wouldn't pretend with you."

"I know," Jaemin said softly.

Renjun bit his lip. "I don't know if I'm a bottom or not, by the way. I think I might be. I just know I want to feel wanted, held, paid attention to..."

Jaemin hummed. "You'd be good at being worshipped."

Renjun flushed immediately. "What the hell."

"I mean it," Jaemin said, laughing lightly. "You're very... receptive. In a none passive way, like emotionally."

Renjun made a strangled sound and buried his face into the pillow. "You can't just say stuff like that."

"I'm just answering the question," Jaemin teased.

"You're way too smooth for someone who claims he doesn't have it all figured out."

"Who said I have anything figured out?" Jaemin replied. "I've just lived a little longer. Doesn't mean I know where I land."

"What does that mean?"

Jaemin took a breath. "I mean... you know what you are, right? Your sexuality, I mean."

There was no hesitation. "I'm gay."

"You say it like it's nothing."

Renjun turned onto his side, tucking the phone a little closer. "It wasn't always that easy. But yeah, I don't question it anymore. I like men. That's it. No gray area."

"I think I live in the gray."

"You're not sure?"

"I don't know if it's about not being sure," Jaemin said thoughtfully. "I've been with women before. And liked it. And I've wanted men too. Felt more with them, sometimes. But I never felt like picking a label helped me understand any of it better."

Renjun nodded. "So you don't call yourself bi?"

"No," Jaemin said. "It always felt... too neat. Like slapping a word on it would make it easier to explain to other people. But I'm not confused, I just like who I like."

Renjun let that sit between them for a moment. "I think that makes sense."

Jaemin exhaled softly. "There were times I wondered if it would be easier if I just committed to something and picked a side, but then I'd be lying about one half of myself or ignoring someone who made me feel something."

Renjun smiled, but it was faint. "You're not afraid people won't get it?"

"I used to be," Jaemin admitted. "Especially when I was with women. I felt like I had to perform a version of myself that made sense to them. And with guys... sometimes I feel like I still have to prove I'm not just experimenting."

Renjun's heart twisted. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is."

"You're allowed to not know. I'm not dating a label."

Jaemin let out a laugh. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me all year. Okay, my turn," Jaemin said lightly, trying to pull them out of the heaviness. "Do you think you'd be the kind of person who teases? Like... flirty in the middle of everything?"

Renjun gave a tiny laugh. "God, maybe? If I felt safe. I think I'd be stupid and dramatic about it. But then I'd immediately get shy and bury my face."

"That's very on-brand," Jaemin said, smiling. "Cute, though."

Renjun hummed. "You?"

"Oh, definitely," Jaemin said. "But only if the other person's into it. I'd rather talk someone through it than try to make them laugh mid-makeout."

Renjun laughed softly. "That's fair."

Jaemin shifted a little, Renjun could hear the faint rustle of his sheets. "Can I ask another?"

"Sure."

"What kind of touch do you think you'd like most?"

Renjun thought about it. "I think... hands, gentle ones. Someone touching my waist, or my thighs, or running their fingers through my hair."

"That fits. You seem like you'd melt if someone took their time with you."

Renjun's ears flushed.

"It's a compliment, baby."

Renjun's throat bobbed, his mouth suddenly dry. He never got called baby before by Jaemin and, wow, what an experience. He bit his lip. "Okay. My turn. What's something that's not sex but still makes you feel... kind of undone?"

Jaemin let out a slow breath, thinking. "Waking up next to someone," he said finally. "That first second when they're still half-asleep and soft and haven't pulled away yet. That ruins me."

"Okay," he says, and his voice was too soft, too small, too shaky. "I.. I have one last thing to say."

Jaemin hummed. "Okay," and Renjun could hear the rustle of sheets, the soft creak of Jaemin's bed. "I'm listening."

Renjun swallowed, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. "I was just... thinking?" he said, and his heart was pounding so hard he was so sure Jaemin could hear it. "About us."

Jaemin chuckled softly, a sound like warm honey over the phone. "And what were you thinking about us?"

Tonight he was tired. Horny. Maybe a little bitter because extremely, extremely aware that Mark wasn't in their dorm room.

Mark — sweet, clueless Mark — was off somewhere getting laid. With Haechan. Again. Renjun wasn't stupid. The faint smell of Haechan's cologne was clinging to Mark's hoodie when he came back late and pretended to be alone.

And maybe part of him wanted to be above it, to stay curled up in bed with his headphones in, pretending sex was beneath him and that he wasn't jealous, wasn't lonely, wasn't starting to feel like the only person on campus who hadn't been touched in months, but not when Jaemin existed, alive, infuriating, perfect and right there.

Fuck it. Fuck everyone else. Mark can go sneak around with Haechan all he wants, and Xiaoting can be mature and graceful and charming.

Renjun took another deep breath, forcing the words up and out into the phone. "I want us to have sex."

"..."

Silence. Dead, heavy, soul-crushing silence.

"What?"

Renjun's face burned, and he sank back against the headboard, knees drawn up to his chest, cheeks flaming. "I— Okay, I was just thinking about it," he mumbled, fingers twisting tighter into his shirt. "I thought... I thought about how nice it would be if you took me on a date. Like, a real one."

Jaemin made a soft surprised noise, and Renjun could practically see Jaemin sitting up straighter with his brow all furrowed.

"Like... we go out somewhere nice, you hold my hand, we come back to your place and... and we have sex. I just—I've been thinking about you a lot lately. And the things I want. And it's like... whenever I'm around you, it gets worse. I forget how to act normal."

"You've never exactly been normal around me."

Renjun groaned, flopping sideways onto the bed with a muffled "Don't say that."

"But it's true," Jaemin said, warm laughter dancing on his tongue. "You're always so cute when you're nervous. You don't even realize how much that does to me."

Renjun's heart stuttered. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He said, before adding, a little softer, "You want me to take you on a real date?"

"I do," he whispered. "I want to sit across from you at some cute little restaurant and feel all fluttery because you're looking at me like I'm the only person in the world. And then I want to go back to your place and..." He trailed off.

"You have no idea how hard I've been trying to be careful but then you go and tell me you've been thinking about me like that."

"I didn't mean to make it harder," Renjun said softly.

"Too late," Jaemin muttered, and Renjun could hear the smile even through the exasperation. "You've already made everything harder."

Renjun choked on a laugh. "Okay. That's your fault for calling me 'baby' at one specific point in this call."

"Oh?" Jaemin sounded smug now. "So you liked that?"

"Maybe."

"My baby."

"Jaemin!"

He just laughed, low and sweet. "Alright. Real date, then. Let me plan it."

Renjun stilled, heart thudding in slow, aching disbelief. "You mean it?"

"I mean it. We'll go somewhere nice, I'll hold your hand, and then we'll... see. We'll see, Renjun."

Renjun's smile bloomed slow and wide, his chest feeling too full. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay."

"Sleep now," Jaemin said, voice already turning indulgent. "And stop thinking so hard or you're going to give yourself a fever."

"Too late," Renjun mumbled, grinning into his pillow. "You're the fever."

"You know, I wasn't sure if you actually liked me. I thought maybe it was just... excitement. Curiosity?"

"It's not," Renjun said quickly. "I mean, yeah, I was curious at first. You're hot. And I'm very mentally ill. But I like you, Jaemin. I do."

There was a short, startled laugh from the other end, and Jaemin sounded like he was smiling again. "Okay. Good to know."

It got quiet for a moment again like neither of them wanted to hang up yet, then Jaemin spoke, his voice a little hesitant.

"Hey... this isn't about Xiaoting, is it?"

Renjun blinked. "What?"

"I just..." Jaemin cleared his throat. "I know you said you saw us talking at that family thing. I thought maybe... I don't know, maybe it got in your head."

"Oh my god." Renjun buried his face in his pillow and groaned. "I literally confessed to you over the phone just now and you think I did it out of jealousy?"

"I'm just making sure," Jaemin said, and he actually sounded a little shy. "Because if this is about her, I want to make it clear—"

"It's not," Renjun cut in. "It's about you. And me. And how I want to make out with you until my mouth goes numb."

"Jesus."

"See? I can be honest too."

Jaemin's voice came back, dry. "I noticed. I'm hanging up before you get any worse."

"Too late," Renjun said, grinning. "You already made everything harder, remember?"

Jaemin groaned like he regretted everything. "Goodnight, Renjun."

"Night, Professor."

Jaemin made one last weak sound and hung up.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The air was cool, but Renjun didn't bother with his jacket. He had only stepped out of the dorm building  this morning to clear his head, not to feel anything: not the breeze, not the ache in his chest when he thought about Jaemin and smiled. The sun was dipping low, casting sharp shadows across the pavement as he rounded the corner, eyes downcast, earbuds in.

Then, as if conjured by the weight of everything he was trying to ignore, there he was.

Donghyuck.

Standing just outside a café door, a takeout coffee cup in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. He looked up at the same time Renjun did. For a second, they both froze.

Renjun's stomach clenched.

Donghyuck's eyes widened, mouth parting slightly caught between a smile and an apology he didn't know how to give.

"Renjun," he said finally, voice quieter than Renjun remembered. He didn't answer. Didn't stop walking.

Donghyuck took a sharp step forward. "Wait. Can you—can we talk?"

Renjun slowed, but only to remove one earbud. He didn't look directly at Donghyuck.

"I've been texting you."

"I know."

"I said I was sorry."

"I know that too."

Donghyuck hesitated. "And you didn't answer."

"I didn't want to."

The silence that followed was too heavy for the soft café playlist drifting out the door behind them. Donghyuck shifted on his feet.

"Look, I messed up. I know I did. And I'm not saying you have to forgive me, but—" His voice cracked slightly, and Renjun hated how much that still got to him. "But... you're my best friend, Renjun. You were. And I—" He paused, voice faltering like a boy trying to hold himself together. "I acted like the biggest fucking idiot. I'm sorry."

Renjun finally met his eyes. There was so much he wanted to say, and none of it could come out clean.

"You kissed him," he said quietly. "You knew how I felt, and you kissed him."

Donghyuck flinched, as if those words hit him too. "I wasn't trying to steal him—"

"I don't care," Renjun cut in. "You used him to get over Mark. You told me to go after Jaemin like it was a joke. And then when I couldn't breathe anymore, when I thought maybe I mattered to Jeno you were already in his room." The rawness in his voice startled even him.

Donghyuck was silent, guilt painting him smaller than usual. "It wasn't about Jeno," he said finally, hoarse. "I don't like Jeno. It was me. It was all me. I'm still so fucking broken, and I let it spill all over you, and I—I'm so fucking sorry. You didn't deserve that. You matter to me. You always did. I'm sorry.." His eyes glistened, unguarded. "God, Renjun, I'm so sorry. You matter so much to me."

His voice trembled, and he took a breath like it physically hurt to do it.

"I was drowning. And you handed me a brick."

Donghyuck's throat worked as he swallowed. "I know," he said again. "And I hate myself for it."

"I never wanted to be the reason you ever felt bad," he added, voice thin. "You don't have to talk to me ever, but please believe me when I say I'm sorry. I'm honest about that. I regret everything."

Renjun stood there, still. Heart beating like it didn't know what to do with the cracks reopening. He didn't know what to say. Forgiveness felt too far away, however hate didn't sit right either.

He looked at Renjun, waiting for a verdict and still had some ounce of hope left that maybe this could be salvaged. But Renjun just stared. And Donghyuck saw it then. That wall. That distance. The way Renjun's mouth pressed into something unreadable, the way he didn't step closer, didn't even flinch.

Something inside Donghyuck broke.

"Fuck this," he said suddenly, too loud, too bitter, his voice slicing through the quiet like a snapped wire.

His breath hitched. His eyes burned.

"You know what? I—I can't do this polished apology shit right now. I can't stand here and pretend I'm not—" His hand curled into a fist, shaking at his side. "I'm not fucking begging for something that's already gone."

"Mark was everything to me, okay? The only person I ever let see all of me and still hoped, hoped he'd stay. And he didn't. He fucking didn't. He left like I was nothing. Like I was some exhausting, needy mistake. And I hated him for it, and I hated myself more, and instead of just... dealing with it like a normal person, I used Jeno. I used him. Because I thought maybe if I could still make someone want me, I wouldn't feel so disgusting and small."

He was crying now, the words punching through the tears.

"And the worst part? I decided to be a slut and I've been sleeping with Mark again, even though I know he doesn't even fucking want me, and even though he barely even touches me unless he's bored or sad or too tired to be alone. And I let him! I let him, because I'm so fucking terrified of being by myself that I'll take whatever scraps I can get. I feel like a whore. I'm just this desperate, ugly mess who's so scared of being alone that I'm willing to let myself be used and tossed aside like trash. A useless, hollow thing, and I hate it—fuck! I hate myself so much—"

His voice broke on the word, and he nearly doubled over, like it physically hurt to say.

"Everyone I think might love me ends up leaving. My family, my friends, Mark. And maybe it's not them. Maybe it's me. Maybe I ruin people. Maybe I push them away before they can walk, just so I don't have to watch them choose to go."

He dragged a sleeve across his eyes, but it did nothing.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear to god, Renjun, I didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't know how to ask you to stay."

His words tumbled out in a rush, a flood of pain and self-hatred that couldn't be contained. "Everyone just leaves me! Everyone I start to believe might actually love me ends up walking out the door, Renjun! Maybe it's because I'm broken, because I'm too fucked up, too damaged to be worth anyone's time or care. My own fucking dad left and didn't even look back, and I hate him for that, yeah, but I hate myself even more, because I'm the one who keeps screwing everything up, the one who keeps pushing people away before they can leave me!"

He gasped for breath as he tried to hold himself together. "I'm so scared, Renjun. Scared of losing you. Scared of losing everyone. And instead of telling you, instead of asking for help, I did the only thing I knew and I pushed you away first. I thought if I broke us, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when you left. But it hurts. It hurts like hell, and I don't know how to fix it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I acted like a slut in need of attention and you suffered for it." His eyes, swollen and red, locked on Renjun's with a desperate honesty. "I'm sorry, Renjun. I never wanted to hurt you like this. But I'm still trying to figure out how to love and be loved without breaking everything in the process. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to keep breaking everything around me. But I'm drowning too, and I don't know how to breathe, and everybody around me seems to think I'm not."

For a long moment, the weight of those words hung between them.

Renjun slowly put his earbud back in, his heart pounding in the silence.

"I have class," he said quietly, voice barely steady.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Donghyuck sat on the bench like he'd been punched in the chest. His lungs felt too tight, it kinda felt like his ribs were closing in. He wiped at his face with both hands, trying not to think of Renjun's expression when he walked away. He didn't even hear Jeno until the shadow landed on his shoes.

"Well," He said, voice deceptively light. "That went fine."

Donghyuck's head snapped up. "What the fuck—what are you doing here?"

Jeno raised his cup. "Grabbing coffee. Saw the little scene."

Donghyuck blinked at him, stunned and already on edge. "You were watching me?"

"Relax," Jeno said, sitting beside him like they were friends, spreading his legs as he took up a suffocating amount of space. "It wasn't exactly subtle."

"It wasn't planned, okay?" Donghyuck muttered.

