Archive of Our Own

Renjun survives three days living on Dejun’s couch before he decides that enough is enough. Well, three and a half. It’s half-past midnight when he sits up on the pullout couch and kicks the cold sheets off his legs, face uncomfortably warm and hair still damp from the too-hot shower he’d taken earlier. Dejun was particularly whiney, so naturally, Renjun used up all the hot water out of spite. The idiot in question is awake in the corner of his studio, typing away on his laptop, just like always.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Dejun counters, tilting his chair back into the wall and wincing at the creaking sound it makes. “Are you hot?” 

“Burning up. And thinking.”

“That’s never good,” Dejun says, face twisting into a frown. “You thinking, not being hot.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, standing and making his way to the fridge. He opens it but finds nothing inside other than coffee creamer and an empty tupperware container that used to contain Renjun’s dinner. “You ate my pasta?”

“I got hungry.”

Renjun huffs out a sigh. “I’m moving out,” he says, closing the fridge and deciding to settle for a glass of water. He takes the seat opposite of Dejun and sets his water on the table. “That’s not a joke, by the way. The second I find a place, you’ll get your studio back to yourself.”

“Well, if you landlord hadn’t kicked you out in the first place—”

“She died, thank you very much,” Renjun interrupts, swallowing before realizing his mouth is too dry to do anything but smack his lips together. He downs his glass of water in one gulp, then sets it back on the counter with a sigh. “But I need to find somewhere close to work. I can’t keep showing up late because you can’t find your keys.”

Dejun huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Thank you so much for letting me live here, Dejun, you’re the best friend in the world, I’m so grateful for you,” he mocks. “You’d think you could chip in on rent.”

“I’ve been here for three days,” Renjun says flatly.

“You’ve seen how empty my fridge is. I’ve gotta eat.”

“Fridge is only empty ‘cause you’re too lazy to cook for yourself and too environmentally conscious to order takeout. Your boy toy’s salary pays for your lunch every day, and he’d buy you dinner if you asked.”

The light of his laptop is too tinted for Renjun to see if his face is coloring, but judging by the way Dejun’s eyes widen, it’s a fair guess to say he’s blushing. “How do you know that?”

Renjun shrugs and smiles. “Word travels fast at work.” He decides not to say anything about the several dated receipts he’d found in the wastebasket. “Y’know, I saw him the other day. You’re his screensaver.”

“Disgusting,” Dejun says, looking away. “I shouldn’t have to hear this. I give you a roof over your head and this is how you repay me? With slander and deceit?”

Renjun hums and slumps in his chair. Though he’s still hot, the proximity to the fridge cools his back, and the position he’s sitting in is too comfortable not to relax into. His eyes close momentarily before he even realizes how tired he is. 

He hears the clicking of keys again, and his lips curl into a smile as he realizes that Dejun thinks he’s fallen asleep. “Can you find me an apartment?” he asks suddenly into the silence, and Dejun yelps loudly. The sound of a chair scooting across laminate echoes through the room. 

“Renjun!” Dejun hisses, clearly still startled. “Can you please go the fuck to sleep?!”

The text comes when he’s at work, because Dejun likes to be as much of a pest as conceivably possible. The fool he’s monitoring on the computer screen in front of him isn’t doing anything other than staring at his laptop screen and drooling over online sales, so Renjun figures there are grounds to take a break.

Only one thing glares back at him when he checks his phone — a text from Dejun, loud and entirely too upper-case for nine in the morning.

> FOUND A PLACE!!! LET’S GO TALK TO THE OWNER WHEN YOU GET OFF WORK :D

Hastily, Renjun types back a dismissive reply and shoves his phone back into his pocket. When he looks back up at his monitor, the boy on the screen is slathering on chapstick. It’s clear he needs it, but Renjun isn’t sure the drugstore brand is going to do him any help. 

Shifting in his seat, Renjun smiles and switches to another tab to type out some long-overdue reports. The change in position leaves his left leg pressed against the underside of his desk, more specifically the cool metal strapped to it. A shiver runs down his spine. He remembers an argument a few weeks ago between himself and Doyoung where the other insisted that he remove the knife from under the desk, but Renjun didn’t want to take any chances, and he still doesn’t, not after last time.

“Observer reports no activity requiring further inspection through the hours of approximately 5AM and 12PM,” he types. “It appears Na has not left his residence in two days and, based on search history, does not intend to anytime soon.”

He exits out of the tab and switches back to his live feed. This time, Na’s wiping chapstick off his teeth with a finger. How charming.

Renjun really hadn’t intended for his line of work to be this risky when he first applied for a job six months ago. Dejun had pulled a few strings for him, since he had a “friend” in the FBI who figured it was easy enough to find an open position in an adjacent department, especially for someone as overqualified as Renjun. He was right, but it wasn’t ever as simple as that.

Dejun had to drag a whining Renjun to his own job interview and ended up dumping him on the front door of some suit-and-tie NSA hotshot, and even after that, the department still took him in for an interview. Renjun told the man outright that he didn’t want the job, and he still found himself in a fluorescent-lit room that hummed with the electricity of the flickering overhead lights, answering questions he’d never been prepared for.

And now he’s here, after all that.

Renjun stands and pushes his office chair back under his desk. It’s his break time now that Na has fallen asleep watching a livestream, so he sets his computer to record any activity and leaves the office, locking the door behind him. He smiles thinly at the reception desk and makes his way to the filing room.

“Whatcha doin’?” Yizhuo asks from behind the desk. She’s tilting her head, tapping a pencil idly against her keyboard. 

“Looking for something,” Renjun says, pushing the door in and letting it creak closed behind him. He turns the lights on and opens the filing cabinet he needs, then thumbs through so many files that his head spins.

Finally, though, he finds it, holding the tab of the file between his thumb and forefinger and pulling it out from the cabinet. Renjun sets the file itself on the table behind him and opens it, pulling out the papers inside.

The room still smells sterile, even after three months. Renjun wonders if someone cleans it constantly, if it smells like stale metal beneath the acrid smell of bleach. Never mind that, he tells himself, and keeps reading.

He makes it halfway through the transcript before the door creaks open again, and he startles, one fist already drawing back reflexively. 

“It’s me,” the man at the door says, and Renjun relaxes, lowering his hand with a relieved sigh. “Not everyone’s out to get you, you know. We’re not that short on security.”

“One man short,” Renjun reminds him. “And after the last one turned out to be a spy, I’m not taking any chances.”

“She hardly did any damage.”

“She stabbed Yoonoh when he found out,” Renjun says, cocking his head. “I’m just careful, okay? I wouldn’t hurt you or anyone else in this office.”

Doyoung’s mouth settles into a thin line. He nods, then walks behind Renjun, pausing at his side to glance over his shoulder. He reads the file for a moment, then hums. “Some interview, huh?”

“I’m still surprised you took me.”

Doyoung moves past him, glancing back with tired eyes and a crooked smile. “Honestly? Sometimes I am, too.”

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT. PROPERTY OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY. TRANSCRIBED ON [REDACTED.]

DONGYOUNG KIM: So I see here you’re applying as tech support, but your resumé says you’re more than qualified to work in a higher position. I remember you from a few years ago. Is your brother still doing alright? Still working with the FBI?

RENJUN HUANG: I wouldn’t know. He and I aren’t on speaking terms. 

KIM: I’m sorry to have asked. But to answer my question, you do realize you’re overqualified, correct?

HUANG: I wasn’t sure how the competition would be in other positions. I need something guaranteed. I know I’m not supposed to say that.

KIM: What if I could offer you a guaranteed job right now? No catches?

HUANG: You’re serious?

KIM: Dead serious.

HUANG: Tell me about the job. 

KIM: I’ve read in your file that you don’t… Identify with…

HUANG: I’m transgender.

KIM: Yes.

HUANG: And? What does that have to do with anything?

KIM: Nothing. I thought this might be interesting to you because it’s something you’re knowledgeable about.

HUANG: Go on.

KIM: This position is in surveillance.

HUANG: What kind?”

KIM: Everything is through a computer. There’s a young man in our area named Jaemin Na. His parents are concerned. He just moved out on his own, and he’s transgender and disabled. His parents are worried for his safety. Moreover, his parents are well-known political figures, and he may be a target in some form or fashion. They’ve offered us a sum of money to keep him safe and watch over him.

HUANG: Without him knowing? That’s creepy. That’s stalking.

KIM: But it’s right up your alley. I know how desperately you need a job.

HUANG: How much?

KIM: Hm?

HUANG: How much did you take to spy on this kid?

KIM: [REDACTED.]

HUANG: No. No way.

KIM: Look, I’m desperate. You’re the first person to ever even come close to qualifying for the job. He doesn’t have to know about it.

HUANG: [UNINTELLIGIBLE.]

KIM: Please.

KIM: I’ve seen your file. You graduated early. Top of your class. Brought our tech system into our branch, for God’s sake. This office is perfect for you.

HUANG: I’ll think about it.

KIM: Please do. I think we’re done here.

HUANG: I’ll call you regarding my answer.

KIM: Thank you for your time. We’d love to have you here, Renjun.

END OF TRANSCRIPT. REPORT TRANSCRIBED BY 9714 — JUNG, YOONOH. DATE FILED: [REDACTED.] ALL SUBJECTS HAVE AGREED TO AND SIGNED FOR THIS TRANSCRIPTION. PROPERTY OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY.

Na hasn’t moved in bed since ten in the morning. He’s been scribbling something in a notebook for the past few hours, occasionally searching things online, and Renjun thinks he’s going to quit if this idiot searches ‘ethical candle formula’ one more time.

“Have you taken a break yet?” a voice asks, and Renjun jumps, spinning around in his chair to face the man in the doorway. Yoonoh stares back at him, a plastic bag dangling from his hand. “Catch.”

Renjun manages to grab onto the bag and drops it in his lap. When he looks inside, he finds a bag of chips, a bottle of water, and some candy. “You’re gonna give me cavities.”

“This is the only thing you’re gonna eat all day. I know you.”

Renjun rolls his eyes and turns in his chair, facing Na on his computer screen again. “I’ve already taken a break this morning. I went to the filing room.” 

“Yeah? And when are you getting off work?” 

“Whenever this dumbass decides to leave his room.”

“Which is?”

Renjun glances at his computer. Sure enough, Na is still writing in his notebook. “...Y’know, I actually don’t know.”

“When are your hours?” Yoonoh closes the door behind him and props himself up against the wall. He tilts his head and stares at the computer curiously. “Like, do you just… Leave when he sleeps? You’re always in the office whenever I’m working.”

“I’m here when I wanna be,” Renjun shrugs. “My hours are pretty flexible. More often than not, that means I’m always here since I’ve got nothing better to do. My computer records all feed from his devices, so when I get to work, I fast forward through everything to make sure he’s not in any trouble. For the most part, he just looks at cat pictures.”

“Sounds boring.”

“He’s pretty fun sometimes. He likes to do girl group karaoke.”

Yoonoh laughs. Renjun hears the click of a heel against drywall and frowns, hoping Yoonoh’s footprint doesn’t scuff up his wall. He’d just cleaned last week.

“What if something happens to him while you’re not here?”

“I’ve got my phone connected to his security system. If anything happens, I’m the first to know about it. And I think he has someone in the FBI keeping tabs on him in person, too, but I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’m behind the scenes.”

Yoonoh hums and reaches forward to grab the chips out of the plastic bag on Renjun’s desk. “Eat,” he says, pressing the chips against Renjun’s chest. “And one last thing.”

Renjun hums to spur him on, but his focus is on the bag of chips, which he’s now fumbling to open. The bag pops open, and when the smell inside hits, it knocks him back. Fucking salt and vinegar.

“How much are they paying you for all this?”

“You’re the one who transcribed the interview, Yoonoh. If you can’t remember then I can’t help you.”

Yoonoh groans. “Doyoung cut that part out of the recording. Said I wasn’t allowed to hear.”

“That so?” Renjun bites down on a chip. He wipes the dust from his mouth, tosses the bag onto his desk, and spins around in his chair to face Yoonoh. “I’ll tell you.”

Yoonoh’s eyes widen, and Renjun grins a little. He’s like a little child. “Really?”

“You really wanna know that bad?” 

“Yes,” Yoonoh says exasperatedly. “It’s one of the only things I haven’t figured out about this place.”

“I’ll tell you if you come up with a new security guard. One who won’t stab you.”

Yoonoh deflates. “Everyone wants to stab me. I’m irresistible.”

Renjun hums dismissively. “Then I guess you won’t know how much I make in a year.”

“I’m serious,” Yoonoh whines. “I went on a date with the guy from the branch across from us, I forgot what it’s called, and—”

“FBI?” 

“Yeah, that. And when I offered to take him back home he pulled his knife on me! Everyone’s out to get me!”

“It’s your dashing good looks. I’d kill for those.”

Yoonoh crosses his arms over his chest and pushes himself further into the wall. His shoulders widen now that they’re pressed up against something, and he pouts, tilting his head to the side like his puppy dog eyes will coax something out of Renjun. “So if I replace our security guard, you’ll tell me?”

Renjun grins. “Sure, if you’re up for it.”

Yoonoh makes his way to the door and cracks it open, slipping through it and leaving a small gap to talk to Renjun through. “Just eat your damn food. And don’t spill anything on your keyboard. It’ll come out of our budget.”

The door clicks shut, and Renjun turns to the computer again. Na’s chin is all he can see, meaning the idiot must’ve fallen asleep. Sure enough, when Renjun turns on his audio, there are quiet snores coming from Na’s line. He mutes his computer, grabs his phone, and texts Dejun that he’s ready to be picked up.

Until then, he’s content with watching the slow movement of Na’s throat. 

He’s here for a reason. Somebody’s son needs his help, a boy with a family and a life of his own and friends who care about him enough that they’d be crushed if he were hurt.

(In the depths of Renjun’s desk drawer, there’s a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a shallow smile whose heart he can’t bear to break, but knows he already has. She had friends and family like that, friends and family who it probably killed to leave. He took the job for her.

Maybe one day he can be the version of himself that she always hoped to be, but for now, he’s content with where he is. There’ll always be room to grow.)

With the way things have been going lately, Renjun doesn’t want to take any chances getting into vehicles with strangers. But he hails a cab anyways — only because Dejun won’t respond to his texts — and stares pointedly out the window in an attempt to keep any conversation from being made with his driver.

The short story is this: the girl Renjun trusted turned out to be an informant for a group trying to blackmail the administration into a couple of federal prison releases for hired killers, and upon being found out, she stabbed Yoonoh in the gut with a military knife sewn to the innings of her jacket.

The full story is this: Renjun’s first friend in the office, the sweet security guard who took his wrist with a gentle smile and pulled him out of Dejun’s arms, dragged him into his interview with Doyoung, and memorized his coffee order so she could bring it to him every morning… The kind, funny girl who sat quietly at her desk most days but always stopped by Renjun’s office to talk and bring him coffee and snacks, the girl who stayed with him late into the night while slumped in the folding chair she propped in the corner of his office after hours… That security guard was caught red-handed picking files a year and a half into her job at the NSA by none other than Jung Yoonoh, and, when asked what she was doing, pulled out a blade longer than her own hand and lodged it between Yoonoh’s ribcage and stomach. Renjun was the one to see it happen on the security cameras after hearing the original spark of conversation in the filing room, and, after switching the cameras, saw the blood, saw Yoonoh’s gaping mouth, saw him fall to the ground. Watched his friend retreat from the building and sat without calling anyone to stop her out of pure shock. Held Yoonoh in his arms and kept him alive till someone came to help him.

So, no. Renjun doesn’t like trusting strangers any more than he likes trusting people he knows.

He pays his fare and checks his phone when the cab drops him off in front of Dejun’s apartment building, and there’s Dejun, rushing down a flight of stairs and slinging his backpack over his shoulder as his car keys fall out of his hand and into the street. Renjun barely manages to swipe them up before a biker runs them over. 

“Someone was late,” Renjun sings, dangling the keys in front of Dejun like a toy in front of a cat. By the looks of it, Dejun’s ready to pounce. “Whatever you were about to drag me out for tonight, forget it if you ever want to see your keys again.”

“I booked a showing with a potential landlord, O Great and Powerful One,” Dejun says, eyes following the fob of his keys like he’s been hypnotized. “And we just so happen to be late due to…”

“Due to your punctuality.”

“May I please have my keys?”

Grinning, Renjun drops them into Dejun’s waiting hands. “Since you asked nicely,” he says, then starts briskly towards Dejun’s car, which is parked in the lot across the street. He’s unsettled by the idea of someone driving him anywhere, but since it’s Dejun, nerves are at ease, if only by a little. Dejun’s different.

“Anything new?” he asks, ducking into the car.

“Since I saw you this morning?” Dejun tilts his head and pulls the car out onto the street. The heat is on full blast, and Renjun appreciates the warmth after facing the biting autumn chill. “Not much. I went out and got groceries.”

“With what money?”

