Chapter Text
Jinyoung heard what he thought was his name and ignored it, since he was at least two and a half drinks deep and he usually couldn’t be trusted after drink two, but when he heard it called again he did a double-take and saw, of all people who could conceivably be waving at him from a booth that had been heretofore hidden in a shadowy alcove on the other side of the bar, Jaebum.
“Jinyoung,” Jaebum said again in a more moderate tone of voice as Jinyoung got closer. He sounded as delighted as Jinyoung had ever heard Jaebum. “What the hell. I haven't seen you in forever. Get over here.”
It hadn’t exactly been forever, since Jinyoung had seen Jaebum just two weeks ago, in his own home even, where Jinyoung and Mark had stopped so Mark could grab an umbrella on their way to the movies. They’d waved at each other, Jinyoung hovering in the doorway so he wouldn’t track mud in and Jaebum a disembodied torso in the living room craning itself to look at who’d interrupted his drama-watching, though that was pretty much the extent of their interactions since Jaebum and Jackson broke up months ago.
“Jaebum,” Jinyoung said. With a mixture of guilt and the general pleasure that comes with unexpectedly seeing a friend you liked but hadn’t seen for a long time, mostly by design, he pulled Jaebum in for a manly chest thump, sloshing his peach soju and beer cocktail onto his sleeve. “Oh, hey,” he said, noticing now that he’d rounded the side of the booth the person sitting across from Jaebum.
"Oh, sorry," Jaebum said, gesturing to his friend. "This is Choi Youngjae. We work together." Jaebum was a teacher at an alternative education middle school, which meant that he could teach twelve-year-olds how to b-boy and call it gym.
"Youngjae, nice to meet you. I'm Jinyoung," Jinyoung said. He reached out for a handshake, before deciding that was too dorky and switched gears to a high five at the last second instead. Youngjae, who had anticipated the handshake, poked Jinyoung in the palm with his nails. Having witnessed this entire interaction, Jaebum doubled over with laughter.
“Oh, shut up,” Jinyoung said, only a little embarrassed. His peach soju and beer was obviously a lost cause at this point, so he set it down and then, facing Youngjae again, waved his hand in Jaebum’s direction. "Sorry, me and this loser over here went to university together. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…?”
“‘Loser’?" Jaebum asked in mock-anger, tugging Jinyoung to get into the booth. “I hope you’re not talking about me? Yah, Park Jinyoung, I didn’t realize we’d gotten so comfortable in all the time we haven’t seen each other.”
“We saw each other two weeks ago,” Jinyoung reminded him. After the slightest pause, he threw an arm around Jaebum’s shoulders, even though he wasn’t strictly sure if they were on arm-around-shoulders terms. It felt surprisingly good; normal. Jaebum rolled his eyes, but he looked appeased. Casually, Jinyoung lifted his arm off Jaebum’s shoulders to swipe his beer, taking a swig and then sliding it to the edge of the table, just out of Jaebum’s reach.
Youngjae cheers-ed him for that, giggling at the way Jaebum sputtered. “Calm down, the next round’s on me,” Jinyoung said, and then turned in his seat in the direction of the bar. “Oh wait, perfect—Bambam, Yugyeom, look who it is! Bring your hyungs a pitcher, okay?”
Jaebum had turned his head so quickly he and Jinyoung almost collided at the pass. "No fucking way," he said. “Bambam and Yugyeom?”
It was indeed Bambam and Yugyeom, who had been freshmen when Jaebum was a senior—a big enough age gap that Jaebum shouldn’t really have known them, but Bambam had been paired with Jackson for an international students mentorship program that had done maybe too good of a job matchmaking, and Yugyeom had been an enthusiastic and, by all accounts, very good member of the dance team. He and Bambam were seniors now, bunking together in Yugyeom’s room at home for the summer while Yugyeom took online classes and ran around with his old dance crew and Bambam did some interpretation and translation work for the Thai embassy, a job that connoted a responsibility so at odds with the Bambam Jinyoung knew that he had actually laughed out loud when he heard about it.
“Jaebum-hyung!” Yugyeom all but shrieked when he turned around and saw him, pitcher almost slipping out of his hands. So that was that—Bambam and Yugyeom, who were here crashing Jinyoung’s work happy hour as they had every other week for the last month, squeezed in next to a resigned but affable Youngjae while Jinyoung settled back in next to Jaebum, their thighs just barely touching.
