Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Close your mouth, you’re getting drool all over the table.”

“Shut up.”

Sicheng pulled his hoodie’s sleeve to wipe the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t drooling. He gave Kun a somewhat mellowed glare, he wasn’t feeling up to starting an argument again, and returned to the staring match he was having with a certain mop of black hair.

He heard Kun sigh, defeated, as he firmly planted his spoon in his frozen yogurt. He set the cup down on the table and turned to face him, resting his hand on Sicheng’s knee, waiting for him to stop boring holes into the back of the unfortunate boy’s head and look at him. Sicheng was going to get a lecture again and he knew it.

“If you’re so determined to make it obvious, you might as well put a banner up outside his door,” Kun smiled a sarcastic smile, satisfied at Sicheng’s more ferocious glare, then picked his cup up again. “He still wouldn’t know though, Nakamoto Yuta is one dense son of a bitch.”

Sicheng snorted and toasted to that with his cup of frozen yogurt. He needed to enjoy the little things in life, Yukhei had told him, on one fateful evening of too many drinks fueled by the high of commitment issues. So he did. He went back to staring at Yuta, admiring from afar, as Yangyang put it, and being creepy if he asked Kun.

Whatever, it’s not like Yuta would acknowledge it anytime soon. Even if he did, there was less of a chance of him actually reciprocating Sicheng’s pent-up feelings, much less him staying by Sicheng once he found out.

Because, thanks to the universe that hated Sicheng so much, Nakamoto Yuta was straight.

(And Yuta wouldn’t be romantically inclined towards Sicheng even if he was attracted to men, but Sicheng liked to believe that everyone who could appreciate the general male population was lowkey whipped for him.)

Now, rationally speaking, Sicheng knew Yuta wouldn’t leave him or kick him out of their flat (they lived together. Sicheng died every day.) but he would avoid Sicheng until he got over it, because despite being a god-given gift - Sicheng was willing to believe in god because of him - Yuta was extremely skilled in the department of running away from his problems. He would look the Grim Reaper in the eyes and say “watch me” as he ran from death.

Which didn’t help at all in Sicheng’s situation, so he chose to keep his feelings to himself and suffer in silence as Yuta would inevitably fall in love with a pretty girl and they’d raise a family together and have a pet dog, perhaps, while Sicheng would be the weird, sad uncle the children would meet at house parties because Yuta felt too bad to leave him out. He had put a lot of thought into this.

“Stop brooding, you look like a cat waiting for dinner. You’ll get over your little crush soon.”

“My little crush has lasted more than two years, Kun, I don’t think I’m getting over it anytime soon,” Sicheng stabbed his spoon into his cup particularly hard, his frozen yogurt slugged pathetically as if Sicheng had insulted it and its mother.

“You’ll be alright, Sicheng. Finish your food. I didn’t pay for you to waste it.”

~~~

Sicheng had always known he wasn’t straight. It hadn’t kept him awake at night, it hadn’t plagued him through middle school, it hadn’t changed his life in any way at all. It was a dull realisation, like a pillow falling from a bed, minimal impact apart from a soft ‘oh’. He’d always known.

It didn’t surprise him when he’d started to see Yuta differently. Yuta, his best friend since he’d punched his arm in third grade and made him cry, then hastily apologised because he didn’t mean to hit him so hard. Somewhere along their twelve or so years of friendship, they began to mean more to each other than friends.

It was only in the last three years, when they applied for colleges together hoping they’d get into the same one, that Sicheng realised just how much Yuta meant to him.

That's when everything went to hell.

At first, Yuta's clinginess bothered him, it made him want to do other things that he knew Yuta didn't want to do, it made him yearn for Yuta's touch, it made him excited and flustered and scared. He thought he'd get over this weird phase soon enough, but to no avail. The feeling only grew stronger until Sicheng put his foot down and stomped on his urges.

And then they became more than just urges, it was the utter bliss he got from making Yuta smile and laugh and the hopeless pit in his stomach when Yuta fell asleep on his lap and it filled him with so much longing and then he knew he was well and truly fucked. He'd caught fucking feelings.

It went on like that, Sicheng buried his feelings in the back of his head, locked and sealed shut, not to be dealt with ever. He wasn't one to run from his problems, but this wasn't a problem. This was a fucking disaster and a half waiting to unravel, then wrap itself around Sicheng and consume his very being. So naturally, he chose the best course of action: pretend everything was okay.

It worked majority of the time, Yuta was, after all, still his best friend. They got lunch together on Wednesdays and dinner every night, they watched their drama weekly and fell asleep on the sofa outside on Friday evenings after attempting to binge watch some anime Yuta liked. It was routine, not to be tampered with, and to hell with Sicheng if he did.

Minority of the time, it didn't work. Sometimes when Yuta would have an exhausting day he'd like to lie next to Sicheng and cuddle up to him (because they were way past the toxic masculinity forced upon them, fuck you, society.) and Sicheng would have to stop himself from kissing Yuta's forehead and murmuring shit like “it's all going to be okay, baby.”

Sometimes they'd go out for a movie or dinner, just the two of them, and bicker about the weather and politics and plot lines and relationships. They'd hold hands and take walks and talk about their futures, and in every version, they were with each other.

Sometimes Sicheng would watch him while he was cooking or studying and let himself imagine. If Yuta would ever look at him the way he looked at Yuta, if Yuta ever thought about it, really thought about it, before calling him his soulmate, if Yuta ever looked at him and pitied him because how could he not know, when Sicheng was so obvious?

In those days, he'd lock himself in his room and try not to cry about it because he was stronger than his feelings, he promised himself he was not going to let this hold him back from being happy. It didn't, not always, but seeing a random couple on the street so obviously in love filled him with this inexplicable want, never jealousy, a dull sadness of knowing he could never have that, not with Yuta.

Still, he didn't think about it, he didn't like to. Him and Yuta were best friends and that's all they were ever going to be. He couldn't ask for more, he couldn't hope for more.

So why was the universe so fucking against him?

~~~

It went like this: Sicheng was done with his classes for the day, walking to the café near their college, where he was supposed to meet Ten and Johnny for lunch.

The café, as it came to be known, was not really a café. It used to be a bar, but once alcohol was banned anywhere near the premises - result of three drunk students breaking into the chemistry lab and attempting to make drugs from calcium chloride and nitric acid - they renamed it to a café. You could still sneak vodka into your Americano, though.

He reached the double doors, made of glass decorated with random stickers that students had put up in an attempt to personalise the place, and stopped.

Because Yuta was there, eating a salad, with Lee Taeyong.

It's not like he had anything against Taeyong, no, Taeyong was absolutely lovely, he helped Yuta with his major and helped Sicheng with his dance, he'd be Sicheng's parent if Kun wasn't already.

It was the salad. Yuta ate healthy when he was stressed. He worked out, he studied, he kept himself occupied. He went on like everything was normal, better than normal, in fact. But a salad? Too far.

Sicheng noticed, he always did, so he must’ve gotten upset sometime in the morning because he was alright yesterday, all smiley and let’s bully Sicheng into buying me a pair of shoes by failing to act cute .

Sicheng gave in too soon.

Was that it? They’d barely spoken in the morning, Yuta stayed awake too late and snored his way through Sicheng’s twelve alarms and the neighbour’s dogs’ barking. Sicheng had left a note for him, with his breakfast, so was it the note? Or was it him? Did Yuta find out?

“What’re you glaring at?”

Ten’s voice startled Sicheng so much he fell forwards, his forehead unattractively banging into the glass and releasing an ugly thud . It took him three seconds to regain his composure, and by that time, Yuta’s head whipped up from his salad like a cat who heard birds chirping outside the window. He stood up and Sicheng saw him mouth his name in mild concern. He straightened himself out and waved what he hoped was a cheery wave, and hid his face as he opened the door to the café, with Ten in tow.

“You alright?” Yuta asked him, once he sat himself down next to Taeyong and stole a fry from his plate while Ten went to order for the both of them.

“Yeah, I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Yuta said, and Sicheng didn’t buy it at all, Yuta didn’t meet his eyes and he was eating a salad, for fuck’s sake.

He probably didn’t want to talk about it in front of Ten and Taeyong. He’d ask him later.

Yuta went back to talking to Taeyong about law or whatever, but Sicheng didn’t miss the way Taeyong looked at him uncomfortably and then back at Yuta. Taeyong knew what was up.

“Johnny’s here.”