“Your rent money.”

“I never gave you any rent money. I gave you my credit card to use in emergencies.”

“It was an emergency. I wanted french fries.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but grin. “That’s not an emergency. That’s you being hungry.”

Dejun waves his hands. “Semantics.” He turns the radio on and lowers the volume so that it hums softly under the buzz of the engine.

“Where’s the apartment?”

“Not far. It’s close to your office, too.”

“Wonder why I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“I think it only went up as a vacancy yesterday,” Dejun says, taking a turn and parallel parking onto a small, crowded street. He turns the engine off and pockets his keys. “It’s right here, this little corner store. The owner is renting out an apartment above it.”

Renjun gets out of the car and steps into the street, eyeing the store in front of him. There’s no sign on it, no identifier, so he can’t tell what it’s supposed to be. Whatever it is, it looks cozy inside. “Quaint.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Junnie,” Dejun says, taking his arm and leading him inside the store. A bell jingles as the door moves, and Renjun tilts his head as he looks around. Something is faintly familiar about this, but he can’t quite place what.

There’s a line of candles on display, and from the looks of the labels, they’re all handmade. So are the various toiletries Renjun sees scattered throughout the store. The clothes hanging from the walls look out of place at first, but the more Renjun looks around the store, the sooner he realizes that the shelves are stocked with everything. Records, books, antiques — anything Renjun can imagine finding in this store is lurking somewhere inside.

In the front, there’s a small counter piled high with boxes. Behind it is a doorway with no door, and out of that doorway comes a pair of hands wrapped around three stacked boxes. “Sorry!” a voice calls, and Renjun tilts his head on reflex. “I’m sorry, I’m still trying to stock the store.”

“No problem,” Dejun says just as the boxes drop onto the counter with a loud thump. “I’m Dejun, nice to meet you.”

The boy appears from behind the box, and Renjun’s heart stops. He considers turning around and walking back out of the store, but fears the level of Dejun’s wrath he’ll incur.

The boy behind the counter sports a wide grin when he speaks. Turning to Renjun, he says, “I’m Jaemin! And you are?”

Renjun has to bite down a panicked ‘I know’ as he shoves both his hands in his pockets. “I’m Renjun,” he says, forcing a smile that probably looks as uneasy as his stomach feels.

His cover could be blown at any given moment. He’ll lose his job, his friends, his everything. So he makes his smile a little brighter and pulls his hands from his pockets, grabbing one of Dejun’s to keep himself distracted.

“The apartment’s upstairs. This way,” Jaemin says, turning and disappearing through the doorway behind the desk. Dejun and Renjun follow him, lagging behind to give him enough room to walk. “Oh, also, if you need an elevator, I’m having one installed soon.”

Dejun tilts his head. “An elevator?”

“I, ah,” Jaemin waves the hand not holding onto the rail as he climbs the stairs. “Once I get the rest of the empty units up here ready to rent, there’ll be more people, so it’s just a good thing to have, right? It’s more for me than anyone else, but I thought it’d be a good idea. I’m not… My body… has trouble keeping up. So I have a hard time getting up stairs and things. Today’s just one of my better days.”

“Sorry for asking,” Dejun says. “That’s expensive though, right?”

Jaemin turns his head to look back over his shoulder at Dejun as they climb the stairs. “I have my ways,” he says, giving him an over-exaggerated wink that makes Renjun laugh a little. He’s just as much of an idiot in real life as he is on-screen.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Jaemin produces a key from his pocket and unlocks one of six doors. He pushes it open and lets Dejun and Renjun inside.

“It’s really nice,” Dejun says, looking around. “Are these countertops marble?”

He’s right. It’s a very nice apartment that was clearly renovated or just built, and it’s affordable, too. The only thing potentially stopping him from renting here is work, and if they never find out...

“Quartz,” Jaemin says, closing the door. “Small disclaimer, I’ve never gotten to show an apartment to potential tenants before. And I’ve never had potential tenants, either. So you’re test subjects for the time being.”

Eh, what the hell. He needs somewhere to stay, doesn’t he?

“That’s alright, I’ll take it,” Renjun says.

“Cool! So here’s the kitchen, it’s—” Jaemin freezes and turns to Renjun with comically wide eyes. “What?”

“It’s in my price range. I like it a lot. So I’ll take it.”

“I haven’t even shown you the apartment,” Jaemin says, tilting his head.

Renjun shrugs. “I like it already, and I really need an apartment.” He ignores Dejun tugging on his sleeve while Jaemin continues to stare like he’s grown a second head. “Is there a lease I can sign?”

Jaemin nods, still a little confused, and moves towards the door. “Yeah, I’ve got the doc on my computer downstairs. This way.”

He disappears out the door, leaving behind quiet footsteps as he pads down the stairs. Renjun and Dejun follow him.

“You’re an idiot,” Dejun says, swatting his arm. 

“No, I need somewhere to stay,” Renjun says. “There’s a difference.”

“You could’ve at least gone through the showing, y’know.”

Renjun hums and shrugs as they reach the bottom of the staircase. “Too late now. Let’s go get this lease drawn up, and then I’ll take you to the Thai place you like for dinner.”

Reluctantly, Dejun concedes, and they step through the doorway and back into Jaemin’s quaint little store.

“What’s even in this? Rocks?”

Renjun’s up against the wall of the stairwell as Dejun climbs to the top. He’s holding a box that honestly isn’t very heavy, but Dejun is willing to complain about anything if he’s able to find a way.

“Not quite. Clothes.”

“So you don’t mind if I—” Dejun reaches the top of the staircase and drops the box onto the floor. “That’s better,” he sighs, sitting down beside the box and wiping his brow. 

“You’re so over-dramatic. I’m the one who’s been doing the heavy lifting, and I’m in a binder,” Renjun says, huffing as he climbs the stairs and picks up the box. “We need to hurry, I’m sure Jaemin doesn’t appreciate us taking so long.”

“He seems alright with it. Oh, hey — forgot to tell you, but when I passed him downstairs he said he had something for you after you finished?”

Renjun drops the box inside his apartment and walks back down the stairs. “Any idea what that is?”

Dejun grins down at him, hands braced on his knees. “Nope! Bring me a box, too.”

“Get it yourself.”

“C’mon, Jun, there’s only like four more! If you get them all and push them to the stairwell, we can do two at a time, and then we’re done! Then I get to go home to my loving—”

“I don’t have enough muscles or motivation for that,” Renjun interrupts, disappearing through the doorway.

Dejun groans, but still stands and follows him out reluctantly. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

There’s a note on the counter next to two cups of coffee. The note has Renjun’s name on it, so he pulls it into view and tries to read the barely-legible handwriting. 

‘Renjun — sorry, I’m going to the pharmacy and IDK when I’ll be back. You can lock up the store when you’re done if you want. I made coffee for you guys! Congrats on moving in, I hope you like it here a lot.’

There are little hearts drawn all around the text, and Renjun laughs a little, pushing one of the coffee cups towards Dejun. “Go ahead and drink yours while it’s hot. The couch is in the apartment, right?”

Dejun hums and nods, taking his cup with a grateful smile and darting back into the stairwell. “Don’t strain your back!” he calls, his footsteps retreating up the staircase.

Renjun rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his coffee, and sets it down. It’s good coffee, but he’ll have to drink it later if he wants to finish unpacking before evening. There are only a few boxes left to bring upstairs, though, so he holds onto the hope that maybe his coffee won’t go cold.

Renjun pushes past the counter and makes his way out of the store, out to where the last of the boxes are waiting inside the dingy little U-Haul he’d rented for the day. He unlocks the trunk and grabs two boxes, but they’re too big and he has trouble fitting them under his arms. One starts to slip out of his arms, but before it leaves them completely it somehow slides back inside. He tucks it under his chin to keep the same thing from happening again, then looks around to try to make sense of what just happened.

“Need a hand?” a voice asks. Renjun jumps and turns to his side, where a tall ( tall, very tall, almost towering) stranger in a leather jacket asks, his hand outstretched to steady the box that had almost fallen. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s alright,” Renjun says, already feeling his face flush. “If you’re offering, I’d really appreciate the help,” he says, then shrinks behind his boxes. He doesn’t have much time to hide, though, because two of them pull out from his grasp and into Tallandhandsome's arms.

“Inside this building, right?” he asks, and Renjun can only nod. “Are you moving in? New in town?”

“Yeah,” Renjun manages. “I’m moving in, but I’ve lived here for a while. I had to move out of my last place, but I managed to find a place where rent isn’t high.”

“Huh,” Tallandhandsome says. “Where do you want me to take these?” 

“Um, up the steps would—” Renjun says, but his words run together and he tries to start over again. “Up the steps would be nice, if you want to, you don’t have —”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Tallandhandsome says, looking back at him with a smile that tells Renjun he finds this amusing. And Renjun short circuits for a moment, because not only is he tall and handsome and helpful, but he finds Renjun amusing (endearing?). “Jaemin’s your landlord, right?”

Renjun blanks. “Um. Yeah.” he tilts his head. “How’d you know that?”

“I found you on the street because I was coming to visit Jaemin in the first place,” Tallandhandsome says. “We were friends in college and I reconnected with him a month or so ago.”

A month or so ago? A month ago, the most exciting thing to happen was Renjun winning the office rally for a free coupon to Burger King, and in the meantime, his client was apparently linking up with one of the Seven Wonders. Not to mention the coupon was fucking expired. Unfair. 

“Small world,” Renjun says as Tallandhandsome reaches the top of the stairs. “That’s good, I can bring everything inside from there.”

“Alright,” Tallandhandsome says. Renjun drops the last of his own boxes at the top of the stairs, then turns to see Tallandhandsome staring at him. “I’m Xuxi, by the way.”

“Renjun,” he answers, sticking his hand out as a force of habit. Xuxi takes it. “Thanks for helping, I really don’t think I could have made it up the stairs with those other boxes,” he says, laughing a little.

“No problem! If you need help with anything else, you can, ah—” Xuxi pats the sides of his jacket (which is leather, and you love leather jackets , as Renjun’s mind so unhelpfully reminds him) like he’s fumbling for something. He produces a small notebook and a pen from his pocket, smiles nervously at Renjun, and then flips the notebook open. He scribbles a note out and presses it into Renjun’s hand, closing his fingers around it in a way that absolutely does not make Renjun’s face heat up. “There’s my number. I figured if you’re living here and I’m going to hang around Jaemin a lot, we’ll probably meet a lot! So, uh, there. There’s my number. In case you need anything. Or just want to talk.”

It’s funny, actually. Because now he looks embarrassed and Renjun knows his curse to be flustered apparently isn’t as one-sided as he thought.

“Great, thanks,” he says, smiling at Xuxi. Distantly, he hears the door to the shop open and close, accompanied by the little ring of a bell. “I bet that’s Jaemin, if you want to go see him. Careful not to scare him.”

Xuxi grins and puts a foot on the top step, but pauses, turning to look at Renjun one more time. “See you around?”

Renjun waves. “Yeah. See you around.”

Xuxi descends down the stairs quickly and disappears into the shop. Renjun can hear Jaemin yell in surprise before he hears something suspiciously like quick footsteps thudding on the hardwood and the rustle of leather. He hopes it’s a nice hug.

Belatedly, he remembers that he forgot his coffee on the counter down in the shop, but only shrugs and makes his way into his apartment dragging one box behind him. “Dejun,” he calls out into the near-empty space, which is piled high with boxes and echoes back his words. “Come help me bring the rest of these boxes in.”

“Do I have to?” Renjun calls from the couch in the living room, where he’s lying stretched out, his empty cup of coffee discarded on the floor beside him.

Renjun closes the door behind him and lowers his voice. “If you don’t help, then you don’t get to hear about the cute guy I just met who maybe, possibly showed interest in me?”

Dejun sits up and looks like he’s just been smacked. “Coming,” he says, scrambling to get off the couch. “Wait for me!” he says when Renjun leaves the apartment again, laughing in a mad dive to take the last three boxes for himself.

Hours later, he texts the number on the crumpled note in his pocket. It’s dark, and soft light from the city pours in through his bedroom window. His phone buzzes with a response. Renjun smiles and puts his phone down to charge, then rolls over to sleep.

Okay. Alright. This is fine. Everything is fine. Except Renjun’s brain isn’t working and hasn’t been for the past fifteen minutes, and he doesn’t even know how to fix it. 

“Dude. Your pizza’s getting cold,” Yoonoh points out. “I think you’re drooling.”

“I am not drooling,” Renjun says, but snatches up his napkin and rubs at the corners of his mouth anyways, just to be sure. “Shut up.”

“I can’t shut up, I don’t even know what’s wrong with you.”

Silently, Renjun curses him. It’s his fault they’re here in the first place. Damn Yoonoh and his stupid insistence on Renjun ‘eating enough to sustain himself.’ What kind of bullshit principle is— 

“Dude,” Yoonoh says, sounding exasperated. “Renjun, you’re doing it again. If you keep thinking hard like that I think you’re gonna break something.”

“What, a bone?”

“No, your skull.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, picks at his french fries with a fork, and avoids looking up. “This is your fault.”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with you, Renjun! What now?”

“You brought me out to lunch, and now that cute motherfucker is in my peripheral vision all the time,” Renjun mutters, then dares to look up at him again and nearly has a heart attack. He doesn’t let his eyes widen, but he looks at Yoonoh and calmly says, “Look, he’s coming over here. If you embarrass me, the new security guard’s push dirk won’t be the only knife in your back you have to worry about.”

Yoonoh laughs a little but looks threatened enough that he won’t do anything rash. “You’re so rude sometimes,” he comments with another laugh, more to himself than to Renjun. 

“Renjun! I thought I recognized you,” a voice says, and Renjun jumps a little, but smiles when he recognizes the face. ( Whyishestillsohandsomethisissofuckingunfair, his mind supplies. He tells it to screw off.)

Renjun waves a little. The angle that his head is tilted up at is a bit uncomfortable, but he endures it without complaining. “Hey, Xuxi,” he says, smiling.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Xuxi, what’re you doing here?” Yoonoh asks, and Renjun turns and tilts his head.

“Picking up lunch for my team,” Xuxi says at the same time that Renjun asks, “How do you know Xuxi?”

They stare at each other for a moment until Yoonoh interrupts their… apparent staring contest. “Xuxi works in the building across from us, Renjun, how have you not seen him? You watch the security cameras, don’t you?”

“Just in the office,” Renjun says, flushing. He turns to Xuxi. “You’re FBI?”

Xuxi nods. “You’re NSA,” he says like he’s suddenly understanding something. “You’re the subordinate Yoonoh kept talking about. The one who didn’t know how to take care of himself.”

“Subordinate?” Renjun says, turning to Yoonoh. “I thought you wanted to know my salary,” he says darkly.

“I do, I do!” Yoonoh says, spluttering. “I just— Renjun, that’s the only way I can describe you!”

“Someone lower than you who has no sense of self-preservation,” Renjun says, pouting. “Is that all that you know about me?”

“No!” Yoonoh scrambles for his phone. “Your birthday is, uh—”

“Anyways,” Xuxi says, laughing a little. His grin looks so nice, and Renjun still thinks this is incredibly unfair. “I don’t just know Yoonoh from office proximity. He started dating my captain a couple of weeks ago.” 

“As stated a few days ago, Renjun, I am irresistible,” Yoonoh says, giving him a shit-eating grin. 

“To knife wounds, maybe,” Renjun says, and Yoonoh pouts. It’s not as effective because Renjun knows he’s a bastard of a man.

“You’ve got to stop joking about that, it’s only funny when I do it,” Yoonoh says. “Maybe you’re just not funny.”

“I think he’s funny,” Xuxi says, tilting his head.

“I’m still curious as to how you landed the captain of an FBI precinct.”

Xuxi wrinkles his nose. “I guess you could call it a precinct, but we’re not cops,” he says. “And yeah, Cap talks about him all the time.”

“All the time,” Yoonoh says, nodding like he’s giving thought to something. “Sounds about right.”

“You sure are humble.”

Yoonoh grins, then picks up his phone and sees the time. “I’ve gotta get back, I have a meeting with Doyoung in fifteen. You coming?”

Renjun doesn’t want to leave the conversation where it is, but he stands regardless and nods. “Did you get the check?”

“No, the government pays for my lunch because I’m special,” Yoonoh says, giving him another horrible smile that Renjun wants to slap off his bastard face. When he raises a hand to do so, Yoonoh backs up with wide eyes. “And yours! They pay for yours, too, you’re special!”

He lowers his hand. Another opportunity wasted.

Xuxi seems strangely endeared by this exchange. His hand falls onto Renjun’s shoulder a bit too quick for Renjun to process it, so he jumps, but once he realizes it’s Xuxi he softens. “Nice seeing you again. I’ll come by your building sometime?” Xuxi asks, looking very, very hopeful, and Renjun hates the sensation that inches its way around his heart and flutters.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, attempting casualty. It does not work very well. At all. Miraculously, Xuxi doesn’t mind.

