Where's my kiss?

Chan doesn’t really know what came over him, if he’s being honest. He tries not to think about it, but something about the way his lips felt against Sejun’s cheek felt right. God or whoever the fuck else knows he’s been wanting to do this for a long time. Seems kind of gay, if you ask him.

In his head, he pictures a double of himself shaking him, ratting the bag of limp bones that he calls his body, calling him a stupid dumbass for having feelings for his best friend.

Because hello? Who gets feelings for their best friend?

Stupid dumbasses do.

It’s late.

That’s all Chan can comprehend at this moment because he’s been watching so much anime that it’s begun to melt his brain and he can feel it draining out of his ears and he thinks it’d probably be a good idea to head to bed now before he thinks of more metaphors to justify the fact that he has lost probably both of his only two brain cells watching My Hero Academia. There is only so many times he can watch Deku break all the bones in his fucking body before he needs to call it a night and be grateful that his own body is intact.

Sejun is beside him on the couch, one of their ugly Mom-made quilts thrown over his legs, his laptop perched precariously on his knees, a textbook open and lying on the arm of the couch. He’s got his Airpods in, focused on studying for an exam that he has the next day. He’s been studying for hours now, stopping only to share a pan of jjapaguri and some dumplings with Chan for dinner, and even while eating, he was looking over his study guide on his phone screen.

While Sejun doesn’t seem like the most studious type, when he puts his mind to it and decides to focus on studying for something, there is nothing that can be done to stop him. It’s something about him that Chan has always loved about him.

Whoa, loved ? Get it together , Chan chides himself. Relax .

Chan pulls his phone towards him and looks through some group chat notifications, rolling his eyes at the messages of Seungwoo and Seungsik bickering. There’s one message from Subin asking them to take their domestic battles somewhere else. When he glances at the clock hanging on the wall above the TV, it reads 3:15 AM.

He looks over at Sejun who is typing away on his laptop, not looking at the screen as he does so, his eyes trained on a dense chunk of text in his textbook and moving rapidly as he reads.

Chan finds himself fixating on the way Sejun has his lower lip pulled between his teeth, gnawing away at the flesh as he turns a page in his textbook. He must feel Chan’s eyes on him because he looks over, pulls out one Airpod and raises a brow.

“Something wrong?” Sejun’s voice is low compared to his usual, probably from the lack of use. He sounds half-confused, half-amused, and Chan shakes himself mentally, chiding himself for being an idiot and getting caught staring. Rookie mistake.

“No, nothing’s wrong!” Chan’s voice is too cheery, too loud in the quiet of 3 AM.

“You were staring,” Sejun says slowly, the smile that had been forming when he initially caught Chan transforming into a full-blown grin. He wiggles his eyebrows and Chan can feel his cheeks heat up. He looks away quickly, staring very determinedly out the window across the room. There’s nothing to see but the ugly brick wall from the next building over.

“I’m heading to bed, that’s all!”

Sejun looks at the time on his laptop, mouth dropping open a little in surprise. “I didn’t even realize that it was already three.”

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty late,” Chan agrees, and in order to bring some semblance of normalcy back: “Can’t believe you’re studying.”

Sejun pouts at him, nose scrunching adorably. “Just because I’m a himbo…”

“I’m joking! Plus, I think if you’re a self-proclaimed himbo, it makes you not one.”

Sejun just looks at him, and Chan can practically see the gears turning in his head as he attempts to comprehend whatever stupid thing that Chan has just let tumble from his stupid mouth.

“You know you just made no sense, right?”

“It’s late, leave me alone,” Chan sniffs, reaching his leg across the couch and kicking Sejun’s thigh, earning himself a dramatic yelp of fake-pain.

“You were the one staring. Asshole.”

Chan just grins at him and stands up from the couch, stretching his arms above his head. He pretends not to notice his hoodie lifting, pretends not to notice how it reveals a tiny bit of his tummy, pretends not to realize that Sejun is definitely staring and looking endeared.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Chan says uselessly, knowing full well that Sejun would be up till at least five in the morning before he allows himself to knock out until he has to leave for his class at one.

“Uh-huh,” Sejun agrees half-heartedly, waving a hand and not even looking at the older man.

