Archive of Our Own

“I always think of the day we first met.”

They’re sprawled on the velvety cushions of their storm grey sofa, alcohol-leaden limbs tangled haphazardly in the throw blanket they’d been gifted as a housewarming present so long ago.

Doyoung rolls his eyes, unimpressed, the sclera of his eyes flashing in the low candlelight. “Always, or only during our anniversary?”

Jaehyun thumps a hand against his sternum theatrically, a low chuckle reverberating from his chest as he moves to refill their wine flutes. With the motion guided by an unsteady hand, the successive clinks of the bottle's neck against their glasses is louder than either expected.

“You wound me,” Jaehyun grouses cheerfully, a lazy smile stretching across his face. “Am I not a romantic?”

“You are,” Doyoung concedes as he sips at the white wine. It's one of the nicest bottles in their collection, reserved for only particular occasions, and the lingering aftertaste on his palate makes him sigh. “You’re definitely a romantic, but I wouldn't consider that day a happy occasion.”

Jaehyun leans closer, smoothing back Doyoung’s drying hair and kissing a spot on his temple. “It is to me. I already said sorry, baby.”

In a motion that is more pretense than anything, Doyoung’s expression flattens into a pout, but the intimidating look is dampened by his silk button-up pajamas. In perfect contrast to the pressed suit he’d worn to dinner, the garment hangs loosely off his wide frame, and he’d missed a few buttons out of either vanity or laziness. In the low light, Jaehyun’s eyes trace the dewy expanse of his neck, noting where a water droplet clings stubbornly to his collarbone.

It's just him and Doyoung in the almost-dark of the living room, the notes of jasmine and sandalwood from the candle floating through the room like a spell. Jaehyun tucks his socked feet underneath him and cuddles impossibly closer to Doyoung, smiling against the other's neck. He doesn't know how he got so lucky.

“You know someone will tell the story on our wedding day,” Jaehyun murmurs against Doyoung's earlobe. He pulls back to swallow his last gulp of wine, catching a frozen grape in his teeth and meeting Doyoung's eyes as he crunches down. “Which, by the way, is that happening any time soon, or -”

“You talk too much," Doyoung scolds as he plucks Jaehyun's glass out of his hand. He sets both glasses on the table with an air of finality.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" Jaehyun challenges. He has to physically suppress the grin threatening to overtake his expression.

Then Doyoung’s warm fingers are curled around Jaehyun's shoulders in a vice grip as he looms over him, expression unreadable. Happy third anniversary, indeed.

Jaehyun leans over and blows out the candle.

———

It’s a statistical improbability that Doyoung can order the exact same coffee almost every day of the semester and still have his drink fumbled by the barista at least once a week. He really can't blame the student workers, sleep deprived as they are, so he simply rolls the bitter flavor over his tongue and wonders what they forgot to add this time. Perfect coffee is all the same, but bad coffee is all uniquely unpalatable.

More distressing than the fact that his coffee was botched is the fact that he’s nearly at the bottom of it, because his colleague is over thirty minutes late. Doyoung uncrosses his legs and drums his fingers impatiently on the armrest of the wrought iron bench as he watches pedestrians mill about the outskirts of campus.

Ridiculous. If he was going to waste half an hour of his time he might as well have been grading papers. With a long-suffering sigh, he stands and stretches, tossing the cheap paper cup in the adjacent trash can before making his way back to the center of campus.

If he hurries, he reasons, he'll at least have time to grab a sandwich from the vending machine and engulf it in time for his 1:30 lecture. It's not the most flattering image - him, hunched over his desk, cramming bites in his mouth in a valiant effort to keep bread crumbs off his tie - but teaching freshman the finer points of microeconomics requires a certain presence of mind that Doyoung simply cannot achieve on an empty stomach.

When the analog face of the silver watch tucked under his blazer informs him that five minutes have already passed, he decides to cut through the quad adjacent to the athletic facilities. The spongy grass, wet with dew from morning rain, yields easily beneath his feet. Buoyant smacks of tennis balls reverberating off the courts and the enthusiastic shouts of the basketball team drift through his ears as he cuts quietly but efficiently through the field.

For a brief moment, Doyoung is at peace.

The scent of petrichor clinging to the cool air is oddly calming, the caffeine has settled nicely into his bloodstream, and he knows within the next few minutes he'll finally get some sustenance. And he can strangle Yuta for standing him up. He can imagine it now: bursting in the lecture hall while his friend is waxing poetic about Akutagawa or whichever author he's teaching this semester, and giving him a piece of his mind.

Implausible, but cathartic. Doyoung allows himself a small, dry chuckle.

The force that impacts his head is so sudden and unexpected that his vision lurches to the side, and for a moment all he sees is a blur of grass on the muddy field. Caught off balance, he staggers to the side, reflexively pressing tentative fingers to his temple as the offending object - an innocuous shade of orange - bounces silently to the ground.

Doyoung takes all of five seconds to transition from shock to indignation as he sees out a dark-haired man sprinting towards him from the basketball courts, concern written in the lines of his furrowed brows.

"You!" Doyoung seethes, "Did you throw that at me?"

"Not intentionally," the man offers apologetically, kneeling to meet where Doyoung is crouched on the ground. "I'm really sorry. Here, let me walk you to the infirmary."

Doyoung glares up at him. Up close, he's perhaps a centimeter taller than Doyoung, and conventionally attractive for sure - but he's also the klutz who lobbed a basketball at his head.

"I know where the infirmary is. I can walk myself," he snaps, standing and brushing off the man's outstretched hand.