Yoonoh attempts to comment on the flush on Renjun’s face as they walk back to the NSA building, but he doesn’t get very far before he realizes it’s unsafe. He seems to leave it alone after that.

Two knocks on Renjun’s door. It’s not Yoonoh’s usual three knocks, so Renjun turns off his screens and turns to face the door, one hand already settled against the underside of his desk. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Xuxi, can I come in?” a voice comes timidly from behind the door. Renjun relaxes. 

“Come in,” he says, and the door pushes open, revealing Xuxi, who waves at him with a little smile. Oh, God. He would do anything for that smile, maybe. “What’re you doing here?”

“Um, that’s the thing,” Xuxi says. In the dark, his face isn’t very visible, but he looks… nervous, almost? “Yoonoh told me you were trying to stay late again. Said it was an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“To, uh.” Xuxi clears his throat. “Shoot my shot? Is that what it’s called?”

“Oh my god,” Renjun says under his breath.

“Can I, uh, walk you home? I know we haven’t talked much at all—”

“Three times, actually.”

“You are not helping at all,” Xuxi says, fixing him with a deadpan stare. “Anyways. I think you’re cute and funny. Please let me walk you home, but no hard feelings if you say no.”

“A true gentleman,” Renjun says, standing up and shouldering his bag. “Let’s go.”

“Go… Where?”

“My apartment, Xuxi, unless you were just delivering a very unfunny joke,” Renjun says. Xuxi’s face lights up.

“Great,” he says, and Renjun lets himself revel in the fact that the bright smile playing on Xuxi’s lips is apparently because of him.

“Consider this a first date?” Renjun says, and Xuxi splutters.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is hoarse and he’s walking awkwardly down the hall, body rigid with tension. Renjun puts a hand in his to make him calm down, and thankfully, it works. He’s not sure what’s come over him that he’s suddenly able to act like he’s not internally losing his mind, but he enjoys not outwardly expressing his panic nonetheless.

On a night as cold as this, Renjun would regret not wearing a jacket, but somehow, he’s so excited that he can’t find a hint of cold in himself. Even if there were cold, he’s fairly certain that the warmth of Xuxi’s palm pressed against his would cancel it out. He’s a very warm person, Renjun thinks. He wonders what a hug from him would feel like.

He decides to find out for himself and hugs Xuxi goodnight outside the shop. They both pull away with pink faces, but Renjun attributes that more to the cold than anything else. Or hopes that’s what it is, at least.

The next time Xuxi took him on a date, it was to the local park after work. Neither of them could find a better time in their schedules, so they agreed to walk home together again, but with a detour this time. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but the limbs of trees stretched up and hung over the sidewalk from above like a canopy, and Xuxi had told him that the moon — just barely visible through all the crooked branches — was pretty, like him.

Then, a few days later, they went to see a movie at a theater near work. The tickets were too expensive and so was the popcorn, so they shared a tub and sat in the back of the theater. It was some cheap B-rate movie about the apocalypse, so Renjun spent most of the movie laughing while Xuxi watched out of the corner of his eye. Renjun noticed, of course, but didn’t say anything. 

The next time is a little more intimate. This morning, Xuxi texted asking if he wanted to come over for dinner that night. Hesitantly, he accepted — not because he didn’t want to go, but because he wasn’t sure if he trusted in Xuxi’s cooking skills — and went on with the rest of his day.

But now he’s in Xuxi’s apartment, sitting at his dining table and eating the pasta dinner that Xuxi made him from scratch, even the noodles, holy—

Anyways. It feels like a dream come true, except a little more awkward than a real dream because Renjun doesn’t know what to say without ruining the mood.

“How was work?”

Too domestic. Oh, God. 

“Not bad, not good,” Xuxi says, shrugging. The flame from the candle (the candle, he got a candle for this) is dancing in his eyes. “Did they tell you about the dinner?”

“Dinner?” Renjun parrots, taking another bite of his food. 

“All the departments are having an associates’ dinner, every essential worker is invited. They’re renting out six venues for, like, four hundred people each. And they’re splitting up branches.”

“They can afford that?”

“It’s to save face and pretend all the departments get along, I think,” Xuxi says. “Cap keeps bugging me about my plus one. Says I need a date.”

“Oh,” Renjun says, turning his eyes down to his food. 

“That’s an invitation, by the way,” Xuxi says. There’s a laugh in his voice. When Renjun looks up, he looks… endeared and in disbelief, both at the same time. “Did you not pick up on that?”

“...No,” Renjun says, smiling a little.

“Well, I’m asking you,” Xuxi says. “Do you want to go to the associates’ dinner with me?”

“If I have to.” Renjun’s voice is quieter than he’d like it to be. 

“It’s alright if you hate me too much,” Xuxi grins. “I understand.”

Renjun hums and puts down his fork. He stands.

“Am I too much? Are you leaving now?”

Renjun blows out the candle.

“Hey!”

He hopes he’s doing this right. He walks to the other end of the table and tugs at Xuxi’s jacket until he’s up on his feet, flush against Renjun. Xuxi’s eyes widen. “...Hey.”

“Hi,” Renjun says. “This is me thanking you. Thank you.”

“Do I get any compensation for having you as my date?”

Again, Renjun hums, and he leans up — he’s not tall enough to kiss Xuxi without standing on his tiptoes — and settles his arms around Xuxi’s neck. “Does a kiss count?”

“I guess,” Xuxi says, sighing, and his breath fans across Renjun’s lips. Renjun smiles, leans up that last little bit, and presses their lips together.

Xuxi tastes like the alfredo they had for dinner, but Renjun doesn’t mind. And Xuxi doesn’t seem to mind the fact that Renjun’s an inexperienced kisser (or dater, for that matter), so it works, and they kiss, and there aren’t any fireworks that go off in his stomach, but it feels pretty damn close.

Jaemin wonders why he won’t stop smiling when he gets back to the shop, and he pouts when Renjun tells him it’s a secret. Later, when Renjun curls up in bed and texts Dejun to recount his date (and subsequently receives several audio messages of Dejun whisper-yelling into his phone’s microphone in a way that Renjun can’t even decipher), his phone goes off and alerts him of a new search on Jaemin’s phone. He tells himself he’ll check it in the morning.

(He doesn’t end up making it past twelve. It’s a Google search for ‘How do I tell him that I really like him and that I want to kiss him and how to prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not be gay. And is it gay to take your guy friend out for dates?’ Renjun puts his phone down and has to think for a long time before he can finally let himself sleep.)

The next morning he’s in the shop waiting for Dejun to barrel through the door at seven in the morning so they can walk to work together. Technically, Dejun doesn’t even have work today, but he does have a boyfriend to congratulate on getting transferred to a different position, so he’s walking with Renjun this morning.

Or, he will be, if he shows up soon. He’s already five minutes late and Renjun has fallen down a rabbit hole of a conversation with Jaemin. 

“I’m here!” someone calls out as the bell attached to the door rings wildly. Dejun stands in the doorway, braced against his own knees, panting. “Sorry,” he says, glancing up at Renjun through the ends of his unkempt hair.

“What’s your excuse this time?” Renjun asks, eyebrows raised.

“I woke up late.”

“Boring.”

Dejun hums. “Jaemin, how much for coffee?”

“For you? Free,” Jaemin says, then moves about with two to-go cups in hand. 

“Do you have a suit?” Dejun asks Renjun once he stands up straight again. He makes his way to the counter and sets his phone on it. It’s face up, and every so often he glances at it to check the time.

“Why would I need a suit?”

“For the dinner you have to go to,” Dejun deadpans. “You know, the one you scored a date for?”

Renjun blanks for a moment. He’d almost forgotten. Almost. “Oh.”

“Well?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never had a suit. Dunno where I can get one, either.”

“I mean, I can find you one in time, but it’ll be expensive.”

Renjun kisses his teeth. “Great,” he says, just as Jaemin turns around with a tin of milk in hand. God bless him for memorizing the way they take their coffees.

“I’ve got a few here you can look through. They might be a little big, but they’re cheaper than everything else you’ll find.”

“You do?” Renjun asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, then flushes a bit. “I, uh. My parents took me to a lot of events before I moved here. I had to have a lot of nice clothes.”

“Events,” Dejun echoes. “Are you holding out? Are your parents some kind of celebrity bigwigs?”

“Dejun,” Renjun says when he sees the way Jaemin’s lips purse. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?”

“Oh. Shit.”

“You can go on without me, I’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Dejun asks, and when he receives a nod from Renjun, he thanks them both, takes his coffee (which is sleeveless and sure to burn his hand), and rushes out of the shop.

“Thanks for that,” Jaemin says, handing Renjun his coffee. When Renjun takes it, their fingers brush, and he wishes he could say it doesn’t send a shiver rippling down his spine. “I don’t really talk about my family.”

“I understand,” Renjun says, nodding and resisting the urge to finish with ‘more than you think.’ Instead, he gives Jaemin a small smile. “If it makes you feel any better, neither do I.”

Jaemin hums. The music in the background suddenly feels a lot quieter than it really is. “Stop by when you get home from work, yeah? I can get you set up with a suit.”

Renjun nods. “Thanks. Really.”

“‘Course,” Jaemin says, grinning. “Go on, I don’t wanna make you late.”

Renjun tightens his grip on his coffee, says goodbye to Jaemin, and starts on his way to work. 

It’s early in the evening when Renjun shoulders his briefcase and returns home. He still finds it incredibly cliched to carry one, but Yoonoh bought one for his birthday, and he couldn’t exactly shrug it off afterwards. His arm, bent over his shoulder, is weighed down by the weight of it, but he doesn’t mind.

“Renjun!” Jaemin says when he makes it through the door. The store is crowded with customers browsing, and Renjun is… surprised, honestly. Is this how busy the store usually is when he’s gone? 

Renjun waves. “Should I come back later?”

“Maybe, yeah,” Jaemin calls to him from the front counter, where he’s perched on a stool, dropping change into a woman’s hand as she tucks a small paper bag into her purse. Renjun weaves through the customers and makes his way to the counter, walking around it and sliding past Jaemin in an attempt to get to the door to the stairwell. “Wait,” Jaemin says over his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” Renjun’s hand falls away from the doorknob. His suitcase is starting to get a little heavy, but he doesn’t mind.

“You could, uh, stay here? Wait till the shop’s empty?” he says with a smile and a tint to his cheeks, like he’s hopeful for a yes. His smile disappears for a moment, and he glances back at the crowded room. “If you want to, I mean. It might take a bit.”

“Fine by me,” Renjun says, resting his briefcase against the door to the stairwell, right next to Jaemin’s cane. He props himself up against the counter beside Jaemin, opens a paper bag, and begins to bag a boy’s candle wordlessly.

Jaemin seems a bit surprised that he’s decided to help out, but once he overcomes the initial shock, he almost looks endeared. There’s a hint of a smile playing at his lips whenever Renjun’s able to steal a glance at him. It feels a bit wrong. He doesn’t mind.

An hour or two later, when the store is finally empty and the sun has dipped beneath the sidewalk, Jaemin asks him to lock the door and flip the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED.’ He does it happily, and in the meantime, Jaemin makes his way to one of the clothing racks and begins carding his fingers through hangers.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Renjun asks when he returns to Jaemin’s side again.

“Something that won’t be too big on you,” Jaemin says, eyebrows still knitted in concentration. He pulls one suit jacket off the rack and drapes it over his arm, then goes back to sifting through them. “That might be a tall order.”

Renjun shrugs. “I’ll manage. Especially since this is maybe the only place I can get a suit on such short notice.”

“When’s the dinner?”

“Next weekend.”

“And you said you had a date?”

Renjun hums.

“Damn,” Jaemin says. “Could’ve scored a rich date and a free meal.”

Renjun tries to force a laugh, but surprises himself when it comes out genuine. “Almost.”

“Where did you say you worked again?”

Renjun blanks. “Um,” he says, then covers it up with a grin. “That’s a secret. You have to be my friend to find that out.”

“So we’re not friends,” Jaemin says drily, pulling another suit jacket onto his arm, and Christ his side profile looks good. “Renjun, I’m hurt! Three weeks of tenancy, all for what? Are we acquaintances, even?”

Renjun grins. “‘Fraid not, sorry,” he says, then laughs at the look of betrayal on Jaemin’s face. “Gonna kick me out?”

“If you keep talking,” Jaemin says, then falls silent again, returning to his suit jackets. “D’you know what I’m doing?”

“No.”

“Taking a lot into consideration for these jackets,” Jaemin breathes out, hand darting out to grab another jacket but then putting it back. “Okay, let’s try these three for now.”

They’re all different, which Renjun is grateful for. One is gray, another brown, and the other black, and all of them look well-made. 

“You alright with just putting them on overtop your work shirt?” Jaemin asks.

“That’s fine,” Renjun says. Jaemin hands him the brown jacket and brings him to a mirror in the corner. Renjun slips it on. It’s long on him, just like he expects all three of them to be, but it fits decently.

“Well?”

“I’m not sure I like the color on me,” Renjun says, then lets Jaemin help him take it off. 

“Alright, how about this one?” 

He puts on the black jacket. It takes a little longer for him to put on, and he can’t move his arms. “I don’t think this one fits well enough.”

Jaemin hums, helps him pull it off (with a lot of brute force), and then hands him the gray jacket. “Last one.”

Renjun slips it on over his button-down. It’s soft to the touch, and the fit isn’t perfect, but he loves how it looks on him. “This is the one. For sure.”

“Oh!” Jaemin says, eyes widening. “I didn’t think you’d find one so fast. That’s good.”

“How much?” Renjun asks, turning to face Jaemin instead of talking to his reflection in the mirror. Jaemin’s eyebrows knit together before his face seems to soften, and he raises his hands in what Renjun guesses is a stop gesture.

“You don’t need to pay me.”

“What do you mean? I want to.”

“It’s alright. I’m just helping out. And besides, it’s not even a full suit, just the jacket. I made sure to pick out jackets that you could wear with your slacks for work.”

Renjun looks down at his feet. “...Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Jaemin says, grinning. “The dinner is next week, right? Want me to alter the jacket for you?”

“You can do that?”

“Sure! I’m not, like, a master or anything, but we had a m—” he freezes. Covers his mouth. “I learned how from my babysitter when I was younger,” he says. 

Renjun pauses for a moment. This is the first time Jaemin’s said anything about his personal life, and he has to take it like a normal person who doesn’t stalk him for a living. He can’t say he knows the ‘m’ word was maid, and he can’t say he knows that maid was more of a mother than anything else. It’s a strange, sort of crushing feeling that festers in him when he realizes once again the weight of his job.

“Seems helpful to know,” Renjun decides to say. “I wish I knew how to alter clothes. That’d make everything so much easier.”

Jaemin laughs, scratching his head. “Huh. Yeah.”

Renjun discards the jacket, and while he’s busy pulling it back onto a hanger, Jaemin hurries to the front counter. He comes back with a pencil, a wad of measuring tape webbed around his fingers, and a pencil. He dumps everything onto a nearby stand, drapes Renjun’s new suit jacket over a candle display, and then begins to scribble something onto the paper.

He glances up at Renjun. “I’ve gotta take your measurements now,” he says, and though that doesn’t calm the nerves that suddenly bundle in Renjun's chest, he still manages a shrug.

“Yeah,” Renjun says, voice a little quieter now. “I figured.”

“Turn around,” Jaemin says, holding up the thread of measuring tape.

“Gonna measure the circumference of my ass?”

He can practically hear Jaemin’s eye roll as he turns around. “Gonna measure your torso, actually. Idiot.”

“I can dream,” Renjun says. His words sound confident, but that anxiety is still kernelling in his chest, and he can feel his face going red as Jaemin presses one end of the measuring tape to the knot at the end of his neck. 

“Straighten your back for me.” Jaemin presses the other end to the base of his spine, and then pulls the tape away, scribbling something down onto the paper. “Alright, good. Now turn back around.”

He does, and Jaemin does the same thing, stretching the tape from the divot in Renjun’s collar down to the button of his slacks. “Sorry if this is awkward,” he says, then moves to write something in his notebook again.

“It’s alright,” Renjun says. The sweat on his brow says otherwise. “I don’t really mind.”

He does arms and shoulders next, and then he scribbles the numbers down again. After that, he looks at Renjun but averts his eyes. “I’ve gotta do your waist. And your chest.”

Jaemin’s face is red, but Renjun can’t fault him for that. His is the same. “That’s fine.”

Gently, Jaemin pulls the tape around Renjun’s waist and presses his finger at the point where it begins to overlap. It tickles, honestly, so Renjun has to try hard not to flinch or laugh. 

“Chest, now,” Jaemin warns him. It takes a moment for Renjun to collect himself, but he extends his arms when he’s ready, and Jaemin pulls the tape around him again, running his thumb along it to find the overlap and to make sure it’s taut.

His binder moves beneath the tape, just a little. He feels Jaemin’s hand brush against the seam of it, and they both freeze.