Once again, Ten’s voice startled him and he hurriedly excused himself from the table.

Sicheng ate and endured forty minutes of Ten and Johnny flirting as he contemplated whether Yuta was upset with him or something else. There’s no way Yuta found out, he'd be a mess, so that means it was something else. It couldn’t be the note, it was a simple, ‘here’s breakfast, see you later, love you’. Maybe it was the ‘love you’? No, they told each other that every night before going to sleep. So what else?

“Why do I have to keep pulling you out of your daydreams?”

Ten snapped his fingers in front of Sicheng’s face. “Huh?”

“Just go home, take a nap.”

“I’ll wait for Yuta, he doesn’t have any classes after lunch today.”

“Too late,” Johnny pointed to the table where Yuta had been sitting, now empty. Looks like he’d missed his chance. Sicheng shrugged.

“Bye. I’ll see you at Kun’s for dinner?”

“Yeah, see you there.”

After a final glance at Ten, (he was looking at Johnny, completely engrossed in whatever he was saying, lips forming a fond, soft smile. Sicheng knew that look too well.) he left for the quiet journey home.

As much as he hated it, his thoughts strayed back to Yuta. Maybe he wasn’t upset? Maybe Sicheng was just overthinking it? He snorted. Yeah right, when am I not overthinking it? No need to get into that, he decided, then took out his phone to provide him with some distraction. He’d talk to Yuta later.

There were too many notifications on the group chat, all regarding dinner at Kun’s, so he ignored it. He replied to his mother about eating on time and getting enough sleep and enquiring about a part-time job, then found a message from Yuta.

Can I talk to you?

If Sicheng wasn’t concerned earlier, he was now. Yuta never capitalised anything, or bothered about punctuation, so either this was not Yuta or he really needed to talk to him.

i’ll be home soon , he replied, then switched the device off and walked faster.

When Yuta and Sicheng first moved into their apartment, it was a sad, two bedroom place, the walls bare and the pipes leaking and the ceiling unpainted. They took some shortcuts they regretted later - painting his own home was a fucking mistake, the colour Yuta threw at his hair didn’t come off for about four days after - and done, they could call the place a home. They bought suspiciously cheap furniture and second-hand decorations, but it all fit together in the end, much like the both of them.

Yuta was scrolling through his phone on the glorious patchwork of a sofa they had; the colours would ideally clash terribly but the black thread that wove them together united them. It flew from red to pink to green, looping around the blue then back to red. It was ugly but the cheapest, and there’s nothing a throw couldn’t solve. Said throw was wrapped around Yuta as he regarded Sicheng’s slightly distressed expression.

“Hello?”

Fuck, he was zoning out too much these days. It’s like he purposely avoided facing reality, but why? It’s not like something monumental happened.

“Yeah, just admiring our beautiful sofa.”

Yuta patted the space next to him and Sicheng obliged, removing his backpack before sitting down. Yuta immediately lifted the throw to accommodate Sicheng, then wrapped himself around Sicheng like a sad koala. Sicheng’s stupid brain functioned without consulting him first, so he pulled Yuta closer and held him there, Yuta really was upset.

“I need to tell you something,” He started, lifting his head to look up at Sicheng. He was so damn close, Sicheng wanted to push him away and pull him closer. He settled for an encouraging nod instead.

“I… uh, I don’t think,” He paused, taking a breath, perhaps preparing himself to reject Sicheng because what else could it be? Now Sicheng wished he hadn’t let himself hold Yuta. He could probably feel Sicheng’s heart beating too fast and then he’d feel bad, and Sicheng did not want to make him more upset than he was.

Yuta opened his mouth, then closed it. Fuck. He’d messed everything up.

“I don’t think I’m straight.”

Well.

What the fuck, universe?

~~~

Sicheng remembered the strategy he always used to study: one topic at a time. It worked for his other problems too, especially when it came to his chaotic friend circle. But this? This wasn’t a problem. There was nowhere to start or to finish, this was a clusterfuck of emotions and hope and anger.

He didn’t show it to Yuta, or tried not to, because Yuta pulled away when Sicheng stiffened against him.

“Are you not comfortable with that?” He looked so concerned, like he was the one who was going to lose his best friend over his sexuality crisis. Yuta shouldn’t feel that way, and if Sicheng said he wasn’t comfortable, Yuta should kick him out and leave him to starve on the streets.

“No, I’m not uncomfortable at all, Yuta. Please don’t think that.” Yuta hummed against him, back in his arms, fuck, the sound reverberating through Sicheng’s chest. “I’m glad you realised. Is that why you were eating salad?”

Yuta breathed out through his nose, relieved, melting into Sicheng’s embrace. “Yeah, that’s why. I know it isn’t really a big deal, I mean, you’ve always known, but-”

“Yuta, it’s a big deal if you want it to be a big deal. It doesn’t matter if I’ve known forever or if you’ve just found out. As long as you’re comfortable with yourself, everything else comes next. Are you okay with yourself?”

Sicheng couldn’t see Yuta’s face, he had buried himself in his chest as Sicheng combed through his hair, and again, Sicheng was hit with the overwhelming urge to take care of Yuta, to kiss him better, to love him how he wanted. He held back.

“I’m happy with myself, Sicheng. I’m just, very new? I don’t know if I’m doing it right, I guess? Is this okay?”

Sicheng wouldn’t have known he was talking about cuddling on the couch if Yuta didn’t nudge him with his head.

“We’re best friends before anything else, of course this is okay.”

It hurt him to say the words, but those were the words he repeated to himself all the time. His hand settled at the base of Yuta’s neck, urging him back to face him. So fucking close.

“There’s no right or wrong, okay? You do whatever you think is right. It’s not going to change the way I see you, or others you, maybe it changes the way you see you, but you’re still the same Yuta. You know that.”

Lie. Of course it changed the way Sicheng saw him. A snake of hope slithered under his skin, sliding straight to his heart and coiling around it, then constricting. He was not going to let himself hope.

Yuta smiled up at him, the relieved one (Sicheng remembered his smiles. Sue him.) and hid his face in Sicheng’s t-shirt again. “I know. Nice to hear it, though.”

They spent the rest of the evening like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and talking about nothing in particular, until Sicheng had to leave for Kun’s place. A dull buzz of excitement laced his steps. Yuta wasn’t upset with him. He could deal with the consequences of what Yuta told him later, right now he needed to show up on time before his friends started to blow up his phone.

Yuta was still sitting on the couch when he was on his way out, smiling down at his phone in a daze. He might as well stay for a few minutes longer, answer any of Yuta’s other questions, maybe ask some of his own.

“Yuta,” He nudged him on the shoulder. Yuta hummed, not looking up from his phone. “Yuta, how did you realise?”

That made Yuta put his phone down too fast and stand up, his face clearly panicked.

“It’s okay,” Sicheng said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Yeah, um, no, it’s fine.” He took a deep breath. “I saw a very attractive guy and it kind of spiralled from there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. So, I’m going to leave,” Sicheng made a vague gesture at the door, turning to walk towards it. He turned around. “By the way, have you told anyone else?”

“Just Taeyong. I’m not hiding it or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sicheng gave him a smile of approval. “Do you identify with anything, then? Like, do you wanna label it?”

He pulled the sleeves of his shirt to cover his fingers. Cute. “I like labels. Bisexual, I think? Yeah, bisexual.”

“Cool. I’ll be going,” He waved at Yuta as he left, grabbing his keys and wallet. He slid the door shut and leaned against it. It was going to be a long night.

~~~

Avoiding his inevitable crisis, Sicheng chose to distract himself with Kun’s food.

Unfortunately or fortunately, Kun picked up on Sicheng’s dull mood. Once the kids (Dejun, Kunhang, and Yangyang) left Kun’s apartment in a rush - they missed their kitten - Kun called him to help with the dishes. Sicheng, actually thinking that Kun needed help with the dishes, began rinsing a bowl with water and drowning the sponge in heavy amounts of dish soap once he got to the kitchen. Kun snatched the sponge away.

“What? I’m helping,” He snatched the sponge back, then proceeded to clean out the bowl. Kun watched with disappointment.

“I know I said Yuta’s dense, but goddamn, so are you.”

Sicheng ignored him. He did not want to talk about Yuta. Or maybe he did. He should, at least.

“Speaking of…”

“I knew it. What did he do this time?”

Sicheng continued washing the dirty utensils. It was therapeutic. “He told me he’s not straight.”