The stranger's crestfallen expression would almost make Doyoung feel bad if it weren't for the fact his wire rimmed glasses are digging into what's almost certainly a fresh cut on the bridge of his nose.

Doyoung runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Just go back to your students," he tells the stranger. "They're waiting for you so they can finish practice. And I have to get this checked quickly so I can teach my students. So if you'll excuse me."

He turns on his heel, preparing to leave, when the man catches him by the wrist.

"Look," the stranger says softly, gaze cast downward as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. "I know you're upset. Rightfully so. But I at least want to make sure you get to the clinic safely. So could you just give me a second? Please?"

Without another wasted breath, he runs back to the court, calmly briefing his students as he rummages through the cooler. In a matter of moments he's back at Doyoung's side, clutching a white towel twisted into a cold compress.

"You can hold it to your head while we're walking," he offers tentatively, looking as if he half-expects Doyoung to slap the compress out of his hands but choosing to take that risk anyway.

Doyoung sighs. If anything, the man is persistent.

"Fine," he acquiesces dryly, "but my lecture is in less than an hour so I hope this doesn't take long."

The walk to the infirmary is agonizingly slow, and it's mostly the stranger's fault for insisting that Doyoung shouldn't speedwalk with a potential head injury. When they arrive, the nurse peers at Doyoung’s pupils, presses cool fingertips against his forehead, and asks him about nausea and tinnitus and all other manner of symptoms. The answer to most questions is a no. In all honesty, the ball's impact hadn't been that strong - it was simply the shock of it that disoriented Doyoung more than anything.

The nurse scribbles a neat paragraph on her clipboard before she clicks shut the ballpoint pen and lays her hands neatly in her lap.

"The good news, Dr. Kim, is that you don't have a concussion."

"I don't?"

"You don't. There doesn't seem to be brain damage or permanent damage of any sort. The swelling on your temple is entirely superficial."

Doyoung exhales in relief, but the nurse raises a finger politely.

"However, I would still advise you to take it easy for the rest of the day just in case your condition worsens. Make sure to get a lot of rest."

Just as the nurse finishes her statement, the curtain at the doorway parts and the basketball coach from earlier emerges.

"Is he going to be alright?" he asks her, with wide, inquisitive eyes.

"Yes, Dr. Jeong. He'll be just fine," she reassures primly. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's another patient I need to see."

She slips quietly out of the room, leaving Doyoung to stare as his unexpected guest takes a seat at his bedside.

"Feeling okay?" he asks gently.

"I'm fine," Doyoung replies distractedly. For a moment, he feels relieved at the lack of serious injury, before a wave of panic rushes over him and he glances at his watch with a start. Profusely and not particularly elegantly, he swears.

"My class starts in ten minutes," Doyoung explains through clenched teeth as he tosses the blanket off his lap.

"No, it doesn't."

"What?"

"I talked to your TA, and they canceled the class for you." He places a placating hand on Doyoung's shoulder, as serene as his tone and warm to the touch. "You heard what the nurse said. Right now you need to rest. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Too prideful to compliment the stranger's pragmatism, Doyoung simply observes him with curiosity: from the worry etched into the furrow of his brows to the way his full lips are drawn into an apologetic frown. The details of his face, however, are slightly skewed, if the strange angle of Doyoung’s right lens is anything to go by.

"You could buy me new glasses," Doyoung suggests sarcastically, and to his absolute and utter astonishment, the man agrees.

"Sure," he says easily. "Give me a place and a time. I'll be there."

Flustered, Doyoung decides he'd rather not go back on his word, and he scrambles to give the location of his optometrist before coordinating a meeting time for Saturday at noon.

Doyoung really hopes he doesn't get stood up this time.

"Um," Doyoung calls, when it looks as if the coach will finally return to his students, "I don't even know your name."

The man graces him with the first smile Doyoung’s seen on him that day - and it's a nice one, dimples carving out of fluffy cheeks - as he clasps one of Doyoung’s hands between both of his own.

"Jeong Jaehyun. This might be strange to say at this point, but it's nice to meet you."

———

The world is a kaleidoscope, all blurred edges and vague suggestions of texture.

Offhandedly, Jaehyun laughs.

"They're not bad," he assuages. "Really. I think you could start a new trend around campus."

Doyoung squints at the full length mirror before him, perspective dulled from the myriad careless fingerprints left by previous customers on the majority of the display glasses. The thick frames are made of a tacky faux-plastic that is dark but not quite black, that weighs heavily on his face and accentuates his already admittedly large eyes.

"I look like a goldfish."

To his credit, Jaehyun denies the allegation, but Doyoung is already ripping the frames off his face with a defeated shake of his head.

He'd deliberately started with the most expensive frames simply because he could, but that plan seems to be backfiring.

Jaehyun hands him another pair equipped with smaller lens and lined with a translucent red plastic.

"Try these."

"I'll look like one of my students."

"Just try them."

Miffed, Doyoung tries on the ridiculous candy-colored frames and stands woodenly in front of the mirror, appropriately enthused.

"Happy?" It seems dry and sarcastic is his default today.

"Very much." From his limited peripheral vision, Doyoung sees Jaehyun beaming. "See? You still look very handsome."

Doyoung rolls his eyes and sets the glasses back on the display before walking to the section with his usual brand. Enough is enough.

He plucks a pair from the display and slides it onto his face, pausing to appraise himself from different angles in the mirror.

"Aren't those the exact same frames you had last time?" Jaehyun asks ruefully.

"Yes," Doyoung admits, touching a hand defensively to the edge of the familiar rounded lenses. "I like them, and they suit me."

Jaehyun hums in acknowledgement. "You can choose whatever you want, Doyoung."