"Yeah, nothing ever is with you, right?" Jeno sipped. "Things just happen."

Donghyuck looked away, jaw tightening. "If you came here to blame me, don't. I already feel like shit."

Jeno laughed under his breath. "You should. This whole mess? Yours."

"Fuck off" Donghyuck snapped. "Don't act innocent now. This was all your plan to begin with."

"And it did work," Jeno turned his head slightly, tone casual. "Mark's been all over you since, hasn't he?"

"That doesn't mean—"

"Come on," Jeno interrupted. "Let's not pretend. He's texting you. He's showing up to things. You're finally getting fucked again. That's a win, isn't it?"

Donghyuck blinked, stunned. "Shut up."

Jeno leaned back, smiling faintly. "Don't be shy about it. You wanted attention? Now you've got it. You walk into class, and everyone knows Mark's crawling into your sheets. They probably think you're the one with the power."

"Stop," Donghyuck whispered.

"But we both know you'd let him spit in your face if it meant he stayed another night," Jeno said, still soft. "You'd do anything to not sleep alone. And you did."

Donghyuck's body tensed, he wanted to be about to get up, about to hit something, scream, anything.

Jeno stood up, slowly. "So really, I was just the middleman."

Donghyuck was staring at the pavement hoping it might split open and swallow him whole as Jeno looked down at him. This was one of the most humbling things that could happen to him.

"Hope he fucks you tonight. Maybe that'll make the crying worth it."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Mr.Na (philo):
bakery by the dorm
twenty minutes
wear something that makes you feel pretty

He stared at it, unblinking, until his screen dimmed. He had twenty-four minutes. Somehow, that felt like one.

Renjun paced once in a circle, then turned toward the mirror and began the ritual: changing shirts, fixing his hair, changing again. The first top was too precious. The second clung too tightly, made him look like a boy with a crush on his professor who was about to lose his virginity. Which was to his complete horror closer to the truth than he liked.

In the end, he chose a soft gray sweater that hinted at skin just below the collar, paired with black pants that made him look taller and a little grown. He paused long enough to touch his lips in the mirror, then whispered, "You're fine," though he didn't believe it. He grabbed his coat, (jaemin's), shoved his hands into his gloves, and left.

Outside, the world was white. The winter snow settled into the creases of rooftops, and made everything feel a little softer. His breath left his mouth in pale clouds as he stepped onto the sidewalk, snowflakes landed on his lashes and melted into the seams of his coat. He regretted not taking a scarf with him. Fuck it if he gets sick, he hoped at least the collarbone showing sweater would be worth it.

The bakery was just around the corner, a cozy little storefront with fogged-up windows and a golden sign that looked soft under the streetlights. Renjun didn't go in. He stood a little to the side like Jaemin told him to, half-tucked into the shadow of the alley wall. Hood up. Shoulders drawn in. The cold slipped beneath his coat and settled in his spine.

Across the street, Jaemin's car was already there, the one Renjun had been in more times than he could count, and still never comfortably. Jaemin stood against it, one ankle crossed over the other, dark coat buttoned up to his neck (he badly wanted to steal that one too, but he'd have to wait). His breath came out in quick little clouds as well, which somehow looked like a cute accessory when it wzs him.

He hadn't expected to see him waiting like that. He thought he'd pull up, honk once, keep his distance, but there he was.

There was a street between them covered in snow and old footprints, some half-frozen, some still fresh. A wind passed through, sharp and slicing, and Renjun suddenly couldn't feel his fingers. He should move, cross, say something, but all he could do was stand there and watch him. Why does he look like that?

Jaemin pushed off the car, boots crunching softly against the packed snow. The sound made Renjun's stomach flip. Closer, closer, until he was right there in front of him. Renjun could smell the faint trace of that cologne Jaemin always wore. It clung to his coat the way it also did on his.

"Hi," Jaemin said.

"Hi." His breath fogged the air between them, and he hated how visible it made his nerves.

Jaemin looked at him, eyes lingering in a way that felt too careful. "You look pretty."

His cheeks prickled from more than just the cold. He almost laughed. Of course he'd say that. "You said to wear something that made me feel pretty," he murmured, glancing down at himself, at the soft sweater he'd almost talked himself out of.

"And did you?" Jaemin asked, tilting his head.

Renjun hesitated then nodded. "I think so."

A ghost of a smile passed over Jaemin's lips. Then his hand came up, slow enough for Renjun to brace himself for the contact, but not slow enough to prepare for how gentle it would feel. His fingers brushed along Renjun's cheekbone, bare skin meeting bare skin.

"It worked," he said softly. "You're stunning."

Renjun forgot how cold it was. His eyes flicked to his mouth, then away again, ashamed to be that obvious.

Jaemin just smiled. "Ready?" he asked.

Renjun nodded. "Yeah."

Jaemin extended his hand with his palm up, and Renjun stared at it. He slid his fingers into his and their hands fit. It was warm, even through the gloves.

Jaemin led him across the street, hand still in his, like this was normal and completely allowed by the university's policy. He opened the passenger door with a little bow of his head, a quiet gesture that made Renjun's chest ache.

It really felt like a date this time. Maybe it was because they decided to officially call it that. Still, they've been on numerous car rides together that began just like this, however it never radiated the same as it did right now.

Jaemin got into the driver's seat and shut the door. They drove of the neighborhood, past the bookstore and the corner café, past anything that felt like school, or rules, or the space between them that used to be called wrong. The city fell away slowly, traded for wide roads and trees dusted with white.

Renjun didn't speak. He kept looking at Jaemin's hands on the steering wheel (the same hands that had brushed his cheek, the same hands that had held his.)

Everything looked dipped in silver and gold, the streets were a little too bright, the shadows long and blue at the edges. He kept fidgeting. Jaemin smiled at one point and reached over to place a hand on his thigh, close to his knee.

"You're not in trouble, you know."

"I know," Renjun said, eyes on the road. "Just feels like I am."

He paused.

Then immediately panicked.

Because what did that mean? Was he subconsciously projecting guilt?

Also, hand. On. His. Thigh.

Jaemin's hand was still there. Just... resting? Casually close, but not quite intimate. Near the knee, which was statistically one of the least threatening parts of the leg, but Renjun's brain was absolutely refusing to treat it that way.

Was this a comfort gesture? An unconscious reflex? Or had Jaemin studied him like a psychological puzzle and gone, "This one has touch starvation and guilt issues, let's multitask".

Maybe this was some kind of advanced professor tactic. Emotional triangulation. He would say something soothing while casually touching Renjun in a location that wouldn't technically count as inappropriate, and then Renjun would relax just enough to let his guard down and confess to seventeen crimes he didn't commit.

Jaemin's thumb moved, just slightly, brushing over the fabric.

Renjun's soul left his body.

He glanced down for a second (bad idea) and then back at the road, because if he didn't focus he was going to die and then the headline would be "Student Dies in Car Accident After Professor Lightly Touches Knee, Authorities Say It Wasn't Even That Serious."

He cleared his throat, stiffly. "You know, you say I'm not in trouble, but this kind of feels like the emotional equivalent of when a dentist says 'you're going to feel a little pressure.'"

Jaemin laughed. "Is that your way of asking me to move my hand?"

Renjun's brain said yes. His mouth said, "No. I—. Just. Let me die in peace."

He felt a little stupid asking him for sex then panicking about a hand on his very clothed and covered leg.

Moving on, at exactly 2:07 p.m., Renjun's stomach growled. Loud.

Jaemin burst out laughing, tapping the steering wheel with one hand. "That's it. We're stopping."

"I'm fine!"

"You're not. I just heard your entire digestive system."

Renjun covered his face. "I knew I should've eaten something."

Ten minutes later, they were standing outside a tiny pâtisserie tucked between two pale stone buildings. It had a pink awning, chalkboard menu out front, and a window full of glistening pastries stacked in little pyramids.

Jaemin pointed at the display case. "Pick one."

Renjun hovered just inside the doorway like a suspicious raccoon, hands in his coat pockets, eyes darting from the pastry case to the cash register like he was preparing to commit theft. He wasn't actually going to (though if Jaemin hadn't been here, he might've tried to barter his dignity for a croissant) but he had no idea how to act normal in public.

"You okay?" Jaemin asked, amused, stepping beside him.

"Yeah," Renjun said. "I'm just indecisive."

Jaemin leaned over to look into the case. "What about that one?" he pointed.

"That's a tropézienne," Renjun mumbled, suddenly knowledgeable. "Brioche filled with orange blossom pastry cream."

"So that's a yes?"

Renjun hesitated. "It's also ten euros."

"Renjun. You're clearly starving, we have a long day ahead and I'm gonna need you to have energy."

"Oh my god."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're either trying to kill me or that was heavily sexual."

Jaemin blinked. "What? No—it wasn't—"

"You said it like it was!" Renjun insisted. "Like you're preparing me. Like 'fuel up, sweetheart, you'll need it.' That's either murderer behavior or a prelude to.. something else."

"I meant it literally," Jaemin said. "As in: you skipped lunch, and we're going to be walking. That's all."

"You sounded like you were gonna kidnap me!"

Jaemin sighed. "Renjun, why would I even carry rope?"

Renjun's brain short-circuited, blushing furiously. "Rope? HUH? For what??"

"...For the kidnapping?"

"Oh," Renjun said. Small voice. Eyes wide. "Right. Yeah. That makes sense." He nodded slowly. Too many times. "Right. Kidnapping. Yep. No, yeah, totally. Logical."

His ears were red. His soul was red. He looked like he wanted to crawl inside a baguette and disappear forever. Jaemin just blinked once, then looked back toward the pastry case.

"I'm not a hostage," Renjun muttered under his breath.

"No one said you were," Jaemin replied as he opened his wallet.

"You said rope."

"For the hypothetical kidnapping that, you, brought up."

Renjun groaned softly and leaned forward, banging his forehead lightly against the edge of the glass display.

Jaemin smiled. "Want me to order for you?"

"Please. I can't talk to another human right now."

Eventually, Jaemin ordered for both of them.

Renjun stared at his pastry, reverently. They paid, walked out, and by the time they were strolling back toward the car, Renjun had powdered sugar on his lip and nowhere near enough shame to care.

It was a crisp afternoon, sunlight turning the pavement soft gold, air sharp in that early winter kind of way that made everything feel just a little more vivid. Renjun shoved his hand into his coat pockets and kicked at a pebble as they walked. Jaemin kept glancing over.

"You've got sugar," Jaemin said at last, nodding toward the corner of Renjun's mouth.

"Where?"

Jaemin pointed, and Renjun instinctively licked the spot, tongue darting out quickly. "Did I get it?"

There was a pause, too long, too calm, and Jaemin's gaze didn't move. Before Renjun could even register movement, before he could ask again, or move, or even fully breathe, Jaemin leaned in.

It was quick and gentle. It was a normal thing to do for him apparently. Once the soft press of lips against the corner of Renjun's mouth was gone, it had meant Jaemin pulled back.

He said with a little smile, "You did get it. Just wanted to be sure."

He stared at Jaemin, completely frozen, mouth slightly parted, like someone had unplugged and replugged him in too fast. It was the first time they kissed in public. Okay, they've done that before, their first kiss was not just a peck either, but this felt officializing. Jaemin had driven them far enough that nobody they knew could possibly recognize them here, the odds would've been too improbable, and that someone comforted it all.

"You—" he started, "You just—you—"

He didn't even finish the sentence. He just shoved Jaemin lightly in the direction of the car. "Okay. That's enough. Go. Get in the car. Go sit. Drive. Immediately."

Jaemin blinked at him, clearly fighting a laugh. "What? Why?"

Renjun flailed one hand vaguely. "Because you—That's illegal!"

"It was a kiss."

"It was unnecessary. That's what it was."

"I was helping."

"You were not! I got the sugar! It was gone! You lied!"

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Maybe I didn't care about the sugar. "Maybe I just wanted to kiss you."

"I'm not answering that," Renjun said, shoving him again, red-faced.

Jaemin just walked toward the car, chuckling to himself. Renjun followed, flustered and muttering. "Unbelievable. This is why people don't trust philosophers."

When they got to the car, Jaemin held the passenger door open for him. Renjun glared, then got in anyway, defeated.

His hands were in his lap, fidgeting, then they weren't. They gently reached over to where Jaemin had one hand resting on the gearshift.

His fingertips brushed over the back of Jaemin's hand, down to his wrist, then back up. The skin was warm. Ridiculously soft actually. His fingers didn't even catch on a dry patch. Renjun had absolutely no business being this obsessed with someone's hand, and yet here he was.

Jaemin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye but didn't say anything. Just turned his hand over so their palms met, fingers slotting together easily. Renjun stared at their hands as his heart was doing somersaults in his throat.

"Okay," he blurted, "just for the record, are we—are we kissing now? Like. Regularly? Is that a thing?"

He just looked at him, smiling a little. He looked amused, calm, overall unfairly gorgeous. "You've asked me things far worse than that."

His brain sifted through the backlog of bold things he'd said recently, especially during that phone call and froze when it landed on the one.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "You're talking about—"

"'Take me out then take me home,'" Jaemin recited lightly, "Ring any bells?"

Renjun dropped their joined hands like they were on fire and buried his face in both palms with a muffled groan. His entire body folded in on itself. "I cannot believe I said that out loud. To a real person." His voice was strained, nearly swallowed by his hands. "Why didn't you hang up on me?" He peeked through his fingers for half a second.

Jaemin gave him a quick glance. "So you don't want to be taken home."

"I didn't say that."

"So you do want to be taken home."

"I DIDN'T say that either," Renjun snapped. "I'm just saying maybe don't quote me."

Jaemin laughed softly, the kind that made Renjun's heart lurch against his will.

There was a stretch of silence as the city moved around them, trees rushing by, traffic humming low. Jaemin's thumb brushed idly across Renjun's knuckles where their hands were still joined on the center console.

Renjun peeked at him. Jaemin looked unbothered.

"Okay," Renjun mumbled. "But just so you know, I meant after the date. You can't just kiss me outside a bakery and assume that counts."

Jaemin tilted his head, eyes flicking over with the kind of expression that said he was both humoring him and filing that information away with great interest. "It was a good kiss."

"I'm not arguing that," Renjun said quickly. "I'm just saying the terms were not followed."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, the smirk coming back slow. "So you're holding me accountable for not sleeping with you yet?"

Renjun slammed his forehead gently against the passenger window.

He exhaled shakily and stared down at their hands. Jaemin's thumb was making slow, lazy circles against his. Renjun squeezed lightly. His other hand joined in, as if trying to memorize every inch of Jaemin's fingers through touch alone. The car ride after that was warmer. Their fingers laced on the console between them. The streets gave way to broader boulevards, the buildings turning older, grander, carved in white stone and worn marble.

Renjun's eyes kept flicking out the window as the scenery changed, from shopfronts to open fields, then long avenues lined with bare trees, branches like dark lace against the pale sky. The snow glittered in patches across the lawn, the world all white stone and gold-tipped roofs.

Jaemin parked beside a wide gravel path. Beyond gates, through a break in the hedges, Renjun saw marble statues, green corridors of manicured bushes, long reflecting pools like mirrors.

