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Jackson was the least sober man in the room.
Well, he should be—considering that he was close to finishing two bottles of Merlot all by himself in his quiet, not to mention lonely, apartment. He didn’t know what triggered him to get the buzz going in his system, but now that his intoxication had reached the rationality of his mind, he’s beginning to think it had to do something with the uninterrupted silence of his place… and how much he hated it.
He didn’t hate it all the time. If he did, what was the point of moving? He loved his friends’ company, having been together ever since what felt like the dawn of time they were just all bound to form the kind of strong friendship they have now.
And that’s probably why they all didn’t feel too weirded out with the first of them moving out the dorms. Youngjae had good reason for it, too, seeing the opportunity of living with his brother in addition to having more space for his recording and gaming equipment—it was an offer none of them wouldn’t dare refuse either.
It was awfully quiet the first few days Youngjae left, and admittedly the members’ usual noise complaints due to the boy’s loud mouth eventually turned to huffs of longing for his presence. Jackson was there to fill the gap, however, he knew himself that it wouldn’t be the same with just him annoying the hell out of the members.
But with the absence came the adjustment, and it was almost as if Youngjae was never gone, anyway. They saw each other first thing in the morning at the salon and last thing at 2 AM after another gruesome dance practice. So when Jackson felt as if it was his time to leave the nest, they weren’t all that surprised. Out of the remaining six in the dorms, Jackson had the most stuff, and he rarely slept in the cramped space as he’s been in and out of the country recently due to his guest appearances in China.
For the most part, Jackson was ecstatic. He thought this was another milestone in his road to success—getting his own living space with his hard earned cash, and his closest friends the most supportive of this transition. The little time he had in moving, he used efficiently. He didn’t want the others going through the trouble of helping him transport boxes from their dorm to his new one, but they were all adamant in making it a tradition—they did it to Youngjae, it was only fair Jackson got the same treatment.
They all bonded in different ways, and Jackson couldn’t ask for any more best friends than all six of them. He did wish he didn’t treat one of them the same.
Jackson knew something was off the moment he decided to bring up his recurring thoughts of finding his own apartment. Planning on announcing the ‘big news’ after one particular shoot they did, Jackson couldn’t stop his nerves from twitching. Jinyoung had noticed, knowing that the Chinese man had been the busiest out of all of them recently.
Jinyoung had approached him during a ten minute break, casually asking the older if everything was fine. His hand had grazed Jackson’s sweating palm lightly, something he’d always do whenever he felt a wave of concern wash through him for the latter. Jinyoung always received the same response: a blink of an eye and a knowing smile—Jackson’s rendition of, “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
As much as the Korean man wanted to think of Jackson’s actions as something more than a friendly gesture, Jinyoung knew he would be fooling himself.
He thought he’d always make his interactions with Jackson a bit more intimate; a bit touchier; a bit more meaningful compared to how he acts towards the others. Especially in front of the fans, Jinyoung would hug Jackson tighter, smirk at him more, and direct the conversation towards him more frequently.
But Jinyoung had quite forgotten how naturally affectionate the man he’s formed a confusing crush on was, especially to them. Jinyoung had forgotten that Jackson can only interpret his ministrations as a way to please the fans, and maybe have a little fun.
Jinyoung had forgotten Jackson only thinks of him as one of his best friends—not even the best friend—and it took everything in his composed personality not to fall apart because of this obvious conclusion.
Jinyoung couldn’t remember when he started collecting the fluttery sensation in his stomach whenever Jackson passes by his mind (or even his own physical being—and that’s saying a lot since they live together). He just did, and it became one of the main reasons of him losing his Zs. At first he minded it, a lot, seeing as he had to preserve the already small amount of sleep he consumed every night to fully function throughout the next day.
Jackson’s unshaven face with his stubble prominent around his grinning lips every morning; Jackson’s high pitched laughter which seemed to replace Youngjae’s boisterous chuckles echoing in the hallway; Jackson’s mischievous tactics of plopping down on Jinyoung’s lap whenever he sits on the couch to enjoy a good book or a movie, then falling asleep right after—Jinyoung didn’t exactly appreciate images of Jackson appearing in his mind during the late hours of the night, but the hotness in his boxers had something else to say.
