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“I just want to know,” Jaemin says, trying to make his voice sound lighter. As if they’re joking. As if this is something they can forget come tomorrow morning. “Give me this. And then I’ll stop.”
“No you won’t.” Jeno says, but it sounds soft, like it’s really okay that Jaemin is like this. “What is there to regret? This is what I wanted.”
His chest burns, something molten and sticky sweet filling up in his lungs. He might actually die on the streets, and it will be Jeno’s fault. Probably Renjun’s fault too. The steadiness in Jeno’s voice, in the way he stands on an empty street in somewhere, Japan. Unknowingly holding Jaemin’s stupid heart in the palm of his hands, keeping it safe.
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It's difficult to look at Chenle like this. His cheeks, ruddy and pink. Dark eyelashes clumped together from the sweat dripping down the bangs plastered to his forehead. The permanent upward tick of his mouth. Jisung had watched as he’d gone back to picking at his lips sometime around the start of comeback preparations, the skin a shocking red now.
All of him flushed unbelievably bright against the mid afternoon sky.