Meticulously, Doyoung scans the rows of glasses in front of him and picks out a few similar styles before giving them to Jaehyun to hold. He spends a solid ten minutes deliberating between his original circular frames and a square-shaped pair with rounded edges. He tries on one pair and then another, alternating between different visions of blurry disarray as Jaehyun watches him with a critical eye.

"For what it's worth, I like the newer pair more," his companion opines cheerfully.

Doyoung resists the urge to tsk his tongue in irritation, because he'd been thinking the same thing.

"I guess so," he concedes, coolly nonchalant. He flips over the tiny price tag dangling on one of the frame's arms and smirks in satisfaction. "These are more expensive anyway."

"Tragic," Jaehyun laments, a wide and dimpled smile blooming across his face as he walks with Doyoung to the receptionist's desk.

When they leave, a heavy mist still hangs in the air, condensation clinging to the windows of the optometrist's office and the quaint shops adjacent to it. Two buildings down, the door of a small bistro swings open and a couple emerges from under the brick-red awning, armed with to-go boxes and chattering quietly to each other.

"Hungry?" Jaehyun asks, tilting his head in the direction of the eatery.

Doyoung blinks, taken aback. He hadn't even realized Jaehyun had been watching him. "I'm fine," Doyoung says hastily.

Shopping together to accomplish a defined goal is one thing, and eating together is another. There's something strangely intimate in the act of chewing, in having nothing to do but eat and stare and talk, and he's not even sure if he and Jaehyun are friends.

"It’s on me anyway," Jaehyun quips, eyes twinkling. "But only if you want."

He walks towards the restaurant and Doyoung follows him through the mist.

There's hardly any customers during the liminal hours between breakfast and lunch. Between the muted chimes of distant conversation and the quiet efficiency with which the busboy stacks used plates, there is a relative silence. One that is certainly not broken by Doyoung, who traces the ring of condensation his glass leaves on the plastic tablecloth, nor Jaehyun, who fidgets with the cuff of his well pressed shirt as the pout of his coral lips suggests a deep contemplation.

Doyoung takes a sip from his glass. It's more ice than water, and as he returns to drawing arbitrary patterns on the checkered red tablecloth, he feels eyes on him.

"Are you feeling any better?" Jaehyun inquires softly, abruptly, as he taps a finger at his temple for emphasis.

Unnerved, Doyoung swallows before clearing his throat with a small cough.

"Yeah, I stopped feeling any pain after the first day. There's still a tiny scar on my temple, but my hair covers it anyway."

Jaehyun's expression falls, and as his lips seem to take shape around an inevitable apology Doyoung hastens to interrupt him.

"It’s not even a big deal," Doyoung reassures, even as he wonders why he's bothering to assuage Jaehyun. "What is annoying, though," he ruminates, jabbing a finger in Jaehyun's direction, "is that because of you, I had to teach a hall of freshman with a bandaid on my nose." He scoffs. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous I looked?"

The slightest hint of amusement flits across Jaehyun’s face, but before Doyoung can continue his rant their waiter arrives with a basket of buttered rolls.

Something about seeing the tension drain out of Jaehyun's shoulders sets Doyoung at ease. He reaches over for a roll and sinks his teeth into it, savoring the airy lightness that bounces against his tongue with each bite.

"As I was saying," Doyoung huffs, "it's already hard enough to get three hundred students to pay attention to lecture, even more so when they're too busy snickering to focus. You're lucky you don't have to deal with things like that," he murmurs offhandedly.

"Things like what?" Jaehyun queries mildly, sipping from his ice water. "Lecturing?"

Doyoung nods, and an impish expression blooms across Jaehyun's face. "Doyoung, did you think I'm just the basketball coach?"

That's exactly what Doyoung had thought, but he won't grant Jaehyun the satisfaction of agreeing.

Jaehyun chuckles, and it's an attractive sound, reverberating pleasantly as the waiter returns and sets down chunky ceramic dishes in front of them. Jaehyun quietly thanks the waitstaff before picking up his polished fork and idly twirling it in his pasta.

"I'm teaching exercise physiology this semester," he explains, bright eyes twinkling with mischief. "My doctorate is in kinesthesiology, but I just coach the basketball team on the side. Something tells me the university is too stingy to hire an actual coach." His smile melts into something self-deprecating and sweet, and it's oddly endearing.

Doyoung shoves a forkful of penne in his mouth to avoid toying with the implications of that thought.

On the bus ride home, the plethora of passengers generates an excess of heat, the floor is damp to the point of hazard, and Doyoung’s shoulders knock into Jaehyun constantly from where they both grip the overhead handles.

But in spite of this and everything else, Doyoung feels content.

———

Following a particularly grueling 8 AM Business Communications lecture, Doyoung hits the campus coffeeshop earlier than usual.

The line of barely conscious students is winding and dense, and Doyoung flips idly through a paperback to keep himself awake. It’s Yuta’s latest translation, a surreal coming-of-age novel that’s dense with more flowery metaphors than plot points, and he’d promised his friend he’d take a look at it. When he reaches the counter he notes with no small amount of pity the exhausted look in the student’s eyes, and he drops a coin into the tip jar before stalking off to the waiting area.

The main character ruminates a lost love and descends into a metaphysical abyss of his own making. His consciousness, personified as a raven, flits around the stalactites and singsongs his lingering regrets.

Yuta’s taste has always been so dramatic, Doyoung muses, as he skims along the next page.

Beside him, there is the sound of someone clearing his throat. "Is your book any good?"