Jackson really didn’t want to spoil the ‘surprise,’ but Jinyoung had been his trusted friend throughout the years and it almost seemed as if he was always there at the right time and at the right place.
Biting his lips in frustration, Jackson had finally caved, his smile turning into a huge flash of teeth.
“I’m moving out the dorms!” He had whisper-yelled, the excitement bursting in his bright eyes. Shock had enveloped the younger, but he was quick to disguise it with a calm expression, like he usually did, and asked, “Really, when?” as if it was the most normal thing in the world; as if they all moved new places every week.
But Jackson did, didn’t him?
He had taken Jinyoung’s straight forwardness as a good sign, and so Jackson did all the talking and Jinyoung did all the listening; the former brimming with pure joy while the latter trying his hardest not to slap the shit out of the wide eyed man before him, exposing such vulnerability even Jinyoung didn’t know he had—asking, demanding Jackson of his reasons; reasons he couldn’t even justify but needed some answers anyway.
Why—why would Jackson tell him about moving places with such genuine enthusiasm first?
Not when they’ve shared lingering glances in fan meets; not when they’ve held each other’s hands during movie nights because “Your warmth comforts me, Jinyoungie!” with only the both of them stay up finishing; not when Jinyoung spent sleepless nights thinking endlessly what Jackson’s lips feels like on his, Jackson’s body on top of his—or below, he had a fair amount of both scenarios, Jackson’s heart beating next to his.
And then Jinyoung remembered the impossibility of his thoughts, the reality that slapped him instead.
“I’m happy for you, Jackson,” Jinyoung had breathed out coolly, a tight lipped smile plastered on his face. Jackson had noticed his eyes never once crinkled with joy the rest of the day, even when he relayed the news to everyone else. But he had figured Jinyoung was just tired from a long day of shoots, and there was no other sign of him seeming like he was against the idea, so Jackson had shrugged it off.
Until he had realized he was just in denial—until Jackson had realized he may have made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, and he’s only just paying for it in the solitude of his vast living quarters.
No one to enjoy it with. No one else to be happy in it with.
Jackson was almost irritated he was spending so much time in his apartment; it was only 9:30 PM and he had already gone home, dismissed from the day’s agenda. Reassuring himself that it was just a moment’s notice until his schedule was jam-packed to the core yet again, he thought of ways on how to lessen the amount of time he had to spend being aware of his solace in the apartment.
A few half-heartedly watched shitty movies, and a bottle and a half of red wine later, Jackson knew he had to take a breather. He was certain the AC was on full blast, but he still had to take off his black tank top in order for the breeze to fan his sweating chest. Turning off the TV, Jackson walked back to his room, tossed his dissociating body on the mattress face first and attempted to fall asleep in his inebriated state.
But no. He was just more wide awake than before, and hotter in temperature.
Groaning, Jackson sat up from his position and slid his sweatpants right off, legs finally breathing from the heat. His breath was steamy, and an attempt of getting the nonexistent glass of water on his bedside table turned to be his hand grabbing a hold of his smartphone. Jackson glanced at the object, wondering how he’d be able to drink out of the device, until a picture of a familiar person popped up on screen and his attention suddenly conscious and attentive.
It was an embarrassing sight, but Jackson had only made Jinyoung his home screen not too long ago when he was in China for a good week, day after day of variety show appearances. He wasn’t sick of it, but the routine was putting him off. His parents as his lock screen still gave him enough push, don’t get him wrong, but jokingly making Jinyoung his other wallpaper gave him a different feeling of motivation.
Jackson didn’t know if he had more energy to perform even greater, or if he conjured up more energy to make his initial takes the best he could do so recording went on faster and he can go back to South Korea sooner rather than later.
Surprisingly, it helped, and Jackson wondered if it worked if he alternated all the members’ pictures. The week had passed and he was on his flight back to Seoul, and as he checks his phone for the time and presses the home button, he never once tried changing the home screen at all.
Burping out loud, Jackson wondered why he kept Jinyoung plastered on his phone all this time. It may be the alcohol doing its undesirable magic, but Jackson felt a tear cascading through warm cheeks.
Jackson was suddenly reminded of Jinyoung’s coldness towards him the moment they saw each other after being overseas. It didn’t seem like it to the others because Jinyoung literally treated Jackson in a similar fashion to the others—well, except Yugyeom for he always experienced the bitter end of his hyung’s affection—but Jackson immediately felt the difference.