Jaemin gives him a small, warm smile. “You too, huh?”

Renjun lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and then he returns the smile. “Yeah,” he says, heart pounding. “Me, too.”

He wakes that evening in a cold sweat. The clock on his nightstand tells him it’s nearly four, and the remnants of his dream are starting to fade already but one thing he can’t forget is a familiar smile. It’s strange; his heartbeat is erratic, and he can’t feel his fingers. He’s not sure why this is happening, and he’s never had a dream turn out like this, either.

Hesitantly, Renjun stands, making his way to the bathroom and grabbing the plastic cup he keeps on the sink. He turns the tap and fills the cup halfway, then drinks. It soothes his throat, and he looks up at himself over the lip of the cup to find his own eyes in the mirror.

Renjun freezes, on the brink of a realization that he’s scared to delve into. He stops drinking, then, and lowers the cup back down to the sink, careful not to spill it or tip it over.

His mind tells him to smile in the mirror, just to be sure, just to have something to compare the one in his dream to. He already knows whose smile it was, though.

“Holy shit,” he says to himself, staring at himself in the mirror for a few more moments before pulling out his phone to text Dejun. It doesn’t matter if it’s this late in the night. He’s probably awake, anyways. 

are you up? i have an issue. <

Dejun responds almost immediately — not with a text, but with a call. Renjun fumbles and panics for a moment before accepting the call and pressing the phone to his ear. He doesn’t take his eyes off his reflection.

“Jun?” Dejun asks. His voice is croaky, probably from sleep, and Renjun regrets waking him for this. “You alright?”

“Um,” Renjun says, ever so eloquent, and then turns from the mirror. He doesn’t feel like looking at himself for this. “Okay, you know the guy I’ve gone on a few dates with? Xuxi?”

“Yeah, did something happen? You didn’t answer me.”

“I’m fine,” Renjun assures him. He backs up against the sink and then sits, his back against the porcelain. His bare ankles jolt when they hit the cold bathroom tile. “So I’m going to that work dinner with him, right? And we’ve kissed, so it might get serious soon, right?”

“Right,” Dejun says, but he sounds suspicious. A little unsure.

“Have I ever told you what I do for a living?”

“No, you make it a point not to,” Dejun says. Now he’s just confused. “What does that have to do with anyth—”

 “Six months ago, you dragged me to that interview with the National Security Agency. Remember that?”

“You said you didn’t get the job.”

“I got the job.”

“Just now? That’s great!”

“Six months ago,” Renjun says. He closes his eyes. “I got the job six months ago. Network defense analyst for the NSA. You know that politician couple? Siwoo and Jia Na?”

“You’re jumping around a lot, Jun,” Dejun says hesitantly. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m not drunk, I just—” Renjun clenches his fist. “I don’t know how to explain this without making it sound bad.”

“Then it’s probably bad.”

“...It is.”

Dejun doesn’t say anything for a few long moments. The only sound on the other line is the steadiness of his breathing, and Renjun’s heart beats out of his chest. He needs to be careful about this. “Dejun?”

“I’m still with you,” Dejun says. He sounds calmer now, and Renjun wonders if he’s expecting the worst.

“The Nas have a son who moved here recently. They offered the NSA a lot of money to watch over him, keep him safe without him knowing. He’s a target not just because he’s their son, but because he’s like me. He’s…”

“He’s trans?”

“Yeah,” Renjun says. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I took that job six months ago because it was the only option I had. I needed the money. I know it’s a bad thing.”

“Alright,” Dejun says, and then keeps breathing without saying anything else.

“Tonight Jaemin fitted me for a suit. He took my measurements and we found out we’re the same. He was so nice to me, Dejun, it put me off, I’m not used to that—”

“Calm down, go on.”

“I like him, I think.”

“Alright.”

“My job is to stalk my landlord through a screen, and now I like him. And I’m already dating someone else.”

“And you want advice?”

“I don’t know,” Renjun breathes. He presses a hand into his temple and squeezes his eyes shut; his head is starting to pound. “I just needed to tell you. I’m tired of this.”

“Tell you what,” Dejun says, sounding more resolved than anything now. “In the morning we’ll go get coffee at that little cafe you wanted to try, and we’ll talk more about this. Until then, all I’m going to tell you is that you need to tell Xuxi, even if you aren’t exclusive yet. He deserves to know. Okay?”

“Okay,” Renjun mumbles into the receiver. He knows Dejun is right, but the prospect of telling Xuxi and potentially hurting him is petrifying. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think. Are you mad?”

“No, Junnie, I’m not mad. Just worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Renjun says. “I don’t like it when you worry.”

“Then do what I tell you and don’t make me worry,” Dejun says. Renjun’s sure that if he were with him, he’d be smacked upside the head right about now. He smiles a little.

“Thanks, Dejun.”

“Anytime. Thank you for reaching out, I know you’re trying to get better about it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night, Jun.”

The call drops. Nothing has even been worked out, but Renjun already feels better, and when he staggers back to his bed (with cold feet and ankles, mind you), he collapses on top of his mattress and sleeps like a log, pushing his anxieties to the far corners of his mind until morning.

“Relax,” says the owner of the hand on his shoulder. “Your jacket’s fine. You look great.”

Renjun flushes. “I don’t feel like I do,” he says, mumbling.

Xuxi’s hand slides down to his waist. “Well, you do, and everything’s gonna go fine, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Renjun breathes. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“Don’t be. Last I checked, we’re at one of the smaller tables, and Yoonoh’s there with his date.”

“He brought a date?”

“My captain, yeah,” Xuxi says, nodding. “I’m excited for you to meet him.”

“Really? What’s his name?” 

Xuxi opens his mouth to answer just as their names are called, and they’re shown to their table in the large dining hall. Xuxi was right; the table is small, with only six seats at them. Only four have name cards — his, Xuxi’s, Yoonoh’s, and his date’s, whose name Renjun can’t make out from across the table. 

The room is filled with loud chattering for the first few minutes of the dinner. Drinks are served, and Xuxi orders for Yoonoh and his date, who still haven’t arrived. “Excited?” Xuxi asks him. 

“Not quite, but I’m not nervous now, either,” Renjun says, taking a sip of his champagne. It’s a good thing they didn’t drive to the venue.

“Hey!” someone says suddenly, pulling out one of the chairs and dropping into it. It’s Yoonoh, looking disheveled yet fresh in his suit, which is arguably more expensive than him. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in something.”

Renjun stares at the side of his neck. “Something,” he echoes. “Was that something a leech?”

Xuxi snickers at his side, and Renjun can’t help but join in. Mortified, Yoonoh downs his drink and pulls up his collar. (It doesn’t do anything to help.)

“Assuming Sicheng got caught up in something as well, when will he get here?” Xuxi asks. 

Renjun freezes.

“Right now, actually,” a second body says, taking a seat in the chair opposite from Renjun. He doesn’t notice Renjun yet, thankfully, but Renjun sure as hell notices him. The only instinct in him currently is to run.

“Jun? You okay?” Xuxi asks. 

Renjun nods. Sicheng is still absorbed in a conversation with Yoonoh, and now he’s fixing his collar for him. 

He feels sick to his stomach.

“Unfortunately, this is my boss and Yoonoh’s date, Sicheng. He’s my squad’s captain and basically family at this point. Sicheng, this is Renjun, my date and an employee at the NSA.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sicheng says without looking, then turns and finally makes eye contact. Instantly, he freezes. “Oh,” he says. “We’ve met.”

“Really? Where?” Yoonoh asks, tilting his head.

“I need to use the restroom,” Renjun mumbles to Xuxi before standing and hurrying towards the exit. His phone is dead in his pocket, so he can’t call Dejun, can’t call a cab, can’t get directions back to his apartment. He’s stuck here.

He finds the bathroom, which is conveniently a single stall, and locks the door behind himself. Leaning against the door, he stares up at the ceiling and tries to collect himself. It’s hard; his lungs feel like they’re constricted, and it’s so hard to breathe, but he knows he has to go back out to the table eventually or Xuxi will start to worry. He tries to calm down for Xuxi’s sake, not his own.

He hears footsteps coming down the hall, and suddenly the door pushes back against him, only held back by the frame and the lock. Someone is leaning on the other side of the door. He rubs his eyes furiously with his sleeves in an attempt to stop himself from tearing up.

“It’s Xuxi,” the voice on the other side says, and Renjun breathes out a sigh of relief. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Renjun breathes, but his voice betrays him by trembling. He changes his mind. “No.”

“Do you need to leave?”

“I can’t,” Renjun laughs. “I can’t. My phone’s dead. I don’t know how to get home.”

“I’ll call us a cab,” Xuxi says. Immediately, Renjun’s eyes widen.

“Wait! You wanted to be here, right? I can go back out. I’m fine, it’s fine, I’ll—”

“I’m not going to make you sit with me in a place where you don’t want to be, Jun.” His voice is gentle, calming. Renjun’s shoulders start to relax. “We can go home if you want to, or we can walk around, or we can find a quiet spot and talk. Whatever you need.”

“...We’re required to be here,” Renjun manages quietly. His heart clenches. Why is Xuxi so nice to him?

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Xuxi says. “Can you open the door for me?”

With shaking hands, Renjun undoes the lock, stepping back to give Xuxi room to come in. When the door swings open, Xuxi stands in the doorway for a few moments, taking in the sight of Renjun — and what a sight it must be, the puffy eyes and bitten bottom lip and sleeves stained dark with tears. There’s something like pity in his eyes, and Renjun hates it, hates that someone like him could garner pity after all he’s done.

Then Xuxi steps forward, arms unfolding, and suddenly Renjun is in his arms, pressed up against his chest. The embrace is warm, and they stand like that long enough for Renjun’s hands to stop shaking. 

He pulls his head away from Xuxi’s chest. “Um,” he says, refusing to make eye contact. “Home?”

“Home,” Xuxi agrees, taking him by the hand and using his other to pull out his phone. They wait on the street for their car to arrive, hand-in-hand, staring at the glint of city lights off the wet pavement.

The car ride home is silent, and so is the way through the shop and up the stairs. Thankfully, Jaemin has already closed for the day and is probably alone in his own apartment, so Renjun doesn’t have to worry about running into him yet.

“I’ve never been inside your apartment,” Xuxi comments offhandedly when Renjun turns the lock and lets him in. While Xuxi stands in the kitchen and admires the rest of the unit, Renjun locks the door back and pulls his suit jacket off.

“I’d offer you a tour if there were anything special about it,” Renjun says, shrugging. “Take your jacket off, stay awhile.”

Xuxi does, handing him his jacket and leaving his shoes at the door. Renjun removes his own shoes, drapes the jackets over an armchair, and then turns to Xuxi just in time to hear his stomach growl loudly. 

“Oh.” Renjun stares for a few seconds before flushing. “Um. I forgot you didn’t eat.”

“S’okay,” Xuxi says, shaking his head with a smile. If it’s meant to be reassuring, it isn’t.

“I don’t have anything in my pantry right now besides some cup noodles,” Renjun says, his frown deepening. “I’m really sorry.”

“Cup noodles with you sounds great, actually,” Xuxi says, tilting his head. He leans against the counter, and his smile really is reassuring now. 

That’s how they end up on Renjun’s couch, watching the TV at the lowest volume and paying attention to nothing in particular. Renjun finally remembers to pull his dead phone from his pocket and plug it in, setting it on his knee as it charges. 

“Do they taste okay?” Renjun asks.

“Jun. They’re cup noodles. They taste like MSG and overdue water bills.” Xuxi grins. The smile is for Renjun, but it’s directed towards the TV. “They taste fine,” he says, and Renjun breathes out a sigh of relief. “You’re really strung-up right now, do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m not strung-up,” Renjun murmurs in retaliation, wrapping his charger cord around his fingers like it’s a game of cat’s cradle. “I’m just… I dunno.”

“What do you need from me right now?” Xuxi says, turning away from the TV to look Renjun in the eye. His face is half cast with blue light, half-obscured by shadow, and Renjun… really wants to kiss him. “What can I do for you?”

Renjun sits and stares at him for a minute. “I need— I, uh, I need—”

What does he need? What would the people in the movies do? What would everyone else do?

Ah. That’s right.

“I need, um—” Renjun leans forward, careful to pull Xuxi’s bowl from his hands and set it gently on the counter. “This,” he says, bracing his palms on Xuxi’s crossed leg and then closing the gap between them.

Xuxi’s hand comes up slowly, cradling the back of his neck, and the other stretches out to rest on the curve of his waist. It’s dangerously close to his binder, but Renjun doesn’t mind. Pressed against his own, Xuxi’s feel soft, gentle, but he doesn’t move much, and he doesn’t allow for much movement, either.

Xuxi pulls away. He doesn’t look like he wants to, but he does, removing his hand from Renjun’s neck. It hovers in the air, unsure of what to do. “No, you don’t,” Xuxi says. It doesn’t register as an answer for a while. “Not that. Something else.”

“Why not,” Renjun breathes. Xuxi’s lips thin into a line.

“Whatever’s bothering you, you’re avoiding it. I think you need to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to,” Renjun says. When Xuxi doesn’t pry for a reason, he continues, “I did something bad.”

“That’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Renjun insists. Xuxi silently coaxes him into lying down, and he complies, resting his head on Xuxi’s leg and letting out a small sigh. “If I tell you, you’re not gonna want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Yes, I will,” Xuxi says. One of his hands settles on top of Renjun’s head and begins to card its fingers through his hair. It’s comforting. “If you’ve done a bad thing, and you’re this ashamed of it, then I don’t have a reason to hold it against you.” The hand stops moving. “Unless it was illegal.”

Renjun wrinkles his nose. “I didn’t murder anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. I just… I did something really mean.”

“Is it related to Sicheng somehow?”

Renjun’s heart leaps into his throat. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s about him.”

Xuxi says nothing. 

“My dad died about six years ago,” Renjun says, and Xuxi’s hand goes back to petting his hair. He’s probably trying to give Renjun some kind of comfort, and it’s working. “I didn’t have a mom, so it was just me, Dad, and my brother. When he died that left Sicheng and me on our own.”

“Sicheng is your—”

“Brother, yeah,” Renjun says. It’s strange to say out loud; it’s been a long, long time since he’s let himself speak that name. “At the time, I identified as a girl. At least, I did to everyone else. I knew I was trans. I knew I was a boy.”

That’s a piece of knowledge that Xuxi hasn’t found out yet, and truth be told, Renjun really doesn’t mind him knowing anymore. 

“I was scared. I didn’t know how to tell anyone. I had just graduated high school, I was about to turn eighteen with no job, and now I had to fund my own transition and come out to the last surviving member of my family. He could have cut me off. I didn’t want that to happen.”

“So…”

“I ran away from home,” Renjun says. “Well, that makes it sound childish. I really did run away. I didn’t tell Sicheng I was leaving, I just caught a bus here and stayed with my best friend until I could find a job in fast food. That’s how I lived for the next four years.”

Xuxi runs a thumb along the curve of his ear. “Sicheng never let us pry into his personal life much. Jeno and Donghyuck tried really hard, but he never did until he took us all out drinking once. He got drunk and told us he had a brother. That was it.”

Renjun’s heart constricts painfully. “That’s it? Nothing else?”

“Said he was dead,” Xuxi admits, a little more quietly this time. “I guess it was so we’d stop asking questions. He started crying in the booth. Jisung and I brought him home.”

Renjun is silent for a long time. “That was the first time I’ve seen him since I left,” he finally says. “I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me.”

“He didn’t say anything after you left the table. He just wouldn’t talk.”

“Yeah,” Renjun says, breathing out a small laugh through his nose. “He does that.”

“Do you think you’d ever try to talk to him?”

At that, Renjun shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know,” he admits, and he really, truly doesn’t. “He’d be mad that I left. And I’m scared.”

“I think he just wants to know where you’re at in life, more than anything,” Xuxi tells him. “I think he’d put aside any anger he might have as long as he gets to see you again. He’d probably kill to know you’re okay.”

“I guess,” Renjun says. “You really don’t fault me for it?”

“No,” Xuxi says, his voice warm. “Honestly, I’d do the same. It had to have been really hard to navigate, and I’m glad you’re here now, at least.”

“I’m still just scared of what he’d think of me.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Xuxi begins, pulling out his phone and turning it on. He shows Renjun his lockscreen, which features Xuxi, Sicheng, and four other boys, gathered in a huddle to take a picture. He points to the boy resting his head on Sicheng’s shoulder, and then to the blue, white, and pink pin attached to his lapel. “That’s Chenle. He’s in our squad, and he’s like you. If anything, Sicheng is the most supportive of him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Xuxi says. Renjun can hear the smile in his voice. “His parents aren’t supportive, so Sicheng took him to Pride. Painted his face for him and everything. He’s like that with all of us.”

“Sounds like he treats you like family.”

“He does,” Xuxi says. “He really does. I’m sure he’d treat his real brother even more like family than he does us.”