“Fuck off,” Kun switched the tap off. He needed Sicheng’s undivided attention. “Nakamoto Yuta is not straight?”

“Lower your voice,” Sicheng whisper-shouted at him, tilting his head towards the adjacent living-room-converted-into-a-dining-room where Ten and Yukhei were arguing over some intellectual mathematics stuff Sicheng was too underqualified to understand.

“Sorry,” He turned the tap back on, letting Sicheng do the dishes. “When did he tell you? Now?”

“Yeah, after I went home from lunch. We’re fine though, don’t worry,” He added, at Kun’s worried eyebrow furrow. “We cuddled and talked and I pretended I was fine.”

“Oh, Sicheng,” Kun rested his hand on his shoulder. “I know exactly what you’re going to do and I can’t stop you.”

“I’m going to let myself hope and then cry when I’m inevitably crushed.”

Kun nodded.

Sicheng sighed. “I’ll be okay. I’ve dealt with this before.”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You really need to get over it.”

“I know, I know.”

“Take care of yourself. You know I’m here, and so is everyone else.”

Kun meant Ten, Yukhei, and the children. They all probably knew he was hopelessly in love with his best friend, he wasn’t exactly subtle, but he’d never spoken to them about it. Kun was his go-to guy, his bestest friend - after Yuta - his platonic soulmate, probably. But he couldn’t bring himself to listen to him about this.

“I’ll tell who I want, Kun.”

“Maybe you could tell hi-”

“I said I’ll tell who I want, Kun.” He shrugged Kun’s hand off his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, Yuta should-”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sicheng left after finishing the dishes. He didn’t say goodbye.

~~~

It was only weeks later that Sicheng understood the full implications of Yuta’s words.

It started by Sicheng overthinking every little touch, more than usual, and often he’d lie awake imagining then shutting himself down, he was not going to let himself hope. But hope had claimed him, settled into Sicheng’s skin, something he couldn’t shake off. It was there, a persistent bitch of a reminder of what he could want for but never have.

He became more conscious around Yuta - it was the discomfort he’d first experienced when he realised, all coming back, and now he had to best it again. The constant second guessing before he held Yuta’s hand or let his head drop to his shoulder. They’d always been like this, affectionate with each other and nobody else, gravitating towards each other and not letting go, grounding each other when needed. He couldn’t just stop touching Yuta. They were best friends before anything else, he needed to remember that.

So it wasn’t his place to question Yuta when he came back home with marks on his neck and reeking of alcohol as he draped himself over Sicheng.

“Get off me, you stink,” Sicheng attempted to push Yuta off the sofa and onto the floor, but the idiot only held tighter and whined.

“Sleep,” He shifted until he was comfortable, not letting Sicheng go. He’d done this often enough to know that all Yuta needed was a pinch to the back of his neck and he’d get up and complain at Sicheng, then trip on his way to his room, then complain about that, too.

Yet.

He held Yuta like he wanted to. Adjusting himself against Yuta’s broader frame, tangling their legs together, holding him in place. There. He gazed down at him, snoring lightly on his chest with his mouth open. Cute. He combed his fingers through Yuta’s hair, his hand settling at the back of his neck, and Yuta shifted closer.

Then it hit Sicheng how fucking wrong this was. Yuta did not want this from him. He could dream all he wanted, Yuta would never feel the same way. He was not going to take advantage of Yuta being under the influence to satisfy his pathetic pinning.

Sicheng pinched the back of Yuta’s neck and he groaned in pain before pushing himself off him, then fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap and Sicheng helped him up as he stumbled to regain his balance.

He led Yuta to his room, then his bathroom, instructing him to brush his teeth while he got him a glass of water. Sicheng returned to find Yuta slumped against his tiled wall, brush hanging from his mouth. The fucker had fallen asleep.

Sicheng sighed. He removed the brush from Yuta’s mouth, then shoved him. No reaction. He pulled him back by his hair.

“The fuck you want?” There we go.

Sicheng handed him his brush. “Finish up. I’ll take out your clothes for you.”

Yuta flipped him off before going back to brushing his teeth and periodically glaring at Sicheng through his mirror. Whatever, he’d thank him in the morning. Sicheng took out Yuta’s usual nightwear, some expensive sweatpants because Yuta was brand obsessed and one of Sicheng’s old t-shirts which Yuta loved more than Sicheng did.

God, they were so fucking married and Sicheng could feel it.

“Stop glaring at my pyjamas because they’re better than yours.”

“I was not, you absolute fuckwit,” Sicheng threw the clothes in Yuta’s general direction.

He turned around to tell Yuta to be grateful he had such a considerate roommate and not some stranger who left him on the couch, but the words never came, because, lord have mercy, Yuta decided it was okay for him to change his clothes without going into the bathroom.

(And it should be, this was his home too, but Sicheng was too fucking gone at this point.)

“What?” Yuta asked, pulling his sweatpants up, his eyebrows raised suggestively. He stood bare-chested, the artificial white light of his bathroom creating a glow behind him, and Sicheng realised, for the fucking millionth time, how etheral Yuta was.

He kept looking. He noticed the marks on Yuta’s neck too, close to his clavicle then lower. He was all smooth skin stretched over taut muscle and defined curves to protruding edges of his collarbones, but Sicheng was not used to seeing him like this. The slight shift in how he carried himself, straighter and surer, like he knew exactly what Sicheng wanted. Like he wanted to give Sicheng exactly what he wanted.

The act dropped as soon as Sicheng’s mood did. He looked away, down to his lap, cheeks red with embarrassment. He was checking Yuta out in front of him, what the fuck was wrong with him? Get a fucking grip, Sicheng .

Yuta pulled the t-shirt over his head and made his way to his bed. Sicheng switched off the lights of his room and reminded him of the glass of water he’d left by his bedside. He reached to close the door.

“Sicheng.”

He turned around. Cocky, entitled Yuta was gone. The confidence that was ripping at his seams to overflow was replaced with an earnest look in his eyes.

“Can you tuck me in?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Yuta sat with his knees hugging his chest, pouting at Sicheng until he gave in.

“Fine,” He lifted Yuta’s blanket, urging him to get under the covers and Yuta obliged.

“Now you have to kiss me goodnight.”

Fuck everything that was Nakamoto Yuta, Sicheng decided.

He leaned down next to Yuta’s bed. He knew this was the quickest way to get it over with, to leave Yuta in his room so Sicheng could go overthink in his room, but he hesitated.

It’s the alcohol speaking. Yuta didn’t want this from him.

He settled for ruffling his hair. “Go to sleep, Yuta.”

He hummed as Sicheng shut his door. Fuck. He swore Yuta could see right through him, through the door he was leaning against, through the tight-lipped smiles instead of beams, through the façade that was crumbling day by day.

And the marks on his neck, Sicheng learned to accept that early enough, knowing Yuta was unattainable for more reasons not limited to choice. His fucking fault for assuming Yuta was straight. How many times had he been upset that someone assumed his sexuality, and now he was doing it to Yuta? He couldn’t believe himself. His mother didn’t raise him to be a hypocrite. He had no right to be upset that Yuta wasn’t straight. Fuck his feelings, Yuta could be whoever he wanted.

If Yuta wanted to sleep around then Sicheng had no right to say anything to him about it, much less do anything about it. It’s his body, his choices. Then why did he cry alone in his bedroom, long after he’d dealt with Yuta, imagining someone else kissing him? Because you’re pathetic, and now it can be you .

Fuck you, inner monologue Sicheng .

Yuta’s never going to look at him that way. It’s hopeless. But what if?

He rolled over in his bed, his blanket shifting and adding to the already accommodated heat. He threw the blanket off. He didn’t need to think about this.

~~~

Sicheng was perched on the only stable stool of their breakfast bar, sipping coffee, when Yuta came out of his room. At first, he looked around, as if not recognising his own apartment, then he saw Sicheng. Sicheng gave him a small wave and Yuta looked mildly distressed, then apologetic. He took the seat opposite Sicheng.

“What did I do last night?”

Now, Yuta didn’t get drunk often, but when he did, he got so drunk he forgot everything that happened the night before.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sicheng shrugged.

“I didn’t go out with you? I always go out with you.”

“No, Yuta, I always take care of you.”

Confusion marred Yuta’s features. “But you were there yesterday…”

Sicheng rolled his eyes. “You sure you’re still not drunk?”

