Archive of Our Own ^beta

His groggy brain couldn’t even process the events taking place so early in the morning: his bedroom door swinging open, the candles on the birthday cake creating warm light in the tender coldness of his room at seven in the morning, the unbridled excitement on his parents’ faces as they revelled in their own genius of: “let’s surprise him first thing in the morning!”

“SURPRISE!”

They yelled out in unison, positioning themselves a safe four or five feet away from Jungwon’s bed so he didn’t wake up in a frenzy and accidentally start a fire in their home by knocking down the cake and making the candles tumble onto the carpet. He met their grinning faces with a sleepy, tentative smile, almost sad that he couldn’t give a bigger reaction because it was simply too early and he quite literally woke up ten seconds ago.

“Thanks guys,” he muttered as sweetly as he could manage. They seemed content with that.

“Now, you know what you have to do,” his mother chided lightly, bringing the cake closer and hovering until she stood right beside him and in front of the nightstand.

He propped himself up warily on his elbow and rubbed his eyes, staring at the candles in front of his face as they transformed from smudges of yellow into small flickering flames. He held a sigh in, mainly to keep from blowing them out by accident, but also to hide the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted to wish for but it was ridiculously childish and he was a grown man now—it was a bit of a hyperbole, but he had a tendency to think in extremes—and he was disappointed that his brain went right to where it did.

He had a habit of thinking better of himself and holding himself to a higher standard that was beginning to work more in detriment to him than to help him—it was a habit that now had him grappling with himself, two selves colliding and bickering. Sensible Jungwon believed that young love fell victim to its stereotypes portrayed in stupid Disney Channel original movies and it was just that: stupid, fleeting, nothing to really work yourself up about because it would pass and everyone would move on. However, the more childish Jungwon thought it perfectly reasonable to be a fool for love, if you could even call it love: to mope, to be in longing, to write cringey poems and songs, to daydream about holding hands, to think becoming a househusband a legitimate option if graduating with a degree in Philosophy didn’t land him a job anywhere.

But at the end of his short deliberation he realized he didn’t care, he wanted it, and shouldn’t it be allowed that the birthday boy get exactly what he wants? If it was his desire then that’s it; no need to overthink it, no need to belittle himself like he always used to, wearing himself down until he barely had a foundation to build himself on.

He closed his eyes and visualized the name in his mind’s eye—Jongseong spelled out in big block letters—and grabbed it out of his sparse cloud of thoughts, then blew out the candles. He was egged on by the puny claps from his father and the delighted smile on his mother’s face.

“Hope it was a good wish.” He briefly wondered if his father was psychic, because if he had somehow peered into Jungwon’s mind then that’s exactly something he would say. He gave him a wary look.

“I hope so too,” Jungwon mumbled moreso to himself.

His mother fished a fork out of nowhere and arbitrarily took a piece from the uncut cake, which made him cringe because now there was a triangular shaped hole in the middle of the cake; Jungwon had an uncanny feeling of where this was going and his suspicions were quickly confirmed, the small slice of cake hovering right in front of his field of view.

“Mom, please—”

“Jungwon.” She raised her eyebrows in that cautionary way that parents do. “I know you’re old now, but indulge me, just this once.” Begrudgingly, he bit the piece off the fork and feigned a tepid smile.

“Happy birthday bud,” his dad spoke up from behind. “And don’t take too long getting ready, we’re sitting and eating breakfast together today.”

He nodded dutifully and watched as they cleared out of the room, leaving him to stir in his own thoughts—a favorite pastime of his. He willed himself not to get caught up in his lofty expectations because it would only lead to disaster and disappointment, just like all of his previous birthdays. On his thirteenth, he took one step out of the car and slipped and fell on the black ice on the road and everybody laughed at him; on his fourteenth, he’d eaten eggs for breakfast that were a little past their expiration date and spent every half hour making stops at the restroom for the remainder of the day; on his fifteenth, school had been canceled because of heavy snowfall and the roads were blocked so he spent the day playing Monopoly with his parents.

He was, probably, the most unlucky birthday boy alive.

And so it wouldn’t be a surprise to him if the day didn’t go the way he wanted it to in his head. At this point, he might’ve even feigned illness to stay out of school so disaster wouldn’t befall him, but he had convinced himself that the universe had to deliver a good birthday to him at least once. He deserved it, right? He had hope.

And this is where Park Jongseong comes in. The Park Jongseong who, for the past few months, had seemed to notice him—who tutors him for English class on Tuesdays after school, who had extended an invitation to him to come to Sunghoon’s birthday party even though he declined and he knew he would decline, who reassured him time and time again that no being an devoted member of chess club and book club was not nerdy or something to be embarrassed about even though it definitely was nerdy and he definitely did want to die every time somebody brought it up.

And he was smart, and he was kind, and handsome, and didn’t make him feel in any way below him like the other popular kids did, and Jungwon didn’t know what to do with that. Except let himself be caught up in his familiar and uninvited whirlwind of hopes and daydreams and expectations that will pick him up and whisk him away and drop him on his ass in the middle of nowhere and he’s left wondering why he did this to himself.

Oh well.

He unlocked his phone, ignoring the multiple Messages notifications, and looked at the time. They really did wake him up early, but he didn’t care; he was keen to scroll through various social medias for a few minutes before forcing himself to shower.

Sometimes, he liked being invisible.

High school was a lawless battlefield where teenagers’ hormones coalesced and exploded, bombs being set off almost every day he showed up and it felt like everybody got caught up in the crossfire, except him. It was no secret that Chambers High School was messy, the school had a reputation among all the others in the area for being a cesspool of drama; if someone at a neighboring high school started their sentence with “so this guy at another school-” someone else would undoubtedly interject with “Chambers?”. But he had a talent for keeping everything around him at peace and tamed, he liked minding his business and staying right where he was.

Of course, that rule could be broken, and would be broken, on the accursed day that was his birthday. All bets were off.

The drama almost always revolved around a select group of people, a group of seniors that had been popular since pretty much their freshman year: Jongseong and his family’s connections in the fashion industry, Sunghoon’s career as a figure skater, Jake’s father literally being the owner of the mall downtown that everybody frequented on Friday evenings. They seemed to hold a certain kind of power that nobody wanted to question and everybody wanted to be around. They were the big three, but they had a gaggle of others that orbited around them like moons. Some of them were more prolific than others, some of them hung around for only a few months then got recycled for a replacement. It was a strange phenomenon that Jungwon tried not to concern himself with.

But it was hard to ignore the little pubescent demon inside of him screaming for attention, for adoration, for popularity; he wanted to have a fling just like everybody else did, he wanted to be in that circle, and he recognized with full clarity that Jongseong was his in. But it was a lot easier to act like he didn’t, it was a lot easier to keep floating under everybody’s radar just like he always had.

He considered himself lucky that he was able to get to his locker without a disaster happening—he’d begged his mother to not give him a showy send-off from the car to embarrass him which she heeded, he steered clear of any wet floor signs he saw, and he quadruple checked himself in the mirror before leaving to make sure there wasn’t anything on his ass. He was already exhausted walking on eggshells for the first ten minutes of being on campus, he wondered how he’d survive the next seven hours.

He opened his locker and stared at himself in the tiny mirror he had inside.

He looked fine today. Cute. Handsome, even, if you squint.

Handsome enough for Jongseong though?

He frowned, now dissatisfied with his reflection.