But didn’t that make him dense, then? If he only had the means of figuring out the reason to someone else’s indifference towards him through expensive bottles of wine, then Jinyoung could have just gotten him wasted and gross before this whole moving thing came into light.
Jackson wouldn’t have minded, he thought, if Jinyoung had been suffering with his confused feelings all by himself. Jackson would have accepted the kind of humiliation Jinyoung would bring upon him as the younger makes him realize the obliviousness he possessed within their relationship.
That’s exactly the opposite thing Jackson had found himself admiring Jinyoung for, though: his consideration, his understanding—especially with him, and Yugyeom the greatest exception.
No matter how many times Jackson thinks he’s fucked up, Jinyoung would be his rock; Jinyoung would be the steady hands guiding him through unsteady roads; Jinyoung would always be there—at the right time and at the right place.
Jinyoung would never let Jackson feel the mortification he’s had for god knows how long he started liking Jackson more than the level of connection that they have established the first time.
Jackson felt stupid, ashamed, and guilty.
Stupid because he denied everything he had starting feeling for the man, ashamed because he continued denying the blossoming affection he had felt for the man, guilty because he let it happen for too long—long enough for Jinyoung not to tell him to rethink his decisions of moving out; long enough for Jinyoung not to cherish the last few days of Jackson living in the same roof by confessing his feelings; long enough for Jackson not to be able to stop denying that Jinyoung wasn’t like the other guys to him.
And maybe getting himself drunk was the key in fixing this unwanted mess between the two of them.
His fingers dialed digits familiar to his mind; a number he often called first after his parents to vent whatever variation of ‘not good enough’ or ‘disappointing expectations’ he felt that time. Jackson held onto the phone for dear life as if having the person on the other end ending up not answering him will put everything he’s worked for to waste.
“Jackson?”
“J—J—Jin—Jinyoungie!” Jackson slurred, happiness surging in his body, hearing the younger’s husky yet solid voice was hopeful music to his ears.
“Why are you up so late?”
“L—la—late? What—what are you talking ab—about, Jinyoungie! The night has only just begun,” he hiccupped, scrambling in the hotness of his sheets by pushing them to the side and sitting himself promptly.
Running a hand through his black locks, Jackson asked after a short burp, “What—what are you doing right—right now, Jinyoungie?”
A small pause occupied the line, and Jackson was about to muster up the remaining energy in his vocal chords in hopes of waking Jinyoung up from falling asleep—or so he assumed—until he hears an all too familiar sigh escape the younger’s tone. Jackson tensed up, even in his drunkenness would he recognize that disappointed release of breath anywhere.
“And you said you’re able to take care of yourself,” Jinyoung muttered, a slight commotion in the background. Jackson bit his lip—sure, he wanted to address the living situation with Jinyoung—that’s why he called, he said to himself—but he didn’t think it would be this soon. He shook his head as if Jinyoung was right in front of him, and yet Jinyoung being physically close to him was the least of what Jackson wanted right now if he was ever going to set things straight with the man without doing the unthinkable.
“Don’t—I know what you’re doing, and don’t do it. Don’t come over,” Jackson was able to state in a concise manner.
The thought of Jinyoung barging in the apartment made him nervous, so Jackson thinks it’s best if they speak over the phone for a while before they decide on taking things a little bit further.
“You’re obviously drunk on a Tuesday night, and we have a business meeting in the afternoon tomorrow,” Jinyoung answered, and Jackson was about to give up finding excuses to prevent him from going.
“I won’t open the door for you, Jinyoung,” Jackson threatened.
Scoffing, Jinyoung stopped fiddling with the keys he recently grabbed and shot back, “I know the passcode to your house, Jackson. I don’t need you to open the door.”
“Damn it.”
“Stay where you are, and I’ll be there in 20,” Jinyoung said with no hesitation.
“You really don’t have to, Jinyoung. I’m—I’m going to sober up soon enough and next thing you know I’m snoring in bed already. I drunk dialed you, see, but hearing your voice let me come to my senses now and—“ Jackson had to stop himself from rambling any further before he confesses something he wasn’t even sure Jinyoung would want to hear.
Come to think of it now, if Jackson wasn’t going to tell Jinyoung the real reason for calling him, he might never will.