Renjun says nothing. When it’s clear he won’t get an answer, Xuxi puts away his phone and lets his hand return to petting Renjun’s hair. He continues, “Yoonoh’s been blowing up my phone since we left. He’s really worried about Sicheng, which is nice, I think. Most of the guys he used to date were assholes.”

Renjun sits up abruptly. “Oh! My phone. I almost forgot.”

It’s over halfway charged when he picks it up, and he leans against Xuxi as he scrolls through his notifications, pausing when he finds three texts from Dejun. He opens them and begins to read.

> if ur taking xuxi home after ur fancy gvt dinner thing that would be a good time to tell him ur stalking ur landlord . and maybe that u have a crush on said landlord . and maybe soon tell the landlord in question that ur stalking him

> that sounds so bad oh my god . let me rephrase that . tell your not-boyfriend you watch your landlord through a computer for a living, preferably after railing him

> xuxi not the landlord

> that text also sounds bad im going to stop typing now just tell him now or like tomorrow at the latest or i might shoot u

“Stalking,” Xuxi says, echoing the text, and Renjun turns to look at him with wide eyes. 

“I can explain—”

“You’re Jaemin’s NSA surveillance guy?”

According to training, this is the part where he should make a run for it, maybe take out his knife if Xuxi gets unruly For whatever reason, he doesn’t think that’s the best course of action. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re dating Jaemin’s FBI surveillance guy,” Xuxi says. “I got assigned to him six months ago.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” Renjun says, not because he doesn’t trust Xuxi but because he was told he’d probably never make contact with Jaemin’s FBI worker. “You told me you two were friends in college.”

“And that was the truth,” Xuxi says, nodding. “But I got assigned to the case when I saw his name and mentioned I knew him. Easiest way for us all to keep him safe was if he already knew the person assigned to him, so I was perfect for the job.”

“And now you’re here,” Renjun says. “And we’re dating?”

“We’re dating,” Xuxi says, nodding in confirmation. “...But those texts said you like Jaemin, too?”

Renjun pauses. Doesn’t say anything, just stares at Xuxi with wide eyes, his mouth open as he tries to fumble for an answer.

“That’s okay, too, y’know,” Xuxi says. “I’m alright with that, if you want to date him and still date me. I’m comfortable with that if he is, and if you are.”

“But—”

“I like him, too,” Xuxi says. “I have for a really long time.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Renjun says quietly, looking away from Xuxi now.

“How to do what?”

“Date people,” Renjun mumbles. “I don’t know how to talk to people, much less ask them out. You were different.”

“I think you’re doing a damn good job at it right now, personally,” Xuxi says. “I think I somehow got the best boyfriend. And he’s cute.”

“I think mine’s better, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Xuxi moves to stretch out across the couch, lying on his back, and he pulls Renjun to settle on top of him. “You wound me.”

Renjun hums. He rests his head against Xuxi’s chest — not because that’s what the movies say he’s supposed to do, but because this time he really does want to — and sighs contentedly. There is something stirring in his chest, something warm, something light.

They lie there for a while, listen to the quiet hum of the TV. It’s some reality drama that’s got too many views already, and Renjun gets bored of it quickly. The feeling in his chest does not lessen. 

With wandering eyes, he watches Xuxi’s suit jacket slowly slip off the corner of the armchair he’d hung it on. It falls to the floor within a few seconds, and out of its pocket spill his keys, a pen, and his ID, which bears his office’s name.

He stares at the ID for a moment, at the yellow lettering reading ‘FBI.’ He picks his head up, then puts his chin against the divot in Xuxi’s chest. Xuxi meets his eyes with a small smile. 

“Xuxi?” he asks, a bit hesitant.

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think that…” Renjun swallows. “That what we do, working with Jaemin, that it’s bad?”

Xuxi frowns. “Jaemin’s parents have a weird way of showing they care about him, Jun,” he says slowly. He’s probably sleepy now, Renjun thinks. Despite that, he continues: “It may be bad that he doesn’t know, yeah, but it keeps him safe. I know for a fact that there are a lot of people who want to hurt him. Not even because he’s trans, not because he’s disabled, but because they think they can use him to blackmail his parents into getting something they want.”

“But we’re doing all this without him even knowing,” Renjun says. “I just… I think that I need to tell him soon like Dejun said. To make myself feel better about it, I guess.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Xuxi says, bringing a hand up to rest over Renjun’s back. “I’d tell him, too, if you did.”

“Even if we don’t end up, uh, like that?”

“Even if we don’t end up like that,” Xuxi nods. “You’ve talked an awful lot today, y’know?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Xuxi shakes his head. “No, it’s good for you to talk about these things. I’m glad you trusted me enough with them.”

Renjun hums. Strangely, the warmth in his chest hasn’t faded yet. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Xuxi smiles at him. “You don’t have to ask, Jun. I’m alright with it whenever.”

“‘Kay, let me rephrase that then,” Renjun says, wriggling a little to move closer to Xuxi’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Better,” Xuxi says, and then Renjun leans down and captures his lips, one hand tugging absently at the collar of his shirt and the other resting gingerly against Xuxi’s jaw. When Renjun pulls back, Xuxi tries to follow him, but then opens his eyes and grins up at him. “Don’t take everything Dejun said to heart,” he says.

Renjun hums in confusion, tilting his head. 

“Railed,” Xuxi says simply, his face twisting into a laugh as Renjun covers his mouth and turns bright red. “No, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it—”

“I am going to sleep,” Renjun says, dropping his head on Xuxi’s chest once again and shutting his eyes. Xuxi chest rumbles with a small laugh, but he says nothing.

They lapse into silence, and true to his word, Renjun really does fall asleep, the blue light of the TV painting the backs of his eyelids and the quiet rattle of Xuxi’s breath lulling him under.

The next morning Xuxi leaves before Jaemin is awake, but not before urging Renjun to speak with Jaemin. It’s a weekend, so Renjun waits around in the shop until Jaemin makes his way down the stairs with sleepiness still swimming in his eyes.

“You’re up early,” Jaemin says, beginning to make himself a cup of coffee. “How was your dinner thing?”

“It went alright,” Renjun says with a shrug, his hands clasped behind his back. His heart feels like it could beat right out of his chest. “I could maybe tell you about it? Over coffee?”

Jaemin turns to look at him with wide eyes, his empty coffee mug still in his hand. His mouth is hanging just the tiniest bit open. “Um,” he says, ever eloquent, still staring at Renjun. “Yeah! Yeah, that sounds great. Like, now?”

“Sure,” Renjun says, face burning. 

“Let’s go, then.” A smile starts to spread across Jaemin’s face, bright and nearly blinding, and he takes Renjun by the wrist and leads him towards the store’s exit.

His chest does that thing again, that burst of something that warms him to his fingertips. Renjun isn’t quite sure what to do with that, but it makes him smile, and so does the sight of Jaemin grinning at him over the lip of his coffee cup.

Work is boring, as usual, even if it is staring at the face of the boy you have a crush on for hours on end. It’s just paperwork and reports — mounds and mounds of reports, and empty ink cartridges, and too many cups of coffee.

But the routine is shaken up sometimes.

Three knocks sound at his door. “Who is it,” Renjun calls, spinning around in his chair to face the dark outline of the door. Quickly, as an afterthought, he shuts off Jaemin’s screen.

“S’me,” a voice says from behind the door. 

“Not helpful,” Renjun says, tilting his head. “Name?”

“Yoonoh. Can I come in?”

When Renjun hums out his confirmation, the door creaks open, and Yoonoh stands in the doorway, the outline of his frame dark against a background of fluorescent light. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says with a small smile. He’s up to no good, no doubt about it.

“Yeah?”

Yoonoh turns his head and drags someone into view. He then pushes them into Renjun’s office, putting a hand on their shoulder.

“This is Yangyang!” Yoonoh says, beaming. “He’s the new security guard for our office.”

Renjun stares for a moment. “You really managed to find one?” he asks absently. Then he stands and offers a hand to Yangyang, who takes it. 

Yoonoh flips the lightswitch on, and in the same moment, Yangyang and Renjun meet each other’s eyes and reel from shock.

“You’re—”

“But you’re—”

Renjun pulls his hand away, eyes still wide. “Nice to meet you,” he decides on. “Dejun’s told me a lot about you.”

Dejun’s boyfriend works for him now. Dejun’s boyfriend works for him now. Oh, now he can totally get free food out of Dejun in exchange for candid pictures. He’ll mull over the ethics of it later.

Yangyang’s face is bright red. “Um. Yeah. Likewise.”

“You know him?” Yoonoh asks, apparently to both of them.

“He’s dating my best friend,” Renjun supplies helpfully, and in turn, Yangyang reddens a little. “Good to have you on the team,” he tells Yangyang. “See you around.”

And Yangyang leaves, which means now Yoonoh is alone in his office, and Renjun knows exactly what he’s going to ask next.

“I have work to do,” he deadpans with a blank expression, closing the door on a shocked Yoonoh’s face.

“Wait! Renjuuun! Let me in! You’ve gotta tell me—” 

Renjun bangs a fist on his door. Yoonoh shuts up, and Renjun listens to the quiet retreat that he makes all while just barely containing his laughter.

He meets Yangyang in the halls now, and they do that strange, mutual nod of acknowledgement when they see each other, but beyond that, they haven’t spoken a single word. And presumably, Dejun doesn’t know yet.

Renjun figures today’s as good a time as any to tell him. Yangyang is at his desk right now, looking bored out of his mind, and Renjun stands by reception with Yizhuo, his phone at the ready.

Then the door to the office creaks open, and in steps the last person he wants to see.

Immediately, Renjun ducks behind the cover of Yizhuo’s desk and curls up beneath it. Yizhuo is surprised, and she flicks his forehead with a finger but says nothing. He breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Can I help you?” she asks, suspicion in her voice.

“Can you tell me where Jung Yoonoh’s office is?” Sicheng asks. Renjun’s heart does a somersault. “I’m bringing him his lunch.”

Gag. Domesticism is nasty.

“Third door on your right,” Yizhuo answers him. When Sicheng thanks her and makes his way to the door, Renjun peeks up from over the desk to find someone who can help.

Yangyang stares back at him, and based on his expression, Renjun has grown a second head.

Sicheng walks into Yoonoh’s office. There, he has time to get somewhere. “You have to hide me,” he whispers urgently to Yangyang from across the room.

“I have to what?”

“Hide me!”

Reluctantly, Yangyang stands from his seat and opens the door to the filing room, gesturing towards it with one hand. Renjun darts out from behind the desk and into the room, pressing himself up against the filing cabinets behind the door in an effort to not be seen. 

Yangyang stands in the doorway, pulling the door almost shut behind himself. “You wanna tell me why I’m hiding you from my old captain?”

“He’s my brother,” Renjun says shortly, breath heavy. “I’m avoiding him. And doing a pretty good job of it.”

Yangyang says nothing to Renjun, but he doesn’t speak to Sicheng, either. When Sicheng makes his way back down the hall and says hello to him, he only hums. 

“Hey, while I’m here…” Sicheng stops right in front of the door. Renjun’s heart leaps into his throat. “Have you seen Renjun? Is he out right now?”

“He’s gone to lunch,” Yizhuo answers. “I can relay a message when he gets back if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.”

Renjun watches through the crack in the door as Yizhuo gives him a pad of sticky notes. Sicheng scribbles down something, then passes it back to her warily. “Thanks.”

Yizhuo hums and nods. “Is that everything?”

Sicheng nods, says goodbye to Yangyang, and leaves.

When the door shuts behind him, Yangyang releases his hold on the door. It falls back slowly against the filing cabinet, and Renjun slips out from behind it and steps back into the office.

“Someone you know?” Yizhuo asks him, handing him the sticky note. The only writing is a phone number.

“Someone I used to,” Renjun tells her, folding the note and stuffing it into his pocket. 

Later, when he returns to the solitude of his office, he reclines in his chair and texts Dejun, hoping maybe it’ll bring up his mood.

so i work with your bf now <

he hid me from my brother so that i could avoid my problems <

that means i approve of him, keep him <

> YOU WHAT

> YOUR BROTHER?

> SICHENG??? SICHENG IS BACK???

sicheng has been back for a little while, yeah <

> AND I WASNT TOLD ABOUT THIS???

> WHY

not relevant to the story, party pooper <

anyways i like yangyang he’s neat <

> he’s an idiot, and i love him

> don’t think we’re not gonna talk about sicheng soon

> and don’t think i won’t give him ur address

yeah yeah <

gotcha <

Strangely, he doesn’t find himself feeling any better, and he doesn’t know why he feels sick to his stomach, either. He puts his phone away and goes back to reporting on Jaemin, but the uneasiness doesn’t fade.

The next time he’s out of the house, it’s not for work, but for another date with Jaemin. He’s already gotten express permission from Xuxi (“I’m telling you, Jun, you don’t need to ask, do what you want, I really don’t mind—”), but he hasn’t thought far ahead enough to figure out where they’re going. That’s how they end up walking around, hand-in-hand, completely aimless.

“You know,” Jaemin says, looking a bit lost in his thoughts. He’s not using his cane, instead dragging it behind him idly. “I don’t think you ever told me where you work?”

Renjun hums. “I’m with the NSA. It’s the building across from where Xuxi works, actually. We get lunch a lot.”

“I’ve heard. He’s FBI?”

“Mm. I’ve never actually been in his building, but he always drags me out of my office to make me eat. Little dates, I guess.”

Jaemin hums.

“Are you okay with that?” Renjun asks quietly.

“Hm?”

“The dates.” He stops walking, but Jaemin doesn’t, and he’s dragged forward by Jaemin’s hand, just like the cane. “Jaemin?”

He turns. Smiles, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes, and Renjun doesn’t know how to fix that. “I’m fine with whatever you wanna do, Renjun.”

Renjun squeezes his hand, but there’s something familiar that pools in his stomach — that same feeling of uneasiness, maybe — that refuses to subside. It remains even after they’ve returned to the store, but when Jaemin brings them up to their apartments, it’s overtaken.

“Are you getting that elevator put in soon?” Renjun asks him, leaning against the door to his own apartment.

Jaemin hums. “Soon, I think. I’ve still gotta get some stuff done before I’m able to call anyone about it.” Then he looks at Renjun and his expression changes, like he’s conflicted but can’t show it. The only hint of it is the way his eyebrows are drawn together. “Thanks for tonight, Renjun.”

Renjun nods, giving him a smile. “Maybe we can do this again sometime? Not the walking around, the, uh—”

“Yeah.” Jaemin draws closer and kisses his cheek before pulling away, and Renjun burns. “I’ve gotta get back to the shop, but text me later and we’ll set something up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Renjun says, a little breathless, a little scared.

Jaemin disappears down the stairs, and Renjun retreats back into his apartment. Almost immediately, he pulls out his phone.

xuxi !!!! <

he said he’d be alright with more dates !!!! <

*hacker voice* we’re in <

> you can’t say that if your job is literally “*hacker voice* i’m in”

:( <

> be honest did you do a happy dance

… <

...yes <

> audibly sighing. you’re adorable

Laughing, Renjun locks his door behind him and sets his phone on the counter, then sets out to find himself something for dinner. 

He’s halfway through unwrapping a package of cheap ramen when three knocks sound on his door. He’s not expecting anyone, so he picks up his phone to check for texts and finds three from Jaemin.

> hey this guy from the fbi just came in and asked me where your apartment was?

> he had his badge i was scared i had to tell him where you were sorry

> but he said he works with xuxi so i think it’ll be alright? call for me and i’ll come protect u with my strong man muscles

The person at the door is from the FBI. Someone Xuxi works with. Renjuns stands far away from the door, scared of who’s behind it. He already knows, but he doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t want him to come inside.

Three more knocks ring through the room. “Renjun.”

The name is strange to hear, coming from his mouth. It feels wrong, almost.

Slowly, he makes his way to the door and looks through the small spyhole. Sure enough, he’s behind the door.

He’s not ready for this. Maybe he will be tomorrow, next week, next month, next year — but he’s not ready right now, and this won’t end well if he doesn’t manage to get him to leave.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Renjun says weakly.

“Yeah, Renjun, I got that,” the voice on the other side says. He sounds tired. Renjun wonders if it’s because of him. “I got that four years ago. All I want to know is why.”

“Why what,” Renjun asks.

“Why I had to find out I had a brother from his Instagram? Why you up and left without even saying goodbye? Or maybe, I dunno, why you’ve apparently been in this city this long and haven’t even said a word to me?”

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“You knew I was FBI! Where the hell would I live otherwise?” Something thuds against the door. Sicheng spends a few moments breathing, but it doesn’t seem to help him collect himself. “I spent the past four years convincing myself I was just never going to see you again, and now what? You come back into my life and I’m the bad guy? Huh, Renjun? Is that it? Is that why you keep running?”

It hurts. Something in him snaps.

“Yes!” Renjun shouts. His eyes sting, and he squeezes them shut. “Yes, that’s it! You’re the bad guy because I fucking want you to be!”