“Happy birthday bestie!” A loud voice preceded a pair of arms wrapping around his midsection and a body pressing into him which he could only identify as,

“Riki,” he muttered with a little bit of relief, sighing through his nose. His paranoia caused his mind to automatically assume the worst at first, thinking that maybe a football player was tackling him. He thought himself so stupid.

“You look like you’ve just gone through every stage of grief.” Riki levelled with him, sizing him up with curious eyes, trying to figure him out. “I mean, you look cute, obviously, my little munchkin,” he grabbed a piece of his cheek with a little too much force and wriggled it. Jungwon returned a flat smile. “But like, what’s up?”

“Yeah um, just a little paranoid, you know how my birthdays are.”

“Ah, the infamous Yang Jungwon birthdays.” Riki, an absolute skyscraper, stood up straight and placed his hands on Jungwon’s shoulders, the full extension of his arms exemplifying their vast size difference. They were both used to it though—funny enough, Jungwon was so self-conscious about his short stature compared to his younger friend that he actively avoided him for the first week or so of their introduction to each other. Things are different now though, who would’ve thought? “You worry too much, chill out.”

“Easier said than done,” he said, exasperated, turning back to his locker.

“To you.” Riki said, imitating the same tone as the woman in the viral video. He moved to lean against the locker right beside Jungwon’s, staring at him. “Reminder that this is all in your head and no the universe does not have a vendetta against you, you’re just crazy.”

Jungwon breathed an incredulous laugh. “I’m not crazy.”

“Whatever you say,” he said with an upward inflection, taunting. He let his gaze wander while Jungwon busied himself with his various textbooks and binders and his eyes snapped to one of the entrances to the hallway opening. “Oh shit, look.” He lightly jabbed Jungwon’s elbow, causing the younger to look over and mimic Riki’s own anticipatory expression. “It’s your boyfriend.”

That earned him an elbow in his side.

“Ow.”

“Shut up.” Jungwon grumbled. “And can you stop with the boyfriend thing?”

Walking through the doors, looking more handsome than usual, Jungwon noted, was Jongseong, accompanied by his usual duo of Jake and Sunghoon, the latter leading as usual, and along with them two girls; one of them he identified as Im Yeojin, the girl that Jake, supposedly, is dating, and planning to take to prom. The other remained a mystery, an all too important mystery that bothered him more than he cared to admit. He returned to his business at the locker, not wanting to make eye contact with Jongseong because he didn’t want to deal with that right now.

“Riki, who’s that other girl?” he muttered, biting his lip and trying his best to not let his unease seep into his words. He did his best impression of a cool guy, indifferent and passive, trying to make it sound like an off-handed comment.

Riki laughed, and it was a hearty one too, almost doubling over. It was loud enough to distract the people around them, giving them looks that bordered between concern and annoyance. All he could do was sigh as Riki regained his composure. 

“Well?” he stammered.

“Oh you’re fucking jealous aren’t you?”

Clearly his farce failed and he, yet again, proved himself to be a horrible actor.

“Can you like shut the fuck up?” He jabbed him in his bicep, forcing him to stand up straight again. He shot a frantic look down the hallway, watching as Jay and the rest of his gang neared, then he returned his attention to the taller boy right in front of him and grabbed him by his collar and pulled him closer. “Answer me.”

Riki held his hands up in surrender. “Geez, am I being threatened?” He said with a playful sort of mock in his tone that made Jungwon actually want to punch him. “That’s Jiyoon, and don’t worry, she’s gay.” Jungwon gave him a look, as if trying to gauge whether he was lying or not. “What?” 

After a bit of ruminating, he released him, doing his best to dig his face in his locker and look busy as the clique drew closer. Apparently, his best friend hadn’t caught on to his performance, as he was still leaning against the locker next to Jungwon’s and watching him with amused eyes.

“Riki don’t just stand there looking stupid,” he patronized, doing random hand motions.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Jungwon said, panicked, “act natural?”

“Oh sure, I need to act natural, like I’m the one taking books out of my locker and putting them right back in for no reason.”

Jungwon, scandalized, shot him a death glare and shoved his index finger into Riki’s chest.

“Kay. Why. Ess.”

“Hey Jungwon!” The sudden interjection of an all too familiar voice made him want to spring out of his boots (he was actually wearing sneakers) and fly headfirst into the ceiling tile. He froze, then realized he was still pointing his finger at Riki, and tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled and performed his best impression of a cool guy but it looked more like he was an alien possessing a human body and watched maybe one episode of Jersey Shore and he kind of looked like an action figure.

“Hey Jongseong!” The enthusiasm in his voice made it pitched a little too high and Riki had to angle his face away from the duo because he was fighting for his life trying to contain his laughter. Jungwon was almost entirely focused on remaining normal in this moment but there was a 1% of him that was staring Riki down and wanting to reach forward and choke him out.

“Hold on,” Jongseong flashed him a mischievous smirk as he set his backpack down, unzipped it, and started digging in it. It caused a bit of a small commotion and Jungwon was starting to get embarrassed, watching everybody passing by give them both a look of intrigue, and then flash their eyes to Jungwon with something like, “you?” and he didn’t like it. He decided he wanted to discard all of his earlier thoughts about wanting to have the attention on him, about wanting to get closer to Jongseong just to be popular, being seen was a little overwhelming.

Jongseong popped back up like a whack-a-mole with a small teddy bear in hand.

“Happy birthday, Jungwon,” he said with a small smile. Jungwon was so blindsided, so caught off-guard, that he was having trouble even processing the way his name sounded on his lips; the way his voice dropped a register, the way it sounded like honey, the way his smile extended further up on one side of his face to make it look as if he had a little bit of triumph when he said his name. He wanted to melt. He wanted to melt like candle wax and fold right into him.

“I…” Remembering that he—that both of them—were in the middle of the hallway and surrounded by high schoolers looking for the next thing to talk about at lunch caused him to rocket forward into even more stress, his brain malfunctioning and unable to figure out the right words to say because even under normal circumstances he’s a blubbering mess and they could be alone in the library but the second Jongseong even lightly touches Jungwon he becomes stew. He becomes Yang Jungwon stew. “You remembered?”

Lame. Fucking lame. That was the best he could come up with?

Jongseong scoffed. “Of course, who do you think I am?”

And Jungwon was downright awful at accepting compliments, at being the center of thoughtful gestures, no matter how much he craved it. And to be honest, he was still having a hard time getting past the fact that what was supposed to be his worst day out of every year was going so well so far.

Emphasis on the so far.

All he did was pull off his most genuine smile.

“Thank you.” He took the small bear from Jongseong’s clutches in the most delicate way possible, gingerly, and held it in front of him, ecstatic, absolutely buzzing with delight, a premeditated and intentional delight that even though it was one hundred percent genuine he was deliberately thinking I hope Jongseong sees how happy he just made me.

“Oh by the way, I’m so sorry but I have to cancel our tutoring session after school today.” 

Jungwon frowned, almost in reflex, but it was too late to hide it now.

“Oh that’s okay,” he contemplated whether to push him for an excuse or not. He really wanted to know, but being pushy wasn’t cool or cute or desirable, and he also just gave him a birthday gift, so was he really in a place to be demanding?

“Yeah, have to make up an art project.”

Oh, well that was easy.

“You take art?” he asked offhandedly. He really couldn’t recall him ever talking about art class, he also wasn’t the type of person to take art; Jongseong was always a more practical person like him, forever engaged with the more reasonable and down to earth subjects like English and history.