Yuta didn’t reply, just stared at Sicheng with disbelief and an undertone of certainty. “I’m quite sure.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’d be concerned about why you got drunk, but knowing you, you were probably trying to test your alcohol tolerance or something.”

“I was celebrating my coming out. That’s why you were there.”

“Yuta,” Sicheng set his cup of coffee down. “I wasn’t there.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“You tell me. You messaged me earlier saying you’ll be out, I didn’t expect you to come home drunk and marked up.”

“Marked up,” Yuta repeated, trying to look at his neck and failing miserably. Realisation dawned on him, of what, Sicheng didn’t know, but Yuta looked back up at him panic-stricken so he could only assume the worst.

“What? Made out with your ex or something?”

“No! No,” He put his head in his hands as Sicheng shrugged. Yuta would explain if he wanted to.

“It’s uh, probably my first time, um, with a guy?” Yuta’s sentence trailed off into a question as he lifted his head slightly to observe Sicheng’s eyes for mockery. Sicheng looked back impassive.

“So you had sex?” He asked with no emotion to hint what he was feeling.

“No! Not at all. Just, uh, kissing and stuff.” He went from embarrassed to concerned to bashful, and Sicheng enjoyed every second of it.

“So, how was it, then?”

Yuta looked away from Sicheng’s eyes, back to covering them with his hands, to avoid Sicheng’s piercing, curious gaze. “It was okay.” He answered, mumbling. “Not much different from kissing a girl.”

“Hm, wouldn’t expect it to be,” Sicheng downed the last of his coffee. “Well, I’m off. There’s soup on the counter, and pills in the cupboard. You’re welcome.”

Sicheng left before he heard the muffled ‘thank you’.

He was definitely not upset about how Yuta didn’t invite him to his supposed party and how he got barely any thanks from Yuta and how he wasn’t Yuta’s first kiss with a guy if not his first kiss ever. Definitely not.

Okay, maybe he was a little upset, but he’s not going to let that ruin his mood. Today was one of the days where he had all the classes he liked, and so he was going to make the most of it. He texted Kun to meet him later as he walked his way to the building, only stopping to wave at a few familiar faces: Jungwoo, Doyoung, Taeyong - wait. Taeyong.

Taeyong probably saw his expression change from pleasant to curious, as he walked across the road to meet Sicheng.

“How’re you?” He asked, smiling brightly as usual.

“Good, good. I wanted to ask you about Yuta.”

At this, Taeyong adopted a softer look, alarming Sicheng slightly. What was that supposed to mean?

“Was he with you last night?”

Taeyong’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, he wasn’t. Wasn’t he with you? He called and told me something, though I’m not sure if it was true.”

“No, he was out. Celebrating his coming out, according to him. He called you?”

Taeyong shrugged, feigning indifference. He was hiding something. “Yeah, uh, he was probably out then.”

“What did he say? I could tell you if it’s true.”

“He, uh, nothing important. Just that he was with you.”

Sicheng gave Taeyong a look that hopefully conveyed how much he didn’t believe him. Whatever. Yuta would tell him if it mattered enough.

“Have a nice day, then, see you around.” He politely inclined his head and resumed his walk to his class. Something was off.

His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Taeyong talking on the phone in one of the vacant lecture halls that was conveniently next to his own. A little fidgeting with minimal sound, and he had hidden himself from Taeyong’s view but not from his earshot. Seconds passed before he spoke again, his voice strangely high, higher than usual, almost agitated.

“I’m telling you, he knows. Stop hiding it.”

Usually, Sicheng didn’t like to snoop in other people’s personal affairs, but speaking to Taeyong in the morning had made him a bit curious about what exactly he was hiding. It must relate to Yuta, and in that case, Sicheng was more than a bit curious. It was probably something he knew anyway, all he had to do was confirm it. So what was Yuta hiding from whom?

“No, shut up, I’m talking - what do you mean you’re busy? You’re hungover, there’s no busy for you to be, Yu- just shut up and listen to me, okay?”

That was definitely Yuta, Sicheng mused, slightly amused. What did he drag Taeyong into this time?

“Tell him how you feel. No - shut up. Just tell him.”

Sicheng froze. He should leave.

“Fuck off, Yuta. Do you want my help or not?”

Abort mission , his brain screamed at him, but his legs stayed put.

“You’re going to tell him today, okay? You tell him you’re in love with him or whate- fine, not love, just tell him how you feel. I promise he won’t hate you.”

Who wouldn’t hate Yuta? The answer was obvious, and Sicheng stood up to leave. He’d eavesdropped enough. Taeyong was still lecturing Yuta on trusting his instincts and not avoiding it - Sicheng heard himself in those words. He’d said them to Yuta too many times, and about what, he couldn’t remember anymore.

He heard his name slip from Taeyong’s lips, still talking to Yuta on the phone. He pretended not to hear it.

~~~

He had lunch with Kun, strangely happy, as Kun told him. Then he asked if had anything to do with Yuta, of course.

“No, not him. Let’s not talk about that, okay?”

Arguing over the bill and a walk in the park later (which took too long, Kun stopped to pet every domesticated and non-domesticated animal he saw), Sicheng found himself genuinely smiling, cheeks flushed from laughing over Kun’s rather eventful retelling of cleaning up the children’s (Dejun, Kunhang, and Yangyang’s) apartment. Something about talking to Kun about things that didn’t matter made him feel much lighter, much more irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, and that comforted him. He went home still smiling, with a skip in his step, that died down considerably when he unlocked the door.

Yuta was home, sprawled on the sofa, glaring at the ceiling like it stole all of Yuta’s expensive lotions and replaced them with toothpaste. Sicheng feared for the ceiling.

“What’s got you so worked up?”

Yuta didn’t flinch, only lifted his head to acknowledge Sicheng with a softer look.

“Thinking. Come join me,” He patted the space next to him, which was not enough for Sicheng to fit through, but what was he going to do? Say no?

He kicked his shoes off and dumped his bag on the floor. Yuta was too tall for the couch, his feet hung over the armrests, and Sicheng’s feet joined his as he fell in place next to him. Yuta curved his body to accommodate Sicheng’s, and he noticed two things: one, Yuta didn’t reek of alcohol anymore, instead gave off the pleasant scent of vanilla that Sicheng had deemed his favourite when he first found the bottle of lotion in their bathroom. Second, Yuta was not looking at the ceiling, but at him, as he sniffed Yuta’s neck. You fucking weirdo, Sicheng .

“You like it?”

Sicheng hummed in affirmation and looked up to the ceiling, not wanting to see what Yuta’s eyes reflected of him. Yuta nudged closer, invading Sicheng’s senses with the scent, but not overwhelming him, the fragrance sat on Yuta’s skin like perfume. It suited him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He didn’t know why he asked, but Sicheng dreaded the answer. Would Yuta take the chance? Probably not.

“I’m thinking about,” He lifted the arm that was crossed under his head and wrapped it around Sicheng. “The future.”

“What about it?”

Yuta took a moment before replying. Sicheng didn’t want to ruin the mood by rushing him. They were lying side by side on the sofa, and Sicheng hooked his leg over Yuta’s, turning himself over on Yuta’s chest. What are you doing, Sicheng?

“A job. A house for my parents, and my grandparents. A coffee shop down the road where I’d meet my friends at least once a week. A cat, and, well…”

He tilted Sicheng’s chin up with his fingers to face him. “You.”

Oh.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have asked. They’d talked about the future before, but never like this. Never when Sicheng knew what Yuta might mean.

At receiving no response from Sicheng, he continued, Sicheng’s face still in his fingers and his eyes open as he looked up at Yuta.

“We’ll live together, at a nicer place, better furniture, more space in the kitchen. No creaky shower heads.”

Sicheng let out a small laugh. The moment was gone. “A cat?”

“Yeah,” Yuta let Sicheng’s face go as his head fell back to the armrest of the sofa. Sicheng saw his cheeks go red. “If you’d like?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The room went quiet. Sicheng forgot how long they stayed on the sofa, lying with barely any space between them, his head on Yuta’s chest. He felt Yuta’s breaths even out into sleep, in and out, slow and steady. He’d be hungry when he wakes up. If he wakes up in time for dinner, that is.

Sicheng decided on something simple, stir fry with some rice or whatever, he was too distracted to concentrate on cooking. Yuta would be better at this , he thought, then, I’m thinking about Yuta again.

Said boy was sleeping with his mouth hanging open and his arm falling from the side of the sofa. If Sicheng nudged him, he’d probably roll over and land on the floor. How lucky Yuta was that Sicheng didn’t want him awake at the moment.

Sicheng stirred the vegetables absentmindedly. Yuta likes someone, and, dare he say it, it was probably him. Everything made sense. Why Taeyong looked between them so weirdly the other afternoon with the salad and then again earlier in the day. And the phone call - that was definitely Yuta, who else would he like, and who else would he be scared to tell, if not Sicheng? Sicheng would know if it’s someone else.

So where do they stand?

Yuta doesn’t know he knows. Do I want Yuta to know? No, he’s probably going through a phase or something, now that he realised he’s not straight.

Wait. Was I the reason he realised? No, shut up, Sicheng. You’re not that important.

Even if he told Yuta, and Yuta told him - what next? A relationship? Sicheng had imagined that so many times it felt unreal to consider it a reality. Which it wasn’t. Not reality, not yet. Or ever. Was Yuta ready for a relationship? He usually did hookups and his last serious relationship was in high school. So maybe not? Was Sicheng ready for a relationship?

Fuck, was Sicheng ready? He’s never dated anyone, not throughout high school, thanks to his major sexuality crisis, then followed by his Yuta crisis. There were a few people, some guys, who caught his eye, but he’d never really known feelings until Yuta. At first, he assumed it was merely infatuation. How wrong he’d been.

If he really thought about it, which he had, him and Yuta together would be fucking amazing. He’d give it his everything, for once, he wouldn’t hold back. He’d want Yuta to know just how much he meant to him, just how much he did for him, just how much he loved him. And Yuta? He’d do the same. He’s a total give-you-flowers-when-I-visit-you type and the kind of son-in-law his mother would adore. He’d say stuff like “have I told you how much I love you?” and “I love waking up next to you” and Sicheng’s face would hurt from smiling so much. He’d love every second of it, from breakfast in bed to falling asleep together.

Now, here he was, cooking dinner for the both of them as he contemplated a relationship which they weren’t in, not yet, but he could hope.

Sicheng switched the gas off. He poured the stir fry into one of the few pretty bowls they owned and took out the rice to soak. He heard Yuta shift and mumble something in his sleep, and Sicheng stopped to watch him as he edged closer to falling over. His body tipped slightly, he opened his eyes, and thud .

Sicheng laughed, momentarily delighted by Yuta’s embarrassment, thinking, I could get used to this . Yuta glared at him from the ground, his hair messed up and his t-shirt slipping down his shoulder. He looked like a rumpled cat, but a cute one, and Sicheng found it extremely endearing. He wanted to pull Yuta’s cheeks and call him cute and maybe ruffle his hair, so he walked to the sofa to do exactly that; but as soon as he got close to Yuta, he paused.

Yuta looked up at him, his expression so fucking fond , it scarily mirrored Sicheng’s.

What the fuck was he doing?

Yuta and him weren’t in a relationship. They weren’t together. Sicheng couldn’t pretend like they were and do what he wanted. They were best friends, that’s all they ever will be.

“What?” He’d been staring at Yuta. He didn’t look as fond anymore, maybe Sicheng had imagined it.

He offered his hand to him. Yuta helped himself up, waving away Sicheng’s hand. Sicheng was glad he did, he couldn’t bear to touch Yuta, not after thinking about it so differently.

“I’m finishing on dinner,” Sicheng walked back to the kitchen, draining the water then pouring more for the rice to boil. What had he been thinking? He can’t hope for anything with Yuta. He won’t let himself. Fuck, he’d probably made Yuta uncomfortable with how obvious he’s being about it. This had to stop.

He placed the lid on the heating water. He was not going to hope.