Chan walks around the couch to make his way towards the hallway where their bedrooms are located, stopping behind Sejun to pat the top of his head and lean down, pressing his lips to the man’s cheek.

Chan’s heart absolutely falls out of his ass because, um, hello? What the fuck is he doing?

What makes it worse is that Sejun doesn’t pull away. Chan has to do it himself and he straightens up, stiff as a board, and giggles nervously, his laugh filling the room, too loud for three in the morning.

Sejun has turned his head to look at him, his cheeks flushed pink, his pretty lips parted slightly.

“Uh, good night!” Chan practically shouts, making Sejun jump, and Subin’s cat Mimi (pets aren’t allowed in student housing) startles, leaping off of the window ledge and streaking towards the safety of their kitchen. Distantly, from behind the closed bathroom door, he can hear Sejun wishing him a good night too, uncharacteristically quietly.

Pretty lips ? God, Chan needs to go to bed and knock out so badly.

You can do this, Heo Chan . You can be normal. You can do this.

This is the mantra that he repeats to himself in the morning when he wakes up. It plays in his head like a shitty elevator tune as he makes his shitty Folgers coffee to-go because he’s a broke college student that can barely afford a new pack of shitty pens whenever a new school year comes around. Sometimes he fishes around in the crevices of their shitty couch for a crusty old pen when the broke-ness hits extra hard that year.

He makes sure that he makes enough of the shitty coffee so Sejun can have some too if he wants, and double-checks that the coffeemaker is set to the warming function after it’s done. The only reason that they have this coffee maker is because of a miracle that comes in the form of Kang Seungsik. No other explanation necessary.

Chan thanks Buddha and whoever the fuck else that Sejun doesn’t have a morning class on Mondays and Wednesdays like he does, that way their paths aren’t crossing on TMAHKSC (The Morning After He Kissed Sejun’s Cheek).

As he packs his backpack for the day, he takes a sip of his shitty coffee from his I Love Boobies tumbler cup that he got for free during Breast Cancer Awareness Month in his first year. Sad thing is that one of the Os scratched off, so now it says, “I love Bo bies.”

This tumbler is a trooper—it’s been with him through the nightmare that was attempted dorm robbery in student housing, and two apartments.

Chan glances at the time and realizes he has ten minutes before class starts and it’s a fifteen minute Razor scooter ride to campus and across the grounds combined. Fuck .

Everything Is Fine.

Chan’s phone buzzes from where it’s balanced on his thigh, because there is only so much square-inchage allotted to these stupid lecture hall desks, and it was either his laptop or his phone that got to rest on a stable surface. And he had decided that his laptop had more priority. He won’t talk about the fact that he is very much Not Paying Attention and instead is watching dance cover videos without the sound on.

When he checks the notification, his heart stutters a bit and he has to chide himself for being so weak hearted—he can’t be getting this way over a gorgeous six foot tall man with the cutest dimples he’s ever seen. Or something.

sj : thanks for the coffee it tastes like shit ♡

hc : i can really feel ur gratitude through the screen. amazing

sj : mwah!

Chan tries not to smile, he really does. Unfortunately he is not known for being able to control his giggles, and a quiet one slips out, earning himself a questioning look from Seungsik, who is sitting beside him and being nosy, because apparently even the star student and absolute angel gets bored in Western History 300. The man is practically in his lap trying to get a look at his phone, which he has firmly locked.

Seungsik mouths, What , and Chan simply ignores him in favor of staring straight ahead at the projector screen with glazed over eyes.

Because embarrassment aside, he still is not paying attention.

Chan is unable to escape Seungsik after class, no matter how quickly his little legs carry him out of the lecture hall.

“Come back here, you brat!”

Seungsik’s voice is loud. God, it’s so fucking loud. Chan has no choice but to stop and listen to what Angel Seungsik has to say, because he is Cursed with a Kang Seungsik-shaped soft spot on his weak little heart. Damn it.

“What’s got you giggling like a gay little school boy?” Seungsik asks, when he finally catches up. Chan blushes.

“Gay little what.”

“Gay little—” Seungsik beguns, but Chan cuts him off swiftly.

