Work Text:
“Stop staring.”
“Thank you for the suggestion,” Jaemin retorts from his seat a few meters away from him, “however, I'm afraid I can't bring myself to do so. You happen to be the prettiest thing in the room.” Renjun can't, for the life of him, scrounge up an answer to that. He makes a soft choking noise under his breath and decides to not fall for the trap the oh-so-bricky Jaemin has bluntly set up for him.
Jaemin was a sight Renjun was taking his time to digest. It was quite impossible to call him dull—the first impression he left on Renjun has been forever engraved into the forefront of his mind.
At first sight, Jaemin would be what anyone would call the ideal boy—heir to the throne, charming enough to get his way but not enough for his words to be considered insincere, outspoken yet well-mannered, and devastatingly handsome.
Dark and wavy hair frames his sharp features—high cheekbones, even darker eyebrows, wide eyes that give him a boyish and innocent aura if you look at them closely. Even the slight slope of his nose can't be considered a flaw because it is soft where the rest of him isn't—if the jacket framing his broad shoulders and lithe waist is anything to go by. Even if he weren't a royal, he would be a sight hard to miss.
The room they are in is secluded, nestled close to the tree line up a few kilometers away from the castle. It is filled with the gorgeous glow only the sun of late spring can cast, shining through the windows that hang down from the walls. Renjun would never have been able to guess a place like this exists inside Royal grounds—not when even the smallest of details seems to be so grand—but he appreciates the sense of privacy it gives him.
The cheery tune of the birds chirping and the tell-tale sound of water splashing against rocks outside help him concentrate on the task in hand: finishing the painting of the boy in front of him. He got a headstart on his piece a few days ago, sketching day and night the prince from memory alone—vividly replaying over and over in his mind. Yet, Renjun's afraid he could never do justice to the real deal, Jaemin in the flesh, standing next to the biggest window of the room, looking like he walked straight out of his wildest dreams.
(That isn't much of a lie. Renjun has tried, but his brain is as stubborn as him, reminding him of the existence of a certain someone at any given moment.)
Despite what the world might believe, neither he nor Jaemin are strangers to each other.
—
Renjun is happy to be able to live off his art, whether it is painting commissions or portraits of his clients, he's made himself a name—he's not a stranger to noblemen. However, he wasn't aware of how big his art had gotten until he receives a letter from the Queen herself, inviting him to the most important event of the year: the Spring Ball.
He dons the most luxurious attire he can afford to have tailored and tries his best to control the jittery feeling settling on his stomach long before his arrival to the castle.
As Renjun climbs the steps of the grand staircase that lead to the palace, his nerves replace themselves with excitement—raw and inviting, which makes him curious to know what awaits him once he crosses the threshold to the ballroom.
The ballroom is unsurprisingly spacious and surprisingly bright for the late hour. An astounding chandelier hangs from the middle of it, its crystals reflecting their light onto the walls and the oak floor that’s polished to such perfection he expects to see himself in it. A suited man hanging near the entrance offers him a glass of champagne he declines with a murmured apology—he isn’t that much of a drinker.
He makes his way to the middle of the room and the next few hours pass him by in a blur of bodies dancing to the tune of the notes coming from the piano, inhibited laughter, and pleasant conversations amidst the crowd. He remembers letting go of the hand of the lady he had been dancing with, exchanging pleasantries and equally delighted smiles between each other. He'd been enamoured with how lovely she had been with him when he first arrived and was glad he got the chance to make her acquaintance.
Regardless of his initial reluctance, he decides having a glass won’t hurt him. He’d been set on finding one of the suited men he'd seen drifting among them carrying the champagne flutes when he's stopped by the sight of the most gorgeous man his eyes had ever had the chance of laying upon: Jaemin Na, he gleans his name to be from the whispers around him.
Long hair slicked back in a low ponytail, eyes twinkling with what he presumes is animosity, a pretty smile adorning his teeth. High waisted and light-coloured gas-pipes accentuate the shape of his body, accompanied by a blue cut-away coat with gigot sleeves, tight around most of the length of his arms, white silk peeking out under the waistcoat he'd been wearing under his coat.
Much to Renjun's dismay, the boy fleetingly glances his way, throwing him a wink that could melt even the coldest of hearts. Needless to say, it’s one of the first times he felt himself at a loss for words.
Thankfully, he gets offered a glass of champagne, which he busies himself with for a few minutes. That is until he notices the presence looming next to him.