Jongseong nodded. “Yup,” he replied simply.

Jungwon, now hugging the bear to his chest as he shifted his weight between his two feet, looked at Jongseong, briefly entertaining the thought that he was lying. He wasn’t new to this; one time Jungwon had asked him if he was doing well in AP Physics and he replied a curt “Yup!” and his gaze shot to his feet and he had that uncharacteristic smile on his face where it didn’t curl upward asymmetrically and that was the day he learned that Jongseong was a terrible liar. Except this time was different, because there really wasn’t a reason for him to lie about taking or not taking a class, it was just strange.

“Cute sweater by the way,” he pointed to it.

Jungwon’s mouth almost dropped open, and his soul briefly flew out of his body and he had to pull it back down as he realized that Jongseong was blatantly flirting with him in the middle of the hallway within earshot of not only the random background characters but also his posse who were hanging out by the water fountains waiting for him to get back. He cast a cautionary glance over to them; Jake and Yeojin were locked in a heated debate about something, Sunghoon and Jiyoon were in a ridiculously less passionate conversation that consisted of Sunghoon briefly stealing looks over toward Jongseong and Jungwon before returning to talk about whatever he was talking about.

He gulped, looking down at his sweater. It was a vibrant blue that was a size or two big on him, engulfing his hands and making him look soft and cozy which was, for the most part, the vibe that he wanted to project onto the rest of the student body; he was nobody to look out for and nobody to really pay attention to, just minding his gay little business and being cute, hopefully catching someone’s eye once in a while.

He gave another smile, although this time it was a little more cardboard cutout and less enthusiastic.

“Thanks, thrifted it actually.”

Jongseong nodded idly. “Cool cool, love thrifting.”

Jungwon mimicked his nod and tried to figure out whether the heavy awkwardness that just settled in between them was all in his own head or if Jongseong was actually acting a little odd out of nowhere. It’s just that Jongseong was cool; he was a smooth talker, for lack of a better term, and was the type of person to always know what to say and steer a conversation in what was always the right direction. He wasn’t the type to get overwhelmed and anxious at having to socialize like Jungwon did, so it was a bit of a mystery that both of them were at a loss, idling before each other like Sims.

He had this look in his eye that Jungwon could best identify as uncertainty and it made him a little apprehensive because he was evidently hung up on something, he just didn’t know what, and he didn’t know if he’d tell him what. And really, was today of all days the time to stress Jungwon out? Jongseong always strutted around campus with an air of unquestionable confidence—like nothing could shake him, like he knew he was an it boy—but something about him today betrayed that notion, something riddling with unease.

“Is something up?”

Jongseong’s head perked up like he’d just been caught stealing, eyes wide like a baby’s. “Hm? Nope, why would it be?”

Jungwon’s tone plateaued. “Just ‘cause..um...you’re kinda just hanging out here...touching the back of your neck...I think your friends are waiting for you,” he pointed at them.

“Oh, yeah, um,” he looked back toward them. Jake and Yeojin were still in their own little world, but he made eye contact with Sunghoon, then they quickly broke it and he looked back. “So...actually, and I know you hate parties but just humor me, Jiyoon’s parents are gonna be out of town next weekend and we were wondering if you wanted to—”

“I’ll come.” Jungwon interjected without a second thought. The word party didn’t even phase him, he didn’t care; they were a little closer now than they were in December and so it wasn’t out of nowhere and he was sure it wasn’t disingenuous. If he wanted to extend an invitation to him to go to one of those parties that he’d had this preconceived notion of being so exclusive, so exciting, then he didn’t need to think twice.

It was his birthday, damnit, time to take some risks, try new things, be a teenager like in the movies.

“Oh! Sweet.” Jongseong replied, delighted. “So uh, text you the deets later, I guess.” Jungwon nodded fervently, smiling and letting his dimples out. Jongseong started walking away. “See you around.”

“Sure,” he nodded again like a bobblehead. As he disappeared around the corner with his friends, he sighed into the teddy bear and mumbled underneath his breath, “it smells like him…”

“Dude,” Riki slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “He’s so into you.”

“Is not.” Jungwon retorted, although he was fully aware of how ridiculous he sounded because he couldn’t lie to himself if he tried; his hormonal, teenage heart had grown about three sizes within the past five or so minutes that they talked and his more pragmatic self had been reduced to the size of a pea, parading around in its little devil costume around his left shoulder.

“Dude, the teddy bear?” He made a move to grab it but Jungwon shielded it from him. “That's homosexual activity if I’ve ever seen it.”

Jungwon didn’t make any move to interject or correct him because the smile across his face was too big and too goofy and too persistent to even let him get a word out without his appearance so blatantly betraying his words. Instead, he tucked the little teddy bear into his backpack along with the rest of his books and binders and zipped it up and stared at himself in the mirror, willing himself to wipe the grin off his face before he had to go to AP Psychology and Wonyoung decided to ask her intrusive questions just like she always did.

“Just guys being dudes,” he said to himself, making his grin a little wider.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him, because the moment he’d walked through the school doors he made a beeline for the least populated bathroom on campus and gripped the edge of the sink and stared in the mirror and pointed at himself accusingly and proclaimed, “Jungwon. No risks today. None. Nada.”

Well, he decided to betray his own advice, on the notion that sometimes doing bad things, going against the rules, was ultimately beneficial in the end. That’s how the French Revolution started, and at the end of the day, the elite were overthrown and the economy was shifted somewhat into an agreeable balance.

And yes, this is how Jungwon reasoned with himself, daily.

“I can go make copies, Mr. Kim!” He shot up in his seat, hand raised at a perfect angle, doing his best to not seem too eager.

His teacher smiled, walking up to his desk and handing him the papers, “Godspeed, Jungwon,” and he took them and dashed out of the classroom, having a little too much fun. It wasn’t often that he actually used his teacher’s pet privilege, either to leave class early or have them be lenient with late classwork, but sometimes he just had to, and this was one of those times.

The copy machine was located in the library and it was 11:45 and a Tuesday meaning it was the senior’s time for lunch meaning Jongseong was likely lounging in his little hidey-hole in the library enjoying something light like an apple or yogurt and reading a book because he’d informed Jungwon—and told him to keep it a secret—that he’d convinced the other members of his group that he had tutoring at lunch on Tuesdays which was actually a lie only because he wanted a break from them once in a while, in his own words.

And it was hard for him to fault him because even though he did his best to strip them of their elite status and evaluate them as individuals, just random high schoolers doing high school things, they still seemed insufferable to be around, Sunghoon and Jake, at least, and he didn’t see Jongseong in the same light at all. They were like two sides of different coins and it was hard for him to imagine the kind and diplomatic Jongseong interacting with Sunghoon who literally doesn’t look at anyone and Jake the dictionary definition of a douchebag who was notorious last year for publicly shaming a poor girl that he’d dated for a week, throwing out all of her stuff in her locker in one seamless motion of anger and fury and watching her clean it up and put it back.

He was just better off avoiding them, dreading the time, if it ever came, that he’d have to interact with them, by association with Jongseong.

He arrived at the library and he could’ve done what he’d been asked to do, request to access the copy machine and go behind the counter and do his little secretary work and then return to class within ten minutes as had been expected, however, he was feeling a little frisky today so he greeted the librarian with a polite bow and traversed the vast library, one that the school took great pride in, and made it toward one of the back corners where he found a boy sufficiently submerged into a green beanbag and utterly engrossed in a book.