“Is that all? Have I really not done anything?”

He doesn’t want to be here. This isn’t the conversation he should be having right now. It stings, and it’s raw, and he isn’t ready for it yet, but he’s here, and now he has to deal with it. To make Xuxi proud, at least. To prove to himself that he doesn’t have to run.

“No, Sicheng,” he says, eyes squeezed shut. “Of course you didn’t do anything. That’s why I—” his voice cracks. He covers his mouth. “That’s why I left,” he says, barely a whisper now. His voice is shaky enough that Sicheng might not be able to understand him. That’s what he hopes, anyways.

“You ran away without telling me,” Sicheng says, voice lower now, calmer, “because you were afraid I wouldn’t accept you if you came out.”

“Yes,” Renjun says. He can’t help but cry after that; it’s like a dam breaks in him, and he covers his face with both hands to obscure it. From what, he’s unsure.

“I’m the bad guy because you don’t want yourself to be that.”

“Yes,” Renjun says again.

“Renjun,” Sicheng says, knocking quietly. His voice is gentler, now, more soothing. “Renjun. Open the door.”

“I don’t want to,” Renjun cries. There’s some massive fucking hole in his chest, all-consuming, all-powerful, and he’s not sure he can make his way back out of it. He lowers himself until he’s sitting, knees scrunched up to his chest, back against the door, and cries. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, I—”

“Renjun, please open the door,” Sicheng says.

“Why would you want me to do that,” Renjun wonders aloud, lips trembling with the sobs that wrack through his shaking body. “I fucked up so bad, Sicheng—”

The doorknob clicks. Suddenly, the door begins to move open, and Renjun scrambles out of the way as it cracks open just wide enough for a body to step through. It closes again, then locks, and suddenly Renjun isn’t alone on the kitchen floor anymore.

He hides his face in his knees again, determined not to let Sicheng see him cry. It doesn’t work well; Sicheng shushes him, pulls his arms away from his face, and gently guides his jaw up.

“Listen,” he says, voice still gentle. His eyes are glassy, and a few tears slip down his cheeks, but it’s nothing like what Renjun feels. “I’m here beside you because even though it hurt a lot, I’m still your brother, we’re still family, and I’m still going to be here for you if you let me. I couldn’t do that when you weren’t with me. I’m sorry.”

Renjun buries his face in Sicheng’s shoulder and cries, apologizes, says whatever he can muster into the fabric of his shirt. In the meantime, Sicheng pets his hair and rubs soothing circles into the small of his back, murmuring his own apologies in return.

“I could have helped you with your transition…”

“It went fine,” Renjun says weakly against his shoulder. The tears are beginning to stop now, and he’s glad. Exhaustion settles into his bones. “I’m happy now.”

“Did you get my number?” Sicheng asks him, pausing the motion of his hands. “I wrote it down for you.”

“I did,” Renjun says, swallowing. “I didn’t call it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Sicheng tells him, pulling away from their hug and holding Renjun at a distance. “It’s okay. All that matters is that we’re okay now. Right?”

Renjun’s eyes sting again. “Right.” He smiles; it’s watery, but it’s there, and Sicheng returns it with a matching one. “Sicheng?”

“Yeah?”

“...Do you wanna stay for dinner?”

Sicheng’s expression softens impossibly further. He stands and offers a hand to Renjun, which he gratefully takes. “As long as you don’t feed me that ramen you left on the counter, I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”

Today is exhausting. Completely exhausting.

Renjun woke up to the incessant buzzing of his phone against his pillow far too early for comfort. Subsequently, he was dragged into work at ass-o’-clock in the morning for a briefing that he shouldn’t have even had to attend, compliments of Kim Doyoung, dictator supreme.

He missed his morning coffee, too. And to make matters worse, when Yizhuo went on a coffee run she let Renjun fall asleep in his office without taking his order, and upon waking, Renjun was even more exhausted. And it was only nine in the morning.

Nine in the morning. Abhorrent.

It’s noon, now, and Renjun isn’t entirely sure he’ll be able to make it until four, which is when he usually goes home. The emptiness of his stomach is enough to keep him awake for now, though.

“Rough day?” someone asks from the open doorway. When did he forget to close the door? 

Renjun spins around in his chair and comes face to face with Xuxi, whose eyes widen. “Rough day,” Xuxi says again, more of an affirmation now than a question. “I brought lunch. Figured you might need it.”

With that, he waves a bag of fast food that’s curled into his hand. Renjun smiles weakly. “How’d you know?”

“Because my precinct got the same briefing you did.”

Renjun hardly even remembers what his own meeting was about. It’s lost in the haze of everything that happened before he napped. “...Wanna remind me what that was for?”

Xuxi hums and closes the door behind him. The light from Renjun’s computer illuminates his face, and if Renjun weren’t so tired, he’d probably want to kiss him. Xuxi sits in the chair against the wall and fixes him with a disbelieving smile. “You really don’t remember?”

Renjun spins back around to face his desk. 

He can practically hear Xuxi’s eye roll. “Come here, get your lunch. The meeting wasn’t super important, but they told us to be more careful now. There’s a group resurging that’s trying to get to some of the figures in our care. The important ones — politicians and businessmen and people like that. So we need to keep an eye out for Jaemin.”

He stares at Jaemin’s blank face on his computer screen, and his stomach drops.

“If someone got to him…” Renjun trails off, turning back around to face Xuxi. He doesn’t want to think about that. About how they’d use Jaemin. About how they’d hurt him.

Xuxi’s mouth settles into a thin line. “I know. So keep an eye out, okay?”

Renjun nods wordlessly, taking the poorly-packaged hamburger that Xuxi offers him. It’s not very good, and he wasn’t expecting it to be, but at least his stomach stops growling. They eat in silence for a few minutes, the only noise being the crinkling of their wrappers until Renjun’s computer dings with a notification from Jaemin.

“Work?” Xuxi asks.

“He’s doing a search for something,” Renjun says, turning around and switching the monitor to display Jaemin’s laptop screen. He’s got Google open.

what if |

what if i |

what |

what if i like two peo|

what if i like two people at the same time |

Renjun spins around in his chair to face Xuxi with wide eyes. “See that?”

“Seeing it,” Xuxi confirms with a small, barely-there grin. “He didn’t press enter, though.”

“He’s scared,” Renjun says, shrugging. “Watch this.”

He spins back around, opening a new window and typing furiously into it before Jaemin manages to get the guts to press enter. When he’s satisfied with his work, he sits back and lets Jaemin do the rest.

It takes a minute or two for him to actually press the enter key. Renjun splits the screen between a live feed of his laptop and his face just so he can see the reaction.

When Jaemin really does press enter, the first five results on the page are all about polyamory. His eyes widen, and his mouth falls open just the slightest bit. Renjun resists the urge to call him adorable.

“You did that?” Xuxi asks from behind him. “You changed the search results?”

Renjun nods. “I don’t like doing it, so I hardly ever mess with it. But it’s something I can do.”

Jaemin’s cursor returns to the search bar. This time, he highlights his first search, deletes it, and begins typing something new. 

is p|

is polyamory |

is polyamory normal |

is polya|

poly|

polyamory help |

Renjun turns around in his seat to grin at Xuxi. “Good?”

“Good,” Xuxi says, nodding. “I think we need to tell him soon. About work. And maybe about how we feel.”

Renjun worries his lip. “You haven’t talked to him about it, have you?”

Xuxi reddens and shifts his gaze to stare at the peppered tile of the floor. “Nervous,” he says simply, tapping his fingers against his knees. “I think we’re all aware of it, right? We know. But we haven’t…”

“Things will work out,” Renjun says simply, moving to stand from his chair and stand beside Xuxi. He sinks down to his knees and reaches a hand out gently, pressing it to the far side of Xuxi’s face. “Hey,” he says gently, guiding Xuxi’s jaw to him. Xuxi still doesn’t meet his eyes. “Look here. Look at me.”

Xuxi’s Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy swallow. Reluctantly, he looks to Renjun, and Renjun smiles at him. “One thing at a time, okay? We tell him about work first. Then we worry about how to tell him about everything else.”

“Yeah,” Xuxi says, voice a little weak. “I’m just scared.”

“I know. It’ll be alright,” Renjun tells him. He still hasn’t moved his hand from the side of Xuxi’s face, and he doesn’t plan on it. His cheek grows warm beneath Renjun’s palm.

Xuxi reaches out to cradle the side of Renjun’s face, too, dragging a thumb along his lower lashline, pressing into the dark bags under his eyes. “You really are tired,” he says gently, leaning forward to press a kiss against Renjun’s temple. 

He pulls away, but Renjun finds himself leaning up to kiss him, his hand still pressed to Xuxi’s face. The kiss is short and sweet and feels more like a reminder than anything else, something like a nagging in the back of his head that this is where he’s supposed to be — tucked in the corner of his office, wrapped up in Xuxi and his warmth, blue light flaring against the backs of his eyelids. 

That’s fine by him.

When Xuxi pulls away, it’s not for air, but to move back and pull Renjun’s wrist away from his face. He stands and pulls Renjun up off his knees, dragging him towards the door. 

“Xuxi?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed. 

“We’re going to go nap,” Xuxi says, turning off Renjun’s monitor and then swinging the office door open. “Yizhuo, I’m stealing your defense analyst,” he says shortly, to which Yizhuo has no objections.

“Xuxi, I have work—” Renjun tries to pry Xuxi’s fingers from around his wrist, but it doesn’t work. His footsteps stutter in an attempt to bring himself to a halt, but that fails, too.

“You’re too tired to work. My place is just down the block, and when you wake up, I’ll take you to dinner. I’m sure Doyoung won’t mind you taking a half-day.” 

“But—”

“Jun,” Xuxi says, voice firm but not unkind, his eyes just barely able to meet Renjun’s from over his shoulder. “We’re going.”

Renjun sighs and begrudgingly lets himself be dragged along. They make their way through the building and into the busy street, and Xuxi brings him to the doorstep of a building he’s passed a hundred times but hasn’t ever given any thought to. The apartment inside — branched off a long hallway of identical doors — is a bit barren, but the subtle human touches make it a home. The crumpled receipts in the wastebasket by Xuxi’s desk, the ring of a mug’s water-stain on the coffee table, the calendar displaying September of last year still pinned to the wall, all of it is a mark that Xuxi lives here. He loves that feeling.

Xuxi’s bed is pillowy soft and directly in the scope of the window, and even through blinds, warm sunlight spills onto the mattress. Xuxi’s quick to discard his jacket on the floor and take Renjun’s hand, pulling him to the bed wordlessly. They fall in a heap against the mattress, and Xuxi’s arms wrap around him soon enough. They face the wall, away from the light, and the sunlight isn’t as much of a nuisance as Renjun had expected. Instead, it only serves to make his eyelids heavier, his face warmer, and he welcomes it.

Xuxi’s hold tightens around him, just a little, and Renjun closes his eyes, sinking into the feeling of his own gentle exhaustion. This moment is special. It’s safe, and if he could lie like this with Xuxi forever, he thinks he would.

“Planetarium,” Xuxi says gently, his voice raspy with sleepiness.

“Hm?”

“Wanna take him to the planetarium,” Xuxi mumbles. “The one downtown.”

“Yeah?”

“Stars in his eyes,” Xuxi says. His voice is small.

“Yeah,” Renjun hums fondly, one hand snaking up to settle against the arm around his waist. 

To see the stars in his eyes — that would be nice. He melts against the pillow as sleep pulls him under, and when his dreams come, they’re of a boy with supernovas in the way his eyes smile.

“Alright, now hypothetically, if you were the best best friend in the entire world—”

“Which I’m not,” Renjun says shortly into the speaker of his phone, which is sandwiched between his shoulder and cheek. He closes his office door behind him and drops his briefcase onto the floor, propping it up against his desk with his foot. “But go on.”

“Okay, genius, if you were the best best friend in the world, would you bring me coffee?”

“I literally just clocked into work,” Renjun says. “No, I will not bring you coffee. Ask your boyfriend. And don’t call me while I’m at work.”

“You’re so boring!” Dejun whines on the other line. “I can’t ask my boyfriend, he’s busy being your security guard! Because you’re stupid!”

“I’m not sure how those correlate,” Renjun grins, starting up his computer. He rests his hands against the keyboard and types out his password. When he enters it, it lags for a moment, and the screen glitches for just a split second, but the login goes through nonetheless. Renjun tilts his head in confusion and starts up his live feed of Jaemin’s computer.

“I said so, that’s how. You’re stupid and you won’t bring me coffee.”

Rolling his eyes, Renjun grabs his phone, utters a goodbye into the receiver, and ends the call. It immediately vibrates with texts from Dejun, but he ignores them in favor of checking the time. It’s ten in the morning, so Yoonoh should probably be in his office by now. This shouldn’t be too big of an issue.

He types up a short report about the glitch and prints it out, then tucks it into a manila folder and brings it out to the hallway. Yoonoh’s office door is ajar, so Renjun steps inside, but finds that the room is empty. Yoonoh’s probably procrastinating by playing puzzle games in the bathroom, Renjun guesses, so drops the file onto the stack on the desk and turns to leave. He’ll probably get to the report soon enough, and besides, it probably isn’t even that big of an issue. 

He looks up as he walks towards the door and catches himself just before he slams into someone else. Startled, Renjun breathes out a sigh of relief and looks up at the poor soul who’s been spared from collision. As soon as he recognizes the other’s face, he straightens his back.

“Sicheng,” he says, not unkindly.

“Jun,” Sicheng smiles back at him, blocking the doorway. “Here for Yoonoh?”

Renjun nods. “Had to bring in a report for him. Have you seen him?”

“No, but—”

“Yizhuo!” a voice calls loudly from the lobby, almost in a panic. Renjun furrows his eyebrows. That’s Yoonoh’s voice, but there’s no clear reason for him to sound so upset. “Can you help?”

Sicheng moves from the doorway and peers out at the lobby curiously. Yoonoh is now sat on Yizhuo’s desk, near tears as Yizhuo tries to pick a piece of gum from his hair.

Renjun stares at him. “How…?” 

Yoonoh moans, “I don’t know!” and Sicheng sighs quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Renjun elbows him in the side. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“At least I’m not in the middle of a work-related love triangle,” Sicheng sings. His tone is smug, almost mocking, and Renjun blanks for a moment before letting out an offended gasp.

“How do you know about th—”

He’s cut off by a crashing noise followed by a loud, full laugh that erupts from Sicheng. Yoonoh has managed to fall off the desk, and in doing so, he’s dragged Yizhuo down with him. Her desk chair is lying haphazardly against the floor, and the room is filled with nothing but cackling, even from Renjun himself.

He hates this job so much.

Renjun stumbles into the store at half-past eight with a heavy briefcase and even heavier eyelids. The lights of the shop are dim and only serve to make him sleepier, but he doesn’t mind. 

The aisles are empty, and he flips the sign to ‘closed’ as a courtesy. From under a pile of shirts on hangers, Jaemin greets him with a wide smile.

“Organizing?” Renjun asks him, moving to catch a button-down as it slips from his arms.

“Yeah,” Jaemin tells him, flushing. 

Renjun hums. “Need help?”

“A little,” Jaemin admits, and Renjun is quick to pull some of the clothes from him and begin hanging them up on his own. “All I have left is putting these up, but I’m getting really tired. Thanks.”

Renjun smiles at him and takes more of the hangers from him. “How was work?”

“Not very interesting today,” Jaemin tells him, hanging up the last of his clothes and then moving to the counter, where he pulls out two coffee cups. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Renjun says, settling his last hanger onto the clothing rack and joining Jaemin at the counter. 

“It’s really nice when you help me out in the store,” Jaemin tells him with a smile, pouring a cup of coffee and sliding it across the counter to Renjun. “Thanks for that.”

“‘Course,” Renjun grins, reaching for the coffee. Instantly, Jaemin snatches it away.

“You can have it if you tell me about your day.”

“Fine,” Renjun smiles. “Not much happened with me, either. I saw my brother, Dejun called, there’s maybe a virus on my computer, and my coworker did stupid shit. That’s about it.”

There’s a thought that persists in the back of his mind, but he shakes it off. He doesn’t want to think about it right now, especially not with how tired he is.

“What kind of stupid shit?” Jaemin asks, pushing the cup back across the counter. Renjun’s fingers brush against his as he takes the cup, and Renjun reddens but hides it behind the lip of his cup. 

After drinking enough for his coffee-burnt tongue to wake him up, he sets the cup back down and props himself up against the counter. “Got gum stuck in his hair somehow. When our receptionist tried to get it out, he managed to fall on the floor and take her with him.”

Jaemin laughs. “Are they hurt?” 

“Nah. But I’m never gonna let them live it down.” Renjun takes another sip of his coffee. He smiles a little as he remembers that Jaemin knows his favorite order. “Other than that, not much happened.”

