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Renjun sips on his tea, disgruntled, even more than usual. He knows he’s making the face that Donghyuck refers to as his angry kitten face, which just makes him more crabby.
Ugh. Speak of the devil— Donghyuck comes to sit next to him, slinking out of the shadows that currently make up the back half of the coffee shop. Renjun can swear he sees a puff of dust erupt from the couch when he takes a seat. Donghyuck is way closer to him than acceptable, according to the width of Renjun’s preferred personal bubble.
“Having a good time?” Donghyuck asks him as he sips on his drink, holding his striped paper straw between two fingers. It’s subtle, but Renjun detects a tone of amusement in his voice. To his further annoyance, Donghyuck has the audacity to drink one of those blended coffee monstrosities, complete with a caramel drizzle, at this hour of the night.
“It hasn’t even started yet.” Renjun levels him with what he likes to think is an intimidating stare.
“You could at least talk to some people. Don’t you know, like, half the people here?”
Renjun rolls his eyes. Against his will, he has been dragged to open mic night, held at a cafe close to campus. Haechan seems to be under the impression that he succeeded because of his superior persuasion skills, as a result of years of training as a theatre major. In reality, Renjun has a requirement to fill for his creative writing class, which is the only reason, he tells himself, that he tagged along. Open mic night, while terrible (idiotic? a waste of time? Renjun has no shortage of complaints), is technically still a vaguely english-reated event.
(Maybe, he just doesn’t want to admit that Haechan, sitting on his fluffy rug and whining up at Renjun for two hours, has the power to get him to do stuff.)
The cafe is, very creatively (he scoffs internally), called The Grind. Renjun, who avoids stereotypes like the plague, rarely visits this particular one. It’s where his fellow English majors frequent, particularly those focusing on creative writing. Trends specific to Renjun’s English department are the triple shot americanos, beanies, glasses, and questionable sweaters that he finds nearly every student donning no matter the season. Renjun is completely different. Well... Renjun has glasses, and he’s not a stranger to the occasional striped sweater, but… whatever. His point still stands.
All things considered, one could imagine that he’s not having a good time sitting in the dingy (“ cozy!” Donghyuck insists ) cafe after hours, on an ancient couch, with stupid twinkly lights everywhere (which, of course, Donghyuck oohs and ahs over).
There is a tiny stage, a glorified soap box really, that Renjun only becomes aware of as members of the slam poetry club clumsily focus the stage light. That’s right— stage light, singular. It’s probably too bright for this room, and Renjun thinks it entirely unnecessary and dramatic that they would lug the heavy thing all the way here just for goddamn open mic night.
The slam poetry club members finally stop fiddling with the focus knobs on the light, and the room collectively seems to gather that the event is about to begin. Students who were ordering last minute drinks from the counter take their seats, all the while speaking in pretentiously hushed voices. Haechan settles down next to him, moving from where he was angled towards Renjun in order to talk his ear off, in favor of sitting facing the stage.
A girl that Renjun recognizes from his British Lit class steps onto the stage, taps the mic twice, then breaks out in what is, frankly, a terrifyingly excited smile.
“Good evening,” she says, dramatically, all drawn out vowels. Renjun wonders if she’s auditioning for the part of Morticia Addams.
“On behalf of the poetry club, I would like to welcome you to our seventh tri-annual open mic night. We will be hearing… well, a variety of content this evening, so I would like to remind you to be respectful . As always, snaps only, no clapping. Thank you.”
Ah, yes . Renjun vaguely remembers a scandal where, despite events like these being open to all students, the previous president of the poetry club had somehow terrified any non-poetry performers into backing out at the last minute. Something about a pentagram, some cheap magic tricks, a bit of fake blood… he thought it was too dumb to pay attention to at the time. After that, the rivalry between poetry club members and non-members who frequented open mic nights had multiplied, boiled over, and now the current president has to remind everyone to ‘be respectful’ every chance she gets. Not that Renjun, like, cares about poetry club drama, or anything.