He blinked. "Is this—?"

Jaemin gave a small smile. "Maybe."

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Donghyuck was still lying in bed in the dark, the blinds pulled tight and the only light coming from the cracked screen of his phone.

A knock came. He got up slowly, not bothering with a shirt. His feet were bare on the tile. When he opened the door, Mark was standing there with his hood up, hands in his pockets like he wasn't sure why he came, which is usually the case.

Donghyuck's heart did that stupid thing, stuttered, then sped up, like muscle memory. He thinks he got pavloved into reacting that way, because clearly there was no reason to anymore.

"You came," he said, not able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Mark shrugged.

He stepped aside to let him in. Mark didn't comment on the mess (the sweatshirt on the floor, the dinner containers on the desk, the empty water bottle beside the bed, or why his room was so dark at 4p.m). He sat on the edge of the mattress like he always did.

"You didn't answer my text," Donghyuck said, voice soft but too direct to be casual.

Mark looked at him blankly. "What text?"

"The one I sent, a few days ago."

"I didn't know I was supposed to answer right away," Mark said, brows drawing slightly.

Donghyuck's face twisted. "What the fuck did you think I was texting you for, then? If I wasn't expecting a fast reply, I would've sent a pigeon."

Mark laughed under his breath. "What?"

"No, don't laugh," Donghyuck snapped, stepping back like the room had shifted. "You think I'm being dramatic but it wasn't just a text. It's never just a text."

Mark raised his hands slightly. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

Donghyuck sighed."It's always like this with you. I reach out and you... what? You respond when it's convenient? You show up like it's some favor you're doing for me?"

Mark frowned. "Hyuck, calm down. It's not that deep... Are you okay?"

"It is to me," Donghyuck said, voice high and unsteady. "God, do you even care when I say things? Or am I just noise to you?"

"Where is this coming from?" Mark asked, quieter now. "You're all over the place."

Donghyuck let out a bitter laugh. "I've been 'all over the place' for months. You just didn't notice."

"Hyuck, what's going on?" he said, sitting up straighter.

Donghyuck scoffed, turning his face away. "Nothing. Forget it."

"No," Mark said quickly, gently. "Don't do that. You're upset. Talk to me."

"Now you want me to talk?"

"I didn't know it was that bad," Mark said, quiet. "You don't usually text like that. I thought maybe you were just bored or... I don't know. I didn't think you were hurting."

Donghyuck hid his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying not to cry again. He didn't exactly feel like looking this vulnerable in front of him. It didn't feel comfortable. "Well, I am."

Mark stood up, crossing the room slowly. "Hey," he said, voice soft. "Look at me."

Donghyuck didn't, so Mark crouched in front of him instead, level with where he was sitting on the bed. "Hyuck. Look at me."

Reluctantly, Donghyuck raised his head. His eyes were red and tired. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, unsure. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I didn't know you needed me like that."

"You never know," Donghyuck muttered. "You never know when I need you, and I hate how much I still—how much it matters to me if you show up or not." Mark hesitated for a second, then reached out, his hand resting carefully on Donghyuck's knee.  "I don't want pity," he whispered.

"It's not pity," Mark said. "It's me trying to be here."

Donghyuck stared at him for a long moment. "I felt like I was disappearing," he said. "And no one noticed until I started yelling."

Mark nodded slowly. "Well, I see you now. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Donghyuck didn't believe him, but the hand on his knee was warm, and Mark's voice was gentle, and maybe just for tonight, that was enough. So he nodded once, and leaned forward. Mark stayed crouched beside him a little longer, thumb grazing lightly over his knee, it looked like he wasn't sure what else to do.

Eventually, he stood up and gently tugged at his hand. "Come on," he said softly. "Lie down."

Donghyuck let himself be led, too tired to argue, too wrecked to pretend he didn't want it. He slid under the blanket first, curling toward the wall automatically. Mark climbed in behind him. There was a quiet moment where neither of them moved.

Then Mark reached, wrapping an arm around Donghyuck's waist from behind. His hand pressed over his chest as he exhaled shakily, his body sinking back against him.

"You should've answered," he mumbled, voice nearly gone. "I needed someone."

Mark's voice was low behind him. "I'm sorry."

Donghyuck swallowed hard. You say that like you're not a reason I feel this way too. "You're always sorry."

Mark didn't respond. His grip tightened a little, maybe that was his version of an answer. He hated that he needed this, that he'd come apart without it. Mark could hurt him so easily, and still be the only place he felt safe.

After a few quiet minutes, Donghyuck shifted. Turned around slowly, hesitating halfway through, but then he met Mark's eyes in the dim light.

He leaned in as Mark opened his arms, not hesitating to gather Donghyuck into his chest, cradling the back of his head. Donghyuck let himself fold into the warmth, burying his face into the worn fabric of Mark's hoodie, breathing in the scent of something safe and devastating.

Mark whispered, "You're okay," and rubbed slow circles into his back.

Donghyuck trembled. His fingers curled into Mark's shirt, afraid it would disappear. "I'm ruining everything," he mumbled into his chest. "Even you."

Mark tightened his arms around him. "You're not ruining me," he said gently, forehead resting against Donghyuck's temple. "You're just hurting. I get it."

"You don't," Donghyuck said, but his voice cracked halfway through. "You don't, and I wish you did."

In that moment, Donghyuck let himself believe that maybe this could be enough. That maybe love didn't have to feel good all the time to count. Maybe Mark, despite everything, could still be the person who stayed.

He closed his eyes and held on. Mark was the last solid thing in a world that kept slipping out from under him.

He didn't know how long they stayed wrapped up in each other, the room quiet except for the sound of his breathing slowly trying to settle. Mark held him like he was something fragile, arms firm around his back, one hand resting at the nape of his neck, thumb brushing there like a reflex, and Donghyuck couldn't stop crying. Quiet tears leaking down his cheeks while he stayed pressed against Mark's chest.

He sniffled, breath shaking. "You're the only thing I have left."

Donghyuck pulled back a little, enough to look up at him. His cheeks were wet, lips parted. His eyes searched Mark's face like he was trying to find something solid and safe.

Mark cupped his cheek automatically, brushing away a tear with the side of his thumb. Donghyuck's hands rose too, curling around Mark's face as he couldn't stop himself.

"Be my boyfriend," he whispered.

Mark blinked.

Donghyuck's thumbs trembled against his jaw. "Please," he added, softer than before.

Mark just stared at him for a second, he wasn't expecting that, and certainly not like this. Not in the quiet after a storm. Not when Donghyuck looked like this.

"Hyuck..." Mark said carefully.

But Donghyuck's breath hitched as he shook his head. "Don't say no yet. Just... Just let me have this. For a minute. Let me pretend you want to stay."

Mark's brows drew together, and his hand slid from Donghyuck's cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him close again, tucking him under his chin. And in that silence, Donghyuck pressed his face to Mark's neck and whispered again, barely audible.

"Please."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

They walked quietly, Jaemin's hand brushing against Renjun's. They walked quietly through the garden, snowflakes drifting lazily around them, dusting the bare branches like delicate confetti. The crisp air bit at Renjun's cheeks. After a turn, Jaemin stopped beside a small patch of grass that was surprisingly free of snow. It was a lucky little island of green surrounded by white. He crouched down and held up a finger.

"Don't look," he said with a sly smile.

Renjun narrowed his eyes, curiosity sparking immediately. "No fair."

Jaemin chuckled but shook his head. "Seriously, don't."

Renjun peered sideways anyway, just a quick glance, but Jaemin caught him.

"Hey! No peeking."

Renjun grinned, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as he leaned back on the cold grass, pretending to look away.

Jaemin pulled a small canvas out of his bag, then a neatly packed box of watercolors and a cup of water in a thermos. The colors were vibrant against the snow.

"Tada!" Jaemin said, spreading everything out carefully.

Renjun smiled shyly, feeling a flutter in his chest. He settled onto the snowy grass, careful to keep his coat buttoned tight against the chill. He watched Jaemin unpack the paints and brushes.

"How'd you know I like painting?" Renjun asked, his voice low, curious.

Jaemin paused, fingers lingering on a brush for a moment longer than necessary. He looked up, eyes meeting Renjun's, a faint flush coloring his cheeks that wasn't due to the cold for the first time that day.

"I... I didn't really plan this," Jaemin admitted, voice quieter than usual. "Honestly, it was kind of last minute. I just remembered you doodling in your notebooks, and it felt like... maybe something you'd like. Nothing fancy. I just hoped you'd like it."

Renjun's heart did a little flip. The careful, honest way Jaemin said it made him smile. "That's... really thoughtful," he said softly. "And kind of cute, actually."

Jaemin cleared his throat, and pulled a small thermos from his bag. "Also," he said with a small smile, "I brought hot coffee. Thought we might need it."

Renjun's eyes lit up as Jaemin unscrewed the lid, steam curling in the cold air. He reached for the cup, fingers brushing Jaemin's hand again.

They sat cross-legged on the grass, their coats bundled tight, knees brushing now and then as they leaned over the paints. The canvas sat between them, balanced carefully atop a folded scarf. Jaemin handed Renjun a brush, the bristles still damp from the little thermos of water he'd poured out into a jar.

"I haven't painted in years," Renjun warned, dipping his brush into a soft blue.

"That's okay," Jaemin said, brushing a streak of pale gold across the top corner of his half of the canvas. "I'm not grading you."

"That's what you think," Renjun muttered.

They started slow. Jaemin was precise with light touches, small strokes. Renjun, on the other hand, was chaos as he painted clouds that looked vaguely like rabbits, then a bird that looked vaguely like a mistake. But the more Jaemin concentrated, the more Renjun squinted at his side of the canvas with suspicion.

"You're too good at this," Renjun muttered.

Jaemin glanced over. "I'm literally making lines."

"They're suspiciously not bad."

"You could just say you're impressed."

Renjun hummed noncommittally. Then, as Jaemin leaned in to add another soft wash of color across the edge, Renjun very casually reached across and dabbed a splotch of green directly onto Jaemin's painted sun.

"Hey!" Jaemin said, jerking back with a laugh. "What was that?"

"Sabotage," Renjun said brightly. "You were getting cocky."

"You vandalized my sunrise."

"I made it better. It's more abstract now."

Jaemin shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief and amusement. "You're unwell."

Renjun shrugged, smug. "Say that to your new moss sun."

Jaemin dipped his brush in water, gaze narrowing. "You realize this means war."

"I was counting on it."

For the next few minutes, the canvas devolved into delightful chaos. Jaemin painted a tiny, suspiciously pointy version of Renjun in the corner. Renjun retaliated by giving Jaemin's carefully shaded mountain a mustache. They laughed harder than they meant to, breath fogging in the cold air, fingers stained with streaks of paint and melted snow.

The brushes stilled and the coffee steamed in their hands when Renjun looked at the ruined painting and smiled.

"This is awful," he said.

The sun had come out in full. It gleamed off the bits of snow that hadn't melted, turning the garden into a bright, glittering mess. Renjun squinted against it, one hand shading his eyes as he eyed the canvas, now half-ruined by sabotage and half-serious effort.

Jaemin had started trying again, this time focusing on a line of trees in the distance, bare branches reaching skyward like long ink strokes.

"You know," he said suddenly, brush hovering mid-air, "this kind of perspective always reminds me of Copernicus."

Renjun paused mid-doodle. "...what."

Jaemin didn't look up. "The whole heliocentric thing. The idea that everything's moving, even when it doesn't feel like it. It's like when you're drawing, Nothing's really still. You just have to pick a point to trust."

Renjun stared at him. "Do you just bring up Copernicus."

"I mean, if you want to get technical, it's more about stellar parallax." He gestured vaguely toward the background. "You shift positions, everything shifts with you. The angle changes, even if the thing you're looking at doesn't."

Renjun covered his mouth with one hand, trying to suppress the laugh rising in his chest.

"It's relevant," Jaemin insisted, smiling now. "It's about how you measure distance. How far something looks versus how far it is. Like the tip of the Eiffel tower, and how tiny it looks, when in reality it fits a bunch of restaurants up there."

Renjun dropped his brush and ran a paint-smeared hand through Jaemin's hair without warning, laughing. "What are you even made of, blondie?"

His hair stuck up a little where Renjun's fingers had gone through it. "Perspective," Jaemin said, still smiling, "is everything."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The last room of the exhibition was dimly lit, hushed, and full of carved muscle. Renjun walked slowly past a life-sized sculpture of a man hunched over a block of stone, his back muscles knotted like ropes, every finger defined down to the knuckle. The plaque said Antoine Bourdelle, 1909. The face looked tired.

Jaemin stood beside him, quiet, eyes lingering.There was something about being in a room full of 5 meter tall stone people that made it harder to talk. They were basically being watched by ghosts with better posture.

But at the far end of the gallery, past the final row of torso studies and bronze fragments, there was a sign:

SCULPTURE WORKSHOP — 30 MIN HANDS-ONLY CLAY EXERCISE: "HUMAN ON A ROCK."

Jaemin tilted his head, reading it. "You wanna...?"

"You want to make a clay person?"

They stepped into the workshop space, all white plaster, shelves lined with tiny sculptures and tubs of red clay, students hunched over little workstations. A quiet instructor waved them toward an empty table, sliding over a small square block of clay each.

"Use only your hands," she said, smiling. "No tools. Just feel it."

Renjun flexed his fingers. "What if I feel nothing?"

"Then make that," the instructor replied, and walked away.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. By minute seven, Renjun had molded a vague rock shape with something resembling a sitting man on top. The man's legs were too short. His chest was lopsided. His hair looked like melting butter.

"Jaemin, look!" he whispered excitedly. "Look at the hands I made!"

Jaemin leaned over. "Oh my God. Those are claws."

"They're expressive!" Renjun defended. "They're grasping at the weight of existence."

"They're grasping at air, baby."

Renjun stuck out his tongue and squinted at Jaemin's sculpture. "What the hell is yours?"

"Okay," Jaemin said, holding up his clay like it was a relic, "she is a woman reclining gracefully on a rock, contemplating eternity."

Renjun stared. "She looks like she got hit by a bus."

"She's resting, Renjun."

"She's folded in half."

"She's curled seductively."

"She's got four knees."

Jaemin laughed so hard he had to set it down. "It's modernist. You don't get it." At one point, Renjun proudly showed off the man's new "elbow" and Jaemin said, "That's a tumor." Renjun threw a clay pebble at him across the table.

"Stop insulting him! He's doing his best!"

"He doesn't have a neck!"

"They said nothing about necks!"

They kept glancing at each other's work with half-serious critique. When Renjun accidentally brushed Jaemin's wrist with red clay, Jaemin just smeared some on his cheek in retaliation. Renjun gasped like it was a declaration of war. At minute twenty-nine, they sat back and looked at their clay people. Renjun's man was hunched and oddly soulful. Jaemin's reclining woman had one leg inexplicably long. Neither figure would survive a critique.

Renjun leaned close and whispered, "I'd still put yours in a gallery."

Jaemin smiled, clay on his cheek, hands red and warm. "You're just saying that because he has hands."

"Strong hands," Renjun said seriously. "Sexy hands."

"Please stop."