Jungwon stood there for a bit, smiling, and not inhibiting his own smile at all because it might have been a little too wide and a little too toothy because the situation itself was not all that amusing but he thought it was and so after a full minute passed without his presence being noticed, he spoke up.

“Cute.”

Jongseong did not get shocked or scared, unlike Jungwon, so he instead calmly moved his eyes from the book and to the boy in one slow motion, calm, pleasant, as Jongseong is, and he watched his face morph from pure concentration to a small, unassuming but just as genuine kind of delight, breathing out through his nose.

“Now, what are you doing here?” He set the book down, dog-earing the page, making Jungwon cringe, and placed his hands over his belly.

Jungwon hummed, eyes floating upward and mouth wound tight with something playful, “Skipping class, perhaps?”

Jongseong scoffed. “Yea, right,” he extended his arm to tap the red beanbag beside him lightly, “come sit.”

Jungwon obliged without further ado, plopping himself beside Jongseong and letting himself melt into the cheap, cushiony filling of whatever the things were made with.

“I didn’t know you read...like...literature…”

Jongesong burst out laughing, howling, the book falling from his lap and tumbling onto the floor.

“What?”

“You think I’m some, like, illiterate meathead?”

Jungwon knew better than that, he did, they both knew he did, and so he didn’t say another word on the matter.

“Where’s your bear?” Jongseong asked, prompting Jungwon to perk up, as if on guard.

“In my locker.”

“Oh,” Jongseong muttered, a little dejected.

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. “Why oh?”

Jongseong looked up. “I just thought you’d carry it around with you or something is all.”

Jungwon let out a guttural noise in disbelief. “Why would I do that?”

Jongseong’s eyes lit up, spying an opportunity, for a brief moment, then faded back into his usual aloof attitude, hands tied behind his head as he leaned back. “Just because, you know. It’s cute, you’re cute.” He bit his lip in anticipation, sneaking a glance over at him then stealing it away again.

Jungwon laughed. “Now that was a stretch, come on,”

“Listen, I wanted you to say something like, why did you get me a bear, or something, then it would’ve made more sense,” Jongseong explained, “it’s your fault for not catching on.”

“Catching on?” Jungwon said, a mocking tone almost, “catching onto your lame attempts at flirting?”

“Hey,” Jongseong blurted with a dry tone, briefly sending Jungwon spiraling into thinking maybe he stepped too far by saying he was flirting outright, before he continued, “they aren’t lame.”

And maybe this wasn’t a case for Jungwon to overthink, but he did, because he was Jungwon, because he didn’t deny the fact that it was flirting, and he knew, he just knew that he would be hung up on this for days, hung up on this exact piece of this exact conversation because that was the routine with him and Jongseong: the dialogue would flux between what are the specific parameters of the essay? and I like your dimples and it was this confusing mess that he found hard to navigate, to make sense of, early on, because he had no real sense of what flirting was and how it could have both lighthearted and more serious connotations. 

And he couldn’t help but overthink and continue to overthink: overthink about the way it looked like Jongseong eased up when he spotted him, overthink about the way he caught every glance Jongseong took of him behind his bangs, overthink about that psychology fact he read on that woo woo website that said that your pupils dilate when looking at somebody you like and he might’ve caught a glimpse of Jongseong’s eyes being bigger than normal, but it may have been the light.

“By the way,” Jungwon turned, full body now facing Jongseong as another psychology fact from the same website flitted through his head—the idea that wherever you are in a room your body automatically orients itself to face the general direction of whoever you’re attracted to—and then flew out just as quickly, “I know what you’re doing in art after school today.”

For what Jungwon thought was the first time he’d ever witnessed, Jongseong looked like he’d just been dumped into a vat of liquid nitrogen, freezing up so bad it was like he’d been zapped by Ice King.

“O-oh, really?” He coughed, trying to catch himself, obviously trying not to stutter, and this deterred Jungwon for a moment because he hadn’t expected that, or anything he ever said or ever could think to say, to trip him up. It was a little unnerving.

“Yeah,” he pressed onward, “you’re helping with the mural, right?”

At this, Jongseong relaxed a bit. “Yeah,” he sunk further into the beanbag, “yeah, the mural.” His eyes unfocused, breaking off to stare into space, as was a habit of his, but this time it felt off; he was always a little aloof and looked like he had his head somewhere else, but his gaze was dripping with something like regret and a sadness that he hadn’t unearthed yet, quiet but violent.

“Jongseong?”

“Hm?”

He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “do you like me?” But then he realized what he said, the words that came out of his lips, and panicked, “I mean—oh my God—what I mean is, like, just like as a friend, like,” He flipped back to face toward the ceiling, “I mean just, in general, like as a person.” He clarified, finally.

And despite Jungwon’s slip-up and consequential freakout, Jongseong didn’t say anything, nor let himself be roused or riled up or alarmed or anything at all, and this, Jungwon came to understand, was what made being with him so easy. Riki, for example, upon hearing the question, would’ve responded with a fuck you or a shut up in the usual way they talked to each other and he’d shove him or punch him lightly in the gut and they’d laugh it off and then go about their business because that was how they operated.

Jongseong, on the other hand, retained his calm disposition, lying back in the beanbag with his long ass legs sprawled out onto the floor, head angled toward Jungwon and eyes completely honed in on his—gentle yet scrutinizing, evaluating, staring so hard it was like he was trying to see past his skin and into his soul—and he almost wanted to have a breakdown because Jongseong was so kind, so immeasurably kind and considerate and patient and thoughtful that even when Jungwon posed a stupid question like that, a question where he imposed his own self-doubt and self-deprecation onto someone else, he didn’t fly off the hinges with emergency reassurances like—’no Jungwon you’re great’ or ‘don’t say stuff like that!’—and it made Jungwon want to cry.

He could tell he was composing an answer in his head, and he was sure of this because Jongseong chose his words with tact; every time he opened his mouth, especially in public speaking or in a group setting, he spoke slowly and deliberately, making sure every syllable was absorbed into the listener’s brain, because not only was he an engaging speaker, but he was someone that made everybody in the room want to listen to what he had to say, and it was a quality he’d admired.

“Jungwon,” he started, head still at the same angle, gaze still equally as intense, “you are spectacular,” he propped himself up on his elbow, “and I mean spectacular as in—and you probably don’t realize this—but people like you, okay? People turn their heads when you walk by them, and they look at you like they want to be you, and you know why, right?” Jungwon didn’t know why—no, that’s a lie, he did, but he didn’t want to verbalize it. “The only way I can put it is that you are chock full of just—just good things, spilling out of you wherever you walk, and everybody wants that. You really are spectacular.”

Jungwon didn’t know when he started shaking, his palms clammy and his frame shifting awkwardly in the malleable cushion of the beanbag, squirming, trying to process everything coming out of Jongseong’s mouth and his face doing a horrible job of masking it.

“Don’t cry,” Jongseong said, pulling Jungwon out of his own head for a bit.

He scoffed. “I’m not going to cry,” he said in a huff, digging his hands under his thighs as he usually did when he was feeling shy. “I just...nobody’s said that to me...before…” 

“I can tell,” Jongseong said, “they’re either jealous or too nervous to talk to you, though.” He stated matter-of-factly, as if this was common information, something to gossip about over afternoon tea and then leave behind to revisit another day on a whim.