“You have got half of the people at the Ball enamoured by your presence,” an unfamiliar, low voice rings in his ears. It’s Jaemin. He is rosy-cheeked, and the smile he had seen minutes ago hasn’t left his lips—Renjun might blame the half-empty glass of bubbly in his hand for that.
“Is that so?” he asks.
Jaemin's nod almost goes unperceived. “Had to see for myself if the rumours were true. I have to admit, I thought it all puffery, but looks like they weren't far from the truth.” He then turns his full attention to Renjun—and much to his surprise, asks him to dance.
Needless to say, the ball moves in another blur of spumante glasses, whispers, and soft touches. The glimmer of his round eyes spell nothing but trouble—yet Renjun can’t help but fall into step with every move Jaemin makes that evening.
Contrary to his expectations, Jaemin and he do not end up kissing at the end of it, but he fears that he had been left wanting more than just that, once Jaemin disappears into the crowd, advising to not wait for him.
“What do you mean?” he asks. He has a feeling that Jaemin is mirroring the sullen expression adorning his face.
“Thank you for keeping me company. I fear that I have to go, so don't wait for me. Goodbye, love,” his response comes out rushed. He keeps looking over his shoulder and Renjun worries. Did he do something wrong? He tries to voice his doubts but Jaemin is making his way out of the crowd already. Renjun tries to follow him, but it's almost impossible.
Renjun doesn't have time to process the entire ordeal—in less than 5 minutes he learns that he had been living his own version of a fairytale that night—when the Queen gets up on the stage, Jaemin is by her side.
The other shoe drops.
Jaemin is the Crown Prince.
—
It takes days for Renjun to stop brooding about their encounter—he had to go back to work. But once he steps foot in the real world he realizes word about the Ball was on everyone and their mothers’ mouths. People are curious about the boy the Prince couldn't keep his eyes away from that night—he expected to go by unnoticed, but sooner than later they find out it’s him who they were gossiping about.
Despite the stress of hearing the murmurs about him whenever he so dares to step outside, the whole ordeal ends up being a blessing in disguise—Renjun is busier than ever. He gets commissions left and right, noblemen and women paying hefty amounts of coin to get him to paint a portrait of them. It has been hectic, but he's grateful for the opportunity—he's aware he is more than what some people might assume and is glad his work has been able to prove them otherwise.
The opportunity to paint the Royal family is incredible. Every single one of its members are a delight to be around—except Jaemin.
He's broken out of his train of thought by none other than the devil himself calling out to him. “Can we take a break? I would like to have a drink and rest for a minute.”
Renjun observes what he's done so far—it's shaping up to look great. He guesses a little breather would do both of them good. “That suits me fine,” he says, easing up from his seat behind the canvas, his legs a little numb from sitting in one position for so long. “I'll be off for a short walk. Do wait for me.”
Jaemin's eyes go wide once he hears Renjun's jab. It takes him less than ten strides—yes, Renjun counts—to plant himself in front of the door that leads outside.
“You’re not serious?” Jaemin's tone is laced with a hint of annoyance when he speaks.
“Why do you sound so upset? All I said was to wait for my return.” He levels him up with a look and Jaemin has the nerve to scoff. What is going on?
His eyebrows threaten to disappear onto his hairline, urging Jaemin to carry on. He understands he is a royal and everything—but what does he expect Renjun to do? Stay with him the entire time? Make him some tea? Why is he getting worked up for something as silly as Renjun wanting to breathe in some fresh air?
Jaemin's mouth is tightly shut and Renjun's patience is running out. “Must you be so vague all of the time? I don't know what you want me to do, Your Highness,” he grounds out, trying to be polite while voicing his confession, but he is aware Jaemin can detect the vexation seeping out of him.
“Is this about the previous night, love? What did you expect me to do? We had a lovely time, but even if I wanted to neglect it, duty called for me.” He lowers his head as if expecting to be reprimanded for his words.
“Pretense doesn’t suit you,” Renjun retorts, stepping away from him. “You could have told me. It was up to me to interpret your actions. You single-handedly decided to batty-fang whatever we had going on that night.”
“You said it yourself. I have met people that were more trouble than they were worth. We spent a mere two hours together, you couldn’t expect me to know my feelings would run deeper at the moment?” Jaemin's confession takes him by surprise. What does he mean?