The first portion of the performance is made up of a few stand up comics, some of which aren’t too terribly bad, Renjun supposes. It doesn’t hurt that the entire audience is filled with college kids, many who have found themselves in similar situations as the performers. All in all, an easy crowd to pander to. Most of the jokes revolve around the horror of having to wake up early, casual hook up problems (ew, gross, Renjun does not want to be reminded about the one time he tried a one night stand), being broke, and poking fun of faculty. Renjun hopes there are no professors lurking in the dark cafe.
The MC briefly appears onstage again, to announce the shift into the next section of the show, which is (unfortunately) poetry. She announces the next performer, who steps in front of the mic after she leaves, momentarily blinking into the obnoxiously bright stage light.
Renjun can’t stop a quiet gasp as it involuntarily leaves his mouth.
Standing about fifteen feet in front of him is the most beautiful guy Renjun has ever seen.
He has gorgeous blue-silver hair, dark at the roots and parted to one side, somehow effortlessly messy and neat at the same time. His eyes are beautiful, with long and charming eyelashes, under dark and impeccably neat eyebrows. Renjun admires the smudge of subtle eyeshadow, barely shimmering in the light. He’s tall, at least compared to Renjun, with long legs and broad shoulders. Renjun, generally confident in his own appearance, is suddenly aware of his own proportions in relation to this man’s… perfection. Don’t even get Renjun started on his plush lips, his sparkly eyes, just— impeccable skin, really, even his hands, where they’re holding the mic are a work of art—
Wait. What was his name?! Renjun wasn’t paying attention when Morticia Addams— the MC, he means— introduced him. How dare he!! Renjun curses his past self.
To his relief, the guy introduces himself again. Jaemin, Renjun internally sighs, a gorgeous name for a gorgeous man. However, his explanation of his major, how he got into poetry, and his poem title goes in one ear and out the other, because Renjun is entirely distracted by his incredibly deep and smooth voice. He’s charming… glittering, in the stage light with his perfect face and perfect velvety voice. He’s an angel! A dream! Renjun would move mountains for him! He would climb the empire state building, profess his love—
Then, Jaemin starts his poem.
“LIFE!” he shouts, startling half the audience. “Is like a hurricane…” he trails off quietly, probably going for dramatic effect, but coming across a little unhinged.
“My THOUGHTS! Are… the sea… and I am just a boat.” Jaemin continues. “Fear, disquietude, perturbation! Touching me… teasing me… feeling me UP with a proverbial hand of SUFFERING!” Jaemin’s inflections are nothing short of bizarre.
This is utter nonsense, Renjun thinks. Just, godawful poetry. Is that what this is? Right, yes, Jaemin did say he was going to perform a poem…
“We are left to wander… amble, saunter, dawdle, gallivant!”
It’s like he’s throwing up a thesaurus. Renjun can’t take his eyes off him.
“In a world we can’t even understand. What do the laws of the universe mean to a beanbag chair, just a boneless couch…”
Jaemin’s voice, deep and pretty, is truly the most gorgeous sound Renjun has ever heard. He longs to hear it used for… anything but this, really...
“What power do we have over poptarts… you cursed, sweet, ravioli!”
This seems to be the end of the poem, as a round of enthusiastic snapping occurs. Jaemin lowers his head, gesturing with one hand as he bows to the audience. Renjun chances a look around the room, and is perturbed to find that everyone looks extremely serious. When he looks back to the stage, Jaemin is gone.
There are a few more poets, none of which Renjun can pay much attention to because of the… occurrence… he just witnessed. The passage of time is marked only by intermittent rounds of snapping; he is otherwise preoccupied with processing what is simultaneously the best and worst day of his entire life.
Renjun comes mostly back to reality when it’s the musicians’ turn to perform, which is a welcome break from dramatic inflections of poets and occasional pretentious hums of approval from the audience. Renjun recognizes the kid currently onstage, Mark Lee, from his creative writing class. They had shared their work with each other for their ‘peer edit’ portion of an assignment, and Renjun had honestly been blown away by his stunning writing. He’s no less talented in music, it seems, strumming his guitar and singing a John Mayer song in dulcet tones.