Jungwon closed his eyes. His brain was scrambled now, a crock of gray matter reduced to a stew, as one part of him wanted to keep going but another part of him wanted to rein everything back, retreat back into his shell and scamper on back to class. He opened his eyes and turned to see Jongseong still staring at him, still, with those eyes those fucking eyes that made him feel so safe and sound and he couldn’t stop thinking about how bad he wanted to reach over and kiss him but he didn’t.

He forced himself to turn away.

“Maybe I just feel that way because everyone around me seems to have...I don’t know, direction?” He gulped, dubious about continuing, but he knew Jongseong was behind him, both literally and figuratively, and so he continued, “other than my freakish interest in shit like Aristotle and Plato, I know I’m smart I just don’t know what to do with it, if that makes sense.” He turned back around. “Do I sound crazy?”

Jongseong shook his head and his smile was so cozy, he wanted to live in there. “Not at all, I—” he hesitated, “Jungwon you’re…” he stopped himself again, retreating to stare at the ceiling again. “You’re a beautiful soul.”

He wanted to say no, that’s you, but he was learning, little by little, to stop deflecting and start accepting compliments as they came, and so he let it soak for a bit and wonder about what he really meant, what it meant to be a beautiful soul. He was stumped, huffing out through his nose and turning to face him again, holding out his pinky finger.

“Can you promise me to not tell anyone?”

This grabbed Jongseong’s attention. “About what?”

Jungwon paused. “About the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing with my life? And, uh,” he coughed, “the fact that I’m dreadfully insecure?”

Jongseong chuckled, extending his own pinky finger, but then stopping before touching his. “Promise me you won’t tell anybody about my spot.”

Jungwon dipped his head and gave him a look. “Our spot.”

Jongseong only let out a small laugh and cracked a crooked grin as he hooked his pinky in his own and they did the little squeeze and the pull downward before releasing, and as much as Jungwon’s entire being was flooded with sensory overload, little explosions sprouting up and down his body both from the physical contact and also from the intimacy of the conversation they just had, he was also terrified; he didn’t know which scared him more, the fact that he’d just made a promise with Park Jongseong to keep a secret of his, or the fact that he knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that he would keep it for him, no matter what.

Mrs. Jeon made her way to the front of the classroom and cleared her throat emphatically, willing every student in the class to look up from having their heads down or reading a book, at attention.

“Since everyone has turned in their tests, you may use the small remainder of class time to converse freely,” then just as quickly as she strode to the front to make the announcement, she returned to her seat to continue typing away at her computer. Immediately, the classroom erupted into mindless banter, and Jungwon started packing up his stuff.

“You will never believe what I heard last period,” Riki said, swiftly taking the seat beside Jungwon’s as soon as it freed up.

“Uh huh?” Jungwon finished up shoving his books into his backpack.

“Park Jongseong was spotted in the art room.” Riki says with a finality, as if he just dropped a bomb, as if he just dropped the cheat code to world peace, and waited for Jungwon to react, front teeth biting his bottom lip in excitement.

Jungwon did not give back the same energy. In fact, he was perplexed. “Um, yeah? Like he said he would be?”

Riki sighed. “No you don’t get it, he’s in the art room right this very second, working on a poster.” Again, he said this absolutely buzzing with expectation, with excitement, eyes widening then narrowing then widening again, waiting for Jungwon to arrive at the same conclusion he was at.

“Oh my God Riki just tell me what you’re talking about,” he snapped, swinging his backpack around and holding it by a single strap.

“Fine, but just remember that you’re daft.”

Jungwon was about to make a comment about how Riki learned what the word daft meant only a few days ago and now started inserting it into conversation every opportunity he had, but he refrained.

“He is obviously promposing to you today,”

Jungwon almost choked. “Yeah, and I’m also the crown prince of England, right?”

“Shut up, I’m serious,” his voice suddenly dropped to a low whisper, as if they were spies sharing intel behind enemy lines, “it makes sense: him suddenly getting close to you over the past few months, him all of a sudden needing to go to art so he can surprise you after school? Not to mention how pretty much everybody’s waiting on one of the three big guys to prompose before everybody else starts, it’s like, the rules, or something. So promposing on your birthday is just perfect actually.”

Jungwon understood 100% of what Riki was saying, laying his reasoning out on the table with evidence to back it up like he was in court; the thing is, however, Jungwon was a professional doubter. It was innate in him, in every bone in his body and every muscle and every cell, to immediately question anything and everything brought to his attention, and to take every bit of information in with a grain of salt, bookmarking it in his brain to revisit later for further revision upon collecting new data.

And so as his best friend was trying to convince him that he was about to be the subject of a promposal, whether it was to cheer him up about his birthday curse or boost his self-esteem or just because he wanted something to talk about, he had to restrain himself from his first instinct which was to be a debbie downer, to bring both of them back down to reality and say, ‘Riki, that’s not gonna happen,’ because that’s not what Riki wanted to hear and, honestly, that’s not what he himself wanted to hear either.

And so, he settled for a healthy in-between.

“Riki, I don’t need a promposal for my birthday to be amazing,” he reasoned, “in fact, I don’t need one at all, I don’t need anything today except for nothing bad to happen. And you know what? If Jongseong really is into me then, honestly, I’d prefer we take it slow, something less show-y.”

And there was some truth in that. Jungwon was one for subtlety, for practicality and understatements, and having a grand exhibition of ‘will you go to prom with me?’ in the lobby of Chambers High School for everyone to be witness to sounded like a true nightmare and a shortcut to an anxiety attack. He tried to think more about this, the negative side of the promposal, rather than the positive: the idea of being so special that he’d be professed to in front of the entire student body, the idea of Jongseong going out of his way to do something so romantic, so special.

It was a stupid, lofty thing to think about, and he didn’t want to show how much it would actually delight him, display his true affections on his face in front of Riki, so he humbled himself down to a small smile.

“Besides, I really just want to go home and ensure nothing unfortunate befalls me,” he stood as he watched the clock turning from 2:29 to 2:30 and the bell rang, students filing out of the classroom in droves, “I mean, as long as we don’t get into a car accident, if I make it home safe I’m good!” He put his hands up in a show of enthusiasm, “isn’t that great?”

Riki shook his head and groaned. “Jungwon, you’re always such a downer,” he leaned closer, “Jongseong is into you, and you know that, and I know that, and if you know that and I know that, then he knows that. And you know what he’d do if he knows that?”

Jungwon didn’t respond, lightly shoving the taller boy off of him and starting the walk out of the classroom and toward the front doors of the school, Riki following behind.

“Jungwon, do you ever think,” Riki started and Jungwon took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever stupid shit Riki was about to spew, “that maybe you’re hot?”

Oh, well, that kind of caught him by surprise.

He halted in the middle of the hallway, causing the flow of human traffic to warp around them as they stood, a pair, blocking an intersection.

Jungwon turned to him. “Huh?”

“Like, maybe, just maybe, people like you? And would go out of their way to ask you out? And give you attention?”

And, in the moment, in seems funny, Riki presenting something like this to him as if it was a free-flying thought in the open air that he grabbed from the sky and handed to him, but it was actually a thought-provoking inquiry, because no, Jungwon thought, no, the answer is no. He’d never seen himself, or even tried to see himself, as a potential object of affection before Jongseong came around and proved that it may be worth questioning. And it’s not like he was completely oblivious or lacked any self-confidence at all, because he was starting to genuinely believe in himself and in his ability to pull a guy like Jongseong who, by all means, was hot, and not to mention kind and smart and blah blah he’d already been over this.