“How did you gauge whether I was worth your time, then?” he retorts. “You don't get to flirt with me as soon as you meet me again and then treat me with scorn when I don't acknowledge it. I might not be worth your time, but I am sure I deserve decent treatment. People worship the ground you walk on, but now I don't understand why.”
With that, he storms out of the room, leaving a flabbergasted Jaemin behind.
—
“Renjun, darling,” the middle-aged cashier of the bakery he frequents greets him with an easy smile. It's somehow comforting to be treated with adoration by someone familiar to him, “that's a handsome suit you have on.”
Renjun, used to her compliments, hands her some coins while nodding. “Buttering me up as always, Miss Mary. That's a lovely dress you have on.” Flirting isn't his best forte, but she looks pleased by his compliment, blabbering about how one of her friends custom-made it for her. He listens attentively until he deems it polite to leave. He lifts the small basket of bread in a salute and she lets him go without a fuss—not before reminding him to drop by more often.
He walks in the general direction of the park, where his friends await him. He's been swamped with work and this break is a well-deserved affair.
The path to their meeting point isn't long—he ends up arriving sooner than anticipated, but he's glad to see that for once, none of his friends are late. He lets them know of that the moment he sits down on the grass, right under the shade offered by a large oak. An arrangement of plates and dishes are arranged on a mat—must be Jeno's doing. He sets up the bread next to the butter and relaxes for the first time in the months.
“Oi, you've been so busy we thought we’d never see you again. I am incredibly pleased to be graced by your presence, chuckaboo.”
Renjun wrinkles his nose in disdain, ignoring Donghyuck's attempt at a jab.
“Pleased to know that you’ve not yet lost your ability to be an annoying prick,” he replies as he butters his piece of bread.
“That was as bad as my father's jokes,” Jeno (un)helpfully supplies. Donghyuck is left to the side, trying his best to regain a normal flow of breathing after laughing for a good amount of time.
Thankfully, they end up digging into the rest of their meal peacefully—chattering the rest of the May evening away. Catching up with friends has always been one of the things he looks forward to the most. It's always a pleasant time.
However, his peace is shattered into the tiniest of pieces the next time Donghyuck opens his mouth. “Injun love, are the rumours spreading around town the truth? Have you seduced Prince Jaemin?”
“Why didn't I foresee this?” Donghyuck directs him a nasty look, expecting Renjun to answer. “No, I have not done such a thing. I have been working for his family, but nothing else. Don't get it twisted,” he clarifies before deeming the conversation over.
Donghyuck, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil Renjun is battling, attempts to prod further. “What about the Ball? Attendees claim they saw you enjoying each other’s company. Immensely.”
“Sorry, is that not what one does at a Ball? Was I supposed to brood by the sidelines with a glass of bubbly in hand?” Hee tries to not sound miffed, but it is quite a difficult task. Jaemin is a touchy subject and Donghyuck is astoundingly overbearing when he wants to be.
“Though, you don't get to hear every day about the prince doing the bear as blatantly as he supposedly did with you, Injun.” Jeno doesn't even try to hide the amused grin threatening to make a home on his lips, and Renjun is left with his mouth agape.
“That rascal over there is rubbing off on you, dear,” he huffs.
“Don't avoid the subject,” Donghyuck says, moves to sit next to him. “We don't get to mingle with the nobles, don't ruin our fun. We have no option but to live off your anecdotes.”
Renjun is left defeated. Who else is he supposed to talk to about what has happened if not his friends?
He entertains them by telling them all of the things that happened between each other—even the most minor of details, the ups, the downs, and where they stand now.
“He has tried to talk to me every single time I am scheduled to go to the palace but I have been actively avoiding it. I don't know if that's the right choice,” he finishes off by drinking the water left on his cup.
“Still think he wants to shag you,” Donghyuck replies. Libidinous bastard. He doesn't know why or how Jeno puts up with him.
“I believe emotionally constipated is the term. But despite that, he's said himself that he’s taken a liking for you,” Jeno adds in good-faith, bless his soul. Not a revelation though—he is aware of all of that.
“If he thought you were just a pretty thing he could stick his bag o’ mystery in he was wrong.” Jeno snorts when he hears the way Donghyuck decides to use the slang learned on one of their many outings. Renjun wishes he could relate—he wishes he could relate to them, but instead grimaces. Love is sickening.
—
Days go by without a hitch. He's been busy and loved every second of it.