Jaemin hums and taps his fingers against the counter. “I really like talking to you,” he says, a small smile playing against his lips. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jaemin says. He doesn’t sound present. “No one’s really ever stopped to talk to me besides you and Xuxi.”

Renjun tilts his head. “Really?”

“My parents, uh—” Jaemin looks away. “Have you ever heard of Jia and Siwoo Na? The politicians?”

Renjun nods.

Jaemin points to himself. “Their son,” he says shortly, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. “But I got raised by nannies. Didn’t have time to be my parents, so they hired some.”

Renjun’s mouth falls open for a moment, but nothing comes out.

“That’s why it’s so weird to me that you like me,” Jaemin tells him, his voice small. “No one’s ever wanted me around before.”

An urge bubbles up in him. He doesn’t want to suppress it anymore.

“Jaemin,” Renjun says, but he doesn’t continue.

Jaemin swallows. He’s leaning closer, not exactly in a way that’s gearing to kiss Renjun, but for something else. As he moves forward, his voice becomes quieter. “Look, I really like you—”

“Jaemin,” Renjun says again. He isn’t interrupted this time “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Jaemin draws back abruptly. His eyes are wide, and Renjun clenches a fist. He doesn’t know how to go about this. Doesn’t know how to say this without ruining something.

“My job at the NSA,” he says, staring intently at the woodstain on the counter. “Xuxi’s job at the FBI. Both are connected to you. To your parents.”

Jaemin’s silent for a few seconds.

And then, softly, “...What?”

“Xuxi acts as your bodyguard, kind of. He’s the brawn. I’m the brains. I’m your surveillance through all your electronics. Your computer and your phone.”

“...Again, what?”

“Your parents offered us a lot of money to watch you. They worried. I’ve had this job for about seven months now. And I’m really sorry, I know I should’ve told you sooner, but—”

“You stalk me for a living,” Jaemin says slowly, like he’s trying to piece it together. “My parents pay you to stalk me for a living?”

“There are a lot of people who could get to you, or hurt you, or—”

“Was it a lie?” Renjun glances up at him. Jaemin’s eyebrows are furrowed as he cuts Renjun off, and a deep frown is settled into his mouth. It’s such a stark contrast from his usual bright smile that Renjun wants to curl up and cry. Weakly, Jaemin asks, “Are you just here for work? Is that what this is?”

  “No!” Renjun says, his voice so loud that it startles even himself. He reaches across the counter to grab Jaemin’s hands, knocking over his own coffee in the process. It spills against his sleeve, burning the soft inner skin of his arm, but he doesn’t care. “Jaemin. I promise you everything is genuine. Work isn’t a part of this. How I feel about you—”

Jaemin’s eyes are glassy with welled-up tears. They threaten to spill, and Renjun isn’t sure he can let that happen. “I like you a lot,” Renjun breathes. “And I’m really sorry for not telling you about any of this earlier. Xuxi and I wanted to tell you everything before telling you how we feel, but—”

“How you feel,” Jaemin echoes. “Both of you?”

“Xuxi likes you a lot, too,” Renjun tells him softly. His vision is blurry with incoming tears, but he tries to blink them away before Jaemin notices. “We want to be with you. But if you don’t uh, it’s—”

“Renjun,” Jaemin says.

“If you don’t, it’s fine, we completely understand,” Renjun says, swallowing. He feels warmth against his cheeks and belatedly realizes he’s crying, but when he tries to pull his hands away from Jaemin’s to wipe them away with his sleeve, Jaemin’s grip tightens on his hands.

“Renjun.” 

Renjun sniffs. “Yeah?”

“Stop talking,” Jaemin says, and then his hands are suddenly free, and his face is enveloped in warmth — Jaemin’s hands, he realizes — and Jaemin is leaning across the counter, Jaemin is a breath away from him, Jaemin’s wiping away his tears, Jaemin— 

The kiss is warm and tastes like salt. He smiles into it and feels something ignite softly in his chest.

After Jaemin pulls away, Renjun finds his voice. It’s raw, and he just barely manages to croak out, “But work—”

“I don’t care,” Jaemin says, kissing him again. “I really don’t care. I’m glad it was you, and I’m glad it was Xuxi.”

Renjun laughs a little, wiping away his tears with the rough fabric of his sleeve. He realizes belatedly that Jaemin has been crying, too, and he does his best to dab those tears away, too. “We wanted to take you to the planetarium,” he says weakly. “Xuxi wanted to see the stars in your eyes.”

“You can,” Jaemin tells him, still cradling Renjun’s face in his hands. “I want that.”

“You do?”

Jaemin laughs a little, his breath puffing against Renjun’s face as he leans forward again and kisses him, slow and careful, and Renjun feels a familiar warmness spread through him again. It feels nice. Feels like home.

They stay like that for a long time, and when they let themselves break apart, he brings Jaemin back to his apartment; they don’t want to separate, not completely. 

Jaemin’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom when Renjun finally thinks to text Xuxi. He pulls out his phone with a wide smile and types out his message hastily.

i told him <

spur of the moment thing <

> you told him???

> how did it go??????

he doesn’t care about work <

he kissed me <

i think it’s okay i think we’re okay <

he wants to be with us too <

> JUN!!!!!

> that’s great i’m going to text you both in the morning

> we are going on a date this weekend and you cant stop me

> i call first kiss

ok to be fair i got first kiss <

and second <

and third and fourth and fifth and <

> shut up go to sleep asshole

> you're so mean

:] <

night xuxi i love you <

> oh

oh god that slipped out im sorry <

sorry <

> goodnight junnie

> i love you too, so much

Renjun can’t fight the smile plastered to his face as Jaemin crawls back into bed and kisses him goodnight, and when he holds the other as he sleeps, he still can’t keep from smiling gently down at him. 

He falls asleep easily, still simpering. He knows everything will be okay.

Renjun’s on his way to work the next morning when he gets the text. Xuxi’s added him into a group chat with Jaemin, and now his phone is buzzing every other second with a new notification.

> xuxi: good morning we’re going on a date

> jaemin: that’s a little forward

> xuxi: im very eager 

> xuxi: date ideas. go

> xuxi: saturday

saturday? <

alright then <

> jaemin: i’m free

> jaemin: ummm renjun said you wanted to take me to a planetarium?

> xuxi: you told him!?!?!

> xuxi: god

was i not supposed to <

> xuxi: this is so embarrassing

> xuxi: for the record i have lots of date ideas

> jaemin: okay so let’s hear them

this is so surreal <

i didn’t think we’d get this far <

> jaemin: but you did!!!

> jaemin: date ideas. spill.

i think a picnic would be kinda cute <

> xuxi: seconded

> xuxi: county fair is going on an hour or so away

> xuxi: or so i’ve heard

you totally researched it didn’t you <

> xuxi: .

> xuxi: okay fine. an hour and eighteen minutes away

i’m about to go into work, talk more about this later? <

> jaemin: you literally stalk me for work. this can be considered work.

this time i have to actually do stupid reports <

stop looking up ethical candle formulas by the way i think you’ve got your fucking candles perfected <

> jaemin: i need adjustments 

> jaemin: have fun at work 

> jaemin: if i spam my google searches will it annoy you?

yes. incredibly. <

> jaemin: ok cool i’m not gonna do anything with that information bye honey have a good day!!!

Work is just as annoying as Renjun expects. But it’s endearing, too, and he doesn’t quite mind.

It’s ten in the evening, and he’s in the office out of his own laziness. His chair is so comfortable that he’s almost considering sleeping here for the night. The door to his office is wide open (because Yoonoh’s an idiot and forgot to close it after saying goodbye), and he’s the last one in the office, so he wouldn’t even have to lock up behind him. It’s not like Doyoung would have any qualms about it, either. 

But tomorrow is Saturday, and his date with Xuxi and Jaemin is at noon. He’d do well to be at home before then, especially so he can get ready. 

Still. They don’t even know where they’re going. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to sleep here for the night.

He won’t have to make that decision for a while, so he returns to his computer and tries to check Jaemin’s live camera. Strangely enough, the camera is on, but Jaemin isn’t there. The only thing in view is the headboard of his bed, which… is marked up with scratches that definitely weren’t there the last time Renjun saw this view.

That’s his first clue that something is wrong.

Eyebrows furrowed, he moves to check Jaemin’s phone, but before he can, his screen freezes and gives him a popup.

[ERROR. SYSTEM CLOSING.]

The screen turns black.

With his heart pounding in his throat, Renjun turns the system back on and is brought to the login screen. He types in his security code, but it doesn’t go through.

[INSUFFICIENT CREDENTIALS.]

He tries again.

[INSUFFICIENT CREDENTIALS.]

There’s a sound that comes from behind him, barely loud enough to hear but still there. Renjun flinches, his hand flying to the knife strapped to the underside of his desk, but his chair is jerked back violently, and before he can even let out a shout, something closes around his throat. Two hands squeeze against his jugular.

His breath escapes him. Is he going to die here? All alone?

Renjun turns his head to the side in a vain attempt to breathe, and the hands loosen just barely. He manages to gasp in a desperate breath just before something cold is pressed against his throat. A knife.

“Move and see what happens,” a rough voice behind him threatens. The knife presses into his skin just deep enough for it to sting, and then the coldness retreats. His wrists are pulled behind him and bound together quickly, and his arms ache from his angle. He doesn’t have the conscious thought to complain about it; he’s busy trying to steady his own breathing.

The hands return to his throat, but they don’t squeeze. They’re more of a threat than anything.

His screen glitches once, twice, thrice, and then goes dark. Words begin to flash across the monitor.

Hello, Huang Renjun.

Renjun’s eyes widen. This attack is targeted. Jaemin is in danger, and it’s likely that Xuxi is, too.

You’ve kept us from our prize. We’re afraid that’s not a viable option for you anymore.

“Prize,” Renjun spits. “What fucking pr—”

The hands around his neck squeeze again. 

You’ve run out of options, Renjun.

“What—”

The screen flashes to something black and white. A room with a table and a chair, someone tied up like he is. Someone opposite of the hostage in the chair, clothed in a mask and armed to the teeth. 

This is an interrogation room, Renjun realizes.

The broadcast zooms in until the man bound in the chair is visible. Renjun barely manages to contain his gasp.

It’s Sicheng, bound at the hands and eyes half-lidded. Blood dribbles down his chin.

“No,” Renjun whispers in horror, though it’s barely audible.

“I don’t know,” Sicheng manages, eyebrows knitted in pain. “I don’t fucking know.”

The man in the mask backhands Sicheng across the face. Renjun cries out as if he’s the one who was hurt.

“Where. Is. Wong. Yukhei.”

“I said I have no goddamn clue!” Sicheng barks out, resulting in another strike. Sicheng spits, but it comes out darker than what it should be. Blood, Renjun guesses. His heart sinks.

“The rest of your squad is detained,” the man says. “We only want Wong Yukhei. Give me answers or their blood is on your hands.”

The room is silent for a moment, quiet enough to hear faint whispers in the background, just quiet enough that they’re barely audible, but not quiet enough to be indecipherable.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, Sicheng has us, it’s alright, I promise it’s alright, please stop crying, please, I—”

A gunshot goes off. Renjun lets out a dry, pained sob.

Sicheng, on the other hand, doesn’t even flinch. He stays still, even when the masked man takes his fist to his jaw. Renjun can’t help it; tears run down his face, and his gasps for breath are so loud that he can hardly hear what’s happening. 

It doesn’t matter what happens to him. If Sicheng dies while he lives, he’ll never forgive himself. 

The masked man pulls a gun on Sicheng, aims it towards his forehead from across the table, and Renjun loses it. He can’t see anything through the tears in his eyes, and he’s screaming so loud that his throat is raw. The hands tighten around his throat again, a warning sign to shut up, but he doesn’t care.

One hand moves away from his neck. “We have a situation,” the rough voice says, presumably into some microphone on his person, and Renjun quietens just long enough to hear what he says. “Slate is down. The captain is free.”

Renjun furiously blinks away the tears in his eyes. When his vision focuses enough, he sees Sicheng kneeling by a body, both his hands free. The masked man’s mask is pulled halfway off his face, and he’s lying unconscious in a heap on the floor, both his hands pinned behind his back by Sicheng as he binds them together.

As Sicheng works, shouts echo through the room’s thin walls. There’s a struggle, followed by several thuds, and then silence. 

Sicheng stands and digs through his pockets for something. He pulls out a Midland and holds it close to his bloody mouth.

“Captain speaking,” he says lowly into the receiver. “Role call.”

Sicheng waits a few moments before he speaks again. “Rook.”

The speaker crackles to life. “Copy.”

“Magpie.”

“Copy.”

“Chariot.”

“Copy,” a watery voice huffs out on the other line.

“Redwood.”

“Copy,” another voice says, equally as teary. 

“C’mon, Red, don’t cry. You’re okay. It’s okay now,” Sicheng says gently. “Mamba?”

There’s no answer. And Renjun still hasn’t heard Xuxi’s voice.

“Mamba,” Sicheng says again, voice firmer. “Mamba, do you copy?!”

There’s a quiet echo that comes from the hall. Renjun pays it no mind, watching the screen with bated breath. The man behind him doesn’t bother moving.

“Mamba,” Sicheng says, a little breathless, his voice breaking. “Please copy. Please.” He bows his head in… a prayer? He’s never been religious, Renjun knows that.

The anxiety thrumming in his chest is suffocating. He waits, waits for so long that he forgets how to breathe, but there’s no answer, no— 

There’s a thud behind him. The hands leave his throat.

A static crackle echoes through the room. “Copy,” a voice says. 

A hand takes his wrists gently, much gentler than the ones that had choked him, and the zip-ties bounding him fall away from his hands. Renjun spins around in his chair to meet his savior. In the dim gray light of his monitor, Huang Xuxi’s hollow face stares back at him.

“Xuxi,” Renjun cries, surging up to throw his arms around the other and hold him close. Xuxi’s arms are tight around him, so tight that Renjun can hardly pull back from his hold to kiss him. 

When they pull away from each other, Xuxi rests his forehead against Renjun’s. Dark eyes bore into his own, and their holds on each other are white-knuckled. 

“It isn’t over,” Xuxi tells him. “It’s not safe yet.”

“Jaemin is in trouble,” Renjun mumbles. “We need to go.”

“To my precinct first. We need to check in with my squad.” Xuxi pulls away from Renjun and takes his hand. Quickly, they make their way out of the office, and once they reach the building’s stairwell, they break into a sprint. 

The run to the FBI building isn’t long at all, not when Renjun’s running as fast as his legs can take him. His binder presses in on his ribs uncomfortably, but he ignores the feeling in favor of running faster. The night is dark and covers them entirely, and five bodies meet them on the ground floor the second they step inside.

Renjun freezes. In the light of the lobby, he can now see clearly the damage done to his brother.

“Renjun,” Sicheng utters, eyes wide. “Your throat—”

Renjun throws himself against Sicheng, looping his arms around his neck and pressing his face into his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly to keep tears from staining Sicheng’s shirt. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his voice shaky. “I didn’t realize in time, I couldn’t—”

Strong arms wrap around him and hold him close. The embrace is warm and familiar, and exactly what he needs. “It’s okay. Xuxi, tell me what happened on your side.”

“I woke up to someone trying to get into my apartment, so I turned on my line and heard struggling on the precinct’s end. I jumped out the window and ran to Renjun’s office, where someone from the same group that got you was choking him while forcing him to watch a live feed of your interrogation. I knocked him unconscious and we came here. That’s all I know.”

“Jaemin,” Renjun croaks, turning his head to the side to make himself audible. Sicheng’s squad probably thinks he’s pathetic, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Jaemin Na is in danger.”

“It’s not safe to try to help him,” Sicheng says, his voice a low rumble in his chest that hums against Renjun’s ear. “The most we can do is wait here for backup. I’ve already called Squads 116 and 127 down, but that’s hardly enough. We don’t know anything about these guys.”

“No.” Renjun is firmly pulled away from Sicheng by his collar, and an arm settles around his waist. Xuxi digs his other hand into his pocket and stares Sicheng down. “Squad 119 promised the Nas we would keep their son safe. That’s our job — my job. I’m going, whether you help me or not.”

“We’re going,” Renjun says, crossing his arms. 

“I can’t let you do that, Renjun. You’re my baby brother. And Xuxi, you’re my subordinate. Stand down. I can’t let either of you get hurt.”

Renjun’s eyes sting. “Stand down?” he repeats, voice shaking. “You want him to fucking stand down?” 

“Jun,” Xuxi says as a warning.

“Our boyfriend is out there, all alone, and they’re doing god knows what to him,” Renjun growls, “and you want us to fucking sit here? You want us to stand down?! What if he dies, Sicheng? What if it’s my fucking fault?”

“I don’t want him dead either, but I’m not about to let my family get hurt! I’m not letting you leave, Renjun!” Sicheng shouts, his jaw set. Then, softly, “Not again.”

“Then I resign from Squad 119,” Xuxi says lowly, “effective immediately. Unless you want to get your head out of your ass and help us.”