“So, you on babysitting duty or something?” Jaebum asked after introductions and catch-up, artfully dodging the kick Yugyeom aimed at him under the table. “I know it’s been awhile, but I didn’t realize you’d made such a big career change. Congratulations.”
“Someone has to be the responsible one,” Jinyoung sniffed, and then ruined his own point by landing an elbow for Yugyeom. Yugyeom cheered and Jinyoung kicked him under the table, more out of reflex than anything. “Yah, mind your manners, Yugyeom-ah,” he said, when Yugyeom looked at him, betrayed.
Jaebum still had that same graceless laugh, a sudden bark that always surprised Jinyoung with the force of it. “My hero,” he said, grinning with one side of his mouth.
Jinyoung put his nose in the air. “Don’t get used to it, I charge.” Then he lowered his voice and leaned in, “Really though. I’m not, you know, crashing a hot date or something, am I?” He raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a significant manner, though he’d possibly ruined it by enunciating hot date in English.
Jaebum shifted closer, their knees pressing together for real. Jinyoung was surprised to feel a jolt in his gut. “It’s fine, really. Youngjae started training last month and he’s been doing really well. Thought he could use the encouragement, is all.” Youngjae, who across the table was laughing hysterically at some video Bambam was showing him on his phone, had flicked enough glances Jaebum’s way that Jinyoung wasn’t convinced Youngjae might not take this as a different kind of encouragement, but Jinyoung would let it go. “Also, hot date? Who are you, Jackson?”
Reflexively, Jinyoung tensed a little, moving his knees away from Jaebum’s.
Jaebum caught it. “What? I’m not allowed to say Jackson’s name now?” he asked, his grin widening when he saw Jinyoung’s face, which was confirmation enough. He put his knee back on Jinyoung’s, nudged him in the ribs. “Hey, we just broke up, you know? No big deal, it happens. It’s not like he insulted Nora or something unforgivable.”
“Ugh,” Jinyoung said, because he wasn’t going to grace no big deal with a response. “Don’t take Nora’s name in vain.”
“No, but seriously,” Jaebum said. He was smiling with his whole mouth now, teeth and all. “We still, like, follow each other on Instagram and stuff. I’m really happy for everything that's going on for him.”
Jackson, a hit on He Jiong’s show, had seen his newfound TV career skyrocket in the last seven months, to the surprise of absolutely no one who had ever spent more than five minutes with him—Jackson played the fool with aplomb but he was also one of the kindest and cleverest people Jinyoung knew. It was a one-in-a-million story that would have seemed improbable if the person in question had been anyone other than Jackson, who took to attention the same way Jinyoung’s skin did to a sheet mask after a long flight. Instagram user @jacksonwang852 had just hit 250,000 followers this past week to match the cool million he had on Weibo, both of which he’d commemorated with a sentimental, rambling post in three different languages. Jinyoung had proofread the Korean translation for him, laughing out loud no less than two times.
Jaebum continued, “Did you think I’ve been at home crying or something? Hey, is that why you stopped coming around?” He grabbed the back of Jinyoung’s neck in mock-anger, his thigh pressing even closer against Jinyoung’s.
He was flirting, Jinyoung realized all of a sudden, face growing warm. Jaebum had always been stupid handsome. That, and his stubbornness, was the reputation that had preceded him in college, one that earned Jackson more than a few dirty looks when he and Jaebum started going out. Half of Jackson’s friends had joked about having crushes on Jaebum, and Jackson always fronted like he hated it, but there was no way for him to hide his smugness. He’d protest, kick at Wonpil whenever he pretended to swoon, but curled his hand in Jaebum’s collar when he inevitably came by looking for him to haul him in for a quick and dirty kiss. It never mattered where they were, and Jinyoung got the feeling Jackson actually enjoyed it more with an audience.
“We-ell,” Jinyoung said with a drawl, leaning back against his seat so Jaebum was forced to drop his hand. “I’m not saying you should shoot the messenger or anything, but a little birdy named Mark Tuan did tell me a certain someone was being reeeeally pathetic, and that I should only come over if I wanted to lose my lunch, so.”
That laugh again. “Right. Because that sounds exactly like Mark. I promise I’ve got the crying’s under control now, so come around soon, okay?” He looked at Jinyoung like there was only one answer he was expecting, half-smiling and half-lidded.