~~~

Sicheng’s weird determination not to hope had lasted longer than Kun expected. After a thorough retelling of the previous day’s events, Sicheng promised himself to stay as guarded as possible when Yuta was around. Kun disagreed. He told Sicheng the exact words:

“He’ll smile at you and you’ll melt. There’s no fucking point.”

But, surprisingly enough, instead of agreeing defeat as usual, Sicheng glared with fierce resilience and said, “No. I won’t.”

“Nothing good is going to come from that and you know it.”

“At least I won’t end up crying myself to sleep imagining myself in his arms because I’m not going to let it happen anymore. I’ll forget, and it would be like I never knew.”

“You’re going to hate it.”

“And?”

Kun sighed. “Nothing. I can’t argue with you. But I’m warning you, you’re going to be a lot sadder without your daily dose of good morning hugs from Yuta.”

“I’ll live.”

“There’s no point fighting it.”

“What would you do? If you were in my place?”

“Tell him. It won’t be awkward as long as you don’t make it awkward.”

“Fuck off, Kun. We all can’t be you.”

“You asked.”

Kun took Sicheng’s half empty beer bottle and gulped down a sip. It tasted like shit, Sicheng wasn’t planning to finish it.

“So you’re going with the whole ‘don’t touch me’ thing?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re not going to tell him you’re doing it.”

“Correct.”

Kun gulped down another sip. Sicheng saw the distaste on his face.

“Both of you are going to get hurt. Tell him, at least.”

“But then he’ll ask why, and I’m not going to confess.”

“Sicheng,” Kun downed the rest of the bottle. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“It’s perfect. Eventually he’ll stop trying. Then we can both live happily ever after and he’ll end up with whichever guy or girl he likes, and I’ll have to move out-”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Kun interrupted.

“I’ll probably go back to China and live out my days as a researcher in a top chem lab and then I’ll be invited to the wedding, fuck, I’ll watch Yuta marry someone else and do nothing about it-”

“Maybe stop before we get to the-”

“-Then I’ll die.”

“Nevermind.”

“It’ll be an experiment gone wrong and no one will remember me except for the cat that I used to feed on my way to work.”

“Are you quite finished?”

“No. Yuta wouldn’t know until my mom or someone bumps into his mother and then he’ll be like, ‘oh yeah, Sicheng, the weird guy who used to like me. Whatever.’ and my ghost would be sad about it too.”

Kun cracked open a cold one with his thumb and drank half the bottle before handing it to Sicheng.

“None of those things are going to happen.”

“You never know,” Sicheng passed the bottle back to Kun.

“You wouldn’t last after Yuta ends up with someone else.”

Sicheng contemplated that. He probably wouldn’t. He took the bottle from Kun.

“Don’t go through with this. It’s not going to be good for either of you.” Kun insisted, snatching the bottle back.

“When has anything you’ve ever said stopped me?”

“I wish it did. You’re going to regret this.”