“Please don’t say it again.”

Seungsik looks so amused. He looks way too entertained because apparently the man had gotten a look at his phone screen after all. “Sejun has that kind of effect on people. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Chan blushes an even deeper red if that is possible and he hopes it can pass off as being caused by the extremely cold weather they’ve been having. Fuck Seoul winters.

“I cannot believe people don’t see you for the sly, foxy asshole that you are.” Chan shakes his head slowly, backing away.

“Sly and foxy, huh? Those are new,” Seungsik says thoughtfully, and the man has the audacity to look pleased.

“I’m done talking to you,” Chan practically shouts, turning his back on the man and walking rapidly away, more and more aggravated at the growing volume of his amused laughter.

Chan has gone and done it again. It’s like once he did it that first time, he Just Can’t Stop. What the fuck.

Apparently he simply cannot stop himself from KTHGN (Kissing The Homie Good Night). Clearly the usage of this phrase indicates that he has been spending too much time on TikTok.

Chan is gay and on TikTok. Can he please pick a struggle.

The point is: Chan has consistently kissed Sejun good night every night. Sejun has not complained or pushed him away so Chan takes it as a good sign. Good sign of what? Chan will not explore this thought further. Not right now.

No, he has more important things to do.

Like convincing Sejun to come with him to a dance competition that his dance kids are participating in. He just needs a second chaperone that’s all.

Okay, so maybe one of the parents is already coming to chaperone with him and Chan just wants Sejun there.

Chan has a whole plan set for how he’s going to convince his best friend to be up at seven in the morning when he doesn’t even wake up before noon if he doesn’t have to. The first step: timing. He must bring it up on a day that he and Sejun have an early morning class. Because the younger man is half-asleep and more susceptible to less-than-savory plans and suggestions that he would usually not agree to.

The second step: coffee. But not just their shitty Folgers coffee from the lovely coffee maker that Seungsik had bestowed upon them. The good shit. Fancy-shmancy, ₩7,000 coffee from one of those cafes with the one-word names in English and a minimal logo. Chan has to soften him up a little with the gesture. It’s part of the process.

As they make the slow, steady walk to their 8 AM lecture, Sejun’s eyes are still half-closed and he’s barely responsive to the little spiel that Chan has prepared, detailing the dance competition and how his kids are So. Friggin’. Excited to participate and, Isn’t That Fuckin’ Adorable? Sejun agrees, obviously, because he is not comprehending half of what Chan is saying. And obviously, he agrees to come along with Chan, because why not?

It’s not until halfway through their Historical Literature 300 lecture, when Sejun is finally awake, that he realizes what he agreed to. Chan earns himself a glare and smack in the back of the head.

Chan is prepared for this. He is in pain, but he is prepared.

After class, once they are safely outside of the lecture hall, Sejun pounces.

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to being up at seven in the morning when I don’t have to be.” Sejun grumbles, elbowing Chan’s side.

“Really? You can’t believe it?” Chan teases, grinning up at the younger man. “Me.”

“Okay, I can believe it,” Sejun concedes. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“You’ll still go, though?” Chan asks, turning on the hopeful puppy eyes and Sejun rolls his eyes, shoving him sideways gently, and Chan knows he’s got him.

It’s the process. Or something.

“I guess,” Sejun sighs, smacking Chan in the back of the head again.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow,” Chan says, grinning.

“I’ll hold you to that, asshole.”

Chan is filled with relief and this strange kind of happiness that only comes with Sejun. Strange because it’s syrupy, sticky-sweet, but he doesn’t care because it’s Sejun. Chan shakes himself. Get a grip, dumbass .

“Okay, well I’ve got class now, so I guess I’ll see you in the dining hall?” Chan adjusts his backpack straps as he says this.

“Just like I always do,” Sejun replies, smiling that smile that makes his dimples pop and Chan thinks he needs to lie down for a second.

“Cool.” And with that, he leans in and packs Sejun’s cheek before walking away and effectively shitting himself when he realizes what he’s just done.

Apparently this isn’t just a goodnight thing anymore.

Chan is broke. Mostly.

Sure, he gets paid decently enough to teach kids to dance three times a week, but he’s more likely to save up what little extra money he has leftover from paying rent, instead of spending it himself.