Jaebum really was very handsome. Jinyoung had swooned in college, right along with Wonpil, and like Wonpil, it had only mostly been a joke. Helpless, he nodded.
—
Jinyoung was fully intending to honor his promise to see Jaebum more the same way he always fully intended to honor promises like flossing or calling his mother daily: with good, but futile, intentions. But Jaebum’s conviction turned out to be made of much stronger stuff, and he texted Jinyoung the next morning, as promised.
They went out for a long dinner, and then wandered aimlessly on the streets, eating one, two, three ice creams each, trying to one up each other. They followed a group of pretty girls on a mutual dare to get a phone number into a store where everything inside was in miniature. Jinyoung held up a mini basketball that looked hilariously comical between his fingers, and Jaebum found a cat that he bought on the spot because despite his gruff exterior he was a soft touch. They got so caught up taking stupid pictures in the bathroom accessories section they didn’t even notice when the group of girls left until the door closed with a cheerful jingle behind them, and then they had to eat one more ice cream each since they both failed.
They ducked into an arcade after that and Jaebum got so mad about Jinyoung beating him at basketball, he chucked a ball at his head. It missed, partly because Jaebum wasn’t actually trying to murder Jinyoung in a Hongdae arcade but mostly because Jinyoung was doubled over, almost crying with laughter at the tantrum.
It was fun, absurdly so. When Jinyoung got home, his teeth and stomach hurt from all the sugar they’d consumed and all the laughing he’d done.
It wasn’t until he’d washed up and safely tucked into bed that Jinyoung let himself indulge and think about the way Jaebum’s hand had felt on his shoulder when he pulled him out of the way of a group of slow-moving aunties. He fell asleep warm and woke up happy.
—
The first time Jinyoung thought, with clarity, yes. Im Jaebum, it was during hour 6 of Bambam and Yugyeom’s back-to-school 24-hour karaoke bonanza, enthusiastically hosted by none other than Bambam and Yugyeom. Jinyoung had been lucky enough to receive the invitation from Yugyeom in person, and the conversation had gone something like this:
“Jinyoung-hyung! We’re throwing a karaoke party before we have to go back to school. It’s starting at 11 in the morning and ending at 11 in the morning the next day! Stop by whenever!”
“But why?”
“Uh, duh? When are we going to get the chance to karaoke for 24 hours once we’re back to school?”
“But why karaoke? And why 24 hours?”
“Sorry Jinyoung-hyung. I’m not following.”
And so on.
"Wow, kids these days," Jaebum said mildly, slipping through the karaoke room door to knock shoulders with Jinyoung, who was leaning against the wall so as not to get caught in the fight over the song remote. Jinyoung had decided to stop by on his way home from work, and it seemed Jaebum had had the same idea. Bambam and Yugyeom had managed to collect a sizable audience, probably aided in part by Bambam’s minor Instagram fame, achieved mostly through sheer doggedness and volume. He was currently livestreaming Yugyeom enthusiastically breaking his voice on a Zion.T song. They made Jinyoung feel decrepit and lifeless.
“Kids these days,” Jinyoung mimicked, dropping his voice in a facsimile of Jaebum’s before raising it to his normal pitch again. “I can’t believe you just said that. Do you even hear yourself?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jaebum said, laughing, but he still shoved Jinyoung hard enough for him to almost topple over. “Don’t pretend like the reason you don’t post on Instagram isn’t because you’re too cool for it, but you don’t know how to use it right and you’re too embarrassed to ask Bambam.”
Bulls, and eye. Still, Jinyoung had a reputation to maintain. “I mean, you think posting over-filtered photos of your sneakers is the right way to use Instagram, so I think I’m good,” he shot back, but nudged Jaebum’s shoulder to show he wasn’t trying to be mean. He glanced over just as Jaebum did, and they made eye contact as the red of the strobe light passed over them, illuminating the expression on Jaebum’s face for a split second. Intellectually, Jinyoung knew it was still light outside from where he’d just come half an hour prior but inside, an intrepid someone, most likely Bambam, had flipped all the switches except for the strobes and the disco machine. Six was a little early to start drinking, especially on an empty stomach, but lingering eye contact with Jaebum set to the soundtrack of Bambam’s off-pitch Big Bang cover seemed like acceptable grounds for a beer or two.