Soon, they arrived at a small restaurant tucked between two brick buildings, its warm glow spilling onto the sidewalk. Inside, the candle flickered quietly between them, casting little gold shadows across their plates.

The menu was small and hand-written, edges curling slightly, the ink smudged in places from eager fingers flipping through it too many times. Maybe a dozen items, each described in simple, unpretentious language that somehow felt more inviting than any glossy menu Renjun had ever seen. Jaemin's finger lingered at the corner.

"They make their own pasta. Let's split something from there."

"You're really leaning into this," Renjun said, squinting at the page. "Romantic meal, cozy light, 'shareable' carbs..."

"You were the one who said 'real date,'" Jaemin murmured, glancing up.

Renjun flushed.

They settled on a roasted mushroom risotto and a dish with hand-pulled noodles in tomato cream. A basket of warm bread arrived first, along with butter and a little ceramic dish of olive oil that Jaemin dragged toward Renjun with a casual, "You better eat some. You barely touched that pastry."

"I did touch it," Renjun mumbled, tearing off a corner of bread.

"You did?"

"Because someone kissed me immediately afterward and scrambled my entire nervous system."

Jaemin smirked. "You had powdered sugar on your mouth. I'm only human."

Renjun tried to look annoyed, but the smile slipped through anyway, and he ducked his head, fingers brushing across his lips as if to hide it.

Their food arrived moments later, plates steaming and fragrant, the earthy aroma of mushrooms mingling with the sweet tang of tomato cream.

Renjun's eyes went wide. "Okay. That looks better than I expected."

Jaemin picked up his fork. "Try it before you marry it."

After a few minutes, they leaned in toward each other's plates without speaking, swapping bites. Renjun's fork tangled briefly with Jaemin's before he pulled back with a soft, "Shut up, I'm trying to taste this properly."

"You shut up," Jaemin replied gently, a slow smile curling at his lips. "...And if you keep ignoring the sauce on your lip, I might have to kiss it off again."

"I swear to—"

Without looking up, he brought a napkin to his mouth and wiped the corner of his lip quickly, trying to act casual but failing spectacularly.

"See? Problem solved."

They ate slowly, more conversation bubbling up between bites. Renjun told him about how he used to draw with crayons on his bedroom wall until his mother made him scrub it off with a toothbrush. Jaemin told him about falling asleep in the library as a student and getting locked in overnight with nothing but a vending machine.

"It was the worst night of my life," Jaemin said solemnly. "Except I also discovered I can survive off granola bars."

Renjun laughed so hard he choked on a bite and had to grab his water. At one point, Jaemin speared a mushroom off Renjun's plate without asking.

Renjun narrowed his eyes. "I saw that."

"You didn't say no sharing."

"You didn't ask."

Jaemin chewed, pleased. "You would've said yes."

Renjun couldn't argue.

As they reached the end of the meal, the conversation slowed again. They still had things to say, but they kept looking at each other too long between words. Jaemin was leaning back now, his hands folded loosely in his lap, one foot nudging against Renjun's beneath the table. He, on the other hand was toying with a fork tine, eyes lowered but smiling.

"This was really good," he said quietly. "All of it."

Jaemin nodded. "Better than you expected?"

Renjun met his eyes. "More than I expected."

For a second, Jaemin looked like he might say something deeper as his eyes flicked to Renjun's mouth, his fingers tapping once against the table edge. Then he just said,

"I'm glad."

They didn't ask for dessert and instead just sat there, the plates cleared, the candle burning low, their knees touching softly in the quiet of a restaurant that had started to feel like a world built for just the two of them.

The restaurant door swung shut behind with a soft chime, cutting off the golden warmth like a curtain falling. Outside, the air was colder than before, crisp with night, the snow crunching under their shoes in delicate little cracks. The sky had gone fully black and lights flickered to life in windows down the alley. The street was mostly empty.

They started walking and Renjun glanced sideways, watching Jaemin's profile in the dark: the slope of his nose, the way his mouth pulled into the faintest curve. He looked calmer now. The silence was tender.

"Do you want to come home with me?"

Renjun looked up, their hands still joined, his thumb brushing softly along Jaemin's.

"Yeah," he said.

Jaemin looked at him with his eyes soft and full, then tugged their hands up to his mouth to kiss Renjun's knuckles. They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence, with the cold stinging their cheeks.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was quiet when Mark returned to Donghyuck's dorm room. He hadn't meant to stay out long, just went to grab food, maybe breathe for a second. But the moment he stepped back in, the air felt too still again. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn. The air smelled faintly of old takeout and laundry that hadn't been put away. On the desk, a few lunch boxes sat stacked unevenly, half-empty, oily, stale-looking. Mark frowned at them.

He set the food down on the bedside table.

Donghyuck hadn't moved an inch. Still curled beneath the blankets, one arm reaching toward the empty space where Mark had been a few hours ago. His face was soft in sleep, way quieter than Mark had seen him in days. There were faint tear tracks still drying against his cheeks.

Mark stood there for a second, watching. He wondered how long it had been since Donghyuck had really slept, as in let himself fall all the way into rest. His body was slack with exhaustion, he was having the kind of sleep that doesn't care if it's the middle of the day.

Mark crossed to the window. He unhooked the latch, pulled the shutters back slowly. Then he pushed the window open too, just enough to let fresh air in and to unstick the weight in the room. The breeze was soft, cool. The light outside was nonexistent, and didn't change much to the ambiance, but the new air was definitely cutting through the gloom like a quiet kind of mercy.

The curtain fluttered a little in a screech. The silence didn't feel quite as suffocating anymore. Behind him, Donghyuck stirred. Mark glanced over his shoulder just in time to see him blink, squinting, confused.

Donghyuck shifted sluggishly beneath the blanket. "Why are you so noisy," he mumbled, voice hoarse, cracked from sleep.

"You were sleeping so well," Mark said softly, moving back toward the bed. "Didn't want to wake you, but your room was depressing, man."

Donghyuck groaned and buried his face in the pillow for a second. "What was the point," he mumbled.

Mark sat at the edge of the bed. "You slept through literal hours of daylight. It's nighttime now"

"I haven't even been awake for hours of daylight in ages," Donghyuck muttered.

Mark looked at him quietly for a second. "How long's it been like this?"

Donghyuck didn't answer. Just pulled the blanket over his head. Mark didn't press. Instead, he reached for the takeout bag and placed it gently beside Donghyuck under the blanket. "Food. Real food. Like, not whatever those science experiments were on your desk."

A muffled sound came from beneath the covers. "You're so annoying."

"I brought your favorite."

A pause.

"...Did you get extra sauce?"

Mark smiled, soft. "Obviously."

A small hand reached out from under the blanket and grabbed the bag. He watched as Donghyuck slowly peeked out from beneath the blanket, hair flattened on one side, eyes puffy with sleep but just a little less haunted.

"You didn't have to do all this," he said, voice small.

"I know," Mark said. "But you were sleeping like you hadn't slept in weeks. Figured you'd need a soft landing."

Donghyuck blinked sleepily as he unwrapped his food, still tucked under the blanket like he couldn't fully come out of hiding yet.

Mark was lying beside him on his back, one arm folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he watched the ceiling, the dust, the flickering shadow of the curtain swaying in the breeze.

"Why do you still come back?"

Mark's expression didn't change, but something in his throat moved when he swallowed. "Because I care about you."

Donghyuck gave a small, humorless laugh. "You care about a lot of things, Mark."

Mark sat up a little, propped on his elbow now. "Is that what you think? That I come and go for fun?"

"I think," Donghyuck said slowly, staring down at the food he was eating, "that when you're here, it feels like everything's okay for five minutes, and then you leave and I can't breathe again."

Mark didn't move.

"I asked you to be my boyfriend," he said. "I meant it."

"I know."

"I wasn't just tired. I wasn't just emotional."

"I know."

"Then why haven't you answered?"

"I didn't answer," he said quietly, "because I don't want to lie to you. Not again."

Donghyuck tensed.

Mark went on, voice low and careful. "I don't know if I'm good at being anyone's boyfriend. I'm not stable. I'm not consistent. I've hurt you, and I know that."

"You're hurting me right now."

Mark's hands cupped his face. "I know. I know, Hyuck. But if I say yes, I don't want it to be out of guilt or softness or the way you look at me when you're scared. I want to mean it."

Donghyuck was crying again, silent and furious at himself for it. "I just wanted someone to choose me. I don't want someone anymore, I want you. I don't care how inconsistent it is."

Mark shook his head gently. "You should care. You deserve better than inconsistent."

"But I don't have better." Donghyuck whispered, "I just have you. That's it."

Mark's hand slid up to cradle the back of his head.

Donghyuck finished eating in slow bites, curled beneath the blanket while Mark sat beside him, scrolling absently on his phone. The food had helped (not entirely, but enough to settle something sharp inside him). He was quiet now, dazed and still red-eyed, hugging the nearly-empty takeout box against his chest like a heat pack.

Mark stood eventually, stretching his arms above his head with a soft grunt. "Okay," he said. "This place smells horrible. I'm doing something about it."

Donghyuck blinked up at him. "Huh?"

Mark didn't explain. He just started picking up empty water bottles from the nightstand, collecting the crumpled tissues beside Donghyuck's laptop... Donghyuck watched him cross the room to open the laundry basket and toss in two hoodies and a towel from the floor. Mark grabbed the three-day-old lunch containers from the desk and made a face.

"Hyuck," he called, "I'm begging you. These things are evolving."

Donghyuck sank deeper into the blanket. "Was gonna throw them out eventually."

"Yeah, well, eventually was clearly losing."

He heard the garbage bag rustle, the soft click of Mark cracking the window again. For a moment, Donghyuck just stayed there and watched. Something in his chest ached. Mark didn't seem annoyed. He wasn't lecturing him or asking questions. He was just tidying.

When he returned to the bed with a glass of water, Donghyuck blinked at him again. "You're not my mom."

Mark snorted. "You'd be way more grounded if I was."

Donghyuck took the water without complaint.

Mark sat back on the edge of the mattress, elbow resting on his knee, watching him in the soft light. "Have you... gone to class at all this week?"

Donghyuck looked away immediately, eyes on the wall. "Define 'gone.'"

Mark didn't push, but his silence was heavy. "Hyuck," he said gently.

"I just—" he swallowed. "I didn't want to be around people."

Mark nodded slowly. "So you haven't been."

Donghyuck tugged the blanket up higher over his chest. "Not since... before the library."

"That was almost two weeks ago."

"I know," he mumbled. "I've also skipped all my philosophy classes since that thing with Renjun happened."

Mark leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Donghyuck's voice was barely audible. "That's embarrassing as hell."

Chapter Text

The apartment was dark when they stepped inside. There was just the faint glow of the hallway light falling across the floorboards. Renjun's boots thumped softly as he stepped out of them. The warmth inside hit his cheeks in a soft hit. The scent of Jaemin's space was surrounding him, all the little notes Renjun had started recognizing. It was quieter than he remembered.

He stood there in Jaemin's coat, watching as Jaemin tossed his keys into the dish by the door and flicked on a nearby lamp. It filled the room with soft gold light that didn't reach the corners. Jaemin turned back toward him, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Renjun's fingers twisted gently in the sleeves of the coat. Jaemin stepped forward slowly.

"You still good?" he asked, voice soft in the low light.

Renjun nodded. "Yeah."

"You full?"

"Full of gnocchi and weird affection for you," Renjun mumbled.

Jaemin smiled as he reached for Renjun, fingers brushing down his arms, and slid the coat off slowly. Renjun let it fall, and watched as Jaemin folded it and set it aside. He was gonna have to remind himself of stealing it back.

Now it was just the two of them, without a restaurant and no date left to prolong. Jaemin looked at him again, longer this time. His eyes scanned Renjun's face, his lips, the faint pink on his cheeks. He slowly leaned in. The kiss was soft and made Renjun rise onto his toes, just barely, to kiss back. Jaemin's hand found the back of his neck, as the other slid around his waist. He pulled Renjun in towards him and held him there.

Renjun's arms wrapped around his shoulders, his heart thudding somewhere near his throat. His only recall to reality was when jaemin pulled back, and rested his forehead against Renjun's. Jaemin didn't step away and instead, his hands stayed on Renjun's waist, both of them exhaling together in that narrow space between their bodies.

"Thirsty?"

Renjun blinked, eyes still half-lidded. "Maybe."

Jaemin pulled back with a soft hum, turning toward the kitchen. "Sit down," he said gently. "Make yourself comfortable."

Renjun hovered in place for a second, then padded slowly toward the couch. His socks made soft sounds on the wood floor. The room was fully silent except sound of Jaemin moving in the kitchen, he could hear noises from a cupboard door, the sound of water hitting glass. He looked around like he hadn't really seen it before. New plant near the window. The same stack of books on the coffee table, not just theory, but fiction too.

Jaemin came back with two glasses and handed one to him. They sipped water in the quiet for a few seconds, the city humming faintly outside the windows.

Renjun finally said, "I was really nervous, you know."

Jaemin looked at him, brows lifting. "Today?"

"Yeah, before, at the bakery. Before you kissed me in broad daylight."

Jaemin grinned. "It was sugar-related, I told you so many times already."

"I thought my knees were going to give out."

Jaemin leaned back, smiling at the ceiling. "You didn't look nervous."

"Externally."

"And now?" Jaemin asked, glancing over again, "Still nervous?"

Renjun looked down at the water in his glass then sideways, toward Jaemin's shoulder. "No," he said. "Just kind of... buzzing."

"Good buzzing?"

Renjun nodded. They sat like that for a while without any urgency, no tension, but the weight of having made it through the day together. They were still dressed, still full from dinner, still touching without needing to go anywhere just yet. It felt like waiting, but only because neither of them wanted to interrupt what was already happening.

Renjun leaned forward to set his glass down on the table. It was hard to find a spot where he wasn't scared he'd accidentally spill water on his books and papers. All over the coffee table, there were books, a few with dog-eared pages, one half-buried under a notebook, with its spine cracked from rereading. The top one was Frankenstein.

"You're rereading this?" Renjun asked, tapping the cover with one finger.

Jaemin looked over from where he sat, legs curled up on the couch, expression immediately softening. "Always."

Renjun raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. "I haven't read it."

"You haven't?" Jaemin's eyes widened, hand on his chest, he'd been wounded. "Renjun. Baby. It's, like, one of the five reasons I have any diploma at all."

That made Renjun laugh, eyes crinkling as he leaned back against the couch cushion, holding the book in his hands. "Convince me."

Jaemin didn't even hesitate before taking the book from him. "It's about loneliness," he said with his voice a little quieter. "About how wanting to be loved can turn you into a monster." His fingers brushed the edge of the book as he spoke. Then, after a second, his eyes lit up. "Also, the creature reads Paradise Lost and is more eloquent than any man I've ever met."

Renjun tilted his head, amused. "Is that supposed to sell me on it?"

"Yes," Jaemin said, deadly serious as he placed the book back onto the table.

There was something endearing about Jaemin's strange intensity when it came to books. He didn't just love them, he needed them just as id stories helped explain absolutely everything that existed in the world. It was a little nerdy interest Renjun found absolutely adorable.