Sometimes he’ll order those flower delivery services for his mom when he’s feeling extra guilty about not visiting home often enough.

But the only thing that gets Chan to pull out his wallet and spend without question? Fried chicken. Typical.

Tonight, he’s out with his friends after a particularly stressful week. For one, he and Sejun almost forgot to pay the electric bill.

Sometimes you just forget these things. It happens.

“How do you forget to pay your electric bill two months in a row?”

“ Almost forgot. There’s a difference,” Sejun corrects him, crunching on a large piece of pickled radish.

“You know what would make a difference?” Byungchan doesn't wait for anyone to answer. “Remembering to pay your electric bill.”

“You don’t have a say in our utilities—you don’t live with us,” Chan huffs, dunking a piece of chicken into the bowl sauce.

“How is it that both of you forgot? Both times? What is the point of that lovely coffee machine I gave you if you don’t have electricity to use it?” Sejun puts down his drumstick and pouts at Seungsik.

“Why is everyone getting on us about our utility bills,” Chan grumbles. “Can’t a man eat in peace?”

“Maybe a man who pays his bills,” Seungwoo says in a sing-song voice. “But not you.”

“Is he even a man?” Hanse’s tone is lofty, smug, like he knows it’s going to annoy Chan.

Chan drops his piece of chicken onto his plate and stands, glowering at all of them. He can feel himself softening slightly when he gets to Sejun, but nonetheless: glowering at all of them. “I’m gonna—”

“You’re not leaving, sit down,” Seungsik says dismissively, waving a hand. “You wouldn’t abandon fried chicken night.”

Chan is still standing, glowering at his friends, but Subin stands with both his hands on Chan’s shoulders, forcing him back into his seat. “You’re so embarrassing,” Subin complains. “Just sit down and eat.”

Subin sits back down as well and goes back to eating, throwing Chan disgruntled looks every other bite for disturbing his meal where he does not have to pay a single cent because Seungsik could never let the baby pay for his own food whenever he’s around. Seungsik puts that trust fund to work.

Eventually Chan’s nose starts to hurt from how hard he is scrunching it while glaring at everyone and goes back to eating, only to stop suddenly when he remembers that he has forgotten his entire duffle bag at the dance studio. How does he forget an entire fucking duffle bag. Dumbass.

“God, what is it now,” Hanse groans, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his soda cup. “Did you forget to turn off the stove or something? Leave the bathtub running?”

“Do you think I’m stupid or something?” Chan demands.standing again.

“Or something,” Hanse snorts. Chan glares.

“Sit down,” Sejun says this without looking up from his own food as he continues to eat, unbothered.

Chan sits. He doesn’t notice Seungsik and Seungwoo exchanging looks.

“I have to go,” Chan says, grabbing one of the packaged wet napkins that had come with their food, wiping the grease off his fingers and taking a hurried sip from his drink.

‘Why? What happened?” Sejun looks up from his food now, sounding concerned. “Should I come with you?”

“No, it’s fine. I can go by myself. I just left my bag at the studio. And my wallet is in it,” Chan says, standing and putting on his jacket. “You keep eating. I know you’re starving and haven’t eaten all day.”

“Are you sure? It’s kind of late—”

Chan doesn’t notice the way everyone at the table is watching this exchange like it’s a tennis match, gazes flicking from one to the other. He’s too focused on the way Sejun looks so cute and worried, with a fuckin’ crumb at the corner of his mouth, and he reaches out and brushes it away.

“Stay and eat,” Chan says firmly, pushing his chair in and leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t hear Hanse choke on his soda. “I’ll see you at home.”

Chan walks out, unaware of the chaos he has just triggered.

“Uh,” Hanse says intelligently as soon as the restaurant door closes behind Chan. “Did everyone just see that? Did you see that.” He looks around, straw in his mouth and completely abandoning his cup. “We all saw that?”

“God, will you shut up?” Byungchan eats his cheese powder-coated fries, sounding unconcerned, but he has a knowing smirk on his face and he wiggles his eyebrows at Sejun. “We all saw it, dumbass.”

