Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fate. It’s a strange, unpredictable thing. It draws a thin, red line the width of a pinprick, or a strand of hair, separating life and death, love and hate, friend and foe. It isn't the divide between good and evil, but the distinction between things that should be and things that could be. 

It’s a wild, savage thing. It controls without permission, seeks vengeance when vengeance is not wanted, cultivates anger where it does not need to be. 

It can be a beautiful thing too. It births dreams that become reality, forges the strongest of relationships, creates the happiest of endings. 

It’s everything and nothing all at once. It lifts you up, but can just as easily drag you down, down, down to the depths of the underworld where all is dark, shadowed in a cloud of ash. 

Fate. It’s a strange, unpredictable thing, and Donghyuck wishes it would make up its mind because it feels like hell is closing in. 

If I loved you less then I might be able to talk about it more.

- Jane Austen, ‘Emma’

DECEMBER

It all ends with a kiss. Not between Donghyuck and Jaemin, but a kiss nonetheless. 

“Do you think they know we can see them?” Chenle asks, pulling the beer bottle from his mouth with an audible pop. 

Donghyuck’s face scrunches into a grimace as he watches Renjun push Jeno up against the kitchen counter, their mouths fused together in the sloppiest kiss he’s ever had the misfortune of witnessing. 

“Oh, definitely,” he nods prudently. “Renjun’s never been subtle about his exhibitionist streak.”

The two of them look away with disgusted groans when Jeno’s hands fall from Renjun’s neck, slipping into the back pockets of his jeans. The couple either don’t hear Donghyuck’s dramatic wails and Chenle’s horrified shrieks (very unlikely), or they just don’t care (highly probable). 

“Stop acting like such babies. Just because you’re both lonely and chronically single, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to suffer with you.”

Jaemin saunters past Donghyuck on his way to the fridge, allowing their arms to brush for the briefest of moments; just long enough for Donghyuck’s breath to hitch and for Jaemin’s fingers to knock against his own. Their eyes don’t meet, and Jaemin doesn’t linger beside him for any more than a second.

“As if you’re any better,” Chenle snorts, yet to notice Donghyuck’s flushed face. “You haven’t been on a date in months.”

The fridge door rattles, glass bottles jingling, and Jaemin turns to face Chenle with a drawn sigh. His gaze passes over Donghyuck like he’s not even there.

“And how would you know?”

“Well, you would’ve shown them off by now, for a start,” Chenle hums thoughtfully, watching Jaemin through narrowed eyes. Donghyuck remains silent as he occupies himself with the dregs of his sour vodka orange, worried he’ll blurt out something stupid if his tongue is left to its own devices. 

“But what if they’re someone special?” Jaemin suggests, horribly candid. “What if I don’t want to flaunt them around like a prize?”

Donghyuck buries his face in his red solo cup, pretending he hasn’t heard a word exchanged between his friends and that he doesn’t notice Renjun eyeing him suspiciously from the other side of the kitchen, having finally departed from Jeno’s wandering mouth.

“Aha! I knew you were hiding something,” Chenle exclaims gleefully, and Donghyuck winces at the volume. “Come on, then. Who is it?”

For the first time that evening, Jaemin looks at Donghyuck - really looks at him - with dark eyes shadowed beneath even darker brows, all culminating in a searing pressure that squeezes Donghyuck’s lungs. It feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his airways, leaving him breathless and burning.

“No one,” is Jaemin’s muttered answer, words thrown carelessly in Chenle’s direction. “There’s no one.”

Donghyuck’s heart begins to bleed.

FEBRUARY  

Donghyuck meets Jaemin for the first time beneath the neon lights of a nightclub, his skin flashing pink and blue through a haze of dry ice. He’s a friend of Jeno’s, who’s a friend of Renjun’s, who’s a friend of Donghyuck’s, forming a haphazard quartet of awkward silences and strained smiles. 

It’s Valentine’s day, the rainiest Donghyuck has ever seen, yet Renjun’s irises glow in the dark as he watches Jeno across the dancefloor from where he’s perched on a barstool. 

“I’m telling him tonight,” he yells into Donghyuck’s ear, his voice hardly more than an indecipherable buzz above the deafening thump of heavy bass. 

“Couldn’t you have just asked him out on a date instead?” Donghyuck shouts back. His tongue is coated in a cranberry flavoured film, the aftermath of one too many drinks. It feels heavy in his mouth, the words tripping over one another in their haste to leave.

“Probably,” Renjun says, and then he’s abandoning Donghyuck to go and meet Jeno amidst the mess of sweaty bodies, swaying to the vibrating hum of the music. 

He’s alone for only a minute or two, but Donghyuck manages to order another drink in that time — something sweet and fruity and horrendously expensive. 

Jaemin’s slender figure breaks through the crowd, forehead sticky with a gleaming sheen of sweat as he drops into Renjun’s unoccupied stool. 

“I’ve never seen two people go from zero to one hundred so fast,” he says, leaning forward until his words sharpen and the scent of his cologne adheres to the thin material of Donghyuck’s shirt. 

“They bring out the worst in each other,” Donghyuck shrugs, and Jaemin laughs, his mouth stretching into a pretty grin that shines incandescently. 

“That may be true, but Renjun is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to Jeno.”

“Renjun would deny it if I said the same were true for him, but that’s only because I’d be right,” Donghyuck snickers, licking a stray droplet of pineapple juice from the lip of his cup before taking a sip. 

Jaemin’s eyes follow the motion, but neither of them mention it. Instead, he drapes himself across the bar and orders something concerningly alcoholic, shooting the bartender a charming smile as she slides the tall glass towards him. Her blush is visible beneath the camouflage of flashing lights, but Jaemin pays her no mind, returning his attention to Donghyuck and his half-finished cocktail. 

“Do you want another?” he offers, gesturing towards Donghyuck’s drink. 

“Sure.” It’s a response that lacks any lead-up or hesitation, instantaneous in its confirmation. 

Jaemin’s answering smile is his brightest yet, and even though they’ve only known each other a few hours, Donghyuck thinks it’s a smile he could fall in love with. 

DECEMBER

“I’m sorry.”

Jaemin withers under the glare Donghyuck sends him, the glint of his pupils dulling to something worried and forlorn as he lowers himself into his desk chair. They’re in the apartment he shares with Jeno, hiding away from the endless chatter of the party in Jaemin’s box-sized bedroom. The bed alone takes up a good three-quarters of it, leaving just enough space for a desk, chair and small bookshelf. 

“You shouldn’t have to apologise,” Donghyuck says, perching on the end of Jaemin’s mattress. “And you wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t said what you did.”

“I know, it was stupid,” Jaemin mutters, blinking sorrowfully into Donghyuck’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I — ”

Donghyuck cuts him off with a short laugh. “Jaemin, you didn’t just upset me. You hurt me. You said I was no one, and that really fucking sucks to hear from your own boyfriend.”

Jaemin stares at his feet guiltily, like he can’t even bring himself to look at Donghyuck. “I really am sorry.”

His voice has never sounded so small, so sincerely apologetic, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough to make Donghyuck forgive him this time. 

“Look, I know that you think you’re sorry, but if you actually were, you wouldn’t have said that in the first place.” His voice grows sour with anger, churning like spoiled milk. “For fuck’s sake, Jaemin, I was right there! Right in front of you!”

Donghyuck isn’t the type of person to let his feelings get the better of him, always doing his best to rein them in when things get too heated, but something about tonight won’t let his common sense control his anger from getting out of hand. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the fact they’ve hardly seen each other the past few weeks. Maybe, just maybe, this has all been building up for a while. 

“If I could take it back, I would,” Jaemin whispers, finally lifting his face. His eyebrows are drawn into a pleading frown, mouth downturned desperately. 

Donghyuck feels like crying. “But you can’t,” he says pointedly, biting his lower lip as the tears threaten to fall. 

Jaemin swallows, his throat bobbing nervously. “But I can’t,” he nods, his voice drifting off into a pained whisper. 

“I think I’m gonna leave,” Donghyuck exhales, a trembling sound that cuts through the silence of Jaemin’s room. The music pounding from the living room is nothing but an afterthought, a distant memory unable to breach the realms of this reality. Donghyuck wishes he were dreaming, because everything suddenly feels a whole lot like a nightmare. 

“I’ll text you?”

The crack of Jaemin’s voice sends a scalding pain from Donghyuck’s neck to his heart, a targeted shot in the dark.  

“Please don’t,” he whispers, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. 

“Hyuck , ” Jaemin tries, moving to stand. Not wanting to risk the chance of being held back, because then he knows he wouldn’t want to leave, Donghyuck darts to the door and pushes down on its handle.

“See you,” he throws over his shoulder, and then he’s gone. 

Jaemin doesn’t try to come after him, and Donghyuck doesn’t look back. 

MARCH

“I’ve invited Jeno over for the night,” Renjun announces over a box of lukewarm pizza and glasses of flat coke. 

Donghyuck bites a chunk out of his slice. “Is this your way of letting me know that I’m sexiled?”

“Yeah,” Renjun nods, wholly unashamed. Splotches of pink colour his cheeks, but Donghyuck knows that’s more out of excitement than embarrassment. 