A lot of his original paintings have been sold over two weeks, so now that his work with the Royal family is coming to an end, he decides it is as good time as any to start working on other things.
There's more than enough money in his account to sustain him for the rest of the year so he opts to focus on getting his life together. He has been making a list of things he wants to achieve in the next few months. Move to a bigger place, travel to the beach nearest to the city, get some more form-fitting clothes.
A knock on the door breaks him out of his reverie. Can’t a man have some alone time? The person behind it puts a damper on his mood.
“You are painting me a fifteen puzzle game, Jaemin,” he says slowly. Per contra his feelings, he opens up the door and lets him into his place. “How did you get here?”
Jaemin shrugs, nonchalant. “I back slang it.”
“You are no thief, Jaemin.” The amusement on his voice is palpable.
“Come again?” he retorts. “If I recall correctly, I stole your heart a few months ago.”
“You are a rake,” Renjun replies. “How do you manage to say that with a straight face?”
Jaemin gives him the answer he was expecting. “Simple, I’ve no shame.”
“You also got a whole lot of nerve to show up at my doorstep after everything you’ve done.”
Jaemin manages to look unbothered by his remark. “I have been trying to apologise for months now,” he replies. “This was my last resort.”
“Is that so?” he wonders aloud. How Jaemin reached this conclusion eludes him.
“We are on even ground now. This is your space; you can yell at me, you can go mad and cop a mouse on my pretty face, I’ll take it all as long as I get to see you again,” he murmurs the last part, sounding equal parts broken, equal parts ready for whatever Renjun says to him.
“While I appreciate that,” Renjun starts, careful, “I’m not sure if there’s anything to salvage at this point.”
“Aren’t my feelings for you enough of a start?”
“You have got to be more specific than that, Jaemin,” Renjun says with a sigh. He sits down on the stool closest to the painting he was working on before Jaemin’s arrival. “I have said it before, and I’ll say it again, you can’t go around being vague, especially when it comes to feelings. I can’t guess what’s on your heart if you don’t tell me it.”
Jaemin bites his lip, looking deep in thought. Renjun admits to himself it would be best to give him some time to process his words. “Do you want some tea?”
He beams at him. “That would be lovely, thank you, dear.”
Renjun tries his best to not roll his eyes at the term of endearment and gets to work. Freshly made tea is the best thing he can offer him right now.
He can hear Jaemin’s footsteps gliding across the wood of his floor. He realizes as he watches the water come to a boil that he doesn’t really mind him snooping around—there’s nothing much to hide.
“I believe that what we need is to start over,” Jaemin announces, leaning his weight on the doorframe of the kitchen. Renjun hands him the hot cup of tea—a splash of milk, one cube of refined sugar. Jaemin takes a sip and hums something unintelligible under his breath before he continues. “I loved being able to detach myself from who I am supposed to be the moment I met you at the ball. It felt nice to be a common boy for once in my life. However, the happiness I felt blinded my morals and I forgot to tell you the truth—I would like to apologise for leaving that night without a proper explanation. Our meeting was so sudden, but ever since the moment my eyes first landed on you, I knew you would be worth the risk, but I was afraid to let you know so. I thought it was too soon.”
“I'm sorry for the way I made you feel the first time we met after the ball. It was uncalled for. I remember going crazy trying to find you. My brother, Jisung, he's in love with your art—when I mentioned your name he went mad. Told me he had been thinking of buying something made by you. We schemed, got our Mother to agree and the rest is history. I had the belief you would be as excited as me—failed to foresee you might be fuming because of my past actions, said stupid things and now we are here.”
“I cannot believe she did that,” Renjun comments, disbelief painting all of his features while sipping on his tea.
“Is that what you are going to focus on?” The indignation is evident in his tone. “But yes, my mother is brilliant. I bet she would like you as much as I do.”
Renjun's glad he set his cup on the table—otherwise, he would have probably choked on his drink or dropped it onto the floor. “You can't just say that.”
“I can't live a life in which I pretend I don't like you, love,” Jaemin confesses and despite Renjun’s initial aversion to let himself open up to him, he opts to throw caution into the wind. Jaemin gave him both excuses and explanations—owned up to his mistakes. He might be right: a fresh start would do them good.
“Starting over. That would be a dream, wouldn’t it?” he muses out loud. “I think we did get off on the wrong foot.”