“Drink?” he asked Jaebum, miming the action to hide the warmth rising in his face.
“Yeah, good call,” Jaebum said, just as Bambam’s enthusiastic dance moves led him to stomp all over Jinyoung’s foot. “Wow, G-Dragon’s just rolling over in his grave, isn’t he.”
“You take that back!” Bambam shrieked into the microphone. “Don’t take G-Dragon-sunbaenim’s name in vain!” A chorus of cheers followed his declaration.
“And that’s my cue,” Jaebum said. “What can I get you?” he asked, looking expectantly at Jinyoung.
I like you, Jinyoung almost said right then, and even opened his mouth to get the first syllable out before he remembered where he was and who he was talking to and regained control over his faculties.
He was surprised by how voluntary it was, and how unsurprising.
"Jinyoung?" Jaebum asked again, with a tilt of his head. His eyes, impossibly, flicked to Jinyoung’s mouth.
Jinyoung didn’t want to think about what that meant, or could mean, or might mean. "Whatever you’re having," he said, shaking the electricity off his skin and smiling his commercial smile at Jaebum. "Hey, when you’re back, wanna do this next song with me? Show these kids what we’ve got."
—
jacksonwang852 sent you a story by bambam1a
jacksonwang852: U AND JAEBUM????
this is how I find out???
are we best friends or not, park jinyoung!!!!!!!!!pepi_jy_: Wait what
We were just at karaoke together.
Don’t make it weird..
Yah, Jackson
❤️
Shit, hit the heart by mistakejacksonwang852: ok ok ok sorry man
but u guys would be good together tho????
hehehehehe :P
hey hope ur ready for my visit!!!!!
dibs on your bed!!!!!! jackson wang does NOT sleep on couches
❤️
:)pepi_jy_: You’re lucky if I let you sleep on the floor.
❤️
—
Jackson called dibs on Jinyoung’s bed weeks in advance, but Jinyoung would’ve let him have it anyway, since he was only spending one night with Jinyoung of the seven days he was going to be in Seoul. There was a broadcasting company who’d taken note of Jackson’s growing Korean fanbase and was eager to cut him a fat check for various hosting and guesting gigs. They were footing the bill for a stay at The Shilla and Jackson had tacked on another two nights to spend with his mom, which left only one night at Jinyoung’s. And even that was in the loosest sense—of course, the first thing Jackson demanded when he announced that he was visiting was a party, preferably with all their friends in attendance. Not impossible but certainly troublesome. Except some people were born under luckier stars than others, so Jackson’s visit just so happened to coincide exactly with Mark’s birthday and Jackson was a lot of things but he was always willing to share the spotlight.
Jaebum had planned the pre-party for Mark at their apartment and when he found out Jackson would be here too, he had told Jinyoung, and invite Jackson, too. If he wants. Jackson had wanted.
When Jaebum opened his apartment door for the two of them, there had been a moment when Jinyoung, helpless, watched something awfully familiar cross Jaebum’s face. He was suddenly very aware that this was the first time they’d seen each other since they broke up. And then Jackson was moving out from next to him, throwing his arms around Jaebum.
"It’s good to see you," he said, voice clear as he thumped Jaebum’s back. "Thanks for inviting me."
Jaebum’s arms tightened as a reflex where they were around Jackson’s waist, before he gently disentangled himself. "Always," he said. "Good to see you, too. Where’s my present?"
"Fuck off," Jackson said, easy. "I'm here, aren't I?"
They grinned at each other, and Jinyoung felt relief. And then—lightning quick—regret.
—
So that’s how Jinyoung finds himself with Jaebum in the kitchen, mouth tingling from mezcal and the unspoken confession. He follows him down the hallway and back into the living room, busier now that Mark’s work friends have shown up. Someone, probably Jackson, has commandeered the playlist, background music all slick flow and heavy bass.
As if summoned, Jackson turns up next to him. His eyes are bright and his smile a little crazed. He’s stripped his hoodie off since they arrived, and there's sweat dampening the armpits of his white undershirt. It’s warm in Mark and Jaebum’s apartment, sure, but Jackson has always run hot.
“Where’d you and Jaebum disappear off to?” Jackson asks, exaggerating his mouth into a pout. “You can see him whenever you want! I came all this way to see you.”