Renjun and Jeno have been dating for the better part of a month, and Donghyuck has found himself getting kicked out of his own apartment more times than he can’t count. Usually, he spends those evenings at Mark’s — their insomniac neighbour who works nights at a local club and sleeps through the brightest hours of the day — but Donghyuck knows for a fact he’s away with his boyfriend for the weekend. 

Donghyuck says as much to Renjun, who hums thoughtfully into his drink before perking up with glee.

“Just stay at Jeno’s instead,” he suggests with a proud grin. “I’m sure Jaemin wouldn’t mind the company.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Jaemin and his willingness to spend time with Donghyuck; his countless offers to go for coffee or meet up at the library; his invitations to the cinema or the new Japanese place near campus. The only reason Donghyuck hasn't accepted any of them is because he can’t figure out what it is that Jaemin wants. If he wants to be friends, then that’s fine with Donghyuck. If he wants to be something more…

Well, Donghyuck hasn’t come to a conclusion in that regard. It’s a dangerous line of thought to follow, one that splits like veins and arteries leading to the heart, and carries the potential to have catastrophic consequences should he take it too far.

But Donghyuck has never been one to stray away from danger, not really, so he opens Jaemin’s contact information, left to collect dust since Donghyuck’s last refusal of coffee, and types out an amicable text explaining his situation. Seconds later, his phone buzzes with an equally friendly response, urging Donghyuck to bring his things and spend the night, with the promise of hot chocolate and marshmallows awaiting his arrival. 

“Have fun! And don’t do anything I wouldn't do!” Renjun yells when Donghyuck is one foot out the door, a strangely conspiratorial smile on his face. Whatever it means, Donghyuck doesn’t wait around to find out, lugging himself and his duffel bag over the threshold and out onto the streets. 

Jeno and Jaemin’s apartment is a short walk from Donghyuck’s own, shorter if he cuts through a seedy alleyway, littered with empty cans and smashed bottles and god knows what else. It isn’t exactly the safest of shortcuts, but Donghyuck is lazy, tired and a little cranky following his exile from home. 

The prospect of a warm beverage does little to brighten his mood and he expects his evening to be one spent in brooding solitude whilst Jaemin potters about in his bedroom. 

Yet, the moment Donghyuck is actually faced with Jaemin, fluffy haired and smiling, he thinks things might be looking up for him.

“Hi,” Jaemin greets, with eyes bright enough to blind. 

“Hi,” Donghyuck parrots, his own smile nowhere near as wide, but just as sincere. Something about Jaemin exudes comfort in its purest form, with his gentle face, warm voice and soft t-shirt, the white material hanging loosely off his shoulders. Donghyuck sort of wants to hug him. 

“Come on in,” Jaemin says, stepping aside to let him through, and the moment Donghyuck crosses the threshold he isn’t sure he’ll ever want to go back home. Renjun can keep Jeno permanently for all he cares. 

Donghyuck has been in Jaemin’s apartment before, just once with Renjun, but he doesn’t remember it being so cosy, so homely, so inviting. A string of tangled fairy lights hangs haphazardly along the curtain rail, framing the window with glimmering gold, and a vanilla scented candle flickers softly in the centre of the coffee table, void of the mess of to-go cups and takeaway boxes from his last visit. If Donghyuck allowed himself to be delusional for a split second, then he’d think that Jaemin had tidied up the place just for his arrival.

“Is Jeno here?” Donghyuck finds himself asking; a distracted thought spoken out loud.

Jaemin shakes his head. “He’s still at basketball practice. I’m guessing he’ll just go straight to your place afterwards.”

“Ah, no wonder Renjun was so eager to get me out of the apartment.” 

Donghyuck is very much aware of the effect post-game Jeno has on his best friend, especially after months of Renjun taking out his sexual frustration on anyone who would listen with lyrical ballads describing the sheen of sweat on Jeno’s skin or the shift of his muscles in “those shorts” (Renjun’s words, not Donghyuck’s). 

“It’s the jersey isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles knowingly. 

“It’s the jersey,” Donghyuck confirms, disgruntled. 

Listening to Renjun wax poetic about Jeno’s arms in his basketball uniform was the worst of it all, losing him a quarter of an hour he can never get back. Not that he can get any time back, but Donghyuck is still mourning the loss of those fifteen minutes in particular. 

“Do you play at all?” Jaemin asks, gesturing for Donghyuck to take a seat on the plush cushions of the sofa. It’s a soft beige, the kind of colour he and Renjun would destroy with coffee stains and pizza sauce after a single week of ownership.

“No,” Donghyuck snorts, vaguely amused at the thought of anyone seeing him as the type to participate in team sports. “One hour at the gym is enough to turn me into jelly for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” Jaemin laughs with an understanding nod. He crosses the room and picks up the TV remote, offering it to Donghyuck with an outstretched hand. 

“Since we haven't had a chance to go to the movies yet, d’you want to pick something for us to watch?”

For some odd reason, Donghyuck finds himself rendered speechless. He blinks up at Jaemin, who merely blinks back, an expectant look on his face as he holds out the remote. God , he’s so pretty, so very pretty beneath the golden light of the candle flame. 

Oh no.

“Sure,” Donghyuck eventually croaks, reaching out and taking the proffered object. The plastic is still warm from Jaemin’s touch, a little sticky from the heat of his palms, but Donghyuck can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Great. I’ll get the hot chocolate ready,” Jaemin says, his voice little more than a whisper; a gentle breeze that caresses Donghyuck’s skin, kisses his cheek, ruffles his hair. 

He watches the broad line of Jaemin’s shoulders as he disappears into the kitchen, wide and strong beneath the material of his shirt. It takes a moment too long for Donghyuck to realise what he’s doing, but when he does he feels his face glow as brightly as the lights twisted around the window frame. 

Using the television screen to distract himself from his straying thoughts, Donghyuck squints into its blue light, flicking through a series of unfamiliar titles on Netflix. He didn’t come here to stare at Jaemin, to flirt with him or swoon at every smile, but Donghyuck’s brain betrays him with constant reminders of not just how attractive Jaemin is, but his attentiveness too. 

What Donghyuck has come to learn over the past month is that Jaemin is the kind of person who cares. It’s like an instinct; offering to pay every time they eat out as a group; rubbing Jeno’s shoulders after a long day of lectures; sliding an extra helping of fries in Chenle’s direction as they lounge tipsily in the booths at McDonalds after a night of clubbing. 

Jaemin cares so much for others, but Donghyuck wonders if there is anyone left to care for him in return. It’s a thought that lingers when Jaemin reappears from the kitchen, a mug in each hand, both of them overflowing with clouds of cream. 

“I didn’t take you for much of a romantic.”

Donghyuck flushes, realising he has managed to land on The Notebook during his distracted scrolling — perhaps the worst thing he could possibly do in the midst of his current dilemma. 

“Oh, um, yeah,” he stutters, taking his hot chocolate with a tight smile. Suddenly, Donghyuck feels painfully awkward, realising that he and Jaemin have never spent any extended period of time alone together, never mind an entire night with only each other as company. 

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Jaemin urges, dropping gracefully into the seat beside him. “We have over two hours of heart-breaking romance to get through.”

And that’s how it takes Donghyuck one-hundred-and-twenty-four minutes to fall for Jaemin. 

DECEMBER

As much as he wants to blame Jaemin for everything, Donghyuck is also at fault. If Jaemin hadn’t been so reluctant to share their relationship with the people in their life, then none of this would have ever happened. If he hadn’t been so reluctant, then Donghyuck would never have agreed to keep it a secret. 

APRIL

They’re close. So incredibly close. So close that, if Donghyuck concentrates hard enough, he can feel each and every one of Jaemin’s breaths, can hear every thump of his heart. The right side of his body is practically plastered to the left of Jaemin’s, the bare skin of their arms brushing when either of them moves or even fidgets.

It’s another evening following a Renjun-incited banishment, forcing Donghyuck to seek refuge elsewhere. A month has passed since the first time, a week or two since the last, and Donghyuck is horrified to discover that he no longer considers Mark’s apartment an option anymore, choosing instead to text Jaemin the second Renjun opens his mouth. Of course, Jaemin always says yes, always seems more than happy to have Donghyuck stay the night

An old movie, one they’ve both seen countless times before, plays quietly on Jaemin’s laptop. Donghyuck isn’t sure how long it’s been on for, isn’t even sure which scene they’re watching, because he’s so painfully aware of Jaemin sitting beside him, squeezed together on the slim mattress of his single bed. Even their socked feet knocking together is enough to leave Donghyuck breathless.

When they migrated from the sofa to Jaemin’s room, neither of them can quite remember, but it’s a fairly recent development because Donghyuck still can’t manage to quell the thudding of his heart as he tries to keep his attention fixed on the screen. 

Donghyuck’s skin tingles and his entire body feels warm, too warm, and they’re so close that he wants to touch Jaemin, really touch Jaemin, in a way that doesn’t seem accidental or inconsequential. He wants to so terribly badly that his skin feels like it’s burning and his veins feel like they’re on fire, but something is holding him back, like an elastic band. His restraint is strong, but not indestructible. One harsh tug and the tension that swirls inside him like a growing storm is bound to snap and rage in its path of destruction. Donghyuck wants to let it happen, let nature take its course, but he can’t.

Unless Jaemin pulls too hard. 

Unless Jaemin tugs and the band snaps.