Sejun pretends like he has no idea that everyone at the table is looking at him and continues to eat, suddenly fascinated by the crumbs on his plate. But he can feel the way his face has heated up and is probably tomato red, can feel everyone’s searing gazes on him.

“Are you going to share with the class what is going on here?” Seungwoo asks loftily, stealing one of Byunchan’s fries.

“Hyung, please don’t talk to us like we’re your students,” Subin complains, sending the eldest a look.

“The man is one semester into student-teaching and doesn’t know how to act,” Byungchan says flatly.

“There’s nothing going on,” Sejun insists, looking up finally, unable to hold eye contact with any of them because he’s really not sure what is going on, or if there is even anything going on at all. All he knows is that Chan has been giving him smoochies on the cheek and he really can’t complain. He won’t complain. Because he likes it, duh.

“You’re a lying liar who lies,” Hanse spits, chewing aggressively on his straw now, glaring at Sejun. “Spill. What goes on over there in ChanJun land? SeChan? I don’t know which it is just: spill.”

“There is nothing to spill,” Sejun grumbles, taking aggressive gulps from his own soda cup.

“There absolutely is something to spill,” Seungsik says, sounding so pleased with himself that Sejun was to reach out and smack the self-satisfied smile off his face. But he can’t because Seungsik is an angel and Sejun can’t assault an angel. “Especially when you’re out here making Chan giggle all willy-nilly in the middle of a class and disturbing our lecture. Like a lovesick school boy who has just received a note from his crush.”

Sejun chokes and dribbles some soda down his chin. Subin hands him a napkin wordlessly, albeit with a shit-eating grin on his face, looking as pleased as Seungsuk sounds.

“Willy nilly,” Sejun repeats, raising his eyebrows and pretending he isn’t screaming inside. “He giggles at everything.”

“We’re waiting for you to spill,” Byungchan says, all sing-song like.

“There’s nothing to spill,” Sejun insists again, frowning. “He just. Kisses me goodnight. And goodbye. Sometimes. Or whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“‘Or whatever.’ Are we hearing this?” Hanse snorts.

“You act like we don’t all know you’re in love with him. ‘It’s not a big deal’ my ass,” Subin snickers, and Sejun glares at the child.

“You watch your mouth, kid,” Sejun snaps, elbowing his side, satisfied with the yelp that it gets him.

“We all know you’re screaming and dying inside every time he does it.” Seungsik is too smug. “No need to lie. We’re all friends here.”

“Okay well, do you ever kiss him back?” Hanse is on the edge of his seat chewing aggressively on his straw. Sejun balks. Hanse rolls his eyes, before adding, “On the cheek, dumbass.”

“Uh, no.”

“ Uh, no ,” Byunchan mocks, snorting. “Hopeless.”

“And why the fuck not?” Hanse demands.

“I don’t know,” Sejun says slowly, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

Everyone at the table exchanges looks. Hanse sighs, shaking his head sadly.

“You stupid bitch.”

Because something that everyone knows that Sejun sadly does not, is that he could never scare Chan away.

It’s the night before the cursed dance competition that Sejun had agreed to attend with Chan. He’s been moaning and complaining in the days leading up to it, and every time Chan has placated him with promises of making it up to him. How he plans on doing that, Sejun is not sure, but if he’s honest with himself, and he always is—because the one thing he will always be truthful about to himself is the way that he is helplessly, hopelessly, in love with Chan—he will always be willing and grateful to take anything that Chan will give him.

“Campf beweev I’m wockin up at aff olock for a bonmf off chilfen,” Sejun says through a mouthful of toothpaste. Which means Chan has no idea what he’s saying, so he stands there in the doorway, leaning against the frame and waits for Sejun to finish brushing his teeth. Sejun spits loudly into the sink and raises his voice to be heard above their faucet. “I can’t believe I’m waking up at ass o’clock for a bunch of children.”

“You’re not waking up at ass o’clock for a bunch of children,” Chan says. “You’re waking up at ass o’clock for me.” He grins, self-satisfied.

Sejun tries not to smile, and instead looks into the mirror to see that his face is pink. Embarrassing.