He pointed to another title, half-buried under a philosophy journal. "What's this one?" The book had a sleek, matte cover, minimalistic, elegant and a little sad.

"That's Silverware," Jaemin said.

"Sounds dramatic." Renjun raised both brows, skeptical but clearly intrigued.

"It is," Jaemin said. "It's a vampire story, so," He shrugged. "He works in this restaurant, and it's secretly all run by vampires. Everything's candlelit, no mirrors, obviously. And one day, this mortal guy gets hired as a waiter, doesn't know anything."

Renjun squinted at him. "And?"

"The vampire's had nothing but bad experiences with humans, kind of like the creature in Frankenstein. He hides who he is, avoids connection. But the human's this sunshine-y, talkative guy who keeps asking questions. They end up sharing the night shift, and—"

"You're telling this like it's autobiographical," Renjun's voice interrupted, which made Jaemin blink, caught off-guard. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as suspicion bloomed. "You relate to this story, don't you?"

"You think I'm a vampire?"

"I'm just saying," Renjun said slowly, counting on his fingers, "all-knowing, sharp teeth, broody in the shadows, refuses to go out in the sun unless bribed..."

Jaemin's grin widened, unapologetic. "Baby. I took you to **********."

"Old city? Ancient castle? Louis XIV? Still sounds like vampire behavior," Renjun said, but his mouth curled into a smile, trying not to.

Jaemin didn't look away. "Shouldn't you be scared then?"

"Why?"

"Because if I were a vampire," Jaemin's voice dipped again, aiming for something ominous. It wasn't exactly convincing and it took everything in Renjun for him not to laugh. He played along anyway, keeping a straight face out of sheer loyalty for the bit.

He looked up, fakely wary now. "...Yeah?"

Jaemin reached out, his fingers brushing against Renjun's wrist before they wrapped gently around it. His thumb stroked over the skin there in a featherlight touch that somehow made Renjun's brain stutter, his pulse thudding a little louder in his ears and under Jaemin's hand. His grip was almost delicate while his thumb pressed gently against the inside.

Renjun stilled again, for real this time. The faint pressure of Jaemin's thumb over his vein made him much more aware of how much of a silly crush he had. He was so obvious, and it all felt like his stupid heart had suddenly become louder just from being noticed, throwing itself at Jaemin. He looked away as Jaemin leaned in, the space between them shrinking by fractions, breath warming the side of his neck. Jaemin's lips found the soft skin just beneath his jaw, and he pressed a kiss there, then nipped.

Renjun gasped involuntarily. There was no real pressure, not even the faintest bruise, but it didn't matter. It was the surprise. Laughter broke out of him, his whole body twisting away on instinct, shoulders hunching as if that might protect him.

"Oh my god! Get off!"

"You invited me in," Jaemin murmured, leaning back just enough to speak, mockingly sinister. "It's too late now."

"This is your apartment!" Renjun protested, grabbing the nearest pillow and thwacking Jaemin in the chest with it. It was utterly ineffective, more symbolic than anything. "I revoke consent!" he added. "I have a wooden stake!"

"You don't," Jaemin said as he caught the pillow mid-swing and easily wrestled it out of Renjun's hands. "And I'm faster than you."

They collapsed and dissolved into a wrestling match that neither of them was truly trying to win. It was all elbows and knees and protest, broken up by breathless giggles and muffled squeaks as Jaemin managed to pin him down. He got the upper hand quickly, settling above Renjun with his knees bracketing either side of his thighs, palms pressing gently to his hips to hold him in place. The pillow fell to the floor, forgotten, a soft whump against the rug.

Renjun glared up at him, or at least tried to. His mouth betrayed him, curving into a smile no matter how hard he fought it.

"You look like you're trying so hard to be mad right now," Jaemin laughed.

"I am mad," Renjun muttered, sounding uneven with what remains of a laugh. "You're unbearable. You're ridiculous." His voice had gone quiet, chest rising and falling faster than it should have been. The words didn't have much bite, they were more of a reflex to fill the space between his slightly ragged breaths.

"I know, I know," Jaemin replied, still above him, hair tousled now from the scrappy wrestling, cheeks flushed. "I'm the worst and you're suffering. It's tragic, really." He only stayed close enough that Renjun could see every tiny shift in his expression. Fuck, he still looked like prince charming in his real human form.

The laughter slowed. The room felt too quiet all of a sudden. The faint sounds from the street outside (car tires on wet pavement, someone shouting in the distance) felt far away. They were close. Closer than made sense actually, because Renjun could feel the heat of Jaemin's body as his hands had ended up resting at his sides, not exactly wanting to hold him but not pushing him away either.

Jaemin's gaze dropped again and without a word, he reached back for Renjun's wrist at his side. His fingers wrapped around it again, but it all felt familiar now, and since he'd done it once he knew exactly where to go now. His thumb settled once more against the soft skin just beneath Renjun's palm, finding without any trouble exactly where his pulse was still embarrassingly loud, still throwing itself against the surface like it hadn't learned a thing.

He dipped his head and without ceremony, he kissed the spot. His lips pressed just over the vein, and Renjun's breath paused. His free hand twitched against the fabric of Jaemin's shirt as he followed the line upward with maddening patience, mouth brushing along the inside of Renjun's wrist, up the curve of his forearm, the shape of his shoulder, toward the place just under his jaw. He kissed him there too, once, right where his pulse stammered loudest.

Renjun made a sound between a laugh and a gasp, too flustered to tell the difference. "You're—" He broke off with a soft huff of breath, trying to twist out of his grip without any real commitment. "I'm warning you, I bite back."

Jaemin just smiled against his neck. "Maybe I'm ready for that."

"Oh my god." Renjun gave him a half-hearted push, barely strong enough to qualify. He was still laughing, but it was quieter now. His arm settled back down between them, no longer trying to escape. He closed his eyes without a conscious decision, and his head tilted just enough to give Jaemin better access, the stubborn tension in his muscles slowly unraveling.

The vampire joke was over. His mouth brushed along the curve of Renjun's neck once more before finally tilting upward, meeting his lips with a soft, careful kiss. Renjun's eyes slid shut as his body stilled. He kissed back without thinking as his hand, still loose at Jaemin's side, slid to his shoulder. Their mouths moved in a slow rhythm, neither one leading too much.

Jaemin's hand was braced on the couch cushion, as the other let go of his wrist to caress the path his lips had taken just before. Renjun's jaw was finally held with a thumb grazing just under his cheekbone. The touch wasn't possessive but just there to hold him in place, either way Renjun didn't mind.

The only sound was the faint drag of breath between them, the subtle shift of fabric as Jaemin adjusted his balance, legs still bracketing Renjun's. A few seconds passed before Jaemin leaned back half an inch. He paused, looked at Renjun, then leaned in again, slower this time, like something had drawn him forward without thought. Their mouths met once more.

Jaemin actually did think a lot. None of this was really without thought when Renjun looked unfair like this. His hair was messy from the couch cushions, his mouth a little pink from kissing, cheeks flushed from laughter that had long since faded. His sweater had slipped slightly off one shoulder, and the collarbone exposed there rose and fell with each breath.

His eyes were on Jaemin, not urgent or pleading, but waiting. He already knew where this was going. After all, he'd said it clearly, days ago, over the phone. And Jaemin had listened. God, had he listened. He'd shown up at Renjun's dorm with real plans, walked him to dinner, laughed with him until his stomach hurt, and let their fingers brush too long on the way home. He'd done all of it. Now they were back at his apartment. Same couch. Same Renjun.

He didn't even need to ask again. He was just lying there, looking up at him with that patient, maddening expression because he knew they were both thinking about it, about what he'd said, and what Jaemin had agreed to by bringing him here. Jaemin had to decide what to do with it, and a kiss seemed like the first thing that came to him.

Renjun sighed against his lips, both hands resting on Jaemin's shoulders, wrapped around his neck. The kiss wasn't showy. It wasn't even deep at first. Just a kiss. Then another. Then a third slower than the others, when Renjun's fingers slipped up into his hair.

They stayed like that for a while, making little movements with small sounds. At some point, Renjun let out the tiniest laugh against his mouth.

"What?" Jaemin whispered.

"Nothing," Renjun pecked him once more. "You're very full of it."

"Maybe," His nose brushed against Renjun's as he kissed him again, going back to what he was doing the second his word was out.

He didn't wait for a response, didn't seem to care if there was one. His mouth was already moving like the beginning of a conversation was just annoying noise to be tuned out, to push past on his way to more of Renjun. It was kind of ridiculous (borderline greedy) and Renjun almost laughed again, because what the hell. He'd spent so long thinking he was the one embarrassingly hooked, the one thinking about this too much. He'd been so sure he was the obsessed one, the pathetic and yearning and too far gone, but Jaemin kissed him now like conversation was a nuisance and distance a crime.

Renjun smiled against his mouth. "You like playing the long game?"

Jaemin pulled back just enough to look at him. His lips were flushed, eyes a little dazed. "You told me to take you on a date first."

"And you did," Renjun purred, running a hand through his hair, fingers threading through the strands before he let them fall naturally back onto his forehead. He saw Jaemin's eyes follow the motion, and that only made Renjun's mouth twitch. He tilted his head, eyes sharp but curious. "So now what?"

Jaemin held his gaze, unmoving except for the shift of his jaw. He looked serious again, and Renjun quickly understood this part mattered more than anything else they'd said tonight. "That depends."

"On what?"

"If you meant it," Jaemin said clearly. "Back then. On the phone."

"Would I be here if I didn't?" His fingers curled lightly into the fabric of Jaemin's shirt where it had bunched up.

Jaemin smiled again. "No."

Renjun's expression softened. He lifted a brow, trying to stay unimpressed even as his chest fluttered. "You're still annoying."

"You're still here."

Renjun leaned up and kissed him once, just enough to leave Jaemin wanting more. His lips lingered for longer than necessary, brushing against Jaemin's like he was testing how close he could get without completely unraveling. His hand came up to the side of Jaemin's neck, thumb grazing the warm skin there, feeling the way Jaemin's pulse jumped beneath it. "So do something about it."

They didn't talk for a while after that. Renjun's lips tingled faintly. He only looked at him for a moment before he leaned down again to rest his lips softly along Renjun's jaw. Then lower, his mouth brushing once under his chin. His hand slid slowly over Renjun's side, fingers following the edge of his ribcage beneath the sweater.

Renjun swallowed, feeling the weight of every inch that Jaemin touched. The anticipation built in his stomach as Jaemin's lips found the dip of his neck. Renjun tilted his head to give him more space, an automatic response since he didn't exactly know what to focus on, as fingers stroked over the hem of his sweater now too.

His thighs shifted slightly beneath Jaemin's weight until his knee brushed against his hip, and when a cold hand slid under his sweater this time, he let it rest flat on Renjun's stomach. His body arched into it just a little, for his greatest embarrassment.

A soft, involuntary surprised sound escaped him when Jaemin's hand began to move. It was just a slow glide from the soft dip of Renjun's navel up to his side. His sweater hitched slightly, following the movement, and exposing pale skin to the dim light. Jaemin pressed a kiss there. Then another. And another. His mouth moved lower, not all at once, enough to leave a warm trail where his breath followed. Renjun's back arched faintly against the couch cushion, his hands buried now in Jaemin's sleeves. He squirmed at every breath he felt on his skin, suddenly feeling abnormally ticklish.

Jaemin shifted above him, lowering his weight just slightly. His other hand found the side of Renjun's thigh, thumb stroking absentmindedly as his mouth moved over his stomach.

When Jaemin held the sweater higher, he pulled back just enough to look at him and their noses brushed as a wake up signal. Renjun's eyes fluttered open. Understanding what he was trying to do, he let him and his arms lifted above his head. The fabric caught for a second at his elbows, it made him laugh breathily, and then it was gone, dropped gently on the back of the couch. He blinked up at the ceiling, chest exposed now with his skin flushed.

Jaemin lowered his mouth to the center of his chest, kissing once over his sternum. Every breath that left him landed on Renjun's skin and his hand never left his waist. Jaemin kissed his shoulder. Then again, just beneath the collarbone. Then once more over his heart.

"Hi," he whispered into Renjun's skin.

Renjun smiled, flushed. "Hi."

"You're beautiful." Jaemin kissed the corner of his mouth again. "Come here." He stood, reaching down.

The bedroom was quiet and dim. It wasn't even cleaned up for company. The covers were a little messy. There was a hoodie draped across the end of the bed. A book was also on the nightstand.

Jaemin turned him around at the foot of the bed and kissed him again, and this time Renjun clung a little harder. His hands slid under Jaemin's shirt, touching skin, chest, the slope of his back. His mouth opened slightly against his, a subtle shift that invited more, and Jaemin met it without hesitation. Jaemin hummed into the kiss and let his own sweater be lifted, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.

Renjun reached up and touched his chest like he was still deciding if it was okay to. His fingers splayed out flat over Jaemin's heart. For a moment, his mind spun, flickering between how long he'd been thinking about this and how ridiculous it was that it was actually happening. Jaemin's steady heartbeat pressed under his palm was proof that none of it was a dream. He'd imagined this so many times, twisting the thought over and over until it almost felt like a joke he was too scared to believe.

God, Jaemin was so unbelievably hot. From the curve of his jaw, to the way his hair fell across his forehead. His skin was so warm under Renjun's fingers. He knew Jaemin was achingly pretty. He'd been so right about him ever since they've first met, although in unfortunate circumstances.

One hand cupped Renjun's jaw, which pulled him out of his reverie and forced him to look up. Another slid down his back, stopping just underneath the waistband of his pants and Renjun was sure this was what overstimulation was.

"Can I?" Jaemin asked again.

He nodded, letting him undo the button. He did it in a pretty hot way, in Renjun's humble opinion. His hand glided around him from the back, to his side, to the front of his pants where his stomach tightened at the touch. He stared right into Renjun's eyes, one hand undoing the button in one smooth gesture while the other still cradled his jaw. He didn't pull anything down yet, just opened him up. Renjun gasped at the noise.

"Easy, baby," Jaemin said, quiet against his lips.

That made something in Renjun tremble. Jaemin kissed his cheek, his jaw, the tip of his nose then back to his mouth. As they kissed, he pushed the fabric down slowly, inch by inch, guiding it off his hips, past his thighs, letting it drop to the floor.

Renjun stepped out of them carefully. He was in just his underwear now. Jaemin was still mostly dressed, and Renjun's hands found his waistband clumsily, asking without words. When approved, he unbuttoned them slowly. His hands trembled, but Jaemin didn't move. He waited until the fabric slid down his thighs. They stood there for a second like that, nearly bare in front of each other.

Renjun looked away, suddenly aware of the absurd intimacy of the situation. His neck was all exposed, and naturally Jaemin kissed him there, resulting in Renjun making a tiny sound, not quite a moan.

Jaemin smiled against his skin. "'that okay?"

"Mhm," Renjun responded, eyes closed.

He shifted in Jaemin's arms slightly, turning just enough to give him more access. Jaemin pushed Renjun down on the bed behind him, as gently as possible. When the back of his knees met the edge of the mattress, he fell naturally and was followed by Jaemin. Their skin brushed as they settled into the sheets with the soft creak of the mattress. One hand stroked up Renjun's side, his thumb brushing the underside of his arm, just along the ribs. He dipped lower and his lips found Renjun's chest. The next kiss landed over his nipple so softly it almost tickled.

Jaemin pulled back slightly, watching him squirm. "Too much?"

Renjun shook his head quickly. "No. Just—. No one's ever..." His words dried out halfway through because of thoughts between embarrassment and something very new.

Jaemin leaned in again, this time kissing the spot with more intention. His tongue licked, and Renjun's thighs squeezed around his own automatically.

"You're allowed to like it," Jaemin reassured him as he crawled up to lie next to him.

Their chests met, their legs tangled, and for a long moment, they just kissed. Renjun melted. He felt like he could kiss Jaemin forever and still never get used to it, and that's the only thing they've been doing so far.

Jaemin's hand slipped down again, brushing lightly over the back of his underwear as Renjun nestled into his chest. The covers didn't seem necessary, the warmth between them was doing more than blankets ever could. Jaemin's fingers stroked lazily up and down his spine.

"You're kinda perfect like this," Jaemin said softly.

Renjun laughed under his breath, a quiet puff against Jaemin's skin. "You don't have to say that just 'cause I'm half-naked."

"I'm not lying," Jaemin said. He tilted his head to nuzzle into Renjun's hair. "You're warm. You're close. You're all very pretty, all over."

Renjun felt his heart pull tight in his chest. There were a dozen things he could've said in return, but none of them felt right. So instead, he just held on a little tighter. A minute passed, maybe more.

"You're shaking," Jaemin murmured. His hand stopped its motion and flattened against Renjun's back.

Renjun blinked, startled by how attuned Jaemin was. "I'm just cold," he lied, quick and soft.

He wasn't. But there was no way he was about to say, Actually, I'm overwhelmed by how you make me feel safe and wanted and I might melt if you look at me too long.

Jaemin didn't ask again. He just slid his hand down underneath his boxers, fingers spreading, and pulled Renjun closer in one smooth, effortless motion like it was nothing. It did seem like to jaemin, it was the most natural thing in the world to just... hold him tighter.

And it worked. Renjun pressed into the warmth, his face tucked beneath Jaemin's jaw, trying not to visibly combust. He didn't say anything about how that single gesture made his insides twist up in the best, most maddening way. Instead, he buried the feeling deep, like he always did. You can think about it later, maybe when you're alone and want to cry and smile.

They stayed like that for a while, molded together, no urgency in their bodies. Jaemin's hand resumed its lazy rhythm over his back, thumb catching the curve of his spine every few passes. Renjun shifted a little, adjusting his hips for comfort, or at least that's what he told himself. The motion brought his body against Jaemin's in a new way, just enough friction to make him exhale softly through his nose.

He stilled, immediately overthinking it. Jaemin didn't say anything, didn't seem to tense either. His fingers only moved a little lower, resting now just at the curve where Renjun's back met his waist.

Encouraged, or maybe just too warm and too caught up in the moment, Renjun moved again. It was subtle, just a small grind, barely anything, he swears, but he felt it everywhere. His face flared with heat. Don't look at me. Please don't look at me.

Still, Jaemin didn't speak. But Renjun could feel the tiny hitch in his breath and the way his body reacted, though his voice stayed quiet. That wordless communication was almost worse than words honestly. Almost better too, actually. It's always easier than politely asking, Hey, could I possibly use your thigh to get off?

He gave Renjun space to figure out what he wanted without pressure, sliding his other hand lower, finding his hip. He rested it there as his thumb brushed lightly along the dip of bone, and Renjun had now no doubt he noticed the subtle grind of his hips.

"Feels good?" Jaemin asked, a little hoarse.

Renjun froze for half a second, embarrassed he'd been caught wanting something he hadn't even admitted to himself yet. Jaemin didn't push and kept tracing circles into his skin, waiting.

"You wanna keep going like that?" he continued. There was no teasing in it, to Renjun's surprise, just a gentle offer.

Renjun gave the tiniest nod, then buried his face a little deeper into Jaemin's shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. He did not feel like pulling away either. His hips rolled again, this time with less hesitation. Jaemin adjusted slightly beneath Renjun to give him room, his fingers cupping the curve of his hip, the other flat on the small of his back. Now Jaemin had Renjun lying on top of himself, with his legs parted over his thigh.

"You can tell me what you need, yeah?" he murmured. "I wanna know, and I wanna get it right."

"Here," Jaemin added, as he adjusted the angle of Renjun's hips, simply offering. Without a warning, Jaemin guided him forward with pressure in a slow drag. "Like that?" He rocked Renjun's hips unsubtly, pressing him more firmly against the muscle of his thigh.

Renjun let out a choked sound, his whole body tightening, fingers clutching at Jaemin's shoulder. Jaemin did it again, slower this time, testing and learning what Renjun responded to. He rocked him forward with a firm grip, pressing his lower back down, then eased him back just as steadily, setting a rhythm that made Renjun's thighs clench with how good it felt for how little he was being given.

"There you go," Jaemin murmured, breath hot against his temple. "Feels better when I help, doesn't it?"

He nodded helplessly, jaw slack as he clung to him, overwhelmed. Jaemin's fingers curled tighter at his hip, guiding him again, this time slower, deeper, dragging him down hard against the flex of his thigh.

Renjun gave in completely, his body pliant under Jaemin's hands, mouth parted with every quiet breath that escaped him. His hips moved with Jaemin's now, not trying to hide anymore. His cheeks were flushed, his heart pounding.

He was humping Jaemin, and 5 months ago Renjun would've never believed that.

Jaemin exhaled against his neck, as he pressed a kiss just below Renjun's ear, then let his lips linger there. Every subtle grind made the tension coil tighter in his stomach, every soft whimper from Renjun was met with a firmer press at his back like his first rewards of the night.

Jaemin kissed his hair. "Look at you.." he whispered, voice low against his ear. He tilted his head slightly, letting his lips brush Renjun's temple as he added, "You make the sweetest sounds when you're like this."

One steady twist of his hips and hands, and Renjun was on his back, sinking into the mattress, breath punched out of him by the sudden change in position. His legs parted instinctively to make room for Jaemin's body between them.

Jaemin looked down at him. His hair was falling across his forehead, lips parted, eyes dark. He leaned down and kissed him, tongue brushing past his lips as he already knew the taste of him. Renjun moaned into it, back arching, needing more.

His hand slid down Renjun's side, fingertips trailing over his skin, his stomach, avoiding his nipples as he earlier figured he did not like it, before pausing at the waistband of his boxers. He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper:

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

Renjun shook his head, eyes dazed. "Don't stop. Please."

Jaemin kissed him again, deeper this time, hungrier, as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, down, until his fingers wrapped around his cock, warm and gentle and so unbearably good that Renjun cried out into his mouth.

Jaemin stroked him slowly, his other hand still holding Renjun's waist. Every movement was careful with Jaemin, and the amount of attention gifted to him drew quiet gasps from Renjun's lips as his body trembled under the weight of it all. The intimacy, the tenderness, the burn of finally being touched like this by the person he wanted most was almost a little too much to accept.

Jaemin's hand moved with slow precision, wrapping firmly around him, the slide made warm and easy by the heat they'd built since they got home. His strokes were steady, dragging from base to tip with just enough pressure to make Renjun's thighs twitch and his breath stutter. Every pass of Jaemin's thumb over his sensitive head made Renjun whimper, his hips lifting into the touch instinctively, shameless now. Jaemin watched him the whole time, eyes dark, lips parted, memorizing every way Renjun's body gave itself over to his hands.

His mouth never left Renjun for long. He loved kissing him, and Renjun would've never imagined it. He kissed the corner of his lips, the side of his jaw, the sensitive skin just under his ear, murmuring quiet things between each breath.

Renjun... yeah, he couldn't speak much. His mind was swimming, body on fire, heart pounding in his throat, but still, he nodded, over and over again, hands buried in Jaemin's shoulders or hair, whatever he could reach.

Jaemin slowed his hand, just slightly, and lifted his head to look at him. His eyes searched Renjun's face, even as his thumb gently swiped over the head of his cock.

"You wanted us to have sex, yeah?" he asked, voice low and now source of all Renjun's comfort. "You want it?"

Renjun blinked up at him, dazed, breath caught on the edge of a whimper. He nodded without thinking, then made himself speak. "Yes," he breathed. "I still do. I meant it. I want you."

Jaemin's expression shifted, something flickered across his face, soft and wrecked and fond all at once. Renjun's hands cupped his face now, holding him close as he spoke again, voice firmer, more certain despite the tremble in it.

"I've wanted you for so long, Jaemin. You have no idea."

Jaemin closed his eyes for a second, exhaling like the words had gone straight through him. When he opened them again, his voice was even softer. "And this... this would be your first time, right? All the way?"

Renjun nodded again, "Yeah. It is."

Jaemin swallowed hard. His hand had stilled at Renjun's waist. He needed a second to process that, because it wasn't casual. It wasn't just heat or need. It was Renjun's trust, and he didn't take that lightly.

"You told me that before," Jaemin said quietly. "I just... I needed to ask. To make sure."

"You don't have to be scared," Renjun murmured. "I'm not."

Jaemin let out a soft, breathless laugh that sounded half pained. "God, I just... I don't want to fuck this up. You're trusting me with something that matters here.."

"You've been... so good to me, Jaemin." Renjun reached up, thumb brushing his cheek. "I've been waiting for the right time for so long, trust me when I say I want it to be you."

Jaemin's chest ached from the sheer pressure of wanting to deserve the way Renjun was looking at him right now. He'd known this mattered, but hearing it like that made something in him crack wide open. Renjun was handing him a part of himself that others only ever had a glimpse of. Jaemin wanted to earn it. No rushing, no careless hands, no pretending he wasn't just as affected. Because how could he not be, when Renjun was lying there, flushed and certain, choosing him?

Renjun exhaled shakily, hips twitching up into the contact when Jaemin resumed his caresses. His legs shifted apart a little without thinking as he nodded quickly, his voice caught in his throat. "Please... don't stop."

"I won't." Jaemin's hand moved a little, pressing more firmly. "How could I when you're so pretty, baby.. Just look at you like this."

Renjun flushed all over, reacting too much to simple words for his own liking. He was hard now, fully, achingly, and Jaemin's touch was just enough pressure to make him throb. He arched without meaning to, grinding up softly into Jaemin's hand. Jaemin kissed him again, a little deeper now, and Renjun kissed back with something just shy of desperate. Their tongues met and Jaemin swallowed the tiny whimpers Renjun gave when his movements stopped abruptly.

"Jaem..." he breathed, lips brushing Jaemin's.

Jaemin's hand slid back up to the waistband. He paused. Waited.

Renjun opened his eyes, breath unsteady. "Yeah," he nodded. "You can." He let out a shaky breath as Jaemin pulled his underwear down slowly, watching his face the whole time. The fabric dragged across his thighs and pooled somewhere in the blankets.

Jaemin kissed his forehead like a gentle reward for having the courage to be seen, and Renjun whimpered quietly, pressing his forehead into Jaemin's shoulder as he didn't know what to do with the way that made him feel.

"You're doing so well," Jaemin murmured, lips brushing his temple. "You feel good? Thought of this before, didn't you?"

Renjun gave the smallest nod, eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah," he breathed. "I—I didn't know it would feel like this..."

"Like what?"

Renjun shook his head, too full to answer. His body wanted more even if his mind didn't know how to ask. He moaned softly now, finally letting the sounds out. It came broken and sweet as he gripped Jaemin's arm, clinging while his body rocked gently into the rhythm. His cock was flushed, leaking, and Jaemin held every inch of skin he could reach.

His body was trembling now, straining toward the edge, the need curling tight in his stomach as Jaemin's hand worked him with such steady, overwhelming care that his toes curled. Every touch felt more intense than the last.

Jaemin's hand stayed wrapped firmly around Renjun's cock, thumb pressing against the sensitive ridge just behind the head. He slid his palm downward slowly, fingers gripping and releasing in a steady rhythm. At the base, his grip was firmer, then easing as he moved upward, letting his hand glide smoothly over the slick skin.

Renjun's hips lifted sharply, grinding against Jaemin's hand as he chased the growing heat pooling low in his belly. Jaemin's fingers tightened, squeezing just enough to make Renjun throb in response. He began to increase the pace, sliding his palm faster along Renjun's length, each stroke pulling taut the delicate skin. Renjun's thighs trembled as his back arched, mouth parting in a soft gasp, his hands clutching at Jaemin's arm for support.

"Jaem," he gasped. "I—I think I'm—"

When Jaemin slowed, trailing the pads of his fingers lightly over the sensitive underside, Renjun's body tensed, desperate for the steady pressure to return. A whimper escaped him, head falling back against the pillow as he urged Jaemin silently, wanting nothing more than to be moved again.

Instead, Jaemin leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to Renjun's cheek, and murmured, "Baby... if you come now, you're gonna be so sensitive later. When I—when we go further. It might be overwhelming."

Renjun blinked up at him, clearly annoyed, his hips still twitching into Jaemin's palm like he couldn't help it.

"I don't care," he whispered, breath hitching. "Let me come. Please. I want it."

Jaemin stared at him for a moment, like he needed to commit every inch of him to memory, his trembling thighs, parted lips, the way he begged so openly. He picked up the pace again, stroking him a little faster now, just enough pressure to send Renjun right back to the edge. Renjun moaned, squirming under the touch, one hand fisting weakly into the sheets, the other clinging to Jaemin's arm like a lifeline.

Renjun's back arched sharply, his mouth falling open in a breathless cry as he came, warm and sudden, his whole body shuddering through it. His head tipped back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

His cock pulsed hot in Jaemin's hand, slick spilling over his stomach and Jaemin's fingers as his chest shuddered with each pulse. He didn't stop holding him. He slowed his hand, gentle now, coaxing every last bit out of him with soft, careful strokes. Then he reached up, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead. Renjun whimpered again, weak and wrecked, face buried in Jaemin's neck.

"God," he whined. "Oh my god..."

His body slowly relaxed, muscles going soft, breath slowing but only because he forced it to. His eyes stayed shut. He felt warm all over, dazed, undone, but safe. So safe. Jaemin brushed Renjun's hair back again, eyes searching his face with that same gentle focus.

"How do you feel?" he asked, soft.

Renjun let out a breathy little laugh, still catching his breath. "Like I'm floating.."

That made Jaemin smile. He reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a tissue and wiped his hand clean first, then leaned down to clean Renjun's stomach with the same care.

Renjun blinked, watching. "Do you always keep tissues next to your bed?"

Jaemin arched an eyebrow. "I'm a man with a stressful job," he said simply, then turned back to the drawer this time pulling out a bottle of lube. "Don't judge me."

Renjun flushed, laughing softly. "I wasn't judging."

Jaemin settled between his legs again, his touch returning to his waist like magnets. Renjun looked up at him, flushed and pliant, still trembling from where he'd been held on the edge, still leaking, still panting quietly. Jaemin placed the lube on the mattress beside them as he looked down at him, more serious again. "Ever been fingered before?"

Renjun nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kind of. Once."

Jaemin tilted his head, watching him closely. "And?"

"I stopped," Renjun admitted. "It hurt. Like— right at the start. I didn't really get past the first part."

That was all Jaemin needed to hear. He didn't react with surprise or disappointment, just nodded once, absorbing that information. "Okay," he said softly. "Then we'll go slow. You tell me the second something doesn't feel good, or if you want to stop, even halfway through. Doesn't matter."

Renjun nodded, but Jaemin leaned in closer, poking the tip of his nose.

"I mean it," he said. "I know you're sensitive. I'm not gonna rush you. I'd rather we stop than do anything that hurts you too much."

Something in Renjun's chest tugged painfully at that. Jaemin said it as if hurting him was the last thing in the world he could live with. "I trust you," he whispered.

Jaemin smiled full of love. "Okay, pretty. Just lie back."

He kissed the inside of Renjun's thigh first with a slow, open-mouthed kiss just above the knee. Renjun twitched a little, nervous, but didn't pull away.

"Are you scared?"

Renjun nodded. "I want it. Just don't know how it's supposed to feel."

"You don't have to know," Jaemin said, leaning to kiss his hipbone. "That's my job tonight."

He reached for the lube and warmed a bit between his fingers, then glanced up again. "Ready?"

Renjun swallowed. "Yeah."

Jaemin shifted between his legs carefully. He kissed Renjun's knee again, his thigh, the skin just below his belly. Then finally, with the most deliberate gentleness, he slid a hand between Renjun's legs. He inhaled sharply as Jaemin's fingers explored, not entering yet, but tracing along the hole, feeling how soft, how warm he already was.

"You're already relaxed," Jaemin murmured. "That's a good sign."

Renjun gave a small, breathy laugh. "That's not what my brain's saying."

The first actual press of his finger was gentle enough to give Renjun time to adjust. The ring of muscle was tight and resisting which made him gasp softly as the tip slipped in.

"Breathe, baby," Jaemin advised. "Slow. In through your nose."

Renjun obeyed, a shaky breath leaving him as Jaemin eased in a little deeper.

"It burns," Renjun admitted, his voice small.

"I know." Jaemin leaned forward, kissed the center of his chest. "It's a stretch. You're doing so good."

Renjun whimpered, eyes squeezed shut. Jaemin smiled softly and started kissing his way up, unexpectedly biting as he got to the shoulder as a way to distract him. Renjun let out a sudden laugh.

Jaemin grinned and kissed the sound from his mouth. "There it is."

Renjun was still trembling a little with body adjusting, and his thighs still twitching but the laugh softened something. "You're a menace,"

"You're beautiful," Jaemin said back, brushing his nose along Renjun's cheek. "And brave."

He curled his finger just a little deeper. Renjun's breath stuttered, body tightening. "Still burns," he whispered. Jaemin pulled out to add more lube, for it to be slick and warm, then slowly pressed back in, a little deeper this time.

Renjun's eyes fluttered. "Jaem.."

"Better?"

"A little."

He kept the movement small and shallow to let Renjun adjust. Every time it hurt, Jaemin soothed him with kisses. Every time Renjun gasped, Jaemin murmured something sweet against his skin. Eventually, Jaemin stilled his hand again, kissing his neck. "Think you can take another?"

Renjun's hand found his hair, fingers tangling softly there. He whispered, a little dreamy, a little wrecked: "You're really good at this."

The burn had faded into something warmer. Jaemin's finger moved in and out of him with precision, careful not to go too deep. Renjun's body had started to yield. His hips were loose, thighs were falling open just slightly more. His hand had drifted up to Jaemin's shoulder, his fingers stroking skin almost absently.

That's when Jaemin added the second finger. He did it slow, easing in alongside the first with plenty of lube. But Renjun was tighter than Jaemin had expected and the second finger made him flinch immediately, his hips lifting off the bed in a startled jolt.

"It hurts again," he whispered before letting out a shaky laugh, thin as glass. "I feel like I'm trying to fit a whole fist in there."

Jaemin laughed at that, squeezing his side where he was holding his waist. "We are very much not at the fist stage."

Renjun snorted at that. "Okay," he said softly, "I think... I think it's easing."

"You want me to move?"

Renjun nodded. "Gentle."

Jaemin moved, barely. In, out, gentle curl, careful to never go deeper than Renjun could take. Each time he pushed in, he paused at the tightest point, letting Renjun's body decide when to let him in the rest of the way. The stretch had gone from sharp to dull now. Not gone, but Renjun's face had softened. His hands weren't clenched anymore. His hips weren't running from it.

"You're loosening up," Jaemin pointed out.

Renjun let out a shaky breath. "It still feels... full."

"Because you are, baby," Jaemin murmured sweetly, kissing the hinge of his jaw.

Renjun blushed hard at the words, eyes fluttering shut. Jaemin shifted the angle, not drastically, just a small change in the curve of his wrist to stretch him open better, a subtle twist of his fingers. Renjun's whole body jerked at it. His eyes flew open, staring at the ceiling as if he couldn't remember how to blink. His fingers clenched into the sheets on either side of him in perfect silence.

Jaemin stilled immediately, but his mouth was already curling up. "There it is," he cooed.

"Oh my god," he let out, high and shaken. Renjun turned his head slightly, eyes still wide. "That—"

Jaemin's hand stroked gently along his side. "That," he said, "was your prostate."

"I didn't know it could feel like that," he murmured, voice dazed. "I thought people were exaggerating."

"Nope," Jaemin said sweetly, brushing his nose against Renjun's cheek. "Welcome to the club."

Renjun looked overwhelmed. His fingers were still gripping the sheets as if they were the only things keeping him tethered. "I think," he said slowly, "I might actually die when you fuck me."

Jaemin laughed, forehead falling to Renjun's shoulder.

It went on like that for a while. Jaemin's fingers sliding deep, scissoring open inside him with slow, practiced rhythm. Truthfully (and not to be arrogant about it) Jaemin knew he wasn't the smallest. And with Renjun, especially (small, sensitive, still learning his own limits) Jaemin didn't want to risk hurting him for a second. He curled his fingers just right, let them stretch him gradually, coaxing soft sounds from Renjun's mouth as his body started to give under the pressure.

"I want it," Renjun whispered, voice fraying at the edges. "Jaem, please." He was grinding down as best as he could on his fingers, and it was pretty noticeable his cock was back to being flushed and dripping.

Renjun's thighs twitched around Jaemin's hips as he tried to stay open, desperate. His eyes were still glassy, lips parted, and when Jaemin pulled his fingers out with slow, careful motion, he whimpered and clenched around nothing.

Jaemin reached toward the nightstand with one hand, the other still stroking gently along Renjun's thigh to keep him spread out. He tore open the foil packet, then leaned back on his knees. Renjun's eyes followed him like he was watching something sacred: Jaemin rolled the condom on with ease, stroking himself a few times at the base, then sliding his hand upward with slick movements that made his breath hitch in his throat. Renjun's eyes locked on it, unable to look away. He watched the way Jaemin's muscles flexed in his stomach, the quiet hiss he let out, the way his thumb swept over the head of his cock as he already knew exactly what he liked.

"You're so hot," Renjun murmured, the words slipping out before he could think. "I mean, like... unfairly hot."

Jaemin laughed softly through his nose, flushed but still smiling. "Yeah? Want the lights on for this part?" His voice sounded way too uneven for how smug of a sentence his brain first thought of.

Renjun let out a laugh, hand flying up to cover his face. "Oh my god, you're so cocky."

Jaemin grinned, lazily smug, poured a little more lube in his hand without breaking eye contact. "I'm not cocky," he said, kissing the top of Renjun's knee. "You should know what you're praising."

"I'm admiring," Renjun argued, trying to sound righteous, but his voice cracked slightly. "I'm being a supportive, emotionally available partner. Some of us give verbal affection."

Jaemin tilted his head like he was impressed. "Wow. So mature. So emotionally intelligent."

He stroked his cock with his now very slick hand, lube dripping between his fingers as he twisted his wrist near the head just to feel it twitch in his palm. Renjun watched him, wide-eyed and flushed. "Eyes up here," Jaemin caught him. With what was left on his fingers, he reached down, pressing two fingers into Renjun again with no warning this time, just a smooth push past resistance. Renjun gasped, hips jumping slightly, but Jaemin held him steady. He pumped his fingers twice, maybe three times, slow and deep, curling just enough to feel the tension flutter around him. "Still so tight," he muttered under his breath to himself.

He let his fingers trace absent-mindedly over Renjun's side, then down to the bend of his thigh. "So if I said you look gorgeous like this, all soft and flushed and making those pretty little noises for me, that would be, what, community care?"

Renjun narrowed his eyes, pretending to be unimpressed despite the flush creeping up his neck. "Wow," he whimpered the word out involuntarily. "So generous of you."

Jaemin huffed a quiet laugh, "You're welcome," he said sweetly, and pushed two fingers in deeper. Renjun gasped, hips jerking slightly, his snark vanishing on impact. He curled his fingers deep, angling just right until he found what he was looking for. Renjun's breath caught sharply, body tensing.

"Mm?" Jaemin twisted his fingers just enough to feel him clench. "What was that about me being generous?"

Renjun let out a broken sound, his attitude utterly dismantled.

"That's what I thought." Jaemin leaned in, brushing his mouth over Renjun's cheek. "Now be good and take it."

Renjun groaned and threw his arm over his face. "Don't call me good."

"Don't like it?"

"Fuck.." Renjun moaned. "It's just not like I have a... a thing for it."

Jaemin paused, lifting his head just enough to raise an eyebrow. "No?"

Renjun's eyes darted away. "No."

Jaemin gave a slow, delighted smile and it was an indicator of nothing good. Renjun wished he'd disappear, but then all his teacher's bed progress would've gotten ruined. Unfortunately then, he had to stay and let his ego suffer. He let out a weak noise of protest and smacked his chest lightly. "It's not a kink," he said, voice cracking again. "I just—can you not psychoanalyze me right now? I'm naked."

"Okay, okay." Jaemin kissed the side of his mouth, still grinning. "No praise. Message received." He pulled back just a little, enough to align himself, tip nudging right where it needed to be. His voice dropped low and velvety.

"Would you rather I tell you you're needy?" he murmured, rubbing the tip of his cock against Renjun's entrance. "That you're impatient and greedy, grinding against me like you can't think straight? Would that feel better, my love.."

Renjun made a noise, seemingly scandalized, part turned on and Jaemin felt him clench around nothing. If Jaemin wouldn't just shut up now and get on with it he'd probably start crying very soon.

"Those are things I think about too. Feels good hearing them out loud?"

Jaemin lined himself up, one hand curling beneath Renjun's thigh to lift and support him, the other guiding himself carefully. The first press of his cock against Renjun made them both still — Jaemin to feel how tight and warm he was, Renjun to adjust, every nerve lit up.

"Yeah," he said, half under his breath. He pushed in until the head of his cock was fully inside, emitting a wrecked noise at the feeling. "you'd like that. You'd love being told how desperate you are."

"Stop talking." Renjun's legs wrapped tighter around him. "Can you please just—"

"Please? Are we begging now?"

Renjun groaned, eyes shut, then shoved lightly at Jaemin's shoulder. "Come on," he whined, dragging the word out.

Jaemin laughed, reaching down between them to guide himself. "Bossy's alright too."

"Freak."

Slowly, Jaemin began to push in more. Renjun gasped, his fingers curling around Jaemin's biceps, nails digging in lightly. Jaemin moved inch by inch, keeping his gaze locked on Renjun's face the whole time, reading every twitch, every inhale, every wide-eyed shiver. It was tight, impossibly tight, and Jaemin's breath caught when he bottomed out, hips flush against Renjun's.

Jaemin closed his eyes, exhaling once like he was trying not to lose it all right there. "You're perfect," he said. "You feel like fucking heaven."

Jaemin started to move after waiting for Renjun to give him his approval. He started with a shallow pull of his hips, then a slow push back in. Renjun's whole body tensed at the motion, thighs tightening around Jaemin's waist. He felt impossibly full, stretched more than he ever had been before.

There was a sting underneath it all that made his breath shake, but he didn't say anything. Because when he looked up, Jaemin's mouth had fallen open slightly, brows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying not to fall apart completely. That alone made it worth it by seeing how good this made him feel.

Jaemin moved again, a little deeper this time, and Renjun instinctively clenched around him. That drew a broken breathless sound from Jaemin's throat.

"Fuck," Jaemin cursed, hand tightening at his hip. "I don't wanna hurt you but, God, Renjun.."

Renjun shivered. His body was still adjusting, the sting coming and going in little waves. His fingers dug into Jaemin's back to have something to hold on to. He nodded against Jaemin's shoulder, voice barely above a whisper. "Keep going."

Jaemin kissed the side of his face, his movements still slow, like he could feel every inch of him and wanted to savor it. He didn't rush. He just rocked into him gently, letting Renjun's body open around him one motion at a time. Renjun clung to him, dazed and aching. His body had adjusted now, mostly. The stretch still lingered, it was just... a lot. Every time Jaemin bottomed out, Renjun gasped quietly because it made his body feel full in a way he didn't have words for.

Jaemin's hand slid down between them again until his palm cupped Renjun's cock. The second he touched him he gasped. His body flinched under the contact, as his thighs clamped tight around Jaemin's waist.

"Too much?"

He nodded, eyes shut and lashes wet. "Y-Yeah. Just—wait. Don't—" Jaemin instantly pulled back and Renjun swallowed hard, still panting. "Sorry."

Jaemin shook his head. "Don't be sorry, baby. You're doing so good. Taking me so well already."

Renjun moaned quietly into Jaemin's mouth and his fingers clenched in his hair.

"Go faster?"

It was so soft Jaemin almost didn't hear it. He pulled back to look at him. "Yeah?"

Renjun nodded, lips pink, hair damp with sweat. "Just a little."

Jaemin kissed him again and changed the rhythm, each stroke dragging just a bit more sound out of Renjun's throat. He had finally started to melt under him, the sting dulling to a warm, stretched fullness that pulsed with every slow grind. He was still clinging to Jaemin's shoulders, breath hot and uneven, but the way his body responded was starting to shift.

On the next thrust, he pressed right up against something inside Renjun that made him jerk. His whole body arched, a sharp gasp tearing out of him. His fingers yanked at Jaemin's hair again, but this time it wasn't instinctual pain but pleasure.

Jaemin stilled instantly on purpose. He stayed deep inside, not pulling back, just holding there, the head of his cock pressing right into that spot again, firm and unmoving. His eyes were on Renjun's face the whole time, watching it fall apart. "There," he murmured. "That's it, isn't it?"

He remembered how Renjun had reacted when it was just his fingers, how a single well-placed curl had made him squirm and beg for more. The way his body clenched around him now, how his breath hitched and his fingers pulled tight in his hair, told him everything. Renjun didn't need friction, he needed pressure. So Jaemin stayed right there, cock pressed flush against that spot inside him, letting the weight of it sink in. He wasn't chasing his own pleasure, and instead held steady to watch Renjun come undone from exactly what he needed.

And he was right, judging by how his hips shifted involuntarily, trying to grind down onto his cock again. His own twitched against his stomach, already leaking again, untouched. His body was trying to curl inward from the intensity, but Jaemin's hands steadied him. The pleasure was so deep it almost felt too close to overwhelming until Jaemin slowly pulled away.

His thighs quivered around Jaemin's hips before spreading wider. "Please," he whispered, barely audible at first. Then again, more desperate: "Please do it again. Slowly."

Jaemin kissed the side of his face, hand gliding up to cradle Renjun's jaw. "Yeah?" he murmured. "You want more?"

Renjun nodded frantically, eyes glazed. "It's— Mhm."

Jaemin pulled out just slightly, then rolled his hips forward again. Renjun squirmed, his back arching sharply off the bed. A soft, helpless moan spilled from his lips, and his whole body clenched down around Jaemin, tight and hot, like his body didn't know how else to respond.

Jaemin groaned low in his throat, the sensation dragging through him like fire. "Shit" he hissed, hips jerking slightly as Renjun's hole clenched around him again, fluttering and desperate.

Renjun couldn't stop the sounds now, as soft, wrecked moans fell from his lips with every focused thrust. His legs pulled deeper, grinding into every movement like he couldn't get enough. His cock was wet at the tip, smearing against his stomach with every shift. Every time Jaemin hit that spot, it sent a pulse of pleasure so intense through him that his body twitched. His hips burned where Jaemin was holding him tightly, with his fingers pressing into his skin.

"Jaem—Jaemin, fuck," he gasped, barely able to think.

Renjun instinctively hooked his legs around Jaemin's waist, locking him in, his body refusing to let him move away.

"Stay," he whispered, breath stuttering. "Right there,.. don't move.."

Jaemin obeyed, still and buried to the hilt, his cockhead nudging that sensitive spot firmly that Renjun couldn't stop squirming beneath him. Every tiny shift of his own hips rubbed it again, sent sharp sparks of pleasure straight through his spine. He moaned, wrecked and flushed, clenching around Jaemin's length with every twitch.

The stimulation was overwhelming, constant. Renjun's cock throbbed. "Jaemin— I—" he broke off in a whimper, eyes fluttering, hips rocking subtly just to make it rub harder, deeper, exactly where he needed it.

Jaemin stayed still, buried deep, the head of his cock pressed flush against that spot inside Renjun that had already left him shaking minutes ago. But now now he wasn't even moving and instead let the pressure do all the work.

Renjun tried to stay still, but the fullness made him squirm, instinctively rolling his hips in the tiniest, helpless motions. Those tiny movements were all it took to grind his prostate right up against Jaemin again.

His breath hitched, a soft moan spilling out before he could stop it. He squirmed again. Another rub. Another jolt of white-hot pleasure. It was too much.

"Fu— Mmh.." Renjun whined uncontrollably. His body clenched down around Jaemin's cock, sucking him in tighter, and another involuntary rock of his hips dragged that swollen, aching spot against Jaemin's length just right.

The pressure didn't ease. If anything, it built, each subtle squirm sending another sharp wave through him until it was all he could feel.

Then his body locked up. His back arched, a startled sound tearing from his throat as his orgasm hit him hard and fast, shocking in its intensity. Cum spilled between them, warm and messy, as his body pulsed around Jaemin, clenching so tight it made Jaemin groan aloud, almost losing control himself.

Renjun couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. His body kept twitching under the overwhelming pleasure, his fingers gripping Jaemin's shoulders like lifelines, as the aftershocks dragged through him in sharp, trembling bursts.

Jaemin leaned over him, murmuring to him breathlessly, "That's it, let it happen.." as he stroked a hand through Renjun's hair, watching him fall apart from just being held open and touched right. "Look how good you come on me.."

Renjun flinched when Jaemin shifted. Just a slight rock of his hips, nothing rough, but it sent a bolt of overstimulation straight through his body like an electric shock.

"Ah—!" Renjun gasped, legs trembling as they finally fell open. His body was still pulsing around Jaemin, twitchy and raw, and the moment Jaemin moved, it crossed from pleasure into too much. His face tensed, breath catching in his throat as his hips instinctively tried to twist away.

Jaemin froze immediately. "Shit— okay, okay," he murmured, voice rough but gentle, already starting to ease out of him with as much care as he could. He let go of the now red and irritated skin of his hips, lifting him up from underneath as his thumb rubbed soothing circles low on his stomach, right underneath his bellybutton.

Renjun was panting, flushed and boneless, blinking dazedly through the overwhelming waves. "Wait—" he choked out when he felt Jaemin pulling away. "Wait, but—"

"Shh.." Jaemin brushed hair off Renjun's forehead, his tone warm even through the tension in his body. "Let go."

"But you didn't—" Renjun's voice cracked. He swallowed, eyes glassy. "You didn't even get to— I mean, I wanted it to be more for you. Fuck, I barely lasted, I was so sensitive, I'm sorry, I—"

"Renjun," Jaemin cut in gently, now completely pulled out. "You don't owe me anything."

Renjun's throat worked. But even through the lingering ache in his limbs, the heaviness of the afterglow, he could feel how hard Jaemin still was, pressed against his thigh, aching and holding back.

Renjun's eyes dropped, breath still shallow, but his hand moved until it found Jaemin's hip. His fingers curled there, almost unsure. For a second, he didn't say anything. Just stared at the space between them where Jaemin's cock rested flushed and untouched.

"I want to," Renjun said, voice hoarse. He looked up, meeting Jaemin's eyes. "Can I take care of you?"

Jaemin blinked, startled by the shift.

"I want to," he repeated, firmer now. "Please. Let me. Let me use my mouth."

Jaemin stilled above him, searching his eyes for any sign of guilt or pressure. But all he saw was sincerity, urgency, Renjun's lips slightly swollen from their kisses, his cheeks flushed with need, no ounce of obligation. "Only if you're sure," Jaemin said lowly.

"I am," Renjun breathed. "Wanna taste you. It'll feel good." His thighs were still trembling. He felt raw and wrecked, still sensitive all over.

"You didn't even come," he added, desperate, almost frustrated with himself. "You were so careful with me, you didn't even—fuck, I came twice, and you—please, I need to."

That is how Jaemin ended up sitting back against the headboard, legs slightly parted, his cock flushed and glistening, still wrapped in the halfway-used condom. Renjun reached out quickly, biting his lip, and gently rolled it off.

Jaemin inhaled through his nose, sharp and shaky.

"I'll grab a new one—" he started, already reaching toward the drawer.

But before he could move, Renjun ducked down and pressed a kiss to the base of his cock, then another, then licked up the side.

"Shut up," Renjun muttered, already taking him into his mouth, not all the way, just enough to taste. His tongue swirled softly around the tip and Jaemin swore under his breath, his hand flying to Renjun's hair. He sucked lightly, then pulled off with a wet pop. "You're so fucking hot like this," he whispered, staring up at him. "Let me feel you on my tongue before you cover it." That defied the whole purpose of a condom, and he will be sure to tell his kids to never do that. Except at the moment, Jaemin’s taste was all that mattered.

Jaemin never got the condom on.

His fingers had barely opened the wrapper when Renjun leaned in again, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock before sinking down, slow and hungry. The foil slipped from Jaemin's hand, forgotten on the sheets as his breath punched out of him in one low, broken sound.

"Fuck— Baby..."

Renjun moaned around him as he liked the way that sounded, deep, breathy, and unraveling. His mouth was all warm and wet, lips stretched just enough to make Jaemin twitch in his grip. He wasn't trying to show off. He was so focused, working him in slow, steady strokes with his mouth and hand, spit already slicking up his length, eyes fluttering as he tried to take more.

Jaemin's fingers buried themselves in his hair, not pulling, just holding, as if he didn't know where else to ground himself.

Renjun bobbed his head again, letting the tip brush the back of his throat before pulling off with a quiet gasp, his mouth swollen, breath shallow. He looked up at Jaemin with flushed cheeks.

"You can fuck my mouth," he said hoarsely. "If you want. I like it."

Jaemin's jaw tensed, already half gone. His fingers tightened just a little at the base of Renjun's skull.

"Fuck my mouth," Renjun repeated, more insistently this time. "I wanna feel you lose it. Please. This part I know how to do, just sit back and enjoy."

Jaemin exhaled, thumb stroking along Renjun's cheek as he shifted his hips slightly forward. "Tell me if it's too much."

Renjun nodded quickly with stars in his eyes, almost as if he didn't think that'd work. He opened his mouth again, lips parting in invitation and Jaemin slowly began to move.

His grip tightened ever so slightly in Renjun's hair as his hips rolled forward, slipping deeper into his mouth. Renjun tried to relax his throat, jaw already aching from the stretch, but it wasn't enough. Jaemin was big, thick enough that when he pushed in just a little further, Renjun choked.

His throat fluttered and his eyes watered instantly. He gagged once, breath catching sharp in his nose as his hands flew to Jaemin's thighs for balance, fingers curling tight. Jaemin groaned as his hips jerking reflexively at the sound.

He cupped Renjun's cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw with something between awe and need, the pad of his finger feeling himself through Renjun's skin. Renjun blinked up at him, lashes damp, breathing hard through his nose even as his throat twitched around him again. Jaemin's cock pulsed on his tongue, heavy and hot, and Renjun swore he could feel every throb of it against the roof of his mouth.

His jaw ached. His throat burned. But the sounds Jaemin was making made something twist low in his belly again, like every second of discomfort was worth it just to hear that.

Renjun moaned around him, which only made it worse (better?) and Jaemin cursed again, his thumb dragging over the corner of his mouth, smearing spit over his cheek. He was losing it, and Renjun could feel it in the way his thighs tightened, in the way his voice started to crack, in the broken praises tumbling out of his mouth. Renjun loved it.

He angled Renjun just right, guiding his movement with one hand in his hair, the other steady at his cheek. He began to bob his head for him, gentle at first (Renjun guesses that it was because he was scared) and drawing him up until just the tip rested on his tongue, then easing him back down, deeper each time.

Renjun let him, pliant and warm, trying to breathe steadily through his nose. His eyes fluttered when Jaemin eased forward just a little more on the next thrust, and Renjun moaned around him, the vibrations making Jaemin groan outright.

That moan turned into a soft gag when Jaemin rolled his hips up in time with the next pass. Renjun choked on the sound, his throat tightening involuntarily.

Renjun's jaw ached. He exhaled slowly through his nose, let go, and relaxed the back of his throat. The next time Jaemin slid in, he made sure there was as little resistance as possible. He let himself be guided, used like he'd asked to be. His eyes watered, drool spilling freely down his chin, and Jaemin looked down at him with something between reverence and ruin.

"So fucking pretty like this," he breathed, voice low and breaking as he rocked into him again. "on your knees..."

Renjun moaned around him, the sound barely audible around the thick stretch of him, but Jaemin felt it. His jaw tensed, hips twitching slightly forward as he pushed just a little deeper, testing how far Renjun could take it now that he'd finally relaxed for him.

"My baby.." he muttered, brushing sweat-damp hair from Renjun's forehead, the touch absurdly tender for how wrecked he sounded.

Every time Renjun swallowed, or moaned, or choked just a little when he moved too deep, it tore another groan from his chest. Renjun blinked up at him, teary-eyed and flushed, and the sight nearly sent Jaemin over the edge right then and there. His rhythm grew uneven, his grip in Renjun's hair tightening deliciously. His thighs tensed under Renjun's palms, hips stuttering as the pressure built, his moans losing their rhythm, turning guttural.

He took a shaky inhale through his nose and stayed, mouth stretched around him. Jaemin's release, Jaemin's pleasure, Jaemin falling apart in his mouth. That thought alone made him moan again around Jaemin's cock, and that was what finally sent Jaemin over the edge.

He came hard with Renjun's name punched out of him, as his hips jolting forward in one last helpless thrust. Renjun swallowed around the first pulse, but Jaemin didn't move and just held him there, trembling as he emptied into his mouth.

For a few moments, he was just lost in it as he breathed heavy, mind gone quiet with release. It wasn't until he blinked his eyes open, still dazed, that he looked down.

He saw Renjun still kneeling between his legs, mouth closed, cheeks flushed, his lips pink and parted around the edges like he was still holding it. His eyes were wide, watching him. Waiting.

Jaemin's breath caught. "Oh, fuck. You.." he whispered. "Shit— I'm sorry, I—" He reached for the nightstand with a shaky hand, fumbling slightly before pulling a tissue from the box. His heart was still racing as he brought it to Renjun's face.

"Spit it out, baby," he said softly.

Renjun looked up at him once more, eyes glassy but calm, before tilting his head slightly and leaning toward the tissue in Jaemin's hand. He held it steady, breath still uneven as Renjun parted his lips and let it spill out. A soft, slow drip of it slid from his mouth, thick and warm onto the tissue, some of it catching on his bottom lip, and another streak trailing down his chin.

Jaemin's face flushed deep red, eyes wide. He hadn't even realized he'd come in his mouth until now. The sight hit him all at once: his cum dripping from his mouth, and him calmly letting it happen like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Sorry," Renjun whispered, swiping at his own chin with the back of his hand.

"No—wait," Jaemin said quickly, catching his wrist with one hand, the other bringing the tissue up to gently wipe the mess from Renjun's lips and jaw himself. "Let me. I made the mess, I should've warned you, I'm really sorry."

Once Jaemin had cleaned it all, he dropped the tissue onto the nightstand, then leaned forward and kissed Renjun's nose. Then his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth. A soft press to his forehead. Another to his temple. And another.

"Thank you," he murmured between kisses. "You didn't have to do any of that."

Renjun just looked at him for a moment, then quietly climbed into his lap, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, his body curling in close. He buried his face in Jaemin's shoulder, pressing himself there as he needed to feel his heartbeat.

Jaemin wrapped him up in his arms without hesitation, one hand gently stroking the back of his head where he'd pulled a bit too harshly for his conscience. Eventually, Jaemin shifted them both back onto the bed, cradling Renjun against his chest as they settled into the warmth of each other. He guided them down slowly, tugging the blanket halfway over their bodies and Renjun didn't resist for a second.

Jaemin's fingers slipped into his wet hair, combing through it gently, brushing it back from his face.

"Hey," he murmured quietly, lips near his temple. "How're you feeling?"

Renjun blinked up at him, eyes half-lidded. "Floaty," he whispered. "Kind of like I'm dreaming."

Jaemin smiled softly. "That's not a bad thing."

There was a small pause. Renjun added, voice a little shy, "You sound really pretty when you come."

Jaemin let out a small laugh, cheeks coloring faintly. "God."

"I mean it," Renjun insisted, burrowing in a little closer. "It was hot." Jaemin ducked his head a little, brushing another kiss to Renjun's hairline. "Did you like it? I know you were so focused on me, and I'm grateful, I really am, but..."

Jaemin immediately leaned back just enough to look at him properly. "Renjun."

Renjun met his eyes.

"You were hot. You were sexy, and good, and so fucking brave." He reached up, cupping the side of Renjun's face, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. "You don't even know what you looked like."

Renjun flushed all over again as his forehead got kissed like the one, final reward after all the others. Jaemin whispered against his skin, "You were perfect."

Renjun closed his eyes and smiled, arms tightening around Jaemin's waist.