Donghyuck’s eyes remain resolutely trained on the screen, even as Jaemin turns his head. His eyes never waver, even as Jaemin reaches out and slips his hand into Donghyuck’s. His gaze doesn’t break, even as Jaemin’s thumb begins to softly caress his skin.

“Hyuck.”

Jaemin’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. Donghyuck can feel it against the side of his neck, sending an electric tingle down his spine. It’s not enough and too much all at once, but either way Donghyuck doesn’t think he can handle the proximity any longer. 

Feigning a tired yawn, Donghyuck disentangles his fingers from Jaemin’s and ruffles his hair. 

“Sorry, it’s been a long day.” 

It’s only a partial lie. It has been a long day, but only because Donghyuck stayed up all of last night binge watching Demon Slayer . He chooses to neglect telling Jaemin that particular piece of information. “Think I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Oh, okay.” 

Jaemin’s voice sounds horribly dejected. It shoots something painful through his heart, guilty and broken, but Donghyuck ignores it. He has to. This all feels like too much too soon, and he isn’t sure he can do this. He isn’t sure he can offer every part of himself to someone, all the while risking those same parts being thrown back in his face, discarded like unwanted garbage. Donghyuck can only imagine how much that would hurt, but it would hurt even more with Jaemin. 

“Goodnight,” he says, sliding off the mattress. Donghyuck doesn’t think his body has ever felt colder. 

“Night,” Jaemin responds, not looking in Donghyuck’s direction, which is fine because Donghyuck isn’t looking in his direction either. 

Once the bedroom door clicks shut behind him, he blows out a shuddering breath. The air feels clearer out here, less suffocating, but the pressure against Donghyuck’s chest remains. 

It doesn’t lift for the rest of the night, pressing down on him as he slides beneath Jeno’s freshly washed sheets, sticking in his throat like a lump he can’t swallow around, choking him relentlessly. 

DECEMBER

A gentle knock sounds against his door, a soft rap of knuckles against hollow wood. Donghyuck doesn’t say anything. It wouldn’t matter even if he did, because then Renjun’s head is peeking into the room, bringing a flood of morning sunshine with him. 

They stare at each other for a stilted moment, the silence heavy with un-spilled secrets and words left unsaid. Donghyuck sighs, shuffling across his mattress until there’s just enough space between his body and the wall for Renjun to crawl in behind him and wrap his arms around Donghyuck’s torso. 

They lie like that for a while, letting the late morning fade into early afternoon. Renjun’s hand strokes the bare skin of Donghyuck’s arm with tender touches, comforting enough to make tears prickle in his eyes, and before he knows it, Donghyuck is crying into his pillow. Choked sobs muffle themselves behind the palm of his hand, but there’s nothing to stop the shudder of his shoulders. Renjun melds himself closer to Donghyuck’s back, muttering soft words and senseless phrases into his ear.

Renjun doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and Donghyuck doesn’t tell him.

MAY

“Hyuck,” Jaemin breathes, his eyes a little unfocused as he watches Donghyuck. “Can I?”

Donghyuck knows. He knows what Jaemin wants. He asks anyway.

“Can you what?”

His throat feels strangely dry and his face feels hot and splotchy. Donghyuck wonders what Jaemin sees in him; what Jaemin wants from him.

Jaemin blinks slowly, like he can’t bear to shut his eyes for even a split second. When he speaks, his voice is hardly more than a whisper above the shuddering bass and screeching laughter. Donghyuck still hears him.

“Kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

The faucet digs uncomfortably into Donghyuck’s back and loose droplets of water soak through the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t notice. It’s like his senses have been cut off to anything other than Jaemin, who hasn’t stopped watching him since the beginning of the night. They’ve both tipsily squashed themselves into the tub in Jaemin’s bathroom, hiding themselves from the drunken disaster that is Jeno’s belated birthday party. Apparently, on the heels of finals ending, everyone in attendance has taken the celebrations as an opportunity to get absolutely shitfaced, which Donghyuck can’t exactly blame them for, but he also wants to talk to Jaemin without having to scream over a remix of Rihanna’s Pon De Replay .

In the last two months, he has stayed in Jeno’s empty room approximately seven times. Another three have been spent in the scalding heat of Jaemin’s bed, innocently enough to arise no suspicion, but with an underlying tension that neither of them have had the courage to break. Not until now. With alcohol sparking in their veins and loosening their tongues, everything lays itself out for them to see. 

Donghyuck swallows. His thoughts slow to a halt. Jaemin’s eyes follow the bob of his throat.

“Yes,” he croaks. Jaemin barely reacts and Donghyuck wonders if he even heard him.

“Okay,” is all Jaemin says. Then, he pushes himself out of the bath. He doesn’t move to kiss Donghyuck. Donghyuck doesn’t move to kiss Jaemin either.

“When?” Donghyuck asks. Water trickles down his back but he doesn’t even feel it, his skin having turned cool and numb. Jaemin smiles, towering over Donghyuck as he hovers above the bath.

“Not now,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck has to hold back a pathetic whine.

“Why?” It’s the closest Donghyuck gets to sounding desperate. Jaemin’s eyes widen, but he quickly masks his surprise with another grin.

“Why not?” he shrugs.

A second passes and Jaemin’s shadow no longer hangs over Donghyuck. The bathroom door is open, letting in music and sweat-soaked air, and Donghyuck is alone.

The faucet gurgles, spurting out more water. This time, Donghyuck shivers.

DECEMBER

“I’m in love with Jaemin.”

Renjun stops chewing, blinking deliberately at Donghyuck.

“I thought as much,” he says after swallowing his mouthful of fried rice. He doesn’t sound at all shocked by the confession. 

“You knew already?” Donghyuck asks needlessly, already aware of the answer. Renjun’s observant in the worst of ways, with the ability to scrutinise interactions in such minor detail that lies don’t exist to him anymore; just the truth and avoidances of it.

“Neither of you are particularly subtle,” Renjun shrugs, shovelling another spoonful of rice into his mouth. 

Donghyuck considers this for a moment, stirring his food in thoughtful silence. 

“We’re not?” he queries. Thinking back on it, he supposes Renjun’s right. He had never found Jaemin easy to ignore, from the first time they met until today, only now he wishes he could. Maybe then he wouldn't have spent half the morning crying in his best friend’s arms. 

“Not in the slightest,” Renjun snorts. “It’s kind of endearing actually, watching the two of you making googly eyes at each other when you think no one else is watching.”

Donghyuck laughs shortly, and it’s a horrible sound because he doesn’t really mean it. 

Renjun sighs, setting down his spoon with a quiet clink. “Something’s happened, though. I can tell.”

“Is it my inability to be subtle?” Donghyuck jokes. 

Renjun doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile. He just stares at Donghyuck, unimpressed. 

“He fucked up,” Donghyuck admits. A contemplative pause. “So did I,” he adds seconds later. “And I don’t know if either of us can fix it.”

JUNE

The time on Donghyuck’s phone reads a little after midnight when it begins to buzz with an incoming call from Jaemin. He doesn’t even get the chance to breathe before a voice is buzzing in his ear.

“Happy birthday!” Jaemin says softly, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement that carries through the phone, warm and electric. 

Donghyuck chuckles, just quiet enough for Renjun not to hear him. “You’re too late.”

“What?” Jaemin wails, astonished. “Who got in before me?”

“Who do you think?” Donghyuck snorts, biting down on the fond curl of his lips. He hates how easily Jaemin makes him smile, how quickly he’s managed to compose the thundering symphony of Donghyuck’s heart, how frequently he appears in the heady haze of Donghyuck’s dreams. 

They aren’t dating and Jaemin hasn’t kissed him. They aren’t dating, but they’re something . Something more than friends, but less than they could be. Ever since Jeno’s birthday a quiet tension has simmered between them, fuelled by the knowledge that they both want one another. Donghyuck had assumed that Jaemin would be the one to make the first move — he always has — but now he isn’t so sure. Now he’s beginning to wonder if Jaemin has taken a step back, allowing Donghyuck to make a move of his own. 

“Renjun, the bastard,” Jaemin mutters, genuinely miffed beneath his comedic front.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Donghyuck says, trying and failing to sound sympathetic. “He told you himself that he’d be the first to wish me a happy birthday.”

“You could’ve warned me,” Jaemin whines, petulant as a scorned child.  

Donghyuck can’t stop himself from snickering loudly, forgetting to stay quiet for the sake of Renjun and his beauty sleep. “And ruin all the fun? I don’t think you understand how bets work.”

Jaemin sighs, and the sound crackles in Donghyuck’s ear like popping candy. “I’m not a gambling man.”

Donghyuck has never heard Jaemin sound so dejected, and over a stupid bet of all things. Jeno is the one to blame for instigating the whole thing, although the six bottles of beer he had to drink beforehand may have aided in the chaos. 

It all began in their McDonald’s booth, a little after one in the morning. Chenle’s head rested against Jisung’s shoulder, in a world of their own as they exchanged slurred whispers and drunken giggles. Renjun stood at the counter, ordering as many chicken nuggets as humanly possible before the queue behind him could break out into impatient hisses, whilst Jeno and Jaemin interrogated Donghyuck over birthday plans. 