“Okay, I’m waking up early for you,” Sejun concedes, giving the man a withering look. “How, exactly, are you going to make it up to me? You keep talking about it but you don’t say how.”

Chan thinks for a moment as Sejun begins his lengthy skincare routine, slapping his face with toner in a manner that is probably a little more aggressive than is necessary. He thinks part of it is him punishing himself for being so easily affected by the smaller man. He starts in on his coveted bottle of SK-II essence. This shit is expensive, and he’s not going to just slap it on his face all willy-nilly.

“I’ll take you out to dinner,” Chan says finally, sounding pleased.

“You’re gonna wine and dine me?” Sejun asks, heart fluttering, and he’s unable to keep the excitement out of his voice because what the fuck.

“Absolutely.”

“Mr. Heo Chan…” Sejun is unable to keep the teasing, flirty tone at bay as he starts in with a serum. “Are you taking me on a date?”

An audible pause.

“Uh, aha, you wish!” The way Chan says this is a cross between a cough and a wheeze, but it doesn’t change the way that Sejun’s stomach sinks a little in disappointment. There really is no reason for Sejun to have gotten his hopes up, even if he had mostly been joking because.

Like Chan says, Sejun wishes.

Sejun sticks his tongue out at Chan in a childish jest, reaching out and poking him in the stomach and sticking his finger deadcenter into the man’s belly button and earning himself a satisfying yelp, and a less satisfying elbow in the side.

“Asshole,” Sejun sniffs, applying moisturizer liberally to his skin and turning his nose up in the air. Which is why he doesn’t see it coming when Chan moves in to take a bite out of his shoulder. He really should have though.

Chan is nothing if not a teething little puppy with a proclivity for biting everything and everyone.

Sejun levels him with a flat look. “I’m doing you a favor and here you are, biting me like some glorified chew toy.”

“It’s how I show affection,” Chan says, unperturbed. “You know this.” Sejun is delicately patting eye cream on his under eyes with his ring fingers, looking unamused. Even though he desperately wants to smile because Chan is. How you say. Fucking Irresistible.

Chan grins and leans in, smacking a loud, dramatic kiss on Sejun’s cheek and even as his face turns pink, Sejun tries his best to level him with a flat look. He tells himself that doing this is not the cause of Chan’s smile faltering the slightest bit before he’s wishing Sejun a goodnight and making his exit.

Chan walks to his own room from the bathroom, a sinking feeling in his stomach, he thinks to himself, maybe Sejun doesn’t like him kissing him after all.

+1.

Chan lies there in his bed at ass o’clock, moments after his alarm has gone off, and he stares at the cracks in the ceiling. Oh, that one looks like a broken heart. He thinks the ceiling is trying to tell him something. He also thinks that seeing shapes like some work of abstract art in his ceiling makes him certifiably crazy. Or, if he’s kinder to himself, crazy in love, maybe.

Well. This sucks. He’s out here feeling sorry for himself because the love of his life doesn’t like being kissed by him (probably). Pathetic. He can hear a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Prince Zuko crooning dryly: “That’s rough buddy.”

He’s hearing fictional characters in his head now and Chan thinks it’s a cause for some concern. That’s enough of that.

Chan gets up reluctantly, taking a moment to stretch, freezing like a wild animal on high alert when he hears the telltale squeak of their faucet turning on as Sejun brushes his teeth. Chan was banking on Sejun getting up a little later so he’d have to interact with him less, but to no avail. Chan is a coward and he will not deny that fact. All this over a smoochie on the cheek, he thinks resignedly to himself.

Chan takes a deep breath with his hand on the doorknob, before flinging it open and pasting what he hopes is his usual bright, shit-eating grin on his face and heads to the bathroom to bother Sejun at ass o’clock in the morning.

Chan is being so weird, Sejun thinks to himself. Even this idiot isn’t This Cheery and Smiley in the morning, so what goes on?

Chan is brushing his teeth and Sejun is standing beside him at the sink and doing his morning skincare and Chan is also trying to talk with all that toothpaste foam in his mouth like he’d be able to understand a single word that he is saying. Sejun waits for him to spit.

“I said ,” Chan mumbles into his towel as he dries off, “the vans are gonna be parked in front of the dance studio when we get there, and the kids will just check in with me or one of the parents and go straight into the vans.”