Laughing, Jinyoung pushes the glass in his hand against Jackson’s mouth, which opens obligingly, tongue curling out to dip into the liquid and also to swipe at Jinyoung’s knuckle. “You are shameless,” Jinyoung tells him, wiping his hand on Jackson’s shirt.
“You love me best,” Jackson replies, serene, which is besides the point but also. Yeah.
—
True to his word, Jinyoung lets Jackson have his bed, but he crawls in right after him, just managing to kick off his pants and pull his sweater off over his head. It’s ass o’clock in the morning, and Jinyoung had lost count somewhere after shot number seven, so there was no way he was sleeping anywhere but a bed. It’s too warm under the covers with the both of them, but just as Jinyoung considers complaining, he falls asleep.
He wakes up the next morning at half past eleven, wincing at the way his sheets stick to his body courtesy of the liters of alcohol he’d consumed and subsequently sweat out in the night. Over the valley of his comforter, the lump of Jackson’s body rumbles, then turns, toppling the sheets piled between them. "Ugh," Jackson moans, one arm reaching around to slap at his arm. "Why did you let this happen to me?" he asks, voice a demolition zone. "Make it stop."
Jinyoung is inclined to agree. There is a pounding in his head that feels like a boy band of no less than nine members, each practicing their own separate choreography routines. And if he has to take another whiff of his own breath, he was going to throw up. What even was the point of Jackson visiting if he wasn’t going to remember half their time together?
Jinyoung counts to ten—okay, fifty—before swinging his legs out of bed and padding to his bathroom. There, he pulls the shower lever and counts again before taking the plunge. It gets the boy band down to three members, but it also leaves Jinyoung gasping and with brain freeze. He towels off, brushes his teeth, and fills his gargling cup with water.
"Over," he says, getting back in bed after curling the fingers of Jackson’s sole mobile limb around the cup. "Now you can never say I did nothing for you."
Jackson downs the entire cup with one swallow, before groping around for a level surface to set the empty cup on. He slides back under the sheets, and Jinyoung has to laugh; he hasn’t even seen Jackson’s face yet this morning, and he’s leaving in four hours. After a few seconds of his semi-hysterical laughter, a hand appears under the comforter on Jinyoung’s side.
"Help me!” it says, fingers wriggling. "I’m stuck! Have you come to save the princess? Only the brave of heart and pure of soul can pass. Also, the hot of body." And then Jackson tried to feel up Jinyoung’s bicep, wildly overshooting and getting a handful of damp armpit hair instead. "Ugh, gross."
Jinyoung grabs at Jackson’s hand. He pulls until Jackson kicks all the blankets aside and his face finally comes into view, pillow-creased and drool-stained. Sometime in the last month or two, Jackson had dyed his hair a soft yellow, his roots growing back in already, black and shiny with grease. There are shadows under his eyes that make him look a little like he’s recovering from being punched, and a lot like he’d stayed out doing shots and maybe even dancing on a table with a group of co-eds at some point, Jinyoung isn’t at liberty to say.
This is Jackson at his most unkempt, his most vulnerable. It is a Jackson Jinyoung once knew better than anyone else in the world. He can’t help but lean forward and bury his face in the warm muscle of Jackson’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath, and is hit with the dull scent of Jackson’s natural odor, mixed with the slightly sour smell of sweat-soaked alcohol. It is disgusting. And, impossibly, Jinyoung had missed this.
They lay there like that, Jinyoung’s head pillowed on Jackson’s shoulder, their fingers tangled together somewhere between them. He keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, Jackson’s other hand drifting up to scratch absentmindedly across his scalp.
"Hey," Jackson says, his voice soft and affectionate by Jinyoung’s ear.
"Mm?" Jinyoung murmurs, consciousness on the downswing.
"You know you’re one of my best friends, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And that, like, you can tell me anything, right?”
“Sure, Jackson.”
“I would trust you with my life. Or, like, most of my life.” Here, Jackson pauses significantly. “And I hope you trust me, too.”
The sun is hot where it is filtering through Jinyoung’s window, warming the comforter covering them. One of them had, at some point last night, had remembered to plug in Jinyoung’s barely-touched oil diffuser for some unknown reason, which was honestly impressive considering there is a sneaker kicked onto Jinyoung’s dresser. Now Jinyoung’s whole apartment smells pleasingly of jasmine. Jackson’s flight is in three and a half hours now, and though they’d made a reservation for a new barbecue place when Jackson was planning his trip, Jinyoung knows that they definitely aren’t going to get out of bed for at least another hour.