It all ended in that very same booth, a little after two. Chenle and Jisung were both asleep, Renjun looked like he never wanted to eat another chicken nugget in his life, and Jaemin had accidentally agreed to participate in a bet he would never win. 

Renjun has been the first to wish Donghyuck happy birthday for the past ten years, and it isn’t a streak the elder plans on breaking any time soon. 

“Then why did you agree in the first place?”

“I thought I would win. I even planned on what I’d do with the money when I did.”

To hear that Jaemin had the forethought to plan ahead isn’t exactly astounding, but it’s certainly a surprise in its own right. It makes Donghyuck’s heart flutter irritatingly in his chest, a hopeful beat of a dove’s wings. He doesn’t like to dwell on his dreams, even if those dreams choose to become reality. 

“How so?” Donghyuck asks, picking at a loose thread on his pyjama trousers if only to distract himself from the anxious excitement building in the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s a surprise,” Jaemin says, his voice deepening to a low rumble that makes Donghyuck’s heart do something else strange, a pounding thud he can’t control.

“A surprise you say?”

Jaemin hums affirmatively. “But keep that to yourself for now. I don’t want the others to get jealous.”

A laugh bubbles in the back of Donghyuck’s throat, but he swallows it down to sit with the growing cocktail of emotions brewing beneath his flushed skin.

“Are you saying that I would've been the first person you’ve ever offered a birthday surprise?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

It’s silent for a moment as Donghyuck processes Jaemin’s words, and as Jaemin does the same. What catches Donghyuck off guard is the sincerity in Jaemin’s tone and the sugary sweet inkling of hope it brings, an indication that maybe this is their step forward — that maybe, this is Jaemin’s move. 

“It’s a shame you didn’t win,” Donghyuck admits, licking his lips. Why does his mouth feel so dry? “I’ve always liked surprises.”

“Oh, really?” It’s like the shadow of Jaemin’s doubt has cleared, leaving behind a sunny smile of relief. He sounds lighter, as though the anticipation of Donghyuck’s reaction had been weighing him down. “What would you say if I told you I had something else prepared, just on the off chance I did lose.”

“I’d probably like it,” Donghyuck admits. “That’s what I’d say. Hypothetically”

The rustling of Jaemin’s breath rings in Donghyuck’s ear, a precursor to a future that will either make or break them both.

“Come outside,” Jaemin says, more a request than a question.

 “What?” Donghyuck gasps sharply. Does this mean what he thinks it means?

Jaemin laughs quietly, fondly. “You heard me.”

“Are you outside my apartment right now?” Donghyuck’s voice leaves him in an incredulous squeak, mitigating the perpetual thump of his nervous heart with a wince. If Renjun wasn’t awake before, he most certainly is now.

“I told you . It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Donghyuck wastes no time in abandoning both his bed and phone behind. His socked feet skid across the floor in his haste to make it to the front door, but the thought of Jaemin being on the other side spurs Donghyuck onward without any care for his own safety. 

The apartment is dark, shrouded in a cloak of darkness, but the moment Donghyuck opens the door, a flood of yellow light spills in, leaking from the ugly fluorescents hanging in the hallway. Beneath that sickly light, looking handsome as ever, stands Jaemin. His dark hair looks soft, like his smile, like his eyes, like the worn material of his blue hoodie. 

Like his voice as it says, “Happy Birthday, Donghyuck.”

Like his hand as he wraps it around Donghyuck’s wrist, gently tugging him forward. 

Like his lips when they press against Donghyuck’s.

Like their kiss; a whisper in the night, a secret for only them to know. 

DECEMBER

It’s two days until Christmas, two weeks since their argument, and Jaemin has sent Donghyuck the same text every single day. 

I’m sorry. I love you.

He hasn’t opened any of them, hasn’t responded to a single one, but Donghyuck can’t bring himself to block Jaemin’s notifications. That would be too final, like ripping open the wax seal of a letter, an irreversible damage. 

Renjun is nowhere to be found, probably out gallivanting with Jeno on a pre-Christmas date before they both return home for the holidays. Donghyuck, on the other hand, was supposed to be spending Christmas with Jaemin. Now, he isn’t so sure those plans are still going ahead. 

As far as Donghyuck knows, Jaemin’s parents don’t know about him. It’s not that Jaemin doesn’t want to tell them — he has said to Donghyuck on several occasions that he does — but apparently he thinks they’ll be “weird” about it; about Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck likes being with Jaemin when it’s just the two of them, cocooned in their little bubble, far away from the rest of the world.

Donghyuck likes being with Jaemin when it’s just the two of them, but that doesn’t mean he only likes it that way. 

Jealousy is an ugly thing, but it always manages to rear its gruesome head during Donghyuck’s lowest moments. Sometimes he’ll be sitting on the sofa beside Renjun and Jeno, trying to focus on a movie instead of the quiet sound of Jeno pressing a kiss against Renjun’s head, and his vision will flash green. Other times, it’ll be a couple holding hands on a train whilst Donghyuck, Jaemin and their friends sit nearby. It’ll be sitting across the table from Mark and his boyfriend Ten, watching them swap sickeningly sweet looks as the waitress awkwardly hovers with her notepad in hand. It’ll be Renjun tailing behind his boyfriend as they go off to meet Jeno’s parents for lunch. 

The smallest cuts always seem to bleed the most, but it’s the largest wounds that cause the most pain. There are days when Donghyuck feels like he’s been nicked by a piece of paper, and there are others when his entire body aches as though crushed beneath the weight of a steamroller. 

Today is one of those days; the bad ones. Donghyuck stares at Jaemin’s text until his eyes gloss over and his heart hurts. His eyelids flutter and try to shut out the world.

JULY

The decision to keep their relationship a secret is more of a self-preservation thing than a trust thing. With Jaemin’s parents having issues, however stupid or unfair they may be, and their friends being a group of insufferable gossips, their kisses remain a secret. 

It’s easy enough to pass dates off as two friends hanging out, but after three days in a row Renjun had begun to grow suspicious, shooting Donghyuck a strange look when he stumbled in at eleven p.m., glowing with a healthy flush and smiling to himself. After that, Donghyuck and Jaemin decided to slow everything down a notch, limiting themselves to two dates a week instead of their current four. 

The perfect opportunity presents itself one sticky evening in July. 

“Jeno’s coming over,” Renjun says, the universal signal for “Get the fuck out if you don’t want to end up scarred for life”. 

Perhaps Donghyuck’s a little too eager in his execution, a little too quick to agree, but he hasn’t seen Jaemin in three days, hasn’t kissed him in far longer. Renjun gives him that look, the one that comes out any time Jaemin is mentioned in passing, but Donghyuck pays it no mind. 

One text message to Jaemin and a short walk later, Donghyuck is wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms having sweet kisses peppered along the sloping line of his neck. Jaemin’s affections render Donghyuck useless, turning him into a tingling mess of limbs and heartbeats. His own mouth is occupied, bitten by a cage of sharp teeth that hide the rawest parts of himself. 

Jaemin’s shirt lies somewhere on his bedroom floor, abandoned and crumpled, leaving his torso bare and free for Donghyuck to touch. His skin is warm and soft beneath Donghyuck’s hands, a pulsing heat that singes his fingertips and sparks through his veins. They haven’t touched each other like this before, their kisses always cut off too soon by cruel interruptions and the startling vice of reality. 

Now, however… 

Now, Donghyuck can press his palm to Jaemin’s chest, can feel the pounding of Jaemin’s heart until his own falls into the same rhythm. The lines crossing his hand thrum like live wires, sizzling with electricity. Donghyuck briefly recalls one rainy afternoon last spring when Renjun dragged him along to a palm reading. He can’t remember all that was said, but the woman who had traced the crevices of his hand with nimble fingers had told him his heart line — his love line — was healthy, that he loved deeply and simply, that he communicated his love when it grew too strong to contain. 

Donghyuck isn’t entirely convinced that such an observation rings true. With Jaemin, he feels that too many things are left unsaid, that their glances mean more than they reveal, that something stronger brews between them with every press of their lips, something more than just lust. 

If Donghyuck truly is so simple in his acts of love and affection, then why can’t he say those three words? Why can’t he bring himself to choke them out through thinly veiled moans and hushed whispers? Why do they get caught in his throat when the tidal wave threatens to crash against the shore of his tongue?

“Are you okay?” Jaemin asks, startling Donghyuck out of his reverie. His dark hair tickles the thick fan of his lashes, framing glossy eyes that glint with worry.

“Yeah. Why?” Donghyuck breathes, his voice drifting through his parted lips in a thin wisp. 

Jaemin shrugs, absentmindedly tucking strands of hair behind Donghyuck’s ear. “You seemed a little out of it, like you weren’t really here.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Donghyuck says, trailing tender touches along the sides of Jaemin’s torso. It makes him shudder. 

“About what?”

This could be it. This could be Donghyuck’s chance to say it, to lay everything out on the table like a deck of tarot cards. This could be it, but Donghyuck utilises control, swallows down the words and presses a kiss against the sharp cut of Jaemin’s cheekbone. 

“This,” Donghyuck mutters against his boyfriend’s skin. 

“And this.” A kiss to Jaemin’s other cheek. “And this.” His forehead. “This too.” His chin. 