Sejun just looks at him as he applies his favorite lip balm, one that doubles as a lip gloss because it’s so glossy and tinted pink. He raises an eyebrow. Chan is avoiding eye contact and he isn’t being very slick about it. “You were saying all that with toothpaste and shit in your mouth? And you expected me to understand all of it?”

Chan frowns and pokes his side as he slaps some sunscreen on his face, which is the only thing resembling skincare that he does because this asshole has nice, luminous skin naturally. Sejun hates him for it. “I’m nervous, okay. You know I ramble.”

“Nervous about what?”

“The competition.”

“Right,” Sejun says slowly, tilting his head as he looks at Chan, eyebrows furrowed. Chan avoids eye contact again, turning away to walk out of the bathroom. “Wait.”

Chan waits, but he doesn’t turn to look at him, keeping his back firmly turned towards Sejun. “Yeah?”

Sejun swallows, taking a step forward, and he can see the way that Chan physically tenses up. Sejun wills his hand to stay by his side, to resist reaching out to touch him because he can see how much Chan does not want that right now.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Don’t spend too much time looking at yourself in the mirror okay? We have to leave in twenty minutes,” Chan says, shooting him a smile in the mirror, and Sejun doesn’t like how forced it looks, but he pushes that thought away.

“Asshole,” Sejun sniffs, attempting to joke. Chan doesn’t reply.

On the subway ride to the dance studio, Chan lets Sejun drink some of their shitty Folgers coffee out of his “I love Bo bies” tumbler and it’s enough to wake him up a little more.

As much as Sejun loves to complain about how shitty the coffee is, he loves the way that Chan makes enough for both of them every morning even more. Always keeps the coffee machine set to warm the coffee, because he knows that Sejun gets up later than him.

Sejun sips idly at the tumbler, tiny little spurts of caffeine shooting through his veins and rendering him a lot more awake than he usually is at this time of day. He makes it clear to Chan that the coffee is in fact Sejun’s and not his. Chan also doesn’t stop him.

Sejun thinks about their conversation back in the bathroom at home. Chan is definitely nervous, Sejun knows that. So at least in that regard, he’s being honest.

But he knows that the other man is not nervous about some little dance competition that his kids are participating in. Chan has always made it clear not only to his students but also to Sejun and their friends that what’s important to him is making dance fun for the kids and to make it less about competition, and more about the teamwork that is required.

Chan is not nervous about the dance competition, Sejun thinks again to himself.

In fact, he knows that Chan is his most relaxed and carefree when he’s with them. Sejun likes to think that Chan might even be his best self when he’s with those kids.

Sejun thinks back further, to last night. Could it be—?

No, it couldn’t. Sejun is overthinking.

They’re at the small event center where the dance competition is being held, and Chan has not looked at Sejun directly since they loaded all the kids into the vans back at the dance studio. Chan knows how weirdly he is acting, even though he’s desperately trying hard not to.

Eye contact is just very hard when it comes to Sejun right now, what with Chan’s goodnight kiss being rejected (kind of), and especially looking how Sejun looks today, fluffy and soft in a hoodie, his hair messy, lips the slightest pink from that tinted lip balm he likes to use.

Sejun is beautiful and has broken his heart (kind of)—a double whammy.

For the most part Sejun has seemed to sense that Chan does not want to look or speak to him, and all morning has only spoken to him when necessary, like checking the kids off on the roster they have brought with them, locating the emergency first aid kit, things like that. Even right now, as the kids are settling down in the waiting area for the competition participants, Sejun is sitting with a small gaggle of kids who seem enthralled by one of Sejun stories, no doubt loving how animated and dramatic he gets when telling them.

Sejun looks over and Chan can feel his face heat up with the embarrassment of being caught staring, and tries to quickly look away. He pretends to be busy on his phone, swiping between his app pages, leaning down and pretending to check through the first aid kit, hands brushing over small packages of bandages and allergy medicine, cringing internally at his own behavior.

It’s just Sejun. It’s just Sejun, his best friend since forever, but for some reason, all of the sudden, Chan feels the need to act like a Gay Little School Boy. Seungsik’s words.