“You know beating yourself down isn’t gonna get you anywhere. I know this sounds cheesy, but, like, believe in yourself a little more?” Riki added, an upward inflection toward the end indicating a slight optimism in his tone.

And Jungwon remembered his conversation from earlier, remembering him saying how spectacular he was, a parade of compliments that hit closer to home than he’d expected, a flurry of affirmations that sounded less like they were from a self-help book and more like they came from someone who you’d spent a few months with that had learned you, how you function and carried yourself, how you laughed, how you smiled and talked, the way you crossed your x’s and t’s.

It was scary, not only knowing that other people saw him, but that they cared about him. It almost made him shiver.

Jungwon took Riki’s hands in his and he didn’t really have the words to explain to him what he felt or how to respond to what he said, hoping his eyes conveyed most of it, a fraction of it even, and continued, in a lower tone, “let’s go home.”

And Riki seemed to find what he was looking for, a small smile on his face as both of them seamlessly reintegrated themselves with the dwindling crowd of students now walking at a more leisurely pace. They walked in silence, for the most part, neither of them really wanting to disturb the peace, until a girl a few steps ahead of them yelled out:

“Oh my God, guys hurry, something’s happening in the lobby!”

And her and her little posse picked up speed, dashing around a corner and down a flight of stairs and both Jungwon and Riki noticed as they neared the corner there was what had to have been half the student body all in one area. They looked at each other, wary, something slimy forming in Jungwon’s gut, and they walk-ran around the corner and down the stairs and pushed past the crowd of students that had glued themselves together in awe and fascination and their phones were all out with the flash on and the amount of people taking pictures on their Camera app with their ringtones on was absolutely ridiculous.

Jungwon was holding Riki’s arm—no, gripping it for dear life—as he neared the front of the crowd and saw exactly who he didn’t want to see: Park Jongseong. His mind was racing at this point; he was a smart guy, but things weren’t clicking for him. There was a lot of information inputting into his brain that he couldn’t calculate all at once: the fuschia pink poster he held in front of him, the multitude of rose petals on the floor, the circle of students gawking at him standing in the center.

And the girl he was facing, her hands clasped around her mouth in pure elation, on her tippy toes, frame almost shaking and bubbling and bursting with delight and excitement and thrill because.

Because Jongseong was promposing to her, in front of the entire student body, in front of their cameras and on their Snapchat stories and he would bet one of his kidneys that somebody was probably live on Instagram right now and all eyes were on him, them, the couple that would undoubtedly be the talk of the school for the next few weeks because of course it would be them and not him.

Not us.

Never us.

But his brain still wasn’t fully convinced, because all he could do was see; he couldn’t hear the words leaving his mouth, Ahn Yujin, will you go to prom with me, no, he didn’t hear that, or, maybe, he had blocked it out, or maybe it was too loud, or maybe his brain hadn’t processed it, or maybe his body didn’t want to let him hear it because his heart would instantly shatter at the words and he’d collapse onto the floor of the Chambers High School lobby and he’d be recorded as the first student to die on campus from heartbreak.

He couldn’t feel anything either, not the ungodly strength with which he had seized Riki’s left arm that then loosened, nor his friend’s hands catching him by the shoulders when he fell backward, eyes still fixated on the scene before him, eyes given up on darting around looking for clues or a hidden camera or for reality to shift a bit as a tell that he was dreaming because he had entirely zoned out, clocked out of the situation, powered everything off because the only other alternative when every facet of his being was working overtime was to shut it down because it started smoking and exploded.

He thought he saw Jongseong look over at him. Maybe he imagined that. 

He was used to it now. Well, he had to be. He should’ve been.

His mind had went so many places every since that afternoon—flitting from one thought to the next and racing a million miles a minute, as he was used to it doing—and all it could come up with is conclusions that only further plunged him into a whirlpool of doubt and hatred. Because how dare Jongseong do this to him, lead him on and on, toting him around like a doll until deciding to cut the strings right on his birthday; but also, how dare Jungwon himself actually take him seriously, how could he allow himself to interpret Jongseong’s acts as romantic advances. In what world would that realistically happen, outside of teen movies?

He thought himself so naive, so stupid for letting himself be caught up in Jongseong’s mist. And the worst part, as he saw it, was watching everybody else laugh at him. He remembered the way the others looked at him in the hallway, Sunghoon and Jiyoon, gawking at the pair like they were an anomaly. He wondered, for a bit, if they had known of Jongseong’s intentions, if they had known that it was all a ruse and an empty-handed gesture, just letting the nerdy boy down easy.

He sighed into his pillow, the lyrics guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor flowing out of his speaker and soaking into his being for maybe the 45th time this weekend. Trying to break free from the negative thought pattern was difficult, even if he knew it wouldn’t serve him. Being such a downer, being caught up in his own feelings and being reclusive, staying in his own little world apart from everybody else, it was a bad habit of his that he needed to shake. But he just couldn’t.

Then, there was a knock at his bedroom door.

“No, I’m not hungry,” Jungwon called out preemptively.

He heard what sounded like a huff behind the door. “Jungwon, it’s me.”

The sound of his best friend’s voice caught him off-guard.

“Wha…” his voice trailed off in disbelief.

“Well can you open the door?”

He hesitated for a second, looking around at his depression den: empty Caprisuns and water bottles all over the floor, his desk looking like a bomb was set off on top of it with unfinished worksheets and notebook paper strewn about, the scent of sweat and self-hatred clinging to his sheets like death. It was definitely a scene, and not one that he wanted the boy behind the door to walk into, not at all.

But he also wasn’t a shitty friend, and never wanted to be, so he stood and made his way to the door, opening it cautiously.

Before a quick look-around to make sure his parents weren’t waiting to tackle him, he looked up at Riki with a questioning glare. “Why are you in my house?”

He pushed past him. “Your parents adore me,” he quickly did a 360 and sat himself at the foot of Jungwon’s bed, “also, they literally have not seen you outside of your room in days and they called me for backup.”

Jungwon closed the door and locked it again, slumping against it. “I knew they put you up to this.”

“Dude.” Riki took some time to look around, surveying the mess surrounding him. He’d frequented Jungwon’s place, as one would expect, and he was used to his best friend’s almost alarming obsession with neatness and pervasive attention to detail; he needed all of his books color-coded on the shelf, as well as all of his Girls’ Generation albums sorted chronologically, and the room needed to be mess-free or else he’d be sent into an anxiety-ridden whirlwind of pick that back up or get a coaster for that drink.

“Don’t even say it I know—”

“—dude I know you’re sad but, the Olivia Rodrigo? On the bluetooth speaker?” Riki tapped a small button on top of the speaker to halt the music, and Jungwon slumped further down his bedroom door until his ass hit the carpet, realizing just how comically angsty he was being. He knew he was being maybe a little melodramatic, but he couldn’t believe he didn’t catch himself falling into the stereotype of the lovesick teenager.

He looked at Riki, acquiescent. “I was heartbroken, okay?” He sighed, feeling a lump emerge from deep inside himself and disappear into the air like smoke, five pounds of weight flying free from his chest. “I was more than sad when I saw that, I just—don’t know.” He frowned, trying to piece together and articulate what exactly it was he was feeling.