“Save your breath for when I’m there, alright? I’m going to hang up now—“
“I called to say I love you too,” Jackson whispered in a frenzy as soon as the line goes dead.
Defeated, Jackson drops his phone to his side with a loud huff, nervously anticipating the dreaded arrival of the man he just inadvertently confessed to with him probably not hearing it.
Great, then he has to say it again—or he won’t, he doesn’t really know how the night is going to play out.
It was weird; how Jackson felt needles pricking his throat at the same time an invisible rope constricting it for him with just a mere thought of telling Jinyoung how he felt—it opposed his whole thing; his whole shtick. Hell, it wasn’t even a shtick, openly expressing his appreciation for others.
But maybe that was why it didn’t feel like that, having to tell Jinyoung his own realized feelings.
Jackson didn’t just feel appreciation for him.
Jackson felt like he had been waiting for two hours and the sweat trickling down his temples weren’t helping him stay still like Jinyoung told him. He finally pushed himself off the bed, trudging his way to the bathroom.
“Sorry, Jinyoungie,” he muttered. As soon as he opened the door, someone else entered the house. Jackson turned towards the intruder, and the hot spell surrounding his being just worsened with Jinyoung in his line of vision wearing a plain black shirt, blue jeans and some slip on sneakers. Jackson suddenly felt underdressed. In his own house.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay where you were?” Jinyoung chided, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. His tone of voice wasn’t sultry, more nonchalant than anything, and yet Jackson felt like they belonged in some mature rated video—and Jackson shook his head at the ridiculousness of his thought. The alcohol was still getting to him, he reassured himself. It’s not really what he thought of the two of them.
Right?
Jinyoung sighed, and Jackson found himself squirming in his place, knowing that he’s probably disappointed the younger so many times in one night already.
As Jinyoung approached him, Jackson takes a step back. He hit the back of his foot on the wall and screeches in abrupt pain. Jinyoung muttered a ‘tsk’ sound, grasping on the older’s wrist while dragging him back into bed.
“What did—what did the others say? When you went out by yourself?” Jackson asked quietly, watching Jinyoung smooth out the creases on his sheets before guiding him to lie down.
Jinyoung didn’t say a word, instead, he walked out the room and came back thirty seconds later with a glass full of water for Jackson to down in mere milliseconds. Jinyoung stood there, arms back intersecting one another and eyes focused on the 23 year old man red in the neck, ears, and cheeks with his lips still slightly stained from the amber tint of the wine.
Oh how much Jinyoung wanted his lips crashing on them.
“No one saw me. They’re all sleeping. Do you know what time it is?” Jinyoung answered with a tilt of the head, expression still incomprehensible. The glass enclosed on both of his hands, Jackson focused on its emptiness while answering softly, “Eleven thirty?”
Jackson swore he heard a light chuckle as Jinyoung sits facing him. “No, you idiot. It’s almost 2.”
“What?”
“Yes, and you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing getting drunk by yourself?” Jinyoung didn’t seem to want to engage in small talk, and Jackson could understand why. He disturbed him, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be the one asking questions here. Jinyoung probably came with the intention of putting him to bed safe and sound. Before you know it, he’s dashing back to his own abode without a second glance, expecting Jackson to be up and un-hangover when they see each other the next day.
“I was… I was lonely,” Jackson admitted, feeling himself getting smaller and smaller as his peripheral vision catches Jinyoung’s confused stare digging into his skin.
“I… I don’t know. You had individual schedules and I didn’t want to bother asking you guys to hang out. I know how tired you must be,” Jackson continued on, making up excuse after excuse.
Yes, they did have separate activities the whole day. And yes, they were all exhausted to the core—that’s a given. But no, Jackson didn’t particularly want to hang out with all of them together—Jackson only needed one person to accompany him; one person to talk about his day without judgment; one person to tuck him in bed, and possibly fall asleep together, molding into each other’s arms in the envelope of the night sky.
Jackson didn’t have to get drunk if he had the courage to ask Jinyoung to come over beforehand.
And now it seemed to be the opposite—asking Jinyoung to come over after getting drunk because of the fact that he couldn’t do it in the first place. Jackson really needed to step off the red wine at times his mind is clouded with thoughts of boys—one boy in particular. A complex, enigmatic one at that.