They finished the bottle between themselves and fell asleep on Kun’s dining table soon after.

~~~

Sicheng did, in fact, Regret This. He’d managed two weeks, two horribly dreadful weeks, two flinching-away-from-Yuta weeks before he decided that it’s not going to work. Yuta picked up on it early on, first frowning at him then randomly cornering him at home.

“Nothing,” Sicheng had replied, when Yuta had asked him what was wrong. He’d caught him before he could escape from the kitchen counter, blocking Sicheng’s only exit, he had no choice but to reply. Sicheng wanted it over with as soon as possible so that he could go back to his room and live his days out like a doormat, alone and ignored.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Yuta had insisted, gripping the marble edge of the counter like he expected Sicheng to actually make a run for it.

“I’m fine, nothing to worry about,” Sicheng waved dismissively and tried to gently push Yuta aside. He didn’t budge.

“Seriously, Yuta. I have work to do.” Yuta clearly gave Sicheng a look that meant he didn’t believe him, but moved away nonetheless. He’d probably ask Sicheng later.

And he did. Multiple times, in fact, and he got the same noncommittal shrug with a murmured “nothing” each time. He went to the extent of walking Sicheng to class (his building was in the opposite direction) to make sure he wasn’t being mobbed every morning. He cared a lot for his best friend.

Best friend.

It was, finally, after two days of walking Sicheng to class, that Yuta realised, perhaps it was his fault.

“What did I do?”

Sicheng slammed the door shut. Not this again. He let his bag slip from his shoulder to the floor. He was too tired for this. He wanted Yuta to hold him and tell him everything was okay and take care of him. He hung his keys up on the tiny collection of hooks. He didn’t want to talk to Yuta.

“Sicheng? I’m in the kitchen.”

Sicheng trudged to the kitchen. He was trying to be as dramatic as possible, maybe Yuta would understand, maybe he’d do what Sicheng wanted. Maybe he’d get upset with him.

“So,” Yuta started, his back turned to Sicheng as he cooked something that smelled heavenly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve messed up in some way, so here’s a special meal. An apology, if you will, since you don’t listen to my verbal ones.”

Yuta probably meant it light-heartedly, but Sicheng was not in the mood for light-heartedness. He plopped down on the stable stool of the breakfast bar.

“It’s your favourite soup. Guess?” Taking the lack of response as a response, Yuta turned around to smile at Sicheng.

Sicheng didn’t appreciate it. “Miso soup?”

Yuta smiled wider.

There was nothing special about Miso soup per se, it was Yuta’s Miso soup. The food they’d lived off when they were less well-off and the food they remembered from their too-long sleepovers, something so easy even Sicheng could master it. But it was different when Yuta made it. He made it with love.

“You don’t want it?” He asked, at Sicheng’s unhappy expression.

“I-it’s, yeah. I want it.”

“Okay.”

It was awkward.

Well done, Sicheng. You’ve made it awkward. You probably don’t even remember the last time it was awkward.  

He didn’t.

They ate in silence. Yuta stopped to look at him a couple of times, to ask something normal, how his day was, did he enjoy Chemistry today, was his dance teacher still being a bitch, but his questions died down before he could voice them. It wasn’t usually like this.

Sicheng put his bowl in the sink. He’d wash it later, he decided. Or never. He could feel Yuta’s eyes burning the back of his head - a small part of Sicheng thought it was because he didn’t wash his bowl. The larger part knew it was something else.

“Sicheng-”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Oh,” Then, softly, “please.”

Sicheng turned around. “What?”

“I want to know why you’ve been,” Yuta gestured with his hands, unsure. “Been avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“No, I meant like,” More gesturing. “You know.”

“What?”

“Not talking to me and stuff? Running away when I come near you? Pushing me off when I hug you?”

Funny , Sicheng thought, Yuta talking about running away .

“I don’t think I have.”

Lie.

“Sicheng,” Yuta sighed. He said his name like he’d given up. “What’s wrong? What did I do? I’m sorry.”

Again, the same words he’d said over the past week, repeating themselves until they no longer made sense.

Sicheng settled for a simple “nothing” before retreating to his room.

He didn’t hear Yuta cry. Not at first. At first, he took a long shower and refused to think about what happened. Then, he brushed his teeth and refused to think about what happened. Last, he threw himself across his bed and refused to think about what happened.

He thought about what happened.

Lying in his unwashed pyjamas, between his haphazardly thrown blanket, Sicheng felt like a real asshole for snubbing Yuta. What would he do if Yuta gave him that treatment? Probably worry yourself to death.

It seemed so much easier earlier, when he still burned with a passion to resist Yuta. To not give in. Now he asked: was that so bad? He could do what he wanted, they acted like a couple anyway, except getting too physical. He could live with that.

A voice ran through his head, sounding exactly like Kun, saying, “pathetic.”

He couldn’t confess to Yuta. He’d get rejected. Yuta liked someone else. It was easier when Yuta didn’t like anyone, but who was Sicheng to dictate what Yuta wanted to do with his love life? He was merely an onlooker, forever there to comfort and dream.

He should get over it. He didn’t want to, but he should. He’d been very good at separating his feelings towards Yuta and the general chaos of his life, but the lines between Yuta’s happiness and his were getting blurred. He’s his own person, for fuck’s sake. Why does Yuta unhappy make him unhappy? Because you care about him, idiot . Then why did Yuta with someone else make him unhappy? Because you’re in love with him, idiot .

Sicheng violently turned to his side. In the darkness of the room, he couldn’t make out the shapes of his belongings. There’s no escaping this , he thought. Maybe he should move out.

Move out and what? He’d seen how well avoiding Yuta had gone.

Then he heard it. The telltale sound of crying, the kind of crying that nobody else was supposed to hear. The kind of crying when that has people holding back their tears and covering their face, the one that is meant just for them.

Yuta was crying. He’d made Yuta cry.

He didn’t care for his boundaries or his no touching rule. He threw the blanket off and with light steps, and made his way to Yuta’s room. He’d failed as a best friend.

Yuta’s door creaked open slightly, giving Sicheng enough light to see him huddled in his blankets, awake.

“Sicheng?” He asked, his voice cracked. Sicheng felt worse than he did when he realised what he’d done.

“I’m here,” He closed the door softly behind him. He could make out the barest lines of Yuta’s face, his eyes on him, grateful but scared.

What have I done?

He lifted the edge of Yuta’s blanket. He let him. When he joined Yuta under the covers, he remembered making a promise to him when they were fifteen.

“We can’t hurt each other.” Yuta had said. They were on Sicheng’s terrace, the breeze cool enough to blow over the humidity. Yuta extended his pinky. Sicheng looked back, determined. He hooked his pinky on Yuta’s.

“We won’t.”

Sicheng had done a fucking fabulous job of that.

“I’m sorry,” He said now, pulling Yuta in his arms. Then, “Is this okay?”

He felt Yuta nod against his chest. Almost hesitantly, he put his arms around Sicheng. It broke Sicheng’s heart. He pushed Yuta back, gently, so that they both were lying on their backs and Yuta was safely wrapped around him and everything was going to be okay.

Yuta cried into his t-shirt, soaking it through, as Sicheng combed through his hair and rubbed circles on his back. He cried and apologised, and when Sicheng told him not to, he cried some more.

“I’m sorry,” Sicheng said again, when Yuta turned to lie on his side, to face him.

“It’s okay,” He said, in a soft voice, lighter, one Yuta wouldn’t trust himself to speak in. But this was Sicheng, he could speak to Sicheng when he didn’t want to speak to himself.

“It’s really not. I owe you an explanation.”

Yuta waited. Always so patient. Always so fucking nice. Sicheng didn’t deserve this.

“I can’t give you one. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Sicheng saw the hurt in his eyes. Yuta said nothing.

“It’s not because of you. It’s something I need to sort out myself. I don’t want to involve anyone else. It’s not you, Yuta.”

He hummed, closing his eyes.

“I promise I’ll sort it out.”

Are you going to break this one, too, Sicheng?

“And I’m sorry for avoiding you.”

“Avoiding your problems is not the best way to solve them,” He told him, his eyes still closed.

“Tell yourself that,” Sicheng smiled, hoping to lift the atmosphere, but Yuta didn’t see him.

“I do, Sicheng. Everyday.”

He rolled over and draped himself over Sicheng. He knew Sicheng understood. Sicheng knew, too. He didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Good night.”

Sicheng shifted to fit himself under Yuta. “Good night.”

~~~

The next morning, Sicheng woke up to fingers tracing his face. Yuta. Yuta’s fingers. He was pretty sure tracing your best friend’s face while they were asleep was not a platonic thing to do. He let it happen. He didn’t want Yuta to stop.

They could exist in this bubble where Sicheng assumed they were together as long as he was asleep. Yuta’s fingers would glide from his jaw, to his nose, down the slope, then reach his lips. They’d settle there, Yuta would sigh, then lean over and kiss him. His fingers would tilt his chin up, and Yuta would kiss him like he meant it, and Sicheng would wake up.

That was not how Sicheng woke up.

“I know you’re awake,” Yuta’s fingers retreated. Sicheng missed it.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Sicheng said, opening his eyes.

“You’re not. You have class in a few hours.”

“A few hours.” Yuta was close. Not as close as he thought, but close enough. They’d separated sometime in the night - it was getting hotter - and Yuta was an arm’s length away from him. Whether it was deliberate or not, Sicheng didn’t want to know.

“You haven’t done your homework.”

“I don’t have to.”

Yuta gave him a lazy smile. “Fine.”

“Well?” Sicheng raised his eyebrows.

“Stay. Why do I need to say it?”

“Because I need to know you mean it.”

Yuta shifted closer. His eyes were shining. In the morning light streaming through his bare windows, he looked incandescent. The light bounced off his black hair, shading it brown where it stuck out. It spilled to his forehead, down, highlighting his cheekbones, down, resting at his cupid’s bow.

He exhaled. The light shifted as he did, down, to his lips.