Doyoung whips his head around to glance a few feet behind him and sees Jaehyun, who greets him with a wave. His navy blue suit and matching tie is paired with a crisp white dress shirt, and above his glasses his dark hair is combed to the side. The formal attire is unfamiliar to Doyoung, but Jaehyun’s easy smile is the same: dimples popping in his rosy cheeks.

"I promised a friend of mine I'd read it," Doyoung admits. "But between you and me… it's not really to my taste."

Jaehyun's resulting chuckle is deep and subdued, a fleeting thing in their tiny bubble of the crowded shop. "Well, you didn't look very interested in it. But don't worry. I can keep a secret." He punctuates the statement with a cheeky wink and Doyoung sighs.

For all of his silken threads and perfectly coiffed hair, he's still the same flirtatious klutz as before.

"You look especially tired today," Jaehyun hums. "Are you alright?"

Sluggishly and almost as an afterthought, Doyoung nods. For whatever reason it's difficult for him to stay focused this morning - no doubt, a symptom of the fatigue that'd caused him to get coffee so early in the first place.

"I'm fine," Doyoung manages, raking a hand through his hair and massaging the bridge of his nose. "I just haven't slept much recently. You know how it is."

"I do," Jaehyun murmurs, warm and amiable. "But you still have to take care of yourself, okay?"

The barista slides a drink and paper bag across the counter and nods to Jaehyun, who walks past Doyoung to pick it up.

When he returns, there's a peculiar look in his eyes: a gentle empathy detached from his usual playfulness.

It's unnerving.

Jaehyun reaches into the paper bag and extracts a blueberry muffin, with granola sprinkled generously atop indigo streaks of freshly baked berries. A pleasant, fruity aroma wafts through the air, and Doyoung feels his mouth water involuntarily.

"Here," Jaehyun says, unceremoniously breaking the pastry in two and extending one half to Doyoung like a peace offering. "You'll feel better with some sugar in your blood, I promise."

It takes longer than Doyoung would like for him to regain his wits and accept the treat. "You do realize you can't just bribe me into being friends with you, right?" he counters, standoffish in a way he doesn't actually mean.

"Seems like it's working so far," Jaehyun quips offhandedly, beginning to sip at his unforgivably black coffee.

The muffin tastes even better than its charming visage, with honeyed granola flakes crunching sweetly between his teeth. It's better still with the caramel macchiato he claims from the counter moments later, the warmth of which diffuses pleasantly into his fingers even through the cardboard cup sleeve.

Again there is the weight of a gaze.

"Tell you what, Doyoung."

"Mm?" He does feel more grounded after eating, not that he needed an expert in nutrition to tell him that.

Jaehyun steps close enough for Doyoung to catch the faint notes of musk in his cologne.

"There's an informal jazz concert being held tonight at one of the downtown bars," he murmurs, low and conspiratorial. "Why don’t you come with me? Have a few drinks, forget about work for a day.”

There’s about a dozen reasons that drift to the top of his mind explaining why that’s not a good idea, but he verbalizes none of them as he accepts the invitation.

———

The cedar trees overhead rustle self-righteously. To similar effect, the rare windy day ruffles erroneous wisps of hair on his colleague’s head, and the combination with a loose-fitting tie would usually suggest an image of dishevelment.

But Doyoung knows Taeil is anything but.

He simply doesn't direct his energy to things that he deems unnecessary: like propriety.

The psychology professor tugs at a loose strand from his chestnut cashmere blazer and snaps it cleanly off as he clears his throat.

"Are you coming to karaoke tomorrow?"

"It’s tomorrow?" Doyoung grunts, half exertion and half annoyance, as he readjusts the pile of textbooks in his arms. He hadn't realized it was already the last Friday of the month.

"Yep." Taeil plucks a paperback textbook — the only item he'd requested from the library — from under his arm as he extends it helpfully towards Doyoung. Understanding the gesture, Doyoung angles his textbook tower in such a way that one volume plops soundly on top of Marriage and Family Psychology.

"That helps," Doyoung concedes, nodding. "Thanks."

Taeil only hums in response.

"And to answer your question," Doyoung contemplates, chewing on his lip, "I just remembered I have other plans tomorrow night. Sorry about that."

Taeil kicks aside an acorn, which teeters precariously across the sidewalk before spinning into the gutter of dirt. "You didn't go last month, either," he says mildly. "Something we should know, Doyoung?"

Doyoung laughs as best he can with a pile of books balanced tenuously against his chest. "It's nothing like that," he reassures. "It's just dinner with a colleague."

They reach the fountain plaza at the center of campus and turn left, in the direction of both of their respective departments.

"A colleague from the school of business?" Taeil queries.

"No, from the biological sciences department."

"Oh," Taeil remarks. "So, a friend."

"You could call him that," Doyoung admits, with an impending sense of dread.

It's one thing for him to enjoy Jaehyun's company. He's surprisingly sensible, has an interesting taste in music and an even better taste in food, and entertains Doyoung’s rants about teaching and topics of equal insight well into the night. He's the kind of person that's easy to loosen his inhibitions around, with or without the alcohol.

But Doyoung knows if his friends catch wind of any of this they will absolutely get the wrong idea.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Taeil's expression shift into something insightful, and he knows his fear was justified.

"Or maybe," Taeil speculates, blinking owlishly, "more than a friend?"

"No way," Doyoung deadpans. "I spend time with Jaehyun out of the wholly platonic desire to make friends with other faculty under thirty. You know how hard we are to find."

"Sure," Taeil agrees, an amicable curl at the corner of his lips. "You should just invite him to karaoke night too next time."

"I will," Doyoung promises, even as his throat goes dry.