Renjun turns to Donghyuck, wanting to talk to him briefly to ground himself and escape whatever fever dream he’s still waking up from.
“Hyuckie,” he whispers, “what do— hgff” He gets cut off with a slight wheeze, Donghyuck having whacked him in the stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him.
“Shut up, I’m trying to listen,” Donghyuck says, not even taking his eyes off of Mark.
Sure, whatever, Renjun thinks, sulkily sinking back into the couch. Hyuck always did have annoyingly perfect theatre etiquette, despite being absolutely disrespectful in other areas of his life.
Although, he thinks, giving Donghyuck another look out of the corner of his eye, when did his etiquette extend to include a twinkle in his eye and such a soft look on his face? He looks to Mark, then back at Donghyuck. Yup, inexplicably, he’s staring moony-eyed at Mark Lee, where he sits on a barstool on stage, fingers on frets and mouth to microphone.
Renjun feels equal parts confused and gleeful. He’s going to be able to give him so much shit for this.
---
However, as the last performer leaves the stage, it’s Donghyuck that turns to Renjun to give him a smirk and an obnoxious eyebrow wiggle.
“Renjunnie ,” he simpers, “I thought you hated slam poetry. Guess that isn’t true, you really seemed to enjoy that one poem… what was his name? Jaem—”
Renjun claps his hand over Donghyuck’s mouth, which results in a faint pop.
“I don't hate poetry, It’s that I only like good poetry.” Renjun clarifies. He tries not to panic out of mortification, because of course he noticed him staring at Jaemin, of course Donghyuck has something he can tease him with for the rest of his life.
Donghyuck pushes Renjun’s hand off of his mouth, and singsongs “I can introduce youuuu,” with an annoying smile Renjun wants to forcibly remove from his face. And of COURSE Donghyuck knows Jaemin; he knows every weird kid in every godforsaken arts program, which is where Renjun assumes Jaemin is from.
Against his better judgement, he just shrugs and says, “Okay.”
Donghyuck’s grin stretches even further. “Ah ah ah, ” he says, wagging a finger. “How are you going to pay me back? I have some ideas… clean my room for a month? Buy my lunches for the rest of the year? Hmm…” The look on his face is infuriating. If Renjun wasn’t so desperate to be introduced to Jaemin, he would smack him.
Oh, but wait, Renjun has ammunition, too! His frustration is suddenly replaced with satisfaction.
“I know exactly how I’ll pay you back,” he says, tilting his head and smiling sweetly. Donghyuck, expecting to have flustered Renjun, seems entirely taken aback.
“How—what do you mean?” Donghyuck asks. Renjun thinks he can detect a note of fear in his voice. Good.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Renjun keeps a casual tone. “I can do the same. I can introduce you to that guitar player, Mark…”
Donghyuck scoffs, though Renjun has a feeling it’s performative.
“Really? You’re not interested in meeting him?” Renjun says. Donghyuck’s expression softens, and Renjun is close to victory, he can taste it. He continues, “Mark, with his blue guitar, and his fluffy hair, and his John Mayer songs…”
Donghyuck just sighs.
“Really? You don’t want to meet him? That’s funny, your puppy eyes made me think different. It’s whatever, then, let’s just go home.” Renjun delivers the final blow.
“Wait!” Donghyuck whines, before looking around, panicked, and lowering his voice. “You can…we can...yes. I suppose that’s a fair trade.”
---
As fate would have it, Jaemin and Mark seem to know each other. When Renjun and Donghyuck finally gather the gumption to get up from their couch and locate the two boys, they’re standing next to a fairy light-covered window and chatting. Renjun doesn’t know if that is going to make what happens— their trade— more awkward, or less.
It turns out to be lucky, though. Renjun greets Mark and introduces him to Donghyuck, who is only able to muster a pitiful “Hello…” and promptly forgets to introduce Jaemin to Renjun. It’s a strange situation, indeed; Renjun has never heard Donghyuck say this few words.