“I always mean it.”

~~~

Three days passed. Sicheng knew. Yuta knew. They said nothing.

Kun knew, too. Sicheng told him everything, from Taeyong’s phone call (he didn’t remember his name being mentioned, he wasn’t going to) to the weird morning conversation. And of course, Yuta being drunk.

Kun thought he was the biggest idiot alive, even bigger than Yuta.

“Just fucking go for it, Sicheng. He’s pretty much confessed at this point.”

“Here’s the thing, he hasn’t.”

“My fucking god,” Kun paused for dramatic effect. “You’re worse than I expected. And I expected nothing to begin with.”

“Thanks, Kun.”

“Shut up and listen. You’re going to do something about this. You have a chance.”

Sicheng picked at a loose thread on Kun’s sofa. Well, it was technically Ten’s and Yukhei’s too, but Kun was the only one who ever used it.

“Why have I never seen Ten and Yukhei use this sofa?”

“Stop changing the subject,” Kun slapped his hands away from the thread he’d pulled out.

Worth a try , Sicheng mused.

“Tell me, then. What am I going to do about this?”

Kun seemed to think about this for a second. Then, with a small smile, he said, “You buy him flowers. Give them to him when he gets back from class, and tell him. Bonus points if you get his favourite flower.”

Sicheng narrowed his eyes. “Is there someone I don’t know about?”

“No,” Kun replied, too quick to be considered natural. “Why would you think that?”

“You wouldn’t be able to think of that yourself. You’re more of a wine-and-dine guy.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Who is it? Kun! You didn’t tell me there was someone!”

“Shut up,” Kun’s cheeks were flushed as he pushed Sicheng’s hands away from him. “Don’t put your dirty hands on my face.”

“You’re blushing, I’ve never seen you blush before. This is a big deal. I’m opening a bottle of wine.”

“No, idiot,” Kun pulled him back down on the sofa. “No wine. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Last time being Ten and Yukhei almost knocking over Kun’s stacked-up playing cards he’d managed to precariously balance on the washing machine. They didn’t, but Kun’s monologue involving a swishy sheet did. He cried about it for three hours afterwards.

“Fine,” Sicheng made himself comfortable on Kun’s sofa, hugging a cushion to himself. “Tell me.”

“First,” Kun held out his pinky.

Sicheng did not like where this was going.

“Promise me you’ll do something about Yuta. And a good something.”

Reluctantly, Sicheng hooked his pinky with Kun’s. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Kun tucked his knees under himself, his mood shifting from serious to excited too suddenly. “So we met at the shelter…”

Sicheng listened to Kun retell the story in vivid detail, with extreme enthusiasm, and wondered whether he did the same when Yuta did anything remotely romantic. No, he remembered, he didn’t. He’d been hopeless from the start. Maybe Kun had a better chance than him, maybe Kun could make it work better than him. Maybe Kun deserved better than him.

No, Kun deserved the best, and Sicheng would wage a personal war with the universe if Kun didn’t get the best.

“Then he smiled at me. He fucking smiled at me, Sicheng. I died and went to heaven and he was there, smiling at me.”

Sicheng saw the way Kun’s eyes lit up, the same way his had so many times, and maybe the same way Yuta’s did now, too.

Maybe.

“And fuck, when he was holding that kitten, I knew I would marry him someday. You can’t just look at him with a kitten and not want to marry him.”

Sicheng smiled. He understood.

~~~

Yuta got home before Sicheng finished making dinner.

“What’s cooking, good-looking?”

Sicheng decided that Yuta should never be allowed to speak again. Also, what the fuck, that was so bad.

“Hotpot.”

“Smells as tempting as-”

“I will stab you with this big spoon if you finish that sentence.”

-as you.”

Sicheng turned around, threateningly holding up the big spoon he’d been using to stir the pot. He expected Yuta to flinch, at least, he knew how much Sicheng did not appreciate bad pick-up lines.

Yet, he stood, smiling at Sicheng like he was in love with him or some shit.

Sicheng faltered.

Yuta took the spoon from Sicheng, lightly pushed him aside, and began to stir the hotpot instead, as Sicheng watched in a daze.

What was going on? Yuta was usually whiny when he got back from his classes, cursing the the overlords of Law for creating the goddamned construct in the first place, acting generally bitchy until he ate something.

But Yuta was flirting. He didn’t do that. He was also cooking, he didn’t do that either, especially not when Sicheng was already doing it for them. He was still smiling like an idiot as he stared into the pot, his eyes focused but his mind somewhere else. Sicheng watched to make sure Yuta didn’t pour poison into the food - seriously, what was up with that smile? - and he caught a whiff of Yuta’s scent. Vanilla, of course, some sweat, and - fucking hell.

“Yuta.”

He hummed in response, still somewhere faraway. Sicheng knew where.

“Where have you been?”

At this, Yuta tensed, but tried to cover it up. Sicheng saw right through him.

“Nowhere. Class,” He replied, shifting away from Sicheng as subtly as he could.

“Then why, pray tell, do you smell like cats?”

He saw an expression roll over Yuta’s features. ‘Fuck’, it said.

“Uh. I may have stopped at the shelter. Taeil works there, you know.”

“I do. And I also know we can’t adopt a cat.”

“I didn’t say I was going to adopt one.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Yuta sighed. He threw the spoon to the sink, Yuta, you fucking hazard , then almost burnt his fingers off by carrying the pot to the table. He sat down and tilted his head at the seat opposite him as if to say, join me .

“Some day, Sicheng,” He started, picking up a spoon and motioning for Sicheng to sit. “We’ll have a big family of cats. We can name them after the leads of that stupid drama.”

Sicheng liked the idea of that. He joined Yuta at the table, stuck on the unstable stool, but today, he was fine with that.

“How big of a family are you thinking?”

Yuta laughed and Sicheng loved it. He laughed completely, throwing his head back and crinkling his eyes, but he also laughed softly: like waves rolling off onto the sand, gently cascading through the room and settling into a zephyr, melody to Sicheng’s ears. It made him smile.

“Around, four cats? At least.”

“What if they have children?”

“Perfect!” Yuta beamed, and the waves grew bigger. “Sicheng, kittens!”

“Yes,” He agreed, softly, looking at Yuta, smiling. “You’ll need to watch some more stupid dramas, then.”

“Oh, we will. We have a lot of time for that.”

Yuta nodded, satisfied, mouthing the word ‘kittens’ and shooting Sicheng an excited smile after. Sicheng watched him.

“We,” He’d said. We. Sicheng knew there was no way he’d look at Yuta as a best friend ever again. They were in this together, now. Sicheng didn’t know what exactly this was, raising a family of cats or watching stupid dramas or having a lot of time for that, but Sicheng liked this. He liked we. He wanted we, and this, and Yuta.

Maybe Yuta wanted the same.

Maybe.

“By the way, Taeyong’s having a kind of party tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Sicheng focused back to the present, his food on his plate, uneaten, Yuta in front of him, still smiling.

“Yeah, you’re invited. He’s planning to set up Jaehyun with someone and he needs us to look less suspicious.”

Sicheng scoffed, taking a bite. “When will he realise Jaehyun’s in love with him?”

When will you realise you’re in love with me?

“Soon, I hope. Maybe he knows.”

Maybe you know.

Maybe.

“Oh, well. Who else has he invited?”

“Ten, Kun - they’re friends now, by the way - Yukhei, Jaehyun - obviously, Taeil, and Doyoung. I think.”

Sicheng frowned. “Who’s he setting Jaehyun up with, then?”

Yuta dropped his spoon. “Fuck. Who is he setting Jaehyun up with?”

“Didn’t you ask?”

“No, I just thought…” Yuta trailed off, looking extremely thoughtful.

“Maybe himself?” Sicheng prompted.

Yuta’s eyes lit up. “Shit. I think you’re right.” He scrunched his eyebrows, then smiled. “Wow. Sicheng, you fucking genius.”

“I’m always right.”

“Don’t make this about you. I can’t believe it. Lee Taeyong, panicked gay, making the first move?”

“You don’t know for sure.”

“I do know for sure.”

Do you?

“This is great, Sicheng. I need to call him, fuck,” Yuta got up to look for his phone, he’d left it somewhere on his way in, and Sicheng ate his dinner. He watched Yuta knock over a stack of books and apologise to them, he watched Yuta dial Taeyong’s number and yell at him, he watched Yuta look back at him, smiling widely, nodding, mouthing, ‘you’re right’.