The conversation tapers off as they reach the entrance of the behavioral sciences building. Taeil places the textbook he'd been carrying for Doyoung neatly back onto the stack, but when he grips the handle of the doorway he lingers.

"Doyoung, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"When you get to that point," Taeil begins, tone light, "the couple studies in my lab are always in need of participants."

He slips into the building without another word, and Doyoung is too busy seething to manage a goodbye.

Lamenting this development, Doyoung trudges to a nearby bench and sets the heavy stack of books beside him as he reclines into a seat. His group of friends, while individually some of the most talented and altruistic people he's ever met, are collectively quite literally a terror. And with the gossip released onto the proverbial grapevine, he knows that even his friends in other departments will swing by to jeer at him by the end of the week. He already anticipates Jungwoo from the computer science department with his infuriatingly smug face.

Doyoung closes his eyes and tries to calculate the best way to salvage the situation.

Behind him is the sound of jogging steps echoing across the concrete, and then there’s a presence next to him on the bench.

"Not the best place for a nap, is it?"

Doyoung opens one eye to investigate, and it’s Jaehyun, because of course it is.

“What are you even doing here?” Doyoung asks, unfazed.

“Well,” Jaehyun pauses, lowering his voice. His characteristically pale skin glows with a rosy hue, and he wipes a thin sheen of sweat off his brow. “I promised my students that anyone who could beat me in running a lap around campus can leave practice early today. And this,” he gestures broadly, towards the narrow pathway lined with elm trees, “is my shortcut back.”

“You’re lying to them,” Doyoung points out, the distaste evident in his tone.

“I’m trying to build up their stamina,” Jaehyun counters mildly. “Every member of the team is talented and tactically aggressive, but that can all fall apart in the fourth quarter if no one has the energy to play. Having to practice even after giving their all in running will help to prepare them for that. Especially for the quarterfinals next week.” He leans forward, and his sleeveless shirt falls open to reveal a distressing proportion of his pectorals. “I’m already treating them to dinner regardless if they win or lose, so I’m not such a bad guy, am I?”

“I still don’t like it,” Doyoung murmurs offhandedly, though whether he’s referring to Jaehyun’s scandalous state of dress or his underhanded training tactics, he’s not certain. Would it kill him to put on a proper shirt?

“Fine, I promise I’ll come clean to them after next week’s game,” Jaehyun acquiesces. “But you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here with all of your,” he taps the formidable tome tower, “light reading.”

Doyoung sucks in a breath to respond when he’s struck with an idea: if Jaehyun is already here he might as well help fix one of his problems. “I’m carrying these to my office,” he declares as he hoists half of the books into his arms before dumping them into Jaehyun’s lap. “And you’re gonna help me.”

Jaehyun casts him a quizzical look, even as his hands rest securely atop the pile. “Didn’t I just tell you I’m in the middle of a race with my students?”

“Then we’d better hurry,” Doyoung says matter-of-factly as he picks up the other half. “Come on. My office is on the third floor. And if any of them beat you, I’ll help you explain to them exactly what happened during your little detour.”

Jaehyun has the audacity to bubble out a laugh as he stands with the pile of books.

“Lead the way.”

———

Doyoung is twirling a ballpoint pen around his pointer and pinky finger and trying to summon the correct words for his latest research proposal when he hears the doorknob turn. He glances up, alert, and sees the teak hardwood of his office door inch open.

“Hi.”

“I told my TA,” Doyoung sighs, though he’s not particularly annoyed, “that no one is allowed in here until I finish drafting this proposal. That includes you.”

“And I,” Jaehyun begins, smiling coyly as he settles into the seat at the opposite end of the desk, “happen to be Donghyuck’s faculty advisor in the biological sciences department, so he basically told me to do whatever I want.”

Doyoung groans internally. Donghyuck and his double major and his plans to kickstart a biopharmaceutical startup before retiring at forty. Of course he would betray him.

“And what do you want?” Doyoung laces his fingers together. He really and truly does not have time for this, but if Jaehyun leaves within five minutes perhaps he won’t have to haul him out the door.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jaehyun mumbles, showing just the barest semblance of shame. “I just wanted to ask if you could come to the quarterfinals game tomorrow night. My students really took a liking to you after you showed up to practice and embarrassed me last week.”

Doyoung has never been to a basketball game in his life, and he has a million and one tasks teetering off the margins of his planner, but the kicked puppy look on Jaehyun’s face is difficult to ignore.

“Fine,” Doyoung concedes, rubbing a palm against his forehead. “But that means I really need to focus on this proposal. Like, now.”

“I understand,” Jaehyun chirps as he rises from his seat. “Thank you, doctor,” he adds, wickedly saccharine, morose expression replaced with a grin.

Before Doyoung can even utter an indignant word, he’s gone.

The next morning there’s a gift waiting for Doyoung in the faculty lounge of the business building.

Your office could use some color, the accompanying note reads. Try these.

His colleague Johnny is beside himself with schadenfreude, taking a break from reviewing his International Business notes to admire the flowers and annoy Doyoung with pointed questions. To his credit, Doyoung stumbles his way through coherent answers even as he tries to temper his bewilderment at receiving such a thing.

The red tulips stand immaculate and proud in the engraved glass vase.

They almost remind him of someone.

———

Considering his limited knowledge, the game is still fast-paced and engaging, with the squeaks of shoes sliding across sweat droplets and the belligerent blare of the buzzer multiplied tenfold by the acoustics of the packed gymnasium. Although it's strange seeing Jaehyun in his element — calmly directing the students which strategies to use and meticulously scribbling notes on the clipboard — the team hangs on to his every word.