It was silent for a few seconds, and Jackson didn’t dare glance up only to see Jinyoung’s condescending stare. He had already felt too embarrassed of himself in one night.
“Well, I’m here now,” said Jinyoung, shrugging shortly. “No need to finish half of that bottle if you were ever thinking of doing so,” he added, pointing at the designated object. Following his finger, Jackson’s lips part with no words coming out.
He couldn’t quite decipher Jinyoung’s tone—he sounded disappointed on the phone, but right now it almost seemed as if he was grateful Jackson called him. Out of all people.
“I—I wasn’t,” Jackson finally responded, sighing from the stickiness of his skin. He remembered only a pair of loose boxers clothed his being, and so Jackson rides the sheets up to his chest, one hand still holding firmly onto the cup.
“I was planning on taking a shower, though…”
“Is that so? I’m sorry for interrupting then,” Jinyoung surmised. “Since I’m here to supervise, feel free to shower. Take your clothes with you too.”
This time, Jackson found himself looking up at the younger giving him a knowing smile and a tipping of his head at the direction of the bathroom. Without further questions, Jackson sprinted out of the mattress, leaving the cup on the surface. He took random articles of clothing in his dresser, opened and closed the door to his bathroom in less than a minute.
Hand pinching the warm skin protecting his heart, Jackson closes his eyes to help his buzzing mind relax. Everything felt like it was happening so fast—he didn’t know he’d spent that much time drinking. And most importantly, he couldn’t wrap around his head that Jinyoung was in his room—only Jinyoung.
Jackson knew Jinyoung would be waiting, so he placed his clothes on top of the counter and stepped inside the shower. When the water had turned lukewarm, he emerges himself right below the showerhead and starts rubbing soap all over him. Believing this short amount of time would clear his mind of anything about the man in his room right now, the sensation of the soap gliding smoothly across his muscles, toned chest and churning stomach actually made him crave for Jinyoung even more.
“Fuck me,” Jackson whined, dropping the soap on its dish. Placing his forearms against the wall, Jackson dips his head in between, the water running through his back in a stream.
He didn’t want to do anything about his thoughts as Jackson knew the alcohol in his system was still way too much for him to consider such actions as rational, anyway. Besides, maybe Jinyoung had started falling out of his feelings for Jackson. It had been a few months since he moved, and every time the boys would come hang out, Jinyoung still treated him the same; no more affectionate glances, lingering smirks, and electrifying touches prior to this whole new chapter of Jackson’s life.
Jackson shook his head vigorously, spikes of water hitting his face back as he spits them out with frustration. He cursed himself for realizing things too late; for thinking too much about himself and forgetting about the others who mattered a lot to him. Jinyoung probably hated his guts, but the bond they’ve formed and strengthened for so long was just too precious for Jinyoung to smash it into pieces just because of unrequited feelings—or so he thought.
Not wanting to stay any longer with the guilt consuming his pride, Jackson turns the water off and dries himself with a towel. He was still not sure what kind of scene would transpire the moment he steps out of the bathroom, but one thing was for sure: he didn’t want Jinyoung to leave.
As much as Jackson had told himself that the younger despised him for being outrageously dense, he wanted him to stay; wanted Jinyoung to keep taking care of him as selfish as that may seem.
Jackson decided to brush his teeth while he was at it, towel wrapped loosely around his torso. He cleaned with much pressure, puncturing taste buds in the process to which induced tiny droplets of blood to come out of his tongue. He rinsed it away, and returned the toothbrush back inside the medicine cabinet.
He was about to start putting on his clothes but realizes he was missing the most important one: underwear. No way in hell was he just wearing his basketball shorts to bed tonight.
Of all nights.
However, Jackson slowly examined his even more naked state, and debated whether or not to risk letting Jinyoung see him this way—nay, letting himself be exposed to Jinyoung this way—or after dressing himself up should he just jump right back into bed with the sheets covering himself up completely.
His hand already on the doorknob, Jackson continues to contemplate on his dilemma when he feels the metal turning abruptly. The door opened with a swift thump, revealing a frustrated looking Jinyoung with his hands grasping tightly on his jet black hair and his eyes as wide as the man before him.