The thing is, Jungwon may be stupid but he isn’t an idiot. He knew that it was the proper thing to talk out your feelings instead of bottling them up or trying not to express them because it wasn’t healthy, however, as an Aquarius with a Virgo moon, that’s not just something you do. It doesn’t come easy to express emotion, it’s easier to just, not.

Riki was silent, surprisingly. Jungwon was ready for another scolding, another comment about his choice in listening to sad music when he was already sad, but he was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke up.

“In middle school, I went to this, like, audition thing with the rest of my dance company. It was to become a backup dancer for a new rookie group that was about to launch. I get there and I start talking to this boy—couldn’t have been much older than me—really nice and funny and, I don’t know, we just had a thing going on, to me at least. His name was Sunoo.”

Jungwon made an inquisitive throat noise. “Wait, why have you never told me about this?”

“This was before we became friends, I never really had a reason to bring it up.” Jungwon made a small noise of understanding. “Anyway, he wasn’t there to audition apparently, because I went in, everybody else did too, and he just kinda stood there in the waiting room. Seemed really adamant about quizzing me on stuff like where I go to school, where I’m from, then when I was about to leave he asked for my number.”

“Ooo…”

“Shush!” Riki raised a finger to his mouth, a smile playing on his lips. “We started texting and became, like, penpals sorta. It was pretty much daily that we’d have at least a short conversation, but he was always busy so it was just that, early in the morning or late at night. I thought it was kinda weird, but it was whatever…”

Jungwon felt a lull in the story, so he spoke up, “and then what happened?”

Riki was swinging his feet. “And then he ghosted me. Completely cut me off. Stopped talking to me. It was...odd. But I moved past it, hadn’t seen him in the flesh ever since that first encounter so I wasn’t that caught up in it. Never heard from him again.” He let out a sigh, as if getting ready to drop a bomb. “Two years later, BeLift debuts their newest group, Enhypen.”

Jungwon knits his brows together, Riki meeting his eyes, placid.

“Wait, you don’t mean, like,” he says, stilted, “Kim Sunoo? The Kim Sunoo of Enhypen?” Riki nods wordlessly. “Holy shit, you almost bagged an idol!”

“Shut up,” Riki threw a pillow that Jungwon caught without disrupting the shock on his face, mouth agape.

“Wow, no I’m surprised, like there’s no way a guy like that could’ve ever been attracted to you—”

“Go to hell.” Riki rather forcefully flops himself backwards onto Jungwon’s bed, the impact of which sends a few of his pillows jolting upward. Jungwon joins him on the bed now, still laughing.

“So what was the point of that oh so harrowing tale of Riki’s lost love?” Jungwon inquired, smile still so big his dimples were front and center. “To join me in my pity party? To tell me that even a God like Nishimura Riki can bleed?”

“The point was,” Riki turns over so that he’s matching Jungwon’s pose: belly to the bed, propping his head up on his arms. “To get you to stop moping and come to school tomorrow.”

Jungwon waved his head side to side in consideration, tapping his finger to his chin dramatically. “I’ll think about it.”

“Oh come on, that was on Thursday and you didn’t come to school Friday, and you’ve just been MIA all weekend.” Riki pushed. “Look around. Do you want to lock yourself up in here—in this prison cell —until the end of time?”

“Better than returning to the human world where I have to interact with people again, people who know that I’m a loser.”

“You’re not a loser, Jungwon—”

“Yes I am.” Jungwon looked him square in the face. “If I have to go back to school and be cordial with people who know I just got hardcore rejected in the most painful way possible I just…”

Riki watched Jungwon’s expression turn to a kind of sorrow, a hidden layer beneath his skin that he’d never seen before. Whenever he’d get upset he was used to a pout or a roll of the eyes but his smile was never traded out for something less cheery, less Jungwon.

“If I have to go there and I’m at my locker and Jongseong walks in with his stupid fucking...his stupid fucking smug face with his new girlfriend and his stupid fucking friends…” Jungwon plants his face firmly in his pillow.

Riki rubs his back gently. “I know. He’s really shitty for that, he is,” he reassured, “but you also have to show him that he can’t ruin your life like this.”

A snort. “He’s not ruining my life.”

“Oh really?” Riki questions. “Then what are you doing now? What were you doing when you decided to skip on Friday for the first time, missing a day for the first time since freshman year?”

He knew he got the upper hand when Jungwon stiffened beneath his fingertips. He’d always prided himself on his grades, his attendance and punctuality, his dedication to his academics and his commitment to things, just anything in general: starting what he finishes, sticking to schedules and rules and traditions.

“You’re gonna let some boy control your life like this?” Niki expounded further, “you should let him know that you don’t give a fuck and you can move on.”

Jungwon lifted his head for what felt like the first time in a while, hair tousled and face dejected. “But what if I do give a fuck?”

Riki gave a small smile. “This is the perfect time to reinvent yourself.”

At this, Jungwon shot him a look of skepticism, of revulsion almost. “What do you mean?”

Riki hopped off the bed, striding directly to his closet and flinging the doors open. In classic Nishimura Riki fashion, he goes rifling through it without permission, grabbing several pieces of clothing from the hook and tossing them onto the floor.

“Hey, don’t do that! They’ll get wrinkles!” Riki gave him a look of apathy and returned to his doings, which presented as trashing Jungwon’s closet for no reason and making his room even more of a mess. Jungwon groaned, getting off the bed to collect his clothes and rearrange them into their temporary home of his bed, smoothing them out. “ What are you doing?”

“Doing you a favor,” Riki said off-handedly, flinching as he ogled a specific cardigan of his, “oh, this is very...um...it’s very old man couture, I guess,” he bit his lip in consideration, turning to Jungwon. “You get this from your grandpa?”

Jungwon shot him a look of exasperation. “No. It’s very comfortable and soft.”

Riki grimaced. “We’re getting rid of it.”

“No,” Jungwon stated, his voice attempting to relay assertion. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Oh I’m well aware,” Riki said as he tossed it onto the floor where it was quickly swiped by Jungwon, “but it doesn’t fit your new image.”

“What new image?” Jungwon huffed out, exhausted, as he collapsed onto his own bed, giving up on retrieving his clothes from the floor and allowing his friend to continue as he wished.

Riki briefly stopped and turned. “We’re going shopping. Come on.”

“No thank you,” Jungwon said, rolling over and reaching for his blanket. Riki was quick though, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of his own bedroom and down the stairs. “Oh my God , Riki let go of me,” he complained, but his feet were compliant, following Riki’s steps and letting himself be led.

“Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Yang!” Riki yelled as the pair opened the front door leading onto the front porch. At this, the couple enjoying tea in the living room snapped to the source of the voice. His mother jolted upright and sprinted to the window, getting a clear view of her son being lugged across the lawn toward a Toyota Corolla like a sack of potatoes.

“Oh! Honey, he’s going outside!”

“Oh, that’s great dear.”

The party was...

Well.

It was exactly what he’d expected a Chambers High School party would be like.

Despite knowing Jiyoon was rich and living in the nicest neighborhood around, and despite knowing that the parties of the elite at school were always explosive and ostentatious, he didn’t expect all this. The house was almost a mansion, hallways winding into even more hallways, everything made from marble and furniture a sterile white, decor minimal and expensive-looking, dripping in things that shined not too much and not too little.

It was almost pristine and perfectly kempt, and he imagined that’s what it looked like most of the time, but now it was quite evident that a group of teenagers had gotten their hands on it: red Solo cups decorating the floor like confetti, punch bowls full of a mysterious red substance populating every countertop and every dining table in every room he walked into, the giant pool in the back sprawling with people both in and around it.