Mark is the one that introduces Jaemin to Renjun, prefacing it with an “Oh! I’m being rude,” as if Mark of all people is the one who has trod on social graces tonight.
Renjun, for all his quarrels with Donghyuck, is nothing if not a good friend. He tells Mark that he should talk to Donghyuck about music, as he thinks they share a lot of interests.
“Oh!” Mark’s eyes light up, turning to Donghyuck immediately. “Do you like John Mayer?”
Donghyuck nods. “I do, but I’m more of an Amos Lee fan, personally.” Oh, good. Donghyuck has remembered how to speak. Renjun is relieved.
“Funny you should say that!” Mark bounces on the balls of his feet. “The other day, I was…”
Renjun, sensing that Mark has launched the two of them into quite a long conversation, turns to Jaemin. And...um. He likes to think he’s normally a chill and composed guy, but… he is utterly at a loss for words when face to face with Jaemin. He needs to get it together— he just heard the man call a beanbag chair a ‘boneless couch,’ for god’s sake!
“So,” Jaemin says, tilting his head at Renjun. “I’ve seen you around campus.” And oh, his eyelashes are absolutely lethal up close, his voice quieter but no less angelic, and wait. What did he say? Jaemin has perceived Renjun before this very evening?
Belatedly, Renjun chokes out a laugh. “Oh... you have?” He’s so incredibly nervous. He hopes Jaemin can’t tell.
“Yeah, I’m not surprised if you haven’t seen me, though. You’ve always got your cute nose in a book. It’s hard not to notice when you scrunch your eyebrows like that— do you know how attractive it makes you look?”
Ugh, Renjun could listen to his voice forever. Wait, WHAT?
“ Y-your nose is a book,” Renjun stammers. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant—” Fuck. This is going terribly.
To his relief, Jaemin just laughs. “What, pray tell, did you mean?”
Renjun takes a breath. “Your nose is cute. All of you, actually, and there’s no way in hell I actually planned to say this tonight, but that’s the reason I came over here.”
“Oh?” Jaemin, while pleased, does not seem very surprised. “You mean it was not to encourage… whatever that is, that’s happening over there?” He gestures to Mark and Donghyuck, now on the other side of the coffee shop.
To Renjun’s horror, Mark is teaching Donghyuck to play the guitar, standing behind the stool Donghyuck is on to place his hands correctly on the instrument. Renjun thinks it looks an awful lot like an excuse for Mark to nearly wrap his arms around him. Besides, Donghyuck knows how to play the guitar.
Ah. Yes. If Jaemin knows Donghyuck, and knows Donghyuck knows Renjun, then, yeah. This little meeting they’ve set up definitely looks like it has… flirtatious intent.
“Well, you caught me?” Renjun knows he looks sheepish. “Sorry,” he adds. He can’t be too upset, though, it’s starting to seem plausible that Jaemin is interested in him too.
Jaemin drops his teasing tone, replacing it with a kinder one. “It wasn’t just you, actually. I told Donghyuck to bring you because I wanted to meet you.”
And… oh. Renjun feels his confidence return to his body, with a little fizz at the tips of his fingers and toes. He gives Jaemin his most coquettish smile.
“So, what you’re saying is, you wouldn’t be completely opposed to going out with me?” Renjun, though confident, feels his heart skip a beat.
Jaemin leans slightly closer into his space. Renjun finds his preference for a large personal bubble fade by the second— Jaemin can lean as close as he wants, as far as Renjun is concerned.
“Not opposed, no,” Jaemin says, “In fact, you’d find I’m rather the opposite.”
---
On their first date, Renjun buys him a poetry book. A real one. It’s Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, gilded with a red cover.
If, in the privacy of Renjun’s room, he makes Jaemin read poems out loud to him, just to listen to his voice, no one has to know.
And if Renjun isn’t able to resist taking the book from his hands and softly pressing his lips to Jaemin’s…well, no one has to know that either.