He wanted this.

~~~

Sicheng should’ve known.

Taeyong’s party was as casual as he’d expected it to be, a combination of loud voices and low music, of alcoholic drinks and home-cooked meals, of an over the moon Jaehyun and oddly nervous Yuta.

Sicheng really should’ve known.

He was sitting by himself, after dinner, reading a rather eventful report one of his juniors had sent him to proofread. He couldn't fathom how she'd managed to predict the result without knowing exactly what was going to happen, but the world was a surprising place. He himself wrote the wrong conclusion, even after doing that experiment twice.

He took a sip of his wine, red, of course, then put the glass down. He wasn't feeling upto drinking today. Something was going to happen, he could sense it. Kun told him he was being an idiot earlier, but Kun was too busy looking at pictures of the Shelter Guy he'd come to know as Moon Taeil - courtesy of Doyoung - so who was the real idiot now?

“This is going to be the end of me,” Kun concluded at one of the pictures, waving his arms about. It was Taeil with a puppy, this time, and he managed to knock Sicheng's phone out of his hands. He'd never seen Kun like this. It was weird and interesting and full of blackmail material, but Kun was happy so Sicheng was happy.

He bent down to pick up his phone and saw footsteps approaching him. Yuta.

“Hey,” Yuta interrupted, and Kun not-so-subtly raised his eyebrows at Sicheng. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Sicheng shrugged, gave Kun a meaningful look while nodding at the phone and Doyoung, then followed Yuta to Taeyong’s balcony.

He hadn’t noticed the balcony when he’d come in, but Taeyong had taken him there when he’d asked about Jaehyun. It’s going to be where he “talks” to Jaehyun, he’d told him.

The lights of the city reflected in the windows, adding to the glow of the fairy lights that Taeyong had put up along the plants. The first thing Sicheng noticed about that balcony was the sheer abundance of greenery. Taeyong pretty much had a little forest here, with its own inhabitants being the miscellaneous decorations he’d picked up from some thrift store. Sicheng fiddled with a piece of red cloth which connected two vines that sneaked up to the railing.

“Hey, Sicheng.”

Oh. He’d forgotten about that. “You wanted to talk?”

Yuta joined him at the railings. They looked over the skyline together, untouchable to the noise and chaos of the city fifteen floors up. Yuta’s finger gripped the railings close to Sicheng’s but not touching his.

“Yeah. How’ve you been?”

Sicheng gave him a weird look. Yuta looked back, wearing the beginnings of the undefeated smile, the one where nothing could bring him down. Sicheng adored that smile.

“I’ve been well, Yuta,” He shifted closer to Yuta to rest his head on his shoulder. “And you?”

“You sure you’ve been well?”

Sicheng hummed. “Quite sure.”

Yuta didn’t respond to that. Sicheng closed his eyes when a light breeze passed through the leaves, making them whisper. It calmed Sicheng. Here, on a balcony with Yuta, where nothing but anything could happen, Sicheng couldn’t help but wear an undefeated smile of his own.

When he opened his eyes again, Yuta was looking up at the plants that spilled out of the hanging baskets, tilting downwards, spreading their leaves. He was tall enough for them to dangle over his face, barely touching his cheekbones, crowding at the crown of his head. A particular leaf tickled his ear with the gentle wind, and Yuta smiled wider, this one with the crinkling eyes and barely-there dimples and the warmth of contentment.

It was the most beautiful thing Sicheng had seen in his twenty one years of existence.

Yuta’s eyes turned to him then, and Sicheng saw the fucking stars staring back at him.

“You didn’t call me out here to ask me how I’ve been, did you?”

“No.” Yuta replied. His smile settled into something softer, yet still undefeated.

“Sicheng,” He started, nudging his shoulder so he would face him. “I need to tell you something.”

Sicheng lifted his head, faced Yuta, and immediately regretted it. He looked so goddamn soft Sicheng wanted to cry and then kiss him and then cry about kissing him.

Yuta took a breath.

“I’m in love with you.”

He should have known.

~~~

When Sicheng was nineteen and hopeful, he always imagined that Yuta and he would have a dramatic love story. One with crying and broken glass and whispered confessions when the other couldn’t hear. One with late-night drives and temporary highs, with distance and longing and hurt. One with breaking each other’s hearts and putting them back together, one with running away and kissing in the rain.

Needless to say, none of those things happened.

Yuta told him he was in love with him on Taeyong’s balcony on a pleasant evening with no arguments or dramatic background music.

“You’re in love with me?” He repeated Yuta’s words back to him. This couldn’t be happening.

“Completely.”

Sicheng didn’t know what to say.

“I have been for a while, actually,” Yuta turned to look at the streets below them. “I just never realised it.”

Sicheng tried, he really did, to say something back, like “I’m in love with you, too,” but the words never came. Yuta’s smile became a little defeated.

“Should I leave? I know you probably don’t want this from me-”

No.

“No, Yuta. Don’t go. Just, give me a second.”

Yuta waited, he always did. Sicheng took a breath, he should have seen this coming, fuck, he should have been more prepared. He gripped the railing, tighter, to balance himself somehow. He’d imagined it so many times, but never like this, never this calm and predictable. He should have known.

“Please say something. Do something.” Yuta whispered, his smile diminished, not meeting his eyes.

So he did he only thing he could think of. He closed the gap between them, pressed his forehead against Yuta's, and asked, “Can I kiss you?”

He felt him nod against him. Sicheng looked into Yuta's eyes, warm, confused, but mostly excited. He exhaled, lowly, and kissed him.

The kiss was falling asleep next to Yuta, peaceful and content, lulling him to a faraway place. The kiss was staying awake late to talk about the future because neither of them wanted the conversation to end, neither of them wanted to stop, neither of them wanted to let go. The kiss was everytime Sicheng had come home upset and Yuta had comforted him and made him feel happy with himself, when Yuta had come home upset and Sicheng made him talk about it instead of bottling it up. The kiss was Yuta waiting for him in the rain because he didn’t want Sicheng to walk home alone at night. The kiss was Yuta, under the fairy lights, wearing an undefeated smile, in love with him.

It was soft, slow, merely a press at first. Then Yuta's lips moved and his lips followed. He kept his eyes closed, savouring the feeling of kissing Yuta, holding his face in his hands. Yuta broke away first.

Sicheng smiled against Yuta's mouth. “Yuta.”

He looked up from Sicheng's lips.

“I'm in love with you, too.”

Yuta laughed, open and free and careless, and Sicheng held onto his hands as he threw his head back. He laughed and fell forwards into Sicheng's arms and Sicheng smiled at him, similar but so fucking different.

He stood up straight, pulled Sicheng's hands to his face again, and kissed him.

“I'm so happy to hear that.”

Sicheng laughed now. “Not as happy as I am.”

Yuta smiled, a different one this time, and Sicheng wanted to believe it was love.

“Let’s go home?”

“Please.”

~~~

Sicheng woke up before Yuta did. They were in Yuta’s bed, the sheet thrown off sometime during the night, the window slightly open so the air could come in. Yuta shifted when the breeze flew in, hitting his face, so he turned to his side and hid himself in Sicheng’s chest.

Sicheng was used to this, but not this way.

Yuta’s hair fell above Sicheng’s heart and his t-shirt hiked up his waist and his hands were around Sicheng and Sicheng, he absolutely adored it. He remembered Yuta laughing about his minty breath after he’d kissed him last night, and silencing Yuta with another kiss, because he could do that, now. He remembered kissing Yuta until he couldn’t breathe then kissing him slowly until he fell asleep. He remembered staying awake after Yuta had fallen asleep to just think about what happened and how he got here and what’s next.

He decided he loved it, and Yuta, and both of them together.

Yuta mumbled something and Sicheng turned to face him, pushing him back so that he could lie on his side.

“Hey,” He whispered, brushing Yuta’s hair back from his face.

Yuta smiled, but didn’t open his eyes. It was the smile from earlier, the one Sicheng wanted to call love.

“Good morning.” He whispered back.

Yuta tilted his head up and pressed his lips against Sicheng’s. He let them linger, then pulled back only to kiss Sicheng properly. This was a different one from the night before, it was lazy and comfortable and Yuta’s lips moved against Sicheng’s like they belonged there.

“I’m going back to sleep,” He told him, after breaking the kiss, and shifted closer to Sicheng.

Sicheng sighed into his hair.

This was new, but it felt like he’d done it a thousand times already.

Yuta mumbled something else and Sicheng held him tighter, like he’d always wanted to, and dropped a kiss on the nape of his neck. He felt Yuta smile.

He could get used to this.