Jaemin’s breath shakes with each sweep of Donghyuck’s lips, like autumn leaves trembling in the wind. His tongue peeks out between his lips, wetting the swell of bitten skin, and Donghyuck leans ever closer.

“But mostly this,” he whispers, bringing their lips together in their most disastrous kiss yet. 

Maybe Donghyuck can’t bring himself to say it yet, but he’ll use as much courage as he can muster to show just how much he loves Jaemin. 

DECEMBER

It’s cold. It’s Ch ristmas Eve, Donghyuck is alone in his bed, and everything is cold. Goosebumps prickle the skin of his arms, sprouting like weeds in a summer garden, and he shivers, wrapping the duvet tighter around his body. 

If he listens hard enough he can hear loose droplets of water pattering against the tiled floor of the shower, or the gentle creak of his window panes when the wind blows too strongly, or the rumble of car engines out on the street below. Donghyuck listens to everything but the weak thump of his heart, a helpless sound that brings him to tears when it grows too loud to bear. 

Jaemin didn’t text him today. No I'm sorries. No I love yous. Nothing. Just radio silence. 

Really, Donghyuck should be relieved that Jaemin finally listened to him, finally respected his wish to be left alone, but he’s not. Donghyuck is the furthest he could be from relieved. A bone-deep ache settles throughout him, an ineffable weight he can’t remove, magnetised to his marrow like metal. His phone lays beneath his pillow, mere centimetres away, but Donghyuck can’t bring himself to reach for it. He’s worried his desperation and heartache will be too obvious through a text message, and even worse through a phone call. Jaemin’s voice seems like a distant memory now, his sweet words and kisses even more so. 

The last conversation they had was so bitter, so unpalatable, so unlike everything Jaemin was, is, will be. To Donghyuck, Jaemin is like dessert after a savoury meal, a sip of lemonade to wash away salty sea air, a ripe strawberry amongst a punnet of sour fruits. 

Jaemin has always been the best part of Donghyuck’s day, the highlight of his week, the good amidst the bad. A smile, or a hug, or a kiss has always been the antidote to the dangerous poison of stress and fear and exhaustion. 

That very poison now infiltrates Donghyuck’s blood stream, ruining him from the inside. He wishes Jaemin were here to run gentle fingers through his hair and press kisses along the nape of his neck. He wishes Jaemin were here to mutter nonsense into Donghyuck’s ear, the low timbre of his voice a comfort like no other. He wishes Jaemin were here, but that’s all he can do. Wish. Hope. Dream. 

If only dreams came true. 

AUGUST

“I want to take you away for the weekend. Just the two of us. Alone.”

Jaemin stops chewing, looking up at Donghyuck with wide eyes. They’re sitting at a table, hidden away in the back corner of a coffee shop with a slice of half-eaten chocolate cake between them. Rain batters against the windows, splintering against the glass like smashed diamonds, and thunder rumbles with the quiet threat of eternal showers. 

Donghyuck likes the rain, but Jaemin hates it. Getting him to leave the warm comfort of his bed had been nothing short of a herculean task on Donghyuck’s part, a success granted only through kisses and the promise of free coffee. 

They’d been a little too careless last night, forgetting that Jeno would be home sometime in the early hours of the morning to prepare for a basketball game after staying with Renjun. The sofa, where Donghyuck claimed he would be sleeping, was empty upon Jeno’s arrival and there was no way he hadn’t noticed it.

“What do we tell the others?” Jaemin asks anxiously, swallowing down his mouthful of cake. A smear of chocolate rests on the corner of his mouth, so Donghyuck leans across the table and swipes it away with his thumb. 

“I suppose I can pretend I’ve finally given in to going fishing with my dad,” Donghyuck says, taking a contemplative sip of his drink. 

“You hate fish,” Jaemin points out, barely audible above the scream of the milk steamer.

“Exactly,” Donghyuck nods. “It’ll give me a chance to present Renjun with the evidence I have compiled to support that hatred.”

A quiet snort sounds from Jaemin. “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s why you love me.”

Donghyuck says it as a joke, but the moment the words leave his mouth he wishes he had never said them at all. Jaemin freezes, knuckles turning white around the handle of his mug. It seems that he doesn’t find Donghyuck’s so-called joke very funny either. When his gaze travels to meet Donghyuck’s, it’s stable and serious. 

“It’s one reason,” Jaemin admits sincerely. “One of many.”

“You — You love me?” Donghyuck croaks. His face feels like stone, immovable and stiff. It won’t smile, won’t frown, won’t do much other than petrify itself into a permanent expression of shock.

Jaemin, on the other hand, has full autonomy over his own features. A slight smile twists at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

It’s ridiculous. This shouldn't be happening in a busy coffee shop on a rainy afternoon in August. It all seems so normal, so incredibly normal. It’s ridiculous, and it shouldn’t be happening this way, but Donghyuck thinks that this is the closest he’ll ever get to experiencing perfection. 

“I love you too,” Donghyuck says, the layer of stone crumbling to make way for a smile of his own. 

“I know,” Jaemin grins, a pretty thing, before reaching for another forkful of cake. 

It’s raining and they love each other. Everything is perfect.

DECEMBER

A knock awakens Donghyuck from his fitful sleep. He’s confused at first, bleary eyed and disoriented, but each rap against the front door knocks the cloud of sleep from his fuzzy brain. 

He had been dreaming about Jaemin’s birthday weekend, the two nights they’d spent in a B&B along the coast. Their cosy room had overlooked a sandy beach and waters that glinted shades of gold when the sun set. Every hour, the telling click of Jaemin’s camera shutter snapped another photo, captured another memory, immortalised another moment. No matter how often Donghyuck begged, or how sweetly he kissed him, Jaemin refused to show him the photographs, claiming it would corrupt his artistic integrity — whatever that meant. The dream leaves Donghyuck like steam from a kettle, evaporating from his memory in a matter of seconds, leaving behind a phantasmal imprint, void of any substantial evidence.  

The digital clock atop his dresser tells him it’s a little after three am, both too early and too late for visitors. Who on earth…?

The front door groans on its hinges, peeling open like the waxy skin of an orange to reveal —

“Renjun?”

Donghyuck squints at his flatmate, blinded by the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“I forgot my key,” Renjun says, smiling sleepily. He’s bundled up to his chin in an oversized puffer coat, blinking drowsily through the lens of his glasses. 

“I thought you were going home?” Donghyuck frowns. A headache begins to form behind his eyes, so he ushers Renjun inside, shutting out the light and the cold. 

“This is my home,” Renjun smiles, turning to Donghyuck with a nostalgic glint in his eyes. “I could hardly leave you here all by yourself on Christmas.”

“But your family ...”

Renjun shakes his head tiredly. “You are my family, Hyuck. Now stop complaining and at least pretend you’re happy to see me.”

Not a moment of hesitation is required. Donghyuck wraps his arms around Renjun in a desperately grateful embrace, warm and a little damp from his salty tears.

“Merry Christmas, Renjun,” Donghyuck whispers into his best friend’s neck.

Renjun’s arms hold him tighter. “Merry Christmas.”

SEPTEMBER

Donghyuck lies with his head cradled in Jaemin’s lap, eyes shut to keep out the mottled sunlight shining through the branches of the old oak tree. Fingers thread through the strands of his hair, lulling him like a boat rocking on calm waters. 

“You look cute like this,” Jaemin says with an audible smile. He doesn’t always compliment Donghyuck like this, all sugary sweet and sincere, but when he does, he means it.

Donghyuck’s eyes flutter open. “Only like this?”

“Yes,” Jaemin deadpans, his own eyes trained on the pages of his book, clutched tightly in his free hand. He’d bought from the second hand bookshop earlier that day, resolute in his decision to start reading more, a hopeful thing to hear from someone who studies literature as an elective.

“I can’t believe I thought my cuteness charmed you into dating me,” Donghyuck sighs forlornly. “My whole life has been a lie!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Jaemin snorts, his hand resuming its gentle sweep of Donghyuck’s hair. A forgiving breeze blows, rustling the branches above them, moving the speckles of sunlight like the creation of a glassy mosaic.

“Of course I am,” Donghyuck says, letting his eyelids grow heavy once more. “Who else would keep you entertained?”

“Jeno can be funny when he wants to be.”

“When he’s not cozied up with Renjun, you mean.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Whatever Jaemin planned to say is cut off with a loud yell tossed in their direction from halfway across the park. Chenle and Jisung are two tiny figures in the distance, giving Donghyuck just enough time to extract himself from Jaemin’s grasp and put a few inches of distance between them. He thinks Jaemin has a momentary go at reaching for him, but Donghyuck’s stubbornness won’t allow it. Jaemin has made it clear multiple times that he’d like to maintain a certain level of discretion where their friends are involved, and Donghyuck will respect such a wish until Jaemin says otherwise. It’s been so long though, that Donghyuck feels as though their relationship has begun to transform into a waiting game, a ticking time bomb that will inevitably explode. 

“You two have been spending a lot of time together recently,” Chenle says upon his arrival, ungracefully dropping onto the grass. Jisung lowers himself gingerly onto his hoodie, laid over the ground like a blanket. 

“We’re friends,” Donghyuck mutters, reining in any defensiveness to prevent himself from sounding too self-incriminating. 

“Yeah, shouldn’t you be glad we’re not biting each others’ heads off?” Jaemin adds, burying his nose in his book. 

“I mean, I guess,” Chenle shrugs, extracting a bottle of water from his backpack before handing it to Jisung. “It was just an observation.”

The subject of Donghyuck and Jaemin’s friendship ends there, interrupted when Jisung chokes on a mouthful of water, spraying it all over himself and Jaemin — including Jaemin’s new book. 

Still, the conversation lingers in Donghyuck’s memory like the ghost of his past, following his thoughts around until he winds down for the night. 

When he wakes up the next morning, it continues to haunt him. 

DECEMBER

“Jaemin asked me to give you this,” Renjun says once their plates are cleared and only a sip or two of wine remains in their glasses. He’s holding a box wrapped in red paper, his arm outstretched to a sleepy Donghyuck.

“He did?” Donghyuck asks dryly, blinking furiously when his eyes begin to sting. The longer he stares at the present, the more his vision blurs. His own gift for Jaemin sits in the back of his wardrobe, hidden beneath an old blanket he knows Jaemin would never think to look under. 

“Well, he asked Jeno to ask me,” Renjun corrects, placing the present in Donghyuck’s lap when he fails to take it. 

“Is Jeno with him now?” The thought of Jaemin being alone on Christmas makes the cracks in Donghyuck’s heart deepen, ripping it open as though his sadness were an earthquake. 

“Jaemin went home last night,” Renjun explains. “Said he needed to see his family.”

“Oh.” That hurts too. It’s selfish to feel jealous at a moment like this — and of Jaemin’s parents too — but he can’t help it, not when Donghyuck and Jaemin were supposed to be spending Christmas together. 

“I think he’ll be back tonight, though,” Renjun adds, somewhat helplessly. “If you want to talk to him.”

Suddenly, Donghyuck feels exhausted. His head aches along with his heart, and the effects of three glasses of wine tug at his heavy eyelids. 

“I think I’ll just go to bed for now,” he says, picking up Jaemin’s present. 

Renjun gives him a one armed hug and a pitying smile, the worst genre of both, which Donghyuck returns with half-hearted versions of his own. 

The walk from the sofa to his room feels like a journey through water, slow and heavy-limbed. Donghyuck drops onto his bed with little grace, flopping like a tree chopped down in a forest. His eyes sting as they press into his pillow, squeezing out a stream of salty tears that dampens the fabric. He lets Jaemin’s gift lie on the bed beside him, a poor replacement for the person Donghyuck wants, misses, needs . 

Christmas has always been Donghyuck’s favourite time of the year, but with each miserable moment that passes, he begins to doubt himself. 

OCTOBER

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a couple’s costume without me,” Donghyuck hisses, as Jaemin closes the bathroom door behind them, shutting out the thumping bass and the sickly-sweet stench of alcohol. 

“It was an accident!” Jaemin says, responding in kind. “Do you really think I’d choose to match with Yerim over you?”

Donghyuck shrugs, leaning back against the sink. “I don’t know. Maybe.” 

They’re crowded in the tiny, tiled prison of Chenle’s bathroom, hidden away from the rest of their friends to hash out their first argument of the night. If Donghyuck wasn’t Donghyuck and Jaemin wasn’t Jaemin, this would be the last too. 

The second Donghyuck spotted Yerim across the kitchen, draped in a flowy white dress and crowned with a silver halo, his heart fell, like the seed of a fruit planted with ill intent. It rested in his abdomen, growing toxic roots that took hold of everything good and worthy within him, crushing it all like a hoard of creeping spiders. Deep down Donghyuck knows that the matching costumes are nothing more than a coincidence, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like an outsider in his own relationship. 

Jaemin glares at him. “Are you seriously upset about this?”

“Jaemin, it’s Romeo and Juliet, for god’s sake!” Donghyuck bristles, plucking consciously at the hem of his flouncy vampire-esque shirt. “They’re literally the definition of star-crossed lovers.”

“No, they’re the definition of lovesick idiots,” Jaemin snorts, lacking the humour he usually possesses. “Hyuck, they literally die.”

Jaemin may have a point, but Donghyuck would rather crack his head against the porcelain sink than admit it. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles, crossing his arms sulkily. “I can be angry if I want.”

Jaemin raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “You hate being angry.”

Again, he’s not wrong. Over the past few months, Donghyuck has come to learn that, as perfect as everything may have once seemed, reality is anything but. It’s true that he and Jaemin care for one another, love one another, would do almost anything to keep each other happy, but there are times when their anger overrides any and all of those things. Donghyuck hates how similar they can be, how far they are willing to prioritise their own selfish desires over compromise. Donghyuck hates it, but that doesn’t stop him from being a hypocrite. 

“Jaemin, I’m jealous, okay!” Donghyuck grinds out, terribly honest. “I hated listening to everyone saying how cute you both looked, and how you’d make a good couple, and how you’re single and such a catch — ”

“You don’t think I get jealous too?”

Donghyuck stills at Jaemin’s interruption. His boyfriend is looking at him with a clenched jaw and fire in his eyes. 

“What?”

“Every time we go anywhere, there’s always someone looking your way, or girls whispering behind their hands, giggling about how attractive you are,” Jaemin says, his voice low and gravelly and dangerous. “You’re so fucking pretty, Hyuck. I wish I could blame them for staring, but I can’t. I wish I could keep you all to myself, but I already feel like I’ve taken so much from you. Hyuck, I… I love you so much it hurts. I would never pull a stunt like this just to annoy you, or make you jealous. I love you too much to do that.”

Every time Donghyuck hears Jaemin say that, hears him confess his love, it’s like all the cliches of romance suddenly make sense. His heart thunders, his stomach flutters, his cheeks redden, and Jaemin’s lips bloom like petals ready to be kissed by the sun, to be kissed by Donghyuck. 

“God, why do you have to be so reasonable ,” Donghyuck sniffs, wiping surreptitiously at his watering eyes, his anger reduced to smoking ash, no longer fiery like the burning ember of only moments before. 

“Because you’re so incredibly un reasonable,” Jaemin laughs, moving in to swipe the tears collecting in Donghyuck’s lower lashes. His touch is gentle, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings against the hand of a child. 

“Unreasonably gorgeous,” Donghyuck jokes. His eyeliner is smudged, his nose is pink and he’s fairly certain the droplet of fake blood by his mouth has disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a garish red stain in its place. 

Somehow, none of this deters Jaemin from staring at Donghyuck like he hung the stars that speckle the dark sky tonight. He gazes into Donghyuck’s eyes with an eternal fondness, not unfamiliar but startling all the same. 

A magnetic pull drags their lips together in a tearstained kiss. The hard plastic of Jaemin’s costume armour presses uncomfortably against Donghyuck’s chest, but he pays it little mind, dragging Jaemin impossibly closer. Every kiss is different, better than the last yet nowhere near as good as the next promises to be. Donghyuck finds it addictive; every sensation, every groan, every brush of their lips. The slide of Jaemin’s tongue against Donghyuck’s is beautiful in the ugliest of ways, like a dried flower displayed decoratively, or skin slicked beneath a heavy cloud of rain. 

Soon, the harsh edges of Jaemin’s costume grow too painful. With eager hands, Donghyuck begins to unfasten the fixtures keeping the plastic attached to Jaemin’s torso, a task completed faster once Jaemin’s own hands get involved. 

Everything happens at once. The plastic chest piece falls to the floor with a clatter, the door handle rattles with almost inhuman force, music echoes against the tiled walls of the bathroom, and then Yerim is there, gazing at the frozen couple with wide eyes.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her shocked gaze flickering from Jaemin’s kiss-swollen mouth to Donghyuck, whose hands are already beneath the fabric of Jaemin’s undershirt. 

“Oh my god ,” Yerim repeats when no one says anything. That’s what seems to break through the icy shock encapsulating the couple, forcing them apart with startling force.

Donghyuck rushes to fix his smeared lip stain, whilst Jaemin tugs at his crumpled shirt in some feigned attempt to protect his dignity. In reality, it’s too late for either of them. Yerim has seen everything she needs to see. “Oh my god” is right, Donghyuck thinks to himself. Yerim knows . 

“Hi Yerim,” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaks, wriggling like a frightened snake before rushing out of the bathroom, letting the door slam behind her. 

Donghyuck glances to his left, eyeing Jaemin warily. His boyfriend’s own gaze remains on the door, still visibly stunned. 

“You should go and talk to her,” Donghyuck suggests, albeit hesitantly. It feels like a betrayal of his own emotions to say such a thing, but Jaemin already looks like he’s beginning to panic, and Donghyuck doesn’t know how else to fix this. 

“Yeah, I should,” Jaemin says, barely looking Donghyuck’s way as he picks up his abandoned costume and stalks out of the bathroom. 

The door slams once more, and it feels like everything is beginning to fall apart. 

DECEMBER

Jaemin has always been unpredictable. A constant in Donghyuck’s life over the past ten months, but an unpredictable one. Everything he says and does, or doesn’t say and do, is rarely something foreseen by Donghyuck. Take his birthday, for example. Kissing Jaemin for the first time beneath the strained light of his apartment building was the last thing he would’ve predicted.

With Jaemin playing such a consistently incalculable role in his life, Donghyuck should have been able to foretell what happens next.