“Jin—“ Jackson’s whisper got caught in his throat as his thoughts become physical; Jinyoung landed his lips on the older, pushing himself almost roughly onto Jackson as the younger enters the room and closes the door behind him. One hand instinctively grabbed onto the edge of the towel, Jackson’s heart starts racing for an unknown finish line yet again, surprise preventing him to kiss back.
Jinyoung didn’t take no for an answer, though, as he snatches Jackson’s free hand into his own grasp and pulls him even closer.
This time, Jackson knew the opportunity of showing him his own true feelings would be fleeting, but ironically did his intoxicated mind warned him to reciprocate—but Jackson finally learned how to act before it’s too late.
And so Jackson kissed back. And some more. And some more. Until his lips turned numb, and Jinyoung’s own plump lips just molded itself into his.
As Jackson’s hand found itself caressing Jinyoung’s neck, his tongue gradually enters the younger’s mouth—pulsing, exploring, marking every inch, every corner, his. Jinyoung’s hands found themselves against the older’s dampened chest, securing his weight, his mind, and his heart bursting out of his body for doing something so unlike him.
But Jinyoung received Jackson’s desire in an equal intensity, poking his own, albeit nervous, tongue inside the older’s, colliding with his pink and rough one; it was nerve-wracking, incredulous, but Jinyoung wanted more. Some more of Jackson—a lot more of Jackson. He didn’t care if he was still drunk, although his tongue tasted like a mix of bittersweet and mint he savored the sensation because it was Jackson, because Jinyoung finally learned not to hold back anymore.
It was euphoric, it was a dream, and yet it had become their reality. Jackson had felt Jinyoung’s nerves twitching in his veins, so he assured the younger that it was okay, that yes I wanted this for so long, that I’m sorry I was such a dense idiot for not knowing, and that I’m sorry I had to call you at 2 am just to do this.
In between intakes of breath, Jackson didn’t hesitate to kiss Jinyoung on the side of his pursed lips, the top of his red tinted cupid’s bow, and the admirable leanness of his jaw.
Jinyoung watched the older indulge his facial features in warm feathery kisses, and he tries his best not to moan; tries his best not to make it more obvious than it already is. Jinyoung opted to close his eyes, feel it with his heart, memorize it with his erratic breathing, shivering arms, and gently marked lips.
The feeling of Jackson’s touch on his lips had gone, and Jinyoung’s heart speeds up in regret. The assurance of his caress left his now throbbing neck, and Jinyoung had to open his eyes and wonder what he had done wrong to end what had just begun.
“Sorry, my—uh—my towel was going to fall,” Jackson murmured, both hands gripping tightly on the edge of his towel. Looking downward, Jinyoung suddenly felt the urge to laugh—and so he did. With one hand covering his mouth, his chuckles are muffled and his eyes are brimming with salty tears. He’s thought he’s lost it—realizing the situation he and Jackson is in right now. Jinyoung’s ears slowly burned in embarrassment as he shook his head incredulously.
“I’m sorry, Jackson, I—I was stupid, I didn’t—“
“What, wait, what—no! What are you talking about? I liked it, Jinyoung. I like….” Jackson trailed off, finding it harder to finish the sentence, and Jinyoung noticed right away. He blinked the tears blurring his vision, and as he clearly takes in Jackson’s form, his heart thumps even louder than before. He did found him fucking attractive—he always has, but right now has its limits.
Right now Jackson is drunk, and Jinyoung sober. Right now is not the right time.
“Do you think you can put on some clothes before we… before we properly talk to each other?” Jinyoung proposed, shying his gaze anywhere but the man looking confused before him.
“Uhh, sure,” said Jackson, unable to decide for himself. So he quickly grabbed what was missing in the first place, let Jinyoung out the bathroom, and closed the door.
Jinyoung paced the carpeted floor, shaking his head in disapproval every time the image of only a minute ago flashed in his head. He kept wringing his hands, finding any possible way to calm his heart down. His mind was a disaster, everything from the sensation of pleasure to feelings of disappointment collided and Jinyoung couldn’t take it.
He couldn’t take having a mess in his brain—he’s successfully set this particular problem aside already, he thought, why in the world did it come back to kiss him back on the lips and take control of his breathing and his feelings all in one night?
“Jinyoung, you okay?” Jackson appeared fully clothes, hair still slightly wet.
Nodding mindlessly, Jinyoung proceeds to sit on the edge of the bed with eyes wandering anywhere but Jackson. The older sighed, knowing both of them weren’t willing to initiate conversation, so he chooses to sit inches from the younger, hand resting in between the space.
“You’re drunk,” Jinyoung started.
“I’ve sobered up now,” defended Jackson.
“It doesn’t negate the fact that you were drunk when you said you love me,” Jinyoung countered, and Jackson sees the younger’s hands trying to ball up into fists but to no avail. His weakness was showing as Jinyoung’s back hunches down and his head hangs low.
“I heard you say you love me before I hung up.”
Jackson wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more in trouble because of this information. Sure, he was drunk, but his feelings were genuine. They’d been genuine from the start, and Jackson just needed to get drunk to get it out of his chest.
“I was, but I’m not lying, Jinyoung,” Jackson mumbled gently, “I kissed you back, didn’t I?”
And with the mention of the kiss, Jinyoung had lost it as he shot a stare at the older, eyes blinking back tears and frustration. “That’s exactly my problem, Jackson. Why’d you kiss back? Why say ‘I love you’ now? Why make me feel like an idiot all this time?”
“I didn’t know what I was feeling, Jinyoung. I needed some time to realize what I actually felt for you,” Jackson explained. “And I know telling you by getting wasted is probably the lousiest way to do it but—you came.”
Jackson reached slowly, encapsulating his fingers into Jinyoung’s as the younger still refused to look back at him. “You were going to ask me if I meant it—telling you I love you.”
“I went to make sure you weren’t going to do something you’d regret in the morning,” corrected Jinyoung, rolling his eyes.
“That, and also the other thing that I said,” Jackson suggested, the corner of his lips curling up in a reassuring smile, hand squeezing Jinyoung’s as well.
The younger sighed, shoulders hitching up then back down again. There was no point in denying it as Jackson seems to have it more figured out than he does. The night was cold, and lonely, and Jinyoung had been having trouble falling asleep knowing Jackson could be doing anything—or anyone—in his new apartment. He was awake when Jackson called; Jinyoung had been wishing Jackson would call.
“Jinyoung?”
The younger snapped out of his thoughts, gaze returning into the older’s pool of brown orbs, suddenly mesmerized by its soft glint and gently glow. It was refreshing to witness this kind of Jackson again—the kind he had always adored and admired before the Jackson that was presented to the public. The Jackson he really fell for was here holding his hand as if it were made for his; the Jackson who gave him such sweet and innocent caress as if he deserved it; the Jackson who told him he loves him as if it were true.
“I love you, Jinyoung,” said Jackson, quietly. “Put me to sleep tonight if you believe I’m still tipsy, and tomorrow if you’re still here I’ll tell you I love you and if tomorrow you’d gone back to the dorm, I’d call and tell you the same.”
Jinyoung smiled in response, biting his lower lip in an attempt to conceal the widest grin he actually wanted to muster. Jackson sensed his resistance, of course, and used his other hand to maneuver the younger’s face directly looking into him, tracing the outline of his hardened jaw; kissing the sharpness airily; stopping to where just the inch of their pink parted lips meet, waiting patiently as the two of them indulge in the presence of each other—no rowdy boys, no screaming fans. Just Jackson, and Jinyoung. As it should be.
“Permission to kiss you first this time?” Jackson breathed out, eyes expertly trained on the younger’s tongue licking his lips as a form of yes. Swiftly, Jackson dips in, his lower lip jutting forward and Jinyoung’s tongue entering his with no hesitation. They kiss to make up for lost time, for missed times, and for the next times they’d be apart again during the nights.
Leaning forward, Jackson’s hands trap Jinyoung’s frame on both side and the latter plops down the center of the bed with a soft thump as his hands wrap around the former’s neck. Coming down on Jinyoung, Jackson made sure he was comfortable and free to move, and with a thrust of Jinyoung’s hip forward he knew this was a position he had been longing to be in. They grind against each other, Jinyoung mentally cursing himself for letting Jackson even wear clothes after showering, but every push and every moan coming out of him takes him up on a high he’d always just dreamed about in his sleep.
The two of them eventually fell asleep, ending the dawn with nothing more than bumping noses and lingering kisses, knowing they have all the time in the world to explore each other slowly, patiently, and perhaps, the both of them completely sober.