He’s going to end up calling for takeout fried chicken while Jackson showers and uses up half of Jinyoung’s expensive conditioner, steam trailing him out of the bathroom just in time for the too-big order of chicken and soda to arrive. They’ll spend another half hour groaning after eating, and then Jackson will have to book it to his flight, which he’ll make, of course, even if Jackson Wang has to undertake the extremely arduous task of having to charm a whole cadre of airline attendants.
“Okay,” Jinyoung says slowly. “Thanks for saying that. I mean, same. You know I trust you.”
“But do you really?” Jackson asks, eyes wide.
“Yes?” Jinyoung responds. “Did you hit your head last night?”
They stare at each other for a few seconds. Jinyoung cracks first.
“What’s up, Jackson?”
Immediately, Jackson looks guilty. He’s best at emotional subterfuge when he’s not conscious he’s doing it. Not a single cunning bone in his body, or at the most maybe something like two cunning bones. They usually leave that up to Jinyoung.
“Nothing,” Jackson says, a reflex, then makes a face. “I mean, no, not nothing.”
Jinyoung gives him a second—it’s not often that Jackson is at a loss for words, or rather that he’s weighed all the options available to him and decided silence is the best route. The best approach is total neutrality. “Then what is it, Jackson?” he asks.
“Okay,” Jackson says very quickly, like he’s decided he just has to get it out. “Look, promise you won’t get mad at me”—Jinyoung makes a face, he hates making promises like that because it’s only setting himself up for failure—”or okay, fine, I know you said it was nothing and like, I believe you because duh, best friend, but I’m just saying that sometimes, you know, even the most aware people aren’t super aware of everything and you’re like one of the most aware people I know—which is totally a compliment, by the way—”
“Jackson,” Jinyoung says loudly. “The point?”
“—anyway, what I’m trying to say is—Jaebum. Jaebum is the point.” And with that, Jackson snaps his mouth shut. His hand is tight around Jinyoung’s.
“Your mom is the point,” Jinyoung says weakly. Jackson doesn’t even work up a scowl at that, just looks at him.
“Ughhhh,” Jinyoung groans, pulling his comforter up over his face. “Jackson. I was really, really hoping we wouldn’t have to talk about this. Like, really.”
Jackson does not take the hint, and in fact sounds hurt, but maybe not about the thing Jinyoung would’ve expected him to feel hurt by. “What, why? Look, I know we don’t live in the same city anymore but there’s LINE and email and Instagram and stuff and I tell you almost everything that happens to me still.”
“There’s nothing interesting to report about a crush that’s not going to go anywhere,” Jinyoung mumbles.
“What do you mean, not going to go anywhere? I think you’re pretty Jaebum’s type. I would know.” He clasps both hands around Jinyoung’s, looking earnest, as if the real issue here was Jinyoung’s lack of self-esteem.
Jinyoung squints up at Jackson. “Uh, because you’re my best friend and I would never do that to you? Why are we having this conversation? Isn’t this totally a conflict of interest?”
Jackson squints back at him. “It’s not a conflict of my interest. What, is Jaebum dating someone else or something? Because cheating is pretty shitty, so maybe wait for that to be over before you make a move.”
Jinyoung barely understands what Jackson is saying right now, and he has to wonder if maybe Jackson’s Korean is just really bad now, so he says, slowly and loudly, “Jackson. I would never date your ex.”
Something passes over Jackson’s face, the briefest sadness. And that right there, plus the familiar press of Jaebum’s fingers at the small of Jackson’s back last night, is why Jinyoung’s is a crush that will go nowhere.
“Well, you’re the one who said it,” Jackson says, sticking his tongue out at Jinyoung. “Ex. We’re definitely not a thing anymore, trust me. Also, it’s been like years.”
It's been like one year, but Jackson hates it when Jinyoung’s pedantic. “So let me get this straight,” Jinyoung says, sitting up. “You’re telling me that it’s okay I have a crush on the ex-boyfriend that you once called the love of your life, and you’re telling me to go for it?”