New Year's Eve arrives at the speed of an express train, whizzing into its station like a bat out of hell, while Donghyuck rushes to catch up before he misses it. Colourful lights hang from every heightened surface in the apartment, casting the whole place in a glow of blue, pink and purple, and the dulcet tones of Renjun’s EDM party playlist sing sweetly through his Bluetooth speaker. 

Their friends are scattered across the living room in small clusters, drinks clutched in their hands and eyes on the clock as they wait for the seconds to tick by. An hour or two of the day remains until the new year swallows them whole, and Donghyuck wishes it would move faster. Something about the new year suggests new beginnings, and Donghyuck has never wanted a fresh start so badly. 

Everything skids to a halt the moment Jeno walks through the door, accompanied by none other than Jaemin himself. It’s cliched, Donghyuck knows, but it feels as though everything plays out in slow motion, with real life cut down to half its speed, whilst Donghyuck’s mind works at a million miles per second. Renjun appears at Jeno’s side, a smile stretching across his face that glows blue, and presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s mouth. 

Jaemin watches them with faint amusement, and then his eyes shift to where Donghyuck stands, glinting pink in the flashing lights. Donghyuck feels like he’s flatlining, like his heart has come to a sudden halt in the cavity of his chest and his lungs have tightened to a deadly extent. He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t do anything. Jaemin’s gaze captures Donghyuck, caging him in like the bars of a cell. 

All it takes is for Mark to loop an arm around his shoulders to set Donghyuck free.

“Here, it looks like you need this,” he says, pushing a sticky cup of something into Donghyuck’s hand. The liquid inside is cherry red and smells saccharine-sweet, but it tastes sour as it pours down Donghyuck’s throat. When he pulls the drink from his lips, Jaemin is gone.

NOVEMBER

“My parents know.”

The confession rips itself from Donghyuck’s throat, unwarranted to the point it’s almost unwilling. He hadn’t meant to say it here, now, whispered across a study table in the back corner of the library. It had been niggling at Donghyuck all day, the need to open up and tell Jaemin the truth becoming a heavier burden with each moment that passed. 

The second he says it Donghyuck knows he has made a mistake. 

“What?” Jaemin blanches. His face has gone pale, like the blood has drained from his veins, sucked dry until his arteries shrivel and disintegrate. “How?”

Donghyuck tugs on the sleeve of his hoodie. “I told them. They asked me if I was seeing anyone and I told them.”

“Why did you do that?”

Donghyuck stares at Jaemin incredulously. “What do you mean ‘why’? Because I’m tired of lying to them. Jaemin, we’ve been dating for five months. Five . I’ve never kept something from them for so long.”

A sour grimace darkens Jaemin’s face. “It just feels like an invasion of my privacy.”

“Your privacy?” Donghyuck echoes, the words coming out like the snap of a hungry shark’s jaw. “They don’t know you. They don’t know your parents. Other than Renjun, they don’t even know our friends. Who are they going to tell about their son’s unnamed and potentially imaginary boyfriend?”

The library is already silent, but that silence becomes deafening as Donghyuck awaits Jaemin’s answer. Jaemin’s train of thought is unclear from the perspective of anyone but himself, cleverly disguised behind a fluttering sheet of mystery, grappling to stay put in the unsteady breeze of that which it hides. 

“Unnamed?” Jaemin repeats after a beat.

Donghyuck nods slowly, trying and failing to gauge the direction of their conversation. “I didn’t think you’d want them to know that much.”

It’s quiet again as Jaemin considers Donghyuck’s explanation. His shoulders seem to have relaxed, no longer bound by his defensiveness, but an unfailing air of uncertainty continues to shroud him. 

“You can tell them,” Jaemin says, thin with hesitancy. “You can tell them my name.”

Donghyuck blinks at him, wide eyed. “I can?”

“Hm.”

It’s not often that their arguments end with gentle acquiescence, especially not on Jaemin’s behalf. They are both stubborn to a fault, easily lured into petty arguments neither of them can win. To Donghyuck, this sudden surrender suggests one of two things: either Jaemin has begun to emerge from his shell of secrecy, or he’s worried that he has taken a mile above and beyond Donghyuck’s proffered inch. 

Whichever it is, Donghyuck will never know, not unless Jaemin reveals the truth. 

“I’m sorry for breaking your trust,” Donghyuck says, entangling Jaemin’s fingers with his own. “It wasn’t fair.”

Jaemin only smiles, a sad sort of thing. He doesn’t pull his hand from Donghyuck’s grasp, but he doesn’t say anything either. Jaemin has always been somewhat of a mystery to Donghyuck, and he’s beginning to think he’s one that will remain unsolved.

DECEMBER

Donghyuck runs into Jaemin on his way to his room — literally. 

He’d planned on hiding away for a while, from the droning chatter, sticky heat and, most importantly,  Jaemin. They haven’t seen each other in almost a month, but it still feels too soon. Donghyuck’s thoughts fail to congregate in a way that makes sense, haphazardly thrown together in an indecipherable collection of half-formed phrases and ideations. He knows what he wants to say to Jaemin, but he doesn't know how to say it. Running away seems like a good idea, even if only to divert the inevitable for the briefest of moments. 

Or it did, until Donghyuck rounds a corner only to topple into the first oncoming body he meets. 

“Oh, sorry! I should’ve — Hyuck?”

Of course. Of fucking course. 

Jaemin stares down at Donghyuck like a deer caught in headlights, startlingly bewildered, and almost scared, like their prolonged eye contact from before had merely been a split second, over in a blink.

“Hey,” Jaemin says. The words get caught up in the music, carried away like mist hovering above the lapping waves of a restless sea. 

“Hey.” Donghyuck’s own greeting shatters on his tongue, coming out cracked and gormless. It sounds strange, alien, like he’s repeating Jaemin’s words rather than speaking with a mind of his own.

They’re standing close enough for their body heat to melt between them, washing over one another in a pulsing wave. Donghyuck wants to inch away just as badly as he wants to fall into Jaemin’s arms. 

“H-how have you been?” Jaemin asks, sounding rather unlike himself. He stutters and trips over the syllables, as though they’re unfamiliar to him, and it makes Donghyuck feel uneasy. 

“Fine,” he lies. “You?”

“Fine,” Jaemin replies; a lie of his own. 

“Good,” Donghyuck says, even though the awkwardness between them is anything but.

“Yeah, good.” 

It’s so painfully strained, the air thick with the worst kind of tension, a stifling variant that threatens to suffocate them both. Someone’s laugh filters through the air, but neither Donghyuck or Jaemin take any notice. They’re encapsulated in their own, private bubble, cordoned off from the rest of the party and its accompanying chaos to make space for a chaos of their own making. 

“Did you like your Christmas present?” Jaemin asks out of the blue. It’s a question that knocks Donghyuck’s balance, leaving him confused and off-kilter.

“I, uh, I haven’t opened it yet,” he admits, voice small and shoulders hunched. The red box has been sentenced to weeks beneath Donghyuck’s bed, an attempt to fulfil the “out of sight, out of mind” prophecy. To his surprise, Donghyuck’s efforts have succeeded. Until now, at least. 

Jaemin’s entire body seems to slump with dejection. “Oh. Do you not want it?”

“No! No, it’s not that,” Donghyuck says, quick to soothe oncoming injuries with uncharacteristic gentleness. “I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not… Not without you there.”

Jaemin’s breath leaves him shakily and his eyes glitter in the low lighting, a sight Donghyuck has seen many times in his mirror. 

“Hyuck, can we talk?” 

“Now?”

“It’s been a month and — and I miss you. ”

“Okay. Okay, let’s talk.”

As Donghyuck leads Jaemin to his bedroom an overwhelming sense of déjà vu kicks in, pulling itself over his eyes like a blindfold. They’ve travelled this route many times before since their first date (a quiet afternoon spent in the darkness of the cinema, followed by a dinner-turned-make out session in Donghyuck’s bedroom). 

His room hasn’t changed since then. The duvet colour is still the same boring shade of grey, a pile of clean clothes lies in his desk chair, and the surface of the desk itself is hidden beneath textbooks, bottles of cologne and a pile of crumpled receipts. Donghyuck lets Jaemin walk in first, hesitating before shutting the door behind him. 

Unlike Donghyuck, Jaemin has uncovered a newfound certainty.

“I told my parents,” he announces the second the lock clicks into place.

Donghyuck blinks. “Huh?”

“I-I told my parents,” Jaemin repeats, but he falters this time, shrivelling under Donghyuck’s steady gaze. “About you. About me. About everything. That’s why I went home at Christmas.”

“How did it go?” Donghyuck asks warily. His brain feels fuzzy, like someone has stuck their hand inside his skull and whisked everything into a discombobulated mess.

A shuddering sigh passes through Jaemin’s lips. “Better than I expected, but still not great. They kind of just acknowledged it and then moved on with dinner. I can’t see them inviting us over for afternoon tea any time soon.”

So many questions start to beg for answers, but one screams at Donghyuck, louder than all the others.

“What made you change your mind?”

Donghyuck holds his breath, anticipation swelling like a balloon with too much helium. Jaemin remains silent for a moment, his brow creasing thoughtfully, as though the answer eludes him. The bass of Renjun’s music thumps, slamming off the four walls of his room as it seeps through the circumferential cracks of the bedroom door, intermingling with tuneless singing of Auld Lang Syne . It must be nearing midnight.