Jaemin's smile reaches his eyes, making him look as bright and beautiful as Renjun likes him to be. “Hello, I'm Na Jaemin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m Renjun,” he says, offering Jaemin his hand to shake. “And the pleasure is all mine.”
—
Jaemin lays on top of the blanket Renjun set next to the river. Summertime has never looked better—Jaemin skin glows a pretty golden colour under the late afternoon sun. He looks unreachable, yet Renjun now knows that's not the truth.
“Quit staring,” Jaemin remarks. His head is turned in the general direction of the sun. His eyes are closed—his eyelashes are unreal, they look long enough to hold the stem of a dandelion. Renjun plucks one out of the soil.
“I am afraid I cannot bring myself to do so, my Prince,” he teases, nudging him to get him to sit up. Jaemin complies easily, eyes still closed, weight leaning onto Renjun's side now. “You happen to be the prettiest thing to look at.”
“Are you a parrot?” he asks. “You have a knack for repeating things I’ve said before.”
Renjun laughs. Jaemin's outburst shouldn't be endearing, but the feeling of fondness threatens to make his heart burst at its seams.
“You happen to be good at words. You should take my actions as a compliment,” he retorts, figuring this would be a good time to test out the theory he had been thinking of not long ago, settling the stem of the dandelion on top of his eyelashes.
It's fascinating to look at. It remains still, balancing on top of something as fragile as hair.
Jaemin laughs, making the flower fall to the ground. He doesn't have time to lament it as Jaemin turns, looking straight into his eyes, the non-existent distance between them making his heart flutter.
“You are so silly,” he comments, laying his head on his shoulder. Renjun circles his eyes around his waist, pulling him closer to his chest. “I want to stay like this for a while.” His voice is muffled by Renjun's shirt. He hums in agreement.
“I would love to. But I have to leave before the sun sets. It's a long way home.”
Jaemin groans in protest, detangling himself from Renjun. His lips are pursed downward and Renjun can't help but mock him. “You ruin my fun.”
“We'll meet the day after tomorrow,” he says, gathering his things. Jaemin, albeit reluctantly, helps him by attempting to fold the blanket. Renjun laughs when he notices he's just balled it in his hands. He makes his way towards him and teaches him the right way to do it. Jaemin thanks him, interlocking his pinky with Renjun's as they make their way towards the entrance of the garden. Once they reach the archway, they let go of each other.
“Be safe out there.”
“Are you going to rescue me if someone dares to attack me?” Renjun asks. Jaemin seems to ponder on his question.
“I think you can defend yourself just fine. You might be small, but surely feisty,” he jokes and Renjun pretends to be annoyed by his answer.
“And here I was, thinking you were nothing short of a prince in shining armour,” he says with a shake of his head. “You are dishonoring the title you were given at birth.”
“Is that so?” Jaemin hums, hands finding their way to Renjun's waist once again. Renjun nods and Jaemin wrinkles his nose.
“I have to go,” Renjun reminds him as he watches the sun set. Jaemin makes no move to let go of him, humming in response. Renjun whines.
“Jaemin.” He tries to sound stern, but it’s impossible in this man’s presence.
“I love you,” Jaemin says, voice laced with affection. The words slipped so easily from his lips. How does he do it?
They stand there in each other's arms, surrounded by the rose bushes lining up the archway. Renjun tries to swallow the lump on his throat. He's too overcome with adoration for the boy in front of him to say anything coherent.
Jaemin who's been patient with him, willing to make it work despite what the world might think. Jaemin who is nothing but the personification of a love only Renjun has got the luck to meet.
He laces his hands on Jaemin's nape, closes his eyes, and takes the leap to close the distance between their lips.
It's nothing but a brush of lips, yet Renjun hopes it conveys his feelings. He brushes a stray strand of hair out of Jaemin's face, who looks content.
“Goodbye dear,” he says, letting go of Renjun's waist.
Renjun can't help but place another kiss on his cheek.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Jaemin.”
—
“You better have a good excuse for visiting at this hour,” Renjun grumbles. It's late in the evening, and he truly doesn't know how Jaemin keeps managing to show up at his house unannounced.
“Aren't you going to let me in? It's cold outside,” Jaemin retorts, faking a shiver. What a dramatic boy.
“I too would be cold if I were to leave my jacket at home.” Jaemin has the nerve to giggle as he enters, closing the door behind him.
“You think you are so funny, don't you?”