“Okay, it sounds kind of bad when you say it like that,” Jackson says. “But—I mean, yeah, if it’ll make you happy. Hell yeah. Full speed ahead. Good luck, godspeed, and hey, I’ll even throw in a pro tip for free: the head of Jaebum’s dick is—”
“Okay,” Jinyong interrupts, blush flooding his cheeks. “I get it. Thanks, Jackson.”
Jackson grins at him, and they lie back down against Jinyoung’s pillows. Their hands are still entangled.
“I mean it,” Jackson says softly, interrupting the lull. “I can feel you overthinking it from here. I can’t vouch for Jaebum, but don’t let your weird ideas about me stop you.”
Jinyoung doesn’t say anything, only squeezes Jackson’s hand, hoping it conveys the magnitude of his gratefulness. He lets himself indulge in the moment, in the small, secret crush he’s been trying not to harvest these past few months. And then, because he can’t help himself, he asks, voice coming out this side of pathetic, “And do you really think? Jaebum would?”
Jackson, a better person than Jinyoung ever will be, grins and crosses his eyes at him. “For sure. You know, Jaebum and I always said you’d be the third person in our ideal threesome."
Jinyoung rolls his eyes at that, shoving Jackson against the wall. “I hate you,” he laughs. “You already told me in college it was Mark. Now get the fuck up and shower, your flight’s in two hours.”
—
Unfortunately, despite the perhaps too-enthusiastic green light from Jackson, you still cannot bend a fundamentally unwilling character. Jinyoung has many good points but reckless self-confidence is not and has never been one of them. Jinyoung’s felt the lingering line of Jaebum’s body against his enough times that while he’s intellectually aware his crush probably isn’t completely unreciprocated, translating that into action is just, no. Don’t even think about it, absolutely not, dial tone taken out back and shot. Error 404, page so lost it’s in Siberia.
“Dude, you have to tell him,” Jackson keeps urging him over video call, because in typical Jackson fashion, he’d taken Jinyoung falling for his ex-boyfriend and spun it somehow into incontrovertible proof of their friendship compatibility quotient and, incidentally, his superior taste since he’d gotten there first. “Back me up here, Mark.”
While Jinyoung would’ve liked to keep the news of his crush strictly between himself, Jackson, and God, he had felt guilty enough about the whole situation that he’d caved with very little fight when Jackson argued that they needed to recruit Mark to the cause, even though, wait, what cause?
Mark had taken the news with his usual chill, despite Jinyoung sweating bullets as he stammered through it and Jackson blowing up his phone with texts of so did you tell him yet????? did you???????????? jinyoung, i’m dying!!!!!!!!! all the while. His lack of response, especially in the face of Jackson’s excess of response, had been both validating and extremely frustrating, which was a pretty succinct summary of Jinyoung’s entire friendship with Mark.
Mark, who’s currently slouched into the arm of his couch where they were supposed to watch a movie before Jackson’s video call interrupted, makes a muffled sound around the ice cream bar in his mouth that could either be mm, Jaebum is definitely in love with Jinyoung or mm, no way in hell, haha, just give it up now. Total coin toss.
“Okay but, come on,” Jackson says. There’s a lag in their video call that means while his voice rings out loud and clear, Jinyoung finds himself staring at a static, pixelated image of Jackson on his computer screen for a few seconds before it finally jumps back to life. “Mark, you live with him. You guys must talk about that stuff. Look, it’s okay, you can tell me. I can keep a secret.” And here, Jackson honest-to-goodness cups his hand around his ear, bringing his face closer to his screen.
Mark laughs, crumpling the wrapper around the popsicle stick and shoving it into his hoodie pocket, which makes Jinyoung wince. “Jackson, I can see your earwax when you do that. Gross.”
It’s enough to distract Jackson, which Jinyoung is infinitely grateful for. Despite it all, he can’t help but notice that Mark doesn’t answer the question.
There was one thing:
“So why do you even like him anyway?” Mark had asked, with a tilt of his head. “I mean, you’ve known him as long as I have. He’s short-tempered, he always sleeps in and then gets mad at me for not waking him up even though he yelled at me last time I tried to wake him up, and he’s stubborn. I get why Jackson thought he was hot, but that was, like, college.”
There were a lot of things Jinyoung could have said in response to this: Jaebum’s shoulders, Jaebum’s unwavering pride, his playfulness. His streak of kindness, all the brighter for how unexpected it is, and how little attention he calls to it. Jaebum pulling out the chair for Chou Tzuyu all the way back in Jinyoung’s freshman year. Jaebum taking the blame for so many of Jackson and Jinyoung’s pranks in college, never gracefully, but hey, he still did it. His shoulders, again. The regret in his voice when he recounted how he’d yelled at Youngjae for double-booking himself for after school activities, and the fact that he now oversees an acapella group three days a week because he didn’t want to let some thirteen-year-olds down. And if Jinyoung was being honest with himself, the way Jaebum had loved Jackson—so well and for so long—was a big part of it, too.
“Well,” Jinyoung said instead. “You know. All the usual reasons.”
—
When Jinyoung dreams that night, it’s of summer. Cold teeth, sweaty brows. Jaebum pushing his hair back, a drop of sweat landing on Jinyoung’s bare arm. The bark of his laugh when Jinyoung points it out to him.
—
He wakes up to the clatter of metal chopsticks hitting kitchen tile.
“Sorry.” Jaebum looks sheepish, lifting a bowl of rice from the microwave. “Do you want some tea?”
Jaebum always over-steeps his tea, but, “Okay,” Jinyoung says, blinking, feeling around under his pillow for his phone. It’s nine in the morning. He and Mark had stayed up late watching exactly half of The Godfathers trilogy last night before Mark, weakling that he was, begged off, citing tiredness. Jinyoung had watched the rest of The Godfathers II, fallen asleep on Mark and Jaebum’s frankly uncomfortable couch at half past four, and dreamt.
“How are you awake?” Jinyoung asks, sitting up so Jaebum can sit down, bowl of leftovers in hand. Jinyoung notices the blanket draped around him that definitely hadn’t been there last night.
“Yah,” Jaebum says, but it’s half-hearted. He picks up the remote, gestures at the TV in a question that Jinyoung shrugs at, too busy stealing a bite of Jaebum’s fried rice.
They watch Sandara Park sing noraebang with some teens she met on the bus while Jaebum’s foot rests heart-stoppingly close to Jinyoung’s thigh, inching closer every time he laughs.
It could be so easy to do—something, anything. Maybe grab Jaebum’s ankle, and swipe a thumb down the jut of his bone. It’s a stupid detente Jinyoung is stuck at, with his pride on one side and his desire on the other.
Just as he’s thinking about going for it, Jaebum says, with a casualness too studied to be genuine, “Jackson called me last night to, ah, talk about things.”
Jinyoung reacts so violently that his phone flies off the couch, hitting the leg of the coffee table. He’s not fooling anyone when he says, “Oh, cool.”
He’s wondering how he can convince Jaebum that Jackson’s been hijacked by his newfound fame and therefore can’t be trusted, when Jaebum says, with a laugh, “Yeah. He asked me what my deal was, and then told me to stop being an asshole, and then told me to go for it. Sound familiar?”
Jinyoung is literally speechless, and he might actually combust, his face is so hot. The blanket that probably Jaebum had put on him this morning, feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Oh,” he manages.
“Yeah,” Jaebum says. When Jinyoung works up the courage to slide his eyes slight over to his left, Jaebum’s looking at him, lazy smirk on his face. His hair’s sticking up, there’s food at the corner of his mouth, his shirt’s old and twisted at the neck, and Jinyoung still really, really likes him. He looks away. “He said he told you.”
“Uh,” Jinyoung says, scrambling for his phone. There, among the many sorry!!!!s Jackson had sent him last night after their phone call, is one sorry!!!!!!!!, sent twelve minutes after all the others and with twice the number of exclamation marks. Jinyoung should’ve known. “Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Look, it doesn’t have to be a thing—”
“Jinyoung,” Jaebum says, interrupting him. He follows that up with a hand on Jinyoung’s ankle, which is such a lucid, sudden manifestation of Jinyoung’s exact fantasies that he wonders for a second if maybe he’s dreaming still. “Look at me.”
Jinyoung kind of doesn’t want to, but he can be brave. He should be. When he looks, Jaebum is smiling, not trying to look cool at all. The blush has officially migrated to his chest, occupied now by a jackhammer. “What are we doing?” Jinyoung asks.
Jaebum has already started leaning in. “Going for it,” he says, easy.