“You, Hyuck,” Jaemin admits, his voice laced with an honesty Donghyuck has only heard once before. “You did. I was too scared to tell them at first. I was worried that if I did, I’d jinx everything and we’d break up too soon. I didn’t want to risk my parents telling me that this is all just a phase — that you’re just a phase. I couldn’t do that to us. It’s ironic now, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

It’s a lot to take in all at once, a saga of truths Donghyuck was not prepared to receive. Jaemin’s Christmas gift remains unopened, but his confession feels like the opening of Pandora’s box, releasing a barrage of unexpected honesty, albeit far less troublesome than the legend would have it.

“This is all my fault,” Jaemin sighs, his eyes sad. “I should never have allowed my fears to get the better of me — ”

“It’s not, Jaemin,” Donghyuck says, quick to cut in. “It’s not all your fault. I’ve made mistakes too. We both have, and that’s okay. Relationships aren’t easy, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise. They take work and communication and compromise. Otherwise, all of the good wouldn’t be worth it.”

“I’m willing to do that — no — I want to do that. For you, Hyuck. ”

Jaemin hasn’t the chance to say anything else, nor has Donghyuck the opportunity to respond. There’s a loud bang from somewhere in the apartment, followed by the squeaking hinges of Donghyuck’s bedroom door. Mark stands there with a panicked look on his flushed face, gasping for air like he’s just ran a marathon.

“Slight emergency,” he wheezes, wiping a droplet of sweat from his brow. “Renjun’s just tried to fight someone over a potted plant.”

“Shit,” Donghyuck mumbles, glancing pleadingly in Jaemin’s direction, who looks equally irritated by the interruption. 

“Find me,” Jaemin mutters in his ear, tender as a forehead kiss. Donghyuck barely has the chance to breathe before Mark is tugging him back out into the last minutes of the New Year, leaving Jaemin behind until the clock strikes midnight. 

*

Jaemin isn’t hard to find. After calming down Renjun with a cup of chamomile tea and Jeno’s soothing voice, the two decided to call it a night and share their midnight kiss in the darkness of Renjun’s bedroom, leaving Donghyuck a free man, free enough to disappear and carry out Jaemin’s last wish of the year.

The apartment is small and the crowd is even smaller. The walls of the living room flash blue and green and red, but Jaemin is bathed in gold, the streaks of glitter on his cheeks shimmering in the changing lights. It looks like someone with a makeup bag got their hands on him, smearing stardust across his face like paint on a canvas. If Jaemin were a work of art, he would be in the Louvre.

Donghyuck can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t move. He merely watches Jaemin from across the room, chest tight and eyes itching.

Jaemin is speaking to Yerim, a polite smile on his lips and a plastic cup in his hand. Even from here, Donghyuck can see the shimmering gloss adorning his lips. They’re friends now, all three of them, following the events of Halloween and Yerim’s utmost willingness to keep Jaemin’s secret, but now is not the time for reminiscing. 

Jaemin looks up. He doesn’t look surprised when his eyes catch Donghyuck’s, like he was expecting this to happen. Like he was expecting Donghyuck to find him.

Yerim is still talking, but Jaemin isn’t paying attention anymore because Donghyuck is stalking across the room, fists clenched and face determined. For a second, Jaemin seems caught off guard. The plastic cup crunches in his grip. It clatters to the floor, mercifully empty, when Donghyuck reaches out and grabs Jaemin’s wrist. He barely gets out an apology to Yerim before Donghyuck is dragging him out of the room and into the hallway.

Donghyuck can’t say he’s surprised when he ends up being manhandled into his room. He thinks that maybe he was waiting for it. Waiting for Jaemin to lose control, let his emotions get the better of him. The moment Jaemin pries his wrist from Donghyuck’s grip is the moment Donghyuck allows himself to briefly revel in his victory.

It’s a short-lived victory, though, because then Donghyuck’s back slams painfully into a wall and Jaemin’s hands grip his shoulders so tightly he knows they’ll bruise.

Yet, for all of Jaemin’s force and strength, something warm lingers in his eyes. Donghyuck blushes and silently curses himself for acting like a high schooler. He feels any of the confidence he had built up drain from his body under Jaemin’s gaze.

“You found me,” Jaemin whispers, the words ghosting across Donghyuck’s mouth. 

“I found you.”

Jaemin’s answering sigh is fond, cut short when he presses his lips to Donghyuck’s in a messy kiss. It tastes like vodka, coke and strawberry lip gloss, forming a sticky layer across Donghyuck’s mouth with every slide of Jaemin’s own. They kiss until they’re lungs burn, parting for a few breathless seconds before doing it all over again. 

The clock chimes twelve times, and everything is right again.

JANUARY

Morning sunlight filters through Donghyuck’s curtains, trailing across the floor and along the wall like spilled lemonade. Donghyuck’s fingers are circled around Jaemin’s wrist as his eyes trace the palm of his boyfriend’s hand. 

“What are you doing?” Jaemin snorts, blinking sleepily as Donghyuck begins to follow the lines and cracks with his index finger.

“Examining your love line,” Donghyuck explains, propping his chin on the hard plains of Jaemin’s bare chest. The silver chain wrapped around his neck (a bashfully received Christmas gift) glints gold in the yellow sunlight, resting prettily atop his sharp collarbones. Donghyuck pauses his inspection of Jaemin’s palm to press a quick kiss to the exposed skin.

“My what?” 

“This line here, on your palm,” Donghyuck explains, trailing the crevice with the curve of his nail. “It’s supposed to tell me about your attitude to love.”

Jaemin hums thoughtfully, a sound that rumbles in his chest. “What does it say?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Donghyuck laughs, dropping Jaemin’s hand with a sleepy smile. He lets his body roll back against the mattress, shuffling over to Jaemin’s side, who wraps a warm arm around Donghyuck’s body and tugs him closer. Jaemin smells nice, like a forest after rainfall, fresh and clean. 

They stay like that for a little while longer, drinking in everything they were parched of during their weeks spent apart. The sun has inched ever higher by the time Donghyuck finally rolls out of bed, dragging a sleep-warmed Jaemin along with him. Hoodies and shorts are slipped across kissed skin, hiding marks that bloom like flowers, a private thing Donghyuck wants to keep all for himself. 

Renjun and Jeno are leaning against the breakfast bar when Donghyuck and Jaemin make their first appearance of the day; a pair of sleep ruffled couples with too much love for one another.

“You look like shit,” Donghyuck says to Renjun as he pours himself a mug of coffee.

“I feel like it,” Renjun croaks, purring like a cat when Jeno’s hand begins to massage the base of his neck. 

Sad remnants of their party lie scattered across the living room like the fallen feathers of a flock of swallows migrating south. Red solo cups spill onto the floor, leaving behind a sticky residue that will prove to be a bitch to clean up later on. The curtains are missing from one of the windows, cigarette butts line its sill, and Renjun’s favourite succulent has been upended onto the floor below. It’s all mildly disastrous, but no more so than the look Jeno fixes on Jaemin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, gesturing between Donghyuck and Jaemin with an accusatory finger. 

“Because you’re terrible at keeping secrets,” Jaemin snorts, taking a sip of his coffee.

Jeno huffs offendedly. “No, I’m not.”

“Club Zero. Freshman year,” Jaemin says cryptically, a secret to everyone but Jeno, whose eyes widen in understanding. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

No one else dares to comment on the obvious status of Donghyuck and Jaemin’s relationship, not even when Jaemin presses a kiss into Donghyuck’s hair on his way to the bathroom. Renjun gives Donghyuck a mildly disgusted look, but he’s walking a thin line himself, spending minutes at a time gazing wantonly at Jeno’s face, or arms, or thighs. 

The afternoon stretches out like the body of a sleepy cat, extending to make room for all the moments Donghyuck and Jaemin had lost to their miscommunication. 

“Have you ever thought about past lives before?” Jaemin asks as they watch Hotel Del Luna , smiling softly at a joke made on screen.

“Not really,” Donghyuck shrugs, leaning his head on the verge of Jaemin’s broad shoulder. “I mean, it always seems really dramatic in movies. Unrealistic.”

Jaemin nods, rubbing his thumb across the jut of Donghyuck’s knuckles. “What do you think we were?”

“Enemies,” Donghyuck answers immediately, his tone light with laughter. “We probably fought to the death, all noble and righteous. What do you think?

“I’m not so sure,” Jaemin says easily. “I think we might have loved each other, like we do now.”

Donghyuck turns to face him with burning cheeks and so much love in his heart he fears he might burst. 

“If we loved each other then, and we love each other now, doesn’t that make us soulmates?” he asks with a wry grin.

“I’d like to think so,” Jaemin agrees with that pretty smile of his. “Wouldn’t you?”

Donghyuck can’t quell the need to kiss Jaemin’s cheek, pressing warm lips against smooth skin with unbridled affection.

“I'd like that very much,” he whispers. 

It may have ended with a kiss, but it births a new beginning with Jaemin holding him close, and Donghyuck hoping he’ll never let go. 

*

Beneath dappled sunlight, draped in red wrapping paper, lies a photobook of their love, its pages filled with black-and-white snapshots of memories they’ll hold dear for years to come.