With ten seconds left in the third quarter, their university's team is still down by two points when the shooting guard Jaemin attempts a shot from beyond the half court line. The ball sails through the air in a parabolic arch, and it hits the backboard squarely before landing on the rim. As the ball teeters around the circle of the rim and gradually loses rotational momentum, Doyoung digs his nails into the palms of his hands.

The buzzer sounds a millisecond before the ball falls outside of the hoop.

Doyoung suppresses the urge to sigh. It's not Jaemin's fault, after all. Objectively it would've been a close fourth quarter regardless if he made the shot or not. The more pressing concern is the psychological strain of entering the final quarter without having the lead.

As both teams file off the court for a break, Jaehyun squeezes Jaemin's shoulder reassuringly, and the rest of the team takes prolonged swigs from bright blue sports bottles emblazoned with the university's logo. They blot towels over their sweaty faces and forearms and sit on the bench to knead their sore calves.

He sees Jaehyun conversing quietly with the captain and point guard, Mark, before the pair reconvene with the entire team and patiently explain the revised strategy. During the hushed meeting, Jeno drives a playful elbow into Jaemin's rib and the latter swats at him in annoyance. Just before the buzzer blares Mark leads a final team cheer that booms across the gymnasium with authority.

Doyoung allows himself a smile. The kids will be just fine.

And it turns out that they are. An unwaveringly aggressive one-on-one strategy plays to their favor in shutting down the opposition, and the team’s passes and shots remain accurate and clean despite the overwhelming pressure.

When Mark picks up the trophy and the entire team picks up Mark, Jaehyun meets Doyoung’s eyes and shoots him a winning smile.

It's a pretty smile, as it always is, but this time it makes Doyoung’s heart skip a beat.

They're tucked into the corner of a barbecue restaurant by the end of the hour, with the voracious young adults deftly plucking samgyeopsal off the grill.

“How did you like the game?" Jaehyun whispers to him, below the raucous laughter of the team.

"It was good," Doyoung replies honestly, pausing to sip at his beer. "The kids are really talented. I don't think I could play like that."

"Sure you could. I'll give you a private lesson one of these days." Jaehyun leverages an easy smile at him, eyebrows raised suggestively, and Doyoung scoffs and fishes another slice of meat off the grill.

He hopes Jaehyun will invite him to the next game too.

———

With a satisfied sigh, Doyoung straightens the pile of papers on his coffee table before rolling his neck in a prolonged stretch.

"Done?" Jaehyun asks, peering at him from beneath his reading glasses.

"For now, yes." Doyoung tucks his pencil back into the spiral of his gradebook and sets the gradebook atop the stack of student essays.

"Were they any good?"

Doyoung hums in contemplation before fetching a glass of water from the kitchenette and taking several gulps. "There was a lot of good effort, let's just say that."

He fishes a handful of mail out of his messenger bag before plopping next to Jaehyun on the couch. He doesn't feel like opening any of it yet, so for a few moments he just watches Jaehyun grade.

The physiology professor balances a hefty anatomy textbook in his lap, flipping through pages and skimming through highlighted sections before annotating his students' work in neat red pen. At his side is a bag of fruit flavored hard candies — a gift Yuta had given Doyoung earlier in the semester as an apology for standing him up. Personally Doyoung thinks they taste overwhelmingly bland, but if Jaehyun likes them he's more than welcome to the entire bag.

Jaehyun pops an apple flavored hard candy in his mouth before running a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses.

"Are those from work?" he asks, the candy clicking around his words as he gestures to the mail still in Doyoung’s arms.

"Of course," Doyoung replies as he leans against Jaehyun’s shoulder. It's warm. "I'm not the type to expect a letter from, say, my grandparents."

"Says you," Jaehyun remarks mildly. "I still write to my family once a week. It lets people know you're thinking about them."

Jaehyun leans against him in turn, and the lazy sense of comfort that washes over Doyoung nearly tempts him into taking a nap instead. He pushes past the feeling as he tears open the first envelope and skims it.

It's simply the business student association reminding him to attend the last meeting of the spring semester, where ideally he'll share a few words as their faculty mentor. Doyoung makes a mental note to mark the date on his calendar before sliding the letter to the bottom of the pile. The next envelope is the dean informing him of upcoming events in the school of business, most of which he’s already familiar with anyways. The letter after that is his paycheck, and when Doyoung pumps a jubilant fist in the air he feels Jaehyun's body shake gently with laughter.

It's the last letter, penned in elegant writing from an address he doesn't recognize, that gives him pause.

By this point, Jaehyun has already gotten up from the couch, and the vinyl player spins a cheerful tune as he dutifully dices the vegetables for dinner.

After scraping the last of the potato pieces off of his cutting board and into the pot, he finally looks up to see the shocked expression on Doyoung's face.

"Something wrong, Doie?" Jaehyun calls as he wipes his hands on a paper towel and makes his way back to the couch.

"Not at all," Doyoung replies, even as his head spins. "I've been invited to a conference. I only applied to get in on a whim, because I only recently hit the minimum number of publications, but I got in anyway." There’s a cautious wonder floating at the edges of his thoughts that causes him to reread the neat black print over and over again. The words don’t change.

Jaehyun's eyes curve into pleased crescents, a tender expression blooming across his face. "That's great. You deserve it."

He sits next to Doyoung on the couch, bumping shoulders with him as he peers over the letter.

"So, it's gonna be in early June. For three weeks?"

"Yeah." Doyoung wets his lips. He has to prepare a research presentation, ask the department head for time off, book transportation and a hotel — his mind is racing with things to do, and a frenetic excitement thrums beneath his skin.