“Exhilarating, dear,” Renjun replies from behind the painting he's been working on. Jaemin's presence in his space is welcome—he's become something akin to what some would call a muse. There's always a piece of him in Renjun's work.
“You haven't answered my question,” he says as he dips his brush in some black paint.
“Isn't missing you enough of a reason?” Jaemin asks from the kitchen. Ever since Renjun learned that Jaemin was an amazing cook but that he rarely got a chance to practice in the palace, he's been exploiting his innate talent to the maximum. It's a good thing that Jaemin is nurturing by nature—he finds solace in making meals for them to share.
“No, it isn't. But I'll take it. I don't mind having a pretty boy over at my place,” Jaemin hums, letting him know he's heard him, going back to whatever he's up to in the kitchen.
Renjun goes back to finishing some of the finer details of the portrait he was painting of Jaemin back in the secluded studio in the castle. He handed the family a more formal and less personal portrait of him—he's seen it hanging in the room Jaemin stores his piano in.
But this one is special to him—he's been painting it from memory alone and he is enamoured with the way it's been turning out. Still, something is missing, but Renjun can’t seem to pinpoint what.
The painting is colourful. It highlights the golden glow Jaemin always seems to sport on his skin. Renjun made sure to make it brighter in the high points of his face—the slope of his nose, his cupid bow—
Renjun decides to put aside the brush with black paint on it and grabs another one, mixing pinks and reds until he gets the desired tone. He grabs a different, thinner brush, making sure to dip in the paint thoroughly, and goes back to work.
He traces the outline of Jaemin's lips on the canvas, making sure they look as pillowy and full as they are after they share kisses for a while. He makes sure to shade and highlight where it's due and after a few minutes he deems it done.
That's what it’s been missing all along.
He sighs, setting the brush down so he can get up to stretch, but a pair of hands land on his shoulders.
“You are so obsessed with me. It's kind of endearing,” Jaemin's cooes, his voice low. Renjun turns to look at his reaction. Jaemin was aware that he was working on this piece, but Renjun never let him look at it. He was expecting to gift it to him on his birthday but he didn’t think he’d have it done so suddenly.
“You’re one to talk. Who's the one who keeps sneaking out of the palace to spend the night at his lover's dull house?” Renjun shoots back. Jaemin, however, seems to be in a trance, eyes scouring the painting in front of him.
“This is gorgeous, Injun. You never fail to amaze me.” Renjun is not one to blush easily, but Jaemin has got quite the effect on him. He murmurs a thank you under his breath.
He tries to regain his composure but Jaemin offers him his hand to take—Renjun does, as expected. He's weak when it comes to him.
They stand chest to chest and Renjun takes the chance to appreciate Jaemin on the flesh, taking in the waves of his hair—it now reaches his shoulders, making him look every bit of a God—and the way his eyes are filled to the brim with fondness. He traces his cheekbones, the barely-there freckles that adorn his nose and cheeks.
This time, it’s Jaemin who leans in first.
The kiss, however, is not like the ones they have shared before. It's veiled with a layer of passion and pleasure they have never dared to toe before. Jaemin's hands travel all across the plane of Renjun's body—his shoulders, his collarbones, the small of his back. His touch is delicate, yet firm, leaving a hot trail along its path.
Renjun's hands too, act with a mind of its own, unlacing the top of Jaemin's silk shirt, revealing his collarbones and a good part of his chest. Renjun drinks him in.
Jaemin is unreal. There's no way the boy that's depositing kisses on his neck isn't a fragment of his imagination.
“I have never been more grateful for you and your tendency to wear silk shirts,” Renjun blurts out, taking in the strong line of Jaemin's shoulders. Jaemin laughs at Renjun's remark, putting some distance between each other. Renjun whines at the loss of warmth but Jaemin is quick to grab his hand.
“Lead the way,” he says. Renjun can't focus on what he is saying—mind preoccupied by the sight of the disheveled Jaemin in front of him.
“Huh?” is all he manages to say. Jaemin stands in front of him.
“What I mean is,” he whispers, warm breath against his ear making Renjun feel a bit dizzy, “there are better things hidden underneath the shirts. Do you want to find out?”
Renjun's mind goes blank, but his body moves on its own towards the bedroom. He all but throws Jaemin onto his bed—dark hair fanning out like a halo, looking every bit of a walking sin.
He can't wait to find out what's under the silk.