“Please understand,” Sicheng says weakly. A tall boy with messy black hair puts a hand on his shoulder. “Please understand where I’m coming from. You’re all I have.”

“If you stand by and let something happen to him, then you don’t have either of us,” Renjun says, eyes narrowed. 

Sicheng hangs his head. For a moment, his shoulders shake, but then his head comes back up, and his jaw is tight, as if he never lost his composure in the first place. “Stay with each other at all times. Don’t split up. Be safe, don’t engage until the backup I send arrives at the apartment complex. And don’t be fucking stupid. Deal?”

“Deal,” Renjun says breathlessly, a smile growing on his face as Xuxi nods and pulls him back towards the entrance of the building. 

They’ve made it halfway through the door when Sicheng calls out, “Renjun!” and two boys appear behind him. 

The shorter of the two presses a gun into Renjun’s hand. “Cap’s gun,” he says simply, nodding affirmatively at Renjun before turning and dragging the other boy back into line.

“Come back to me,” Sicheng says quietly in shaky Mandarin. Xuxi’s grip tightens around his waist, and Renjun nods firmly before turning to leave, the gun pressed against his thigh.

The trip to his own apartment has never felt longer, and the dread curling in his stomach only intensifies when they reach the outside of the shop. Both glass windows have been smashed in. The aisles of the store are barely recognizable as Renjun and Xuxi step through the wreckage.

They stop for a moment and stare at something lying on the ground. A cane, broken in half at their feet. Jaemin’s cane.

He’s in his apartment. He’d have to be.

“I’m not fucking waiting for backup,” Renjun says through clenched teeth.

Xuxi nods with a frown. “Stay close to me,” he tells him firmly as they make their way through the store. Glass crunches beneath his boots, and with each step he takes, Renjun winces.

They climb the stairs slowly to avoid making noise. From a distance, Renjun hears quiet, muffled yells, and he bites down on his own cheek to control his pace. His heartbeat is erratic, and he’s not sure he can last much longer.

The door to Jaemin’s apartment is ajar. “Quiet,” Xuxi whispers, pressed against the wall with his gun raised. 

Renjun nods, and they go in.

The first thing they find is blood splattered against the kitchen tile. Renjun wants to retch.

Cautiously, they carry on, taking gentle, quiet steps to keep their presence from being known.

They find him in the hallway. Two men flank him, and he’s bound with heavy ropes, gagged by a bandana stuffed in his mouth. Blood trickles down his face in one steady path, flowing from a cut against his eyebrow. The sight alone makes Renjun feel sick to his stomach.

Jaemin’s eyes flit to their looming figures, but he quickly looks away to keep attention from being drawn to them.

It doesn’t seem to work. 

“We were waiting on his little boyfriends to show up!” one of the men says with a cheshire grin. “He wouldn’t shut up until we gagged him.”

Renjun clenches his fist. “You—”

Xuxi pushes him back with one hand and steps forward. 

“We wanted to put on a show for you two,”  another says. He produces a military knife and presses it to Jaemin’s neck. “Boss said we could near kill him if you didn’t give us what we want.”

“And what would that be?”

“An audience with the Nas,” the man with the knife says. “They get someone higher than them to set our people free, and in return, this brat doesn’t get gutted.”

“Your people,” Renjun echoes. “You’re the group trying to get high-profile hitmen out of prison, aren’t you? What was it called, Black—”

“We don’t have to answer that.”

“Black Lizard,” Xuxi says for him, a deep scowl etched into his face. “I’m going to ask you a question. Do you value your organization over your lives?”

“Of course,” one man, the one standing tall, barks out. The other one — who’s crouching with a knife to Jaemin’s throat — doesn’t respond. 

“Wrong answer,” Xuxi says. His gun clicks quietly. “I value my boyfriend’s life over any kind of suspension that maiming either of you could get me.”

The man with the knife stands slowly, both his arms raised in the air like he’s surrendering.

“What are you doing?” his partner asks him. “Are you fucking giving up?”

He puts a hand against the other, and suddenly the man surrendering crumples to the ground with a choked yell. The one still standing pulls something from the other’s back, and belatedly, Renjun realizes that it’s a knife, gleaming wet with blood in the dim light of the window.

“That easy, huh?” Xuxi asks. “Renjun, go.”

Go where, he wonders, but he doesn’t have much time to ponder it before the man still standing is advancing towards the two of them, his knife still raised. He goes for Xuxi, and while they fight in the hall, Renjun ducks past them and makes his way to Jaemin, trying hurriedly to free him from the ropes. They don’t come undone.

He pries the military knife gently from the stabbed man’s hand. He seems to be… just barely alive, as if that’s some consolation, but Renjun is more worried about the ropes. He saws the blade against them, back and forth, careful not to nick Jaemin in the process.

When the ropes finally fray into halves, Renjun pulls the makeshift gag from Jaemin’s mouth and holds a hand to his face. “Are you okay?” he asks breathlessly.

Jaemin coughs and then swallows, letting out a staggered breath that breaks Renjun’s heart. “I’m okay,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

He raises a hand to his cheek and tries to wipe the blood away, but only smears it against the sweat that shines on his face. Renjun purses his lips just as something thuds against the wall dully.

When he turns his head, he’s met with the sight of the man pressed against Jaemin’s wall, his wrists held tightly behind his back by Xuxi.

“Jun,” Xuxi says, eyebrows furrowed. “Ropes.”

Renjun is quick to pick up what remains of the severed ropes and bring them to Xuxi. He ties them around the man’s wrists and knots them enough that they won’t come undone. Xuxi lets him fall to the floor and then offers a hand to Jaemin, who takes it gratefully and drapes himself against Xuxi.

“Jaem,” Xuxi breathes, his arms tight around the other. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay now.”

The ball of anxiety in Renjun’s chest begins to unwind. Things will be okay, and everyone is safe.

Faint sirens ring out in the silence, and Renjun jumps at the noise. “Backup,” he guesses aloud. Xuxi nods and takes both of their hands, leading them towards the kitchen and then out the door.

“Are you hurt?” Renjun asks him as they make their way down the stairs at a pace that isn’t too fast for Jaemin.

“A little,” Xuxi says. “I’ll be alright. Let’s worry about getting help outside first.”

It proves to be more difficult than Renjun expects, but after showing their IDs to the emergency workers, they settle Jaemin into the back of a bright ambulance while the police take a statement from Xuxi. Someone goes inside to retrieve the two men, but they don’t come back out for a long time, and Renjun is too caught up in his own worry to look for them.

Jaemin’s legs are dangling over the edge of the ambulance, kicking back and forth nervously. He’s drowning in a shock blanket draped over his arms, and Renjun is standing between his legs, trying to calm him down.

“You’re pissed that you’re still not taller than me when I’m sitting down, aren’t you?” Jaemin asks him, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe,” Renjun says, grinning a little.

He’s suddenly pulled forward by his collar and completely against his will. Jaemin’s arms wrap around him and hug him tightly, and there’s a soft ‘thank you’ murmured in his ear that just barely registers. 

Renjun hugs back. “You’re okay now. Are you hurt?”

“Not really. They tried cutting stuff into my skin but got bored. They got my eyebrow, didn’t they?”

Renjun sighs and nods. “There’s a slit in your eyebrow, yeah.”

“I’m gonna look so cool once it heals over!” Jaemin laughs. He cackles when Renjun hits his back lightly as a warning. “Pretty sure we’re gonna have to reschedule that date,” Jaemin laughs against his shoulder. Renjun hums. “I’ll talk to Xuxi. Speaking of—”

A hand falls onto Renjun’s shoulder, and he pulls away from Jaemin to turn towards it. “Xuxi?”

Xuxi’s face is pale, almost sickly, and his eyes are half-lidded. “Please don’t panic,” he says quietly, and Renjun’s heart drops. 

“Then don’t give me a reason to panic,” Renjun tells him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

With a shaking hand, Xuxi peels the fabric of his black shirt upward. The shirt itself is torn, and through his shock, Renjun curses himself for not noticing before. Four long, deep gashes wind across Xuxi’s stomach, curving at his navel. His shirt must be soaked in blood; the skin around the wounds is shining red with it.

“Xuxi,” Jaemin chokes out from behind him. 

Renjun doesn’t have any words, even as Xuxi sways and braces his arm against the side of the ambulance to steady himself. He watches in horror as Xuxi loses consciousness; without even thinking, he jumps forward to catch Xuxi’s falling body, letting out a loud cry of his name as the dead weight settles against his shoulder.

Everything after that is a blur.

Jaemin tells him the paramedics took Xuxi away after that, and that they had to hold Renjun back so they could pry Xuxi from his hands. Jaemin also tells him of the drive to the hospital, and how he went thirty over the speed limit while Renjun sat silently in the passenger’s seat. Renjun doesn’t remember any of that, though.

What he does remember is the uncomfortable groan of the plastic waiting room seats and the flicker of the overhead lights. The peppered linoleum. The silence of the empty room, the numb static persisting in his mind. Jaemin’s vice grip on his knee, grounding, tethering him down. The faint smell of metal, just barely masked by the nauseating smell of sterile wafting through the room. 

Jaemin gave up on trying to talk to him a while ago. Longer still that they both gave up on the idea of going home. So they’re here, numb, waiting with bated breath in a lonely room as the fluorescent lights hum above them. Xuxi went in for surgery two hours ago, and there’s still no update.

He pretends to fall asleep on Jaemin’s shoulder. Pretends, because he doesn’t want Jaemin to worry about him losing sleep, and because he knows he won’t be able to sleep anyways. Not until he knows Xuxi is okay. Jaemin’s arm settles around him and squeezes tight, and he murmurs something after pressing a kiss to the top of Renjun’s forehead — something that sounds a lot like reassurance, or maybe some kind of confession. His heart tightens in his chest, and he holds onto the belief that they really will be okay this time.

‘Surgery went well,’ is all the nurse tells him. That, and ‘No visitors for six days.’

They go home at the insistence of the poor receptionist in the lobby, and they sleep in Renjun’s bed. Fortunately, his apartment was left untouched. Jaemin’s phone is swarmed in a frenzy of texts from his parents and family friends. Renjun’s texts are just as flooded, but the difference is that they’re all from one sender.

you worry too much, you know that? <

> i’m your best friend you asshole i spent an entire night sobbing i sent yangyang on a wild goose chase to figure out where the hell you were and we still couldn’t find you OF COURSE I WORRIED

> all three of you gone . shop broken into . blood on the street and first responders surrounding the building

> pretty sure i had a fucking right to be worried jun !!!!

i promise im okay <

jaemin is too <

xuxi’s in the hospital. he got out of surgery an hour ago but no visitors for a while <

> he’s okay though???

yeah dejun he’s okay <

we’re all okay <

> good

> i hate you

> don’t ever scare me like that again you piece of shit

love you too idiot <

call you in the morning? <

> yeah. get some sleep and dont get fucking kidnapped i hate you

Jaemin rolls over and holds him close, and this time, Renjun really does let himself sleep. Tension melts away from him in waves, and though he doesn’t sleep well, he feels safe in Jaemin’s arms.

In the morning, he wakes to the vibration of a text. Groggily, Renjun reaches out and checks his phone, then freezes. A text from Xuxi.

> gonna have to reschedule that date, huh?

He grins and types back his response before falling back against the pillow and shutting his eyes again. 

i wonder if they allow dates in recovery <

guess we’ll find out in 5 days!! <

Five days pass by impossibly slowly, and they’re filled with nothing but cleanup in Jaemin’s shop and late-night coffee dates. The wait is worth it, though, and that becomes clear when they’re ushered towards Xuxi’s hospital room by an overexcited nurse.

The door is heavy when Renjun pushes it open, and it hardly wants to budge. He steps inside nervously with Jaemin in tow, and he nearly breaks down in relief at the sight before him: Xuxi, clothed in a hospital gown, sitting upright in a hospital bed. None of what Renjun had expected prepared him for this — he doesn’t look sickly, or weak, or fragile to the touch. He looks fine. Healthy, even.

While Renjun stands and stares from the doorway, Jaemin is quick to push past him and run to Xuxi. He crouches at the bedside, takes Xuxi’s face gently in his hands, and moves forward to press a soft kiss against his lips.

From the looks of it, Xuxi has no complaints.

Simpering, Renjun closes the door behind him and makes his way towards the other side of the hospital bed, crouching down to match Jaemin. He takes Xuxi’s hand and runs a thumb along the guard of his palm, the touch feather-light but present enough that Xuxi squeezes his hand.

Jaemin pulls away from the kiss and smiles. “You’re an idiot.”

“Is this my date? One lousy kiss and some halfway hand-holding?”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Hey. Idiot.” He gently guides Xuxi’s jaw towards himself and kisses him then, his eyes just barely open to see Jaemin take Xuxi’s hand and caress it the same way he did.

“Better?” he asks, pulling away. 

Xuxi hums. “A little.”

The television propped against the wall chatters quietly behind him. He catches a few sentences of a news story and winces — the only thing on the news for the past week has been The Incident.

“Are you hurting any?” Jaemin asks him, tilting his head.

“Just a little sore. They said I can leave tomorrow, but no strenuous activity for two months.” Xuxi narrows his eyes. “Which is annoying.”

Renjun hums and takes his free hand. “It’ll be over before you know it. What are they feeding you?” 

Xuxi makes a face. “Nasty hospital food. I’m able to eat solids now, but the food’s still gross.”

“Are you hungry?” Jaemin asks, tilting his head. “I can go get you something.”

Sheepishly, he nods. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me,” Xuxi says, to which Jaemin kisses his cheek and stands to leave. He watches the TV for a moment, an inkling of concern flashing across his face before disappearing the next moment. Renjun doesn’t worry too heavily about it, and he leaves, promising to be back soon.

Renjun talks about nothing in particular for a very long time, and Xuxi lets him. But the TV suddenly flashes a banner reading ‘Breaking News’ across the screen, and they both lapse into silence.

“Na Jaemin, the newly-introduced son of politicians Jia and Siwoo Na, has been spotted leaving United Medical Center. The Nas reportedly covered up their son’s existence until he was involved in a hostage situation earlier this week, resulting in several injured and an unconfirmed number of government offices left in ruins. Going in now to confront him is Park Sooyoung, who was declined a statement by Siwoo, Jaemin’s father.”

Renjun’s hand tightens around Xuxi’s. The screen cuts to a girl with long, dark hair, bundled in warm winter clothes. She advances towards a figure on the street carrying a paper bag — Jaemin, he guesses.

“Mr. Na?” Sooyoung calls out. “Mr. Na, I’m Sooyoung Park with WV16 News, can I have a moment of your time?”

Jaemin stops and turns to her. His smile is calm and collected, almost like he’d been anticipating this. “Of course.”

“You’re Jaemin Na, son of the politicians Jia and Siwoo Na, and brother to J—”

“Yes, I am,” Jaemin says, cutting her off. Renjun clenches his jaw.

“Why hasn’t the public known about you before last week?”

“Because I was at risk for exactly the kind of attack that happened, Miss Park,” Jaemin says with a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t have a sibling. I’m transgender and the Nas’ only child. I’m also disabled and gay. Do you know how prone to violence that makes me, not even including my parents’ status?”

Sooyoung’s eyes are wide. “Very,” she guesses, at a loss for words. “Mr. Na, do you have anything to tell us about the attack earlier this week?”

“I’d like to keep that private, if that’s alright with you,” Jaemin says. “All you need to know is that I was saved by two very special people in my life.”

“And you won’t elaborate on that?”

“No, but thank you.”

Sooyoung bristles. “Mr. Na, do you ever plan on following in your parents’ footsteps? Their legacy in our nation’s politics could be preserved through you.”

Jaemin tilts his head just as Renjun moves closer to Xuxi. 

“With all due respect, Miss Park, I’m not sure your grasp on the general public’s conscience is very current. I think I’d be the last person the people would choose to elect. But if you truly want a disabled transgender man with two boyfriends to represent you, then I just might consider running.”

Sooyoung, taken aback, falters. “You’d have my vote.”

Jaemin smiles at her and nods. “I’m sorry, I’ll be going now. I’m meeting someone.”

With that, he retreats into the crowded street, and Xuxi turns the TV off to process.

The door creaks open soon enough, and Jaemin walks inside, dropping his paper bag onto the edge of Xuxi’s bed. “Miss me?” he asks, grinning.

“Yeah,” Xuxi croaks. “Missed you.”

“You okay?”

Xuxi nods and paws at Jaemin’s shoulder to pull him closer. He kisses him gently, and Renjun watches with a small smile.

He thinks it's strange how simply they've slotted into his life like they were always meant to be there. Like they're some three-piece puzzle. If one of them were missing, it... wouldn't feel right. Not for a long time.

But there’s no reason to worry about that now. They’re all okay, and things are going to work out — hell, they already have.

Things will be fine, he tells himself as Xuxi moves to kiss him, too. This is where he’s supposed to be, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.