“I can’t wait,” he crows, disbelief processed and gone, as he jumps up to pace around the room because he can’t sit still anymore. “This conference is ridiculously prestigious. If this goes well I might even get a raise.”

“What,” Jaehyun teases as he rises to tend to the bubbling pot, “a professor’s salary isn’t enough for you?”

“You know full well it isn’t,” Doyoung retorts, wandering into the kitchenette. “But that’s beside the point.”

Inexplicably, he’s overwhelmed with the desire to wrap his arms around Jaehyun, because his jubilance seems to be bubbling out of every pore of his body and he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

So he does.

Jaehyun momentarily freezes in his arms, the ladle he’d been holding clattering noisily back into the pot of soup. Doyoung pays it no mind.

“I’m so happy,” he murmurs. Jaehyun is cozy and soft and smells faintly of apples, and Doyoung hears him swallow before he finally responds.

“Tell me all about it when you get back, okay?”

“Of course.”

———

The days are barely tolerable, a blur of taking notes from keynote speakers and explaining his research for the nth time and socializing with corporate representatives. During lunch he takes the opportunity to expand his connections, chatting politely with colleagues for pragmatic purposes more than anything. He's easily one of the youngest people at the conference, so he knows he has to work several times as hard to be taken seriously. So he does. He writes timetables for himself and keeps them to the letter, spending the entire day with a pen in hand and an amiable smile plastered on his face.

It's exhausting, but he takes it all in stride.

By nighttime he's so drained from twelve consecutive hours of social interaction that all he wants is to be alone. Every night he picks another bar to dissolve what's left of his thinly strung composure, and afterwards he wanders unsteadily beneath the moonlight back towards his hotel. He continues with this routine for the whole first week, but the strangeness of the city — with its neon lights and raucous crowds — bombards his eyes and ears, and the alcohol muddies his mind.

It's been months since the last time he drank alone, and there is something unspeakably lonely about staring down the bottom of an empty glass.

During the second week, when he is even more void of energy, he dismisses the sensory overload of the city nightlife and surrenders to the comfortable cocoon of his hotel bed.

Freed from its daytime tenure of consuming economic graphs and esoteric figures, there is room in his mind for other thoughts to take root and bloom amidst the solitude of his hotel room.

He grapples with boredom for the better part of an hour before pulling out a novel from his suitcase. He hasn't touched it since that day at the coffee shop, and it's still bookmarked at the same page.

The main character ruminates a lost love and descends into a metaphysical abyss of his own making.

Doyoung sighs. The overblown metaphors of loneliness are still too dramatic for his taste, but this time it strikes a strange chord in his chest, unsettling him enough to relinquish the book to his nightstand after reading only a few pages.

Doyoung reclines in his bed and presses cool palms over his eyelids.

He realizes, with a painful amount of self-awareness, how long it's been since he's spent so many nights to himself. Jaehyun had always broken the monotony by dragging him to dinner, or a movie, or whatever else he had planned, yanking him away from his work when Doyoung didn't even realize he was knee-deep.

He curls up in his bed and coaxes himself to sleep. He doesn't remember his dream in the morning.

The third week is when he finally snaps.

He finds himself sitting at his hotel room's tiny desk and facing a blank sheet of letter paper.

Jaehyun, he writes.

It's terribly boring here. They work us so hard all day that all I can do at night is crawl into my bed and sleep. I feel like an old man.

He pauses, idly clicking his ballpoint pen.

Send my regards to the kids.

After all, Jaehyun's month-long training camp follows a regimen that Doyoung had shuddered at the mere sight of.

We should go somewhere to celebrate after I get back. Maybe that new sushi restaurant? I might even treat you.

The bars over here are so noisy, but this hotel room is unbearably quiet. Honestly, I can't wait to come back.

I miss you.

Doyoung’s pen stills, and he looks over his own writing with incredulity. He'd penned the letter as if in a trance, entertaining whatever thoughts had drifted to the surface of his mind, but he hadn’t expected that.

In spite of the persistent feeling tugging at the corner of his mind, he crosses a neat line through the sentiment and rewrites the entire letter, omitting the last three words.

———

The last bus back to Seoul delivers him into a muggy night, with rays of bright moonlight penetrating wispy layers of cirrus clouds.

There's a basketball court next to Jaehyun's apartment, and Doyoung is struck with an overwhelming sense of deja vu when a bright orange ball rolls soundlessly towards him, tapping the corner of his foot.

"Hey."

Jaehyun is handsome even in a black sweatshirt and glasses, and the beaming expression on his face feels like home.

"I'm back," Doyoung says, picking up the basketball and returning it to its owner.

"You are," Jaehyun agrees, utterly content. "I got your letter. Just so you know, I missed you too." His eyes curve into pleased crescents with the force of his smile, and Doyoung feels his defenses crumbling.

He swallows. "What are you doing here?"

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow at the obvious pivot, but goes along with it anyway as he walks back to the center of the court. "I'm practicing my skills. Can't lead the team if they don't respect my abilities."

Doyoung hums as he takes a seat on the bench, and he realizes he's never actually seen Jaehyun play basketball.

"Show me."

"Huh?"

"Go ahead," Doyoung nods. "Just do whatever you were doing and I'll watch."

Jaehyun tilts his head quizzically, before starting a lazy dribble that gradually picks up velocity. He gets a running start towards the hoop before cradling the ball in his right hand and tossing it gently against the backboard. Like clockwork, the ball ricochets against the board and falls through the hoop in a clean motion.

"That's called a layup," Jaehyun offers, grinning. "Wanna try?"

It's Doyoung’s turn to be astonished, but before he can protest Jaehyun is dragging him into the court and placing the ball snugly in his hands.

"Run up until about here," Jaehyun gestures, pointing at the concrete, "and then just use your dominant hand to toss it against the backboard."

Doyoung knits his brows in concentration as he undoes a button at his collar and begins to steadily dribble, doing his best to mimic Jaehyun's actions. When he throws the ball there's so much force that the ball careens around the rim of the hoop before cleanly falling through the net.

Jaehyun's smile is radiant. "You're a natural," he praises, handing the ball back to Doyoung. "How about we try some free throws?"

Doyoung’s attempt at a free throw careens towards the net with uncertain form, and when it misses Jaehyun gently rearranges his limbs and offers explanations in low tones. They continue like this for the better part of an hour, and when Doyoung eventually steps behind the half-court line he even manages to score a three pointer — to Jaehyun's raucous and immediate delight.

The "private lesson" stretches well into the night. Jaehyun teaches him more fundamentals, makes minute corrections to his form, and runs across the court every time to retrieve the errant ball. He is endlessly patient, sure in his own abilities but never dismissive of Doyoung’s.

Jaehyun only laughs at him once — when Doyoung is attempting a dunk shot and effortlessly hops up to jam the ball through the hoop. Doyoung hears a wheeze of giggles behind him and whirls around in shock, only to find Jaehyun doubled over with amusement brightening his infuriatingly handsome face.

"I'm sorry," Jaehyun chuckles. "It’s just, you're so much like a bunny sometimes. It's cute."

Doyoung answers with a playful shove.

Eventually Jaehyun challenges him to a one-on-one match. He dares Doyoung to get a single shot past him, and Doyoung vows on every ounce of his willpower that he’ll wipe that smile off of his face.

Mindful of Jaehyun's watchful eyes and outstretched hands, he takes experimental steps to either side. This continues for some time until Doyoung swallows the bile in his throat and decides to make a move. He feints aggressively to the right, moving as if he'll dribble past the defense, but then takes a quick step backwards before attempting a shot.

The basketball spins through the air and falls through the hoop with a satisfying swish. Pride wells up in Doyoung’s chest as he collapses onto the concrete, heaving unsteady breaths.

Jaehyun tugs at his arm and guides him to the bench instead.

Doyoung's gait is wobbly, legs burning with exertion, and he wonders how many hours they've been playing.

"Told you you're a natural," Jaehyun says cheerfully. "Here, I'll get us something to drink."

Somehow still invigorated, he jogs to the vending machine, leaving Doyoung to sit and gaze at the cloud-covered moon and think: about the heat of Jaehyun’s hands on his body and the winsome curve of his smile, and how three weeks without this, whatever it is, was unbearable.

When Jaehyun places a sports drink in his lap he unscrews the cap and gulps it down, rolling the salt and electrolytes over his tongue. It has to be now.

"Jaehyun," he says, leaning against the other's shoulder. It's familiar and warm and Doyoung wants to drown. "What are we?"

"We're friends," Jaehyun replies, voice remarkably even. He is always like that, unperturbed by anything and everything: a solid presence to return to and rely on.

"But," Jaehyun swallows, casting his gaze downward, "I don't want to be your friend, Doyoung."

"I know." Doyoung closes his eyes. He might be slow on the uptake with these things but he's not stupid. The way Jaehyun looks at him is too teeming with affection to mean anything but.

"I'm not without my flaws," Jaehyun confesses, and it’s magnified by the stillness of the night. "You know that. But I promise I'd do my best to take care of you."

He finally meets Doyoung’s eyes, his entire heart on display, and it's too much to bear.

Doyoung breaks eye contact and the disappointment in Jaehyun's exhale is palpable.

"It doesn’t have to become that," Jaehyun continues gently, voice small. "I don't want to ruin our friendship. So you can just forget I ever said anything, if you want."

He shifts away, withdrawing ever so slightly, and Doyoung is gripped with panic.

"Jaehyun, wait," he pleads.

Doyoung has always been ambitious. To have become a professor at his age means that he'd shied away from all distractions and kept a singular focus on his goals.

But this isn't a distraction. This is his best friend looking at him with those honest eyes, begging for a piece of his heart.

"I don't know," Doyoung mumbles. "I'm not good with," he gesticulates briefly, " any of this."

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and he twists his hands together. There are not enough words.

"But I always thought about you when I was over there. I wanted to be with you all the time. Isn’t that strange?" Doyoung’s voice lilts into something distant, a detachment from himself, as he explores the feelings that have tangled his chest into knots.

Jaehyun wets his lips.

"I adore you, Doyoung. I have for a long time. But if you're not sure of your feelings, I can wait."

Doyoung shakes his head. "No, I am," he promises, tentatively resting his hand atop Jaehyun’s. "This is all new to me, but for you I’m willing to try."

Jaehyun reciprocates the touch and it’s impossibly gentle. "We’ll take it slow," he whispers. "Figure it out as we go. Okay?"

Doyoung feels a swell of affection surging in his chest, so overwhelming and unrelenting that for a moment he can't process anything else. There is already so much he wants: he wants to cook breakfast for Jaehyun when he's still mussed from sleep, he wants to trip against his toes while slow dancing to the vinyl in his apartment, he wants to show up to every one of Jaehyun's games and support him always.

He resolves to return all the affection Jaehyun gives to him, and then some.

Distantly, Doyoung registers his new boyfriend brushing aside his bangs and kissing a particular spot on his temple, and the simple action floods his being with contentment.

The moon is beautiful tonight.