Chan knew that Sejun was walking over before he even knocked Chan’s arm with his own.

“Hey.”

Chan glances over at him and feels like he’s been punched in the throat by how effortlessly beautiful Sejun looks in this moment, his grin revealing those dimples that he loves so much.

“Hi.”

“Caught you staring.”

“Did you? I didn’t realize I was staring,” Chan lies, glancing down at the first aid kit and suddenly finding the package of aspirin very interesting.

He glances up again and Sejun has stopped smiling, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he watches Chan, concern draped over his features. Chan looks away again and closes up the first aid bag and makes to walk away, but Sejun has a hand gripping his elbow, his touch gentle.

“Is everything okay?” Sejun sounds a little more than worried, and he’s ducking his head in an attempt to make eye contact with Chan. He tries to give Sejun this at least, if only it will mean that Sejun will stop having that look on his face. Something like a cross between concern and sadness, and Chan hates to think that he is the one that caused it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything is fine!” Chan tries, and even to his own ears, he can tell it doesn’t sound real.

“Heo Chan.”

Chan has really done it now. Sejun has pulled out the full name and it’s how Chan knows that the other man will not let this go.

“I’m your best friend, okay. I know when everything is not fine.”

All this over a rejected (kinda) kiss on the cheek. Chan scoffs at himself for being so sensitive over something like that. Stupid dumbass.

“Chan,” Sejun says now, reaching out and taking Chan’s hand in his own. “Please. What’s wrong?”

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” Chan says finally. “I have to take care of the kids.”

“Okay. But promise that we’ll talk about this at home later.” Sejun sounds resigned, and no less worried than he did earlier.

“I promise.”

Really, Chan is just buying himself time to work through whatever rejection (kinda) that he is feeling, so he doesn’t completely have a stupid dumbass breakdown over it in front of Sejun when they do talk about it. Also so he can think of something to tell Sejun that Isn’t about his rejection (kinda).

Is he lying? No. He’s just avoiding the actual truth.

Wait—that’s lying.

It’s been a long fuckin’ day.

The kids got third place, and were quite satisfied with it. That’s all Chan can ask for, really.

On the way back to the dance studio, Chan had Sejun order chicken and pizza to be delivered for the team’s celebratory dinner.

With all the bustle of watching over the kids and taking care of paperwork and other tasks, Chan really, genuinely had not had much of a chance to talk to Sejun. Even when he went to the bathroom when he didn’t actually need to just to avoid any idle time with the man. Ahem.

Yeah. No time to speak to his best friend about rejection (kinda).

By the time they get home after sitting around the studio and waiting for the last few kids to be picked up by parents who hadn’t been able to attend the competition and have dinner at the studio, it’s late. Like, midnight late but still. Late.

At this point Chan really is just looking for any excuse to not talk to Sejun about any of this so he can just go to sleep and brush past all of this and act like this normal self in the morning. Like none of this butt-hurted-ness (not a word, he knows) ever happened.

When Chan finishes his shower and comes out to fill his water bottle up in the kitchen, Sejun is on the couch and scrolling through his phone as some late night drama plays on the TV, the volume low.

Chan can feel Sejun’s gaze on him as he moves around the kitchen, and cringes when he hears the man get up from the couch because it means he’s coming over here. Sure enough, when Chan turns around, Seju is leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed over his chest.

“I’m heading to bed,” Chan tries, “I’m exhausted.”

Sejun frowns, and Chan feels a tiny stab of guilt on his heart in the large Lim Sejun-shaped soft spot.

“But you promised we’d talk about it.”

“I know, I just,” Chan fumbles, “I’m really tired from today. Can we talk about it in the morning instead?”

Sejun seems to search his face for something, and Chan can feel as much as he can see the way Sejun’s gaze flits over his features. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Chan repeats, relieved. He turns to leave, brushing gently past Sejun to walk towards the hallway where their rooms are. He’s not looking for more rejection (kinda) tonight. “Goodnight.”

“Wait!” Sejun sounds petulant.

“Hm?” Chan turns around, waiting. Sejun looks expectant, so Chan furrows his brows in question. The other man pouts at him, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands and looking unbearably cute.