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Jeno wishes he knew how to love things without breaking them.
When he was a boy, small and with fat still in his cheeks instead of the chiseled jaw he now sports that the whispering girls pretend not to stare at.
When he was a boy, just a little old enough to recognize the feeling of wanting to run away yet just a little young enough to think there’s somewhere he can run away to.
Even now, that’s what he’s good at. Keep on keeping on. Getting ahead of the pain. Running away from anything that can break him any further.
When he was a boy, he received a toy from a patronizing distant relative. It was too big a toy firetruck for little Jeno, he could barely wrap his chubby fingers around it. He loved that bright red toy, treasured it more than anything.
And yet, he was the one who destroyed it. Ruined it beyond fixing. As if anyone will actually help him fix it, even if he begs and cries.
When he grows older, he learned how to break people too.
The streets he grew up in were unkind. Professor Lee once told them, “You are a representation of the home you live in.” He couldn’t be more wrong.
Jeno was thrown vases and broken plates. Jeno was screaming at the top of your lungs that you were right. Jeno was unpaid bills and blinking lights. Jeno was “stop your fucking crying or I’ll give you something to fucking cry about.” Jeno was stop your fucking crying. Jeno was something to fucking cry about.
Jeno learned how to protect himself in an unkind home and unkind streets. Learned how to fight when he wasn’t even old enough to.
Jeno was the cause of too many broken noses too many dislocated jaws and too many bloodied lips.
Jeno fought dirty but he fought well.
And now, comes this beautiful boy.
This beautiful boy who smiles brighter than anything Jeno has ever held. Prettier than anyone Jeno has ever met, and he’s met a lot of people who tries so hard to be pretty.
This beautiful boy who, unlike anyone in the entire university, doesn’t look at him with either fear or contempt.
This beautiful boy who, instead, just looks at him like he’s any other student.
Greets Jeno normally when he sits next to him in the only class they have together. Geology. Wednesdays and Fridays. Nine to eleven in the morning. Room 103 in the oldest building in the university.
Waves at him on the rare times they see each other outside of class and asks about his day or how he was doing. And he nods and smiles and genuinely listens to Jeno’s brief but honest answers.
Cheers the loudest for him during his basketball games. He knows Jaemin is there for his friends in the team, Jisung Park, Chenle Zhong, and Mark Lee, but it still feels good to hear his cheers above anyone else’s for him. Which quite says something because above every single rumour about him, Jeno was a basketball star, and in the court, everyone cheers for him.
They’re not close. Not really. It took some time, but Jaemin finally got Jeno to say that they were friends. Jaemin is his friend. Probably his only. Even if Jaemin knows almost nothing about him. And see, Jeno thinks, that’s why he actually lets Jaemin take a step closer than anyone is ever allowed to.
Because he never probes. Never tests Jeno’s limits. Never even mentions anything about the things that go on in the university’s rumour mill concerning Jeno’s name.
So Jeno lets him in, even just a little. Patiently listens to Jaemin’s many many wild stories. Occasionally says yes when Jaemin asks him for lunch after their shared class. “One out of five times. You say yes to me one out of five times. Don’t bother checking, I keep record. You already said no to me the last four times,” the younger laughs goodnaturedly, “I’m not forcing you or anything, but if you want to be consistent, you have to say yes to me today.”
Jaemin who is so so painfully beautiful with his constantly changing hair color, his long eyelashes, his delicate fingers, his billion dollar smile. And, in with just a little shame, Jeno admits, his smooth looking stomach that Jeno managed to see once as Jaemin stretched his arms above his head and yawned. His pretty collarbones. Jaemin once wore a particularly soft sweater which already exposed much of his neck to begin with. Jeno will never forget how tightly he curled his fists and bit the corner of his lip as a friend of Jaemin playfully tugged at his neckline, exposing more of the younger’s collarbones.
Jeno is in love with Jaemin. Admittedly, it is not something he has come to terms with.
How could he? He’s never learned to love something, much less someone, without ruining them.
Jaemin who laughs and smiles so playfully. Jaemin who loves and cares so freely. Jaemin who gives away kindness and affection as if he were giving flyers out in the busiest mall. God, how could Jeno ever ruin him?
Jeno was fine. He’s learned to accept that loving Jaemin from afar was the only possible outcome this could ever have. There were already rumours going around about them. Other students so suspicious of the infamous Jeno Lee being actually nice to someone. He didn’t want to tarninsh the younger’s reputation any further.
But then Jaemin, with his unashamed and unapologetic self, just out of nowhere tells him, “Listen to me, okay. I’ll let you answer when I’m done, but you have to let me finish first.”
When Jeno says nothing and just nods, the younger continues, “I like you. Before any kind of confusion, I want you to know that I don’t only like you as a friend. I’m saying that I like you like I want to kiss you and hold your hand and cuddle with you for a loooong time. And I know you might tell me that I don’t know much about you, but I’m already aware of that.”
The younger lets out a shuddering breath, “But listen. I know a little. I know that you let the other members of the basketball team have their moments in games even though we’re all aware that you can singlehandedly get us to the championships. I know that you actually listen to me and remember what I tell you. Don’t even deny it, you just reminded me of a story I told you about months ago. Even I forgot about that one.”
Jaemin smiles sadly, “I know that you’re sweet. I know you’re the reason why those stupid soccer boys hopped off my back. They didn’t tell me, but I’m sure the bruise on their captain’s cheek is the exact shape of your knuckles. I’ve always wanted to thank you for that. So. Thank you.”
He continues, chuckling, “I know you almost never use your social media accounts, but when you do, you always share the posts about gender equality and environmental awareness. And I remembered you told me once that your retirement plan was establishing a wildlife rehabilitation center one day. Is it weird that I want to watch you when you do?”
When Jeno opens his mouth to answer that, yes it’s kind of weird but I don’t mind, Jaemin immediately holds up his hand to signal that he wasn’t quite done yet. “I know you’re not all good. I’m not either. And I- I know you’re probably scared of whatever this is but I am too. So scared. You- you can say no. You can always say no, and I’ll still be your friend. I’ll always be your friend.”
For all his fighting and everything else he was great at, he didn’t know what to do with a confession.
He knew where to hit an asshole to easily knock them out. He knew the right angle and the right force to use to cleanly make a three point shot. He knew how to say no. He knew how to ignore other people. He knew the points in a person’s body that can hurt the most. He knew the points in a peron’s body that feels amazing when touched, kissed, grabbed, bitten. He knew the right words and the right look to make a stranger say yes to him. But he didn’t know this.
Jeno didn’t know what to do with a beautiful boy who loves him. didn’t know how to not break him when it’s all he’s ever known.
When Jeno whispers, “Jaemin,” with longing and sadness and love and hurt and hope. with reverence.
He doesn’t utter a word about the hurricane that enters his mind.
But of course Jaemin, who is understanding and sensitive and compassionate, hears him anyway.
Gently, with both hands, Jaemin grabs at Jeno’s right. Softly, he runs the tips of his fingers through the elder’s rough palm. the back of his hand. his knuckles.
Jeno’s hand who has never known anything but clenched jaws and bloodied lips and the sound of a nose breaking. And yet, Jaemin holds them like they were the most precious jewels.
Like Jeno deserves softness and gentleness.
Jeno would never let himself hurt Jaemin.
He can learn not to.
Jeno’s head was a mess but he answers the younger. Doesn’t even remember his own exact words. It all means the same. I will be yours and you will be mine.
Jaemin smiles as the older presses a kiss against both of his hands. So brightly, Jeno thinks, if it came down to it, he’d protect Jaemin’s heart with his bare hands.