The nerdy part of him found it fascinating, just human behavior in general; the way teenagers loved chaos, craved it, especially when it involved alcohol and whatever else they wanted to indulge in. The notion that life, or just high school in general, was so hard, so insufferable, that purging all of those negative feelings on a night of dancing and debauchery and drunken hookups was necessary. Although he couldn’t lie to himself, he found it exciting. He wanted to be one of those people, he wanted to be the blonde girl he watched climb out of the pool in this very moment: the action of flipping her hair and strutting clearly deliberate, eyeing a few guys as she walked past and made it to what he presumed to be her friend group.

He wanted it. He really did. All he did all the time was stay in his own head and think, think about everything, but he wanted to be a dumb teenager who was too drunk to think.

And so when he made it to the punch bowl, hand-in-hand with Riki as if for protection, he scooped an amount that was a little obscene into his cup and downed half of it in one go.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Riki was busy tucking his shirt in but paused to watch as Jungwon finished gulping and met his eyes, pleading, mouth twisted into a grimace.

“Chaser, please,” he rasped out, both voice and body suggesting that he was either on his death bed or about to hurl.

Riki nodded dutifully, eyes scanning the countertop for anything he could use, before reaching over to grab a lemon slice that was sitting next to someone’s cup, probably already used but he didn’t really care, passing it to his friend in need. Jungwon took it and immediately shoved it into his mouth, the slice of lemon placating him.

“Okay, I know I told you to like, live a little, but that means drinking responsibly,” Riki cautioned, “like, get wasted, sure, but it’s barely ten.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Roger, captain.”

“Also, let’s go somewhere else.”

Jungwon paused. “So we can stand awkwardly next to the fridge instead of the punch bowl?”

Riki jabbed him in the gut. “Shut up.”

Riki started the trek and Jungwon followed behind, tugging on the back of Riki’s shirt as a guide just in case the people around them decided to get a little too rowdy and split them apart somehow. As they waded past the other kids, talking in their own circles or dancing half heartedly or holding drinking competitions, he couldn’t ignore the stares he got. At school, sometimes he got stares because people knew he had started talking to Jongseong, and that was basically a never before seen phenomenon, for a random kid, a nerd, like Jungwon, to suddenly spark a relationship, or friendship, or whatever it was, with one of the popular kids, the trio of kings, as some called them. But these stares were of insult, almost like they were affronted by the fact that he was here, that he was invited to a party at Jiyoon’s house, someplace where members of Chess club weren’t allowed to set foot in.

But he didn’t care—or, at least, he tried to convince himself he didn’t care—as he pushed past them without apology. He didn’t look too out of place at least, Riki dressing him up like a straight up eboy. He had him a jet black Champion sweatshirt tucked into a pair of gray slacks they got from their mall trip as well as a plethora of accessories that he wasn’t sure were all necessary: a chain in his belt loop, another chain around his neck, a few rings on his fingers. It was all a little garish in his opinion. He wanted to edit it a little, take the rings off at least, but Riki disallowed it.

They dashed outside and onto the backyard, evading a few couples making out in the hallway as they went, settling for a little balustrade that overlooked the pool where a few others congregated, smoking or just hanging out.

“Seems chill enough here,”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agreed impassively, eyes distracted by something over at the pool. Riki followed his gaze to see a guy rising out of the pool with all the grace of a swan, shirtless and shorts soaked so that they were sticking to his thighs.

“You’re so fucking gay,” Riki erupted into laughter, earning him a beatdown of half hearted slaps by Jungwon.

“He’s hot, okay? Forgive me for ogling a little.” Jungwon said in a huff, unapologetically returning to watching the boy as he started yelling at a group of people a few feet away from him, all with a smile on his face that relayed enthusiasm and mischief.

“That’s Lee Heeseung,” Riki informed, “and yes, he’s hot. He works under his dad at the mechanic place on main street.”

Jungwon breathed through his nose emphatically. “Oh, a mechanic?” He said, raising his eyebrows at Riki suggestively.

“And you would know that if you knew how to drive and had a car, like I do,” Riki said, proud.

Jungwon furrowed his brows in awe. “So what? You’ve been there a few times because you run into curbs every other day and fuck up your tires?”

Riki scoffed. “You’re such a brat.”

“No, you’re the brat, actually,” Jungwon retorted. “You’re the one taking advantage of my invite to tag along to a party.”

Riki hummed, turning away. “I will not confirm nor deny that statement.” He turned back around. “But this is good for both of us, I assure you.”

“Uh huh,” Jungwon moved closer, eyes narrowing. “And why is that?”

“Because,” he began, “you get Jongseong and I get absolutely wasted.”

Jungwon groaned, turning away to bump his head into the wall.

“It’s foolproof!”

“I don’t want him, Riki,” he asserted, turning back to him. “He who shall not be named can go to Hell for all I care.”

Riki didn’t respond immediately, only eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and caution, as if saying the wrong thing could set him off, as if he was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. “Well, whatever.” He turned back toward the pool.

“I’m serious.” Jungwon said with finality, turning to mimic Riki’s position, facing the pool as they both took another sip from their cups and watched the conglomerate of people get even rowdier as the music got turned up louder, Kiss Me More playing loud and clear. It was a song Jungwon loved, but instead of singing along, he got caught up in how much he wanted to be those people in the pool, being carefree and drunk and just living, probably not giving a fuck about the people watching them. Unfortunately, he gave a fuck. He gave fucks. He gave way too many fucks for his own good.

“Holy shit, Nishimura?” He heard a voice emerge from behind him, but because it wasn’t directed at him, he hesitated a bit before turning. “I didn’t expect you to be here!”

Riki perked up, distracted from whatever or whoever he was staring at in the pool, and turned as well, eyes lighting up at the sight. “Junghwan, hi!”

The boy turned to Jungwon, noticing him all of a sudden as he bounded up to the pair, planting his feet and coming to a stop. “Oh hey Jungwon! Didn’t expect you here, wow.”

And Jungwon didn’t know whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. Actually, it was neither, it was a straight up fact, and he knew that the majority of people at this party didn’t expect him to be here, especially when word got around that he rejected going to Sunghoon’s party last semester, electing instead to marathon the Harry Potter movies with Riki.

Junghwan was tall, although not monstrously tall like Riki, it hurt Jungwon’s pride a little bit to be the shortest guy in the conversation. It was a common occurrence, but still. He also had that look in his eyes, something sparkling with a childish kind of excitement that would never be extinguished that complimented his handsome face, youthful but sculpted beautifully.

“Yo I’m so sorry that I never got the chance to talk to you about the collaborative essay in History, my schedule has been so busy,” Junghwan scratched the back of his head bashfully, a maneuver that Jungwon seamlessly connected and relayed back to Jongseong’s own quirks, and he immediately wanted to barrel his skull into the nearest wall because why was he the first person he thought of?

Actually, he didn’t want himself to answer that. He already knew the answer. It was clawing at him, neglected, a truth that he pushed further and further down and kept hidden so it wouldn’t resurface ever again. Except it’s grown fins and gills now, swimming up to the surface and poking its head out. He grimaced.

“No problem, I have dance and you—oh you have that karate thing, right?”

Junghwan seemed to light up at this, even more, if that was even possible. He was almost a walking ball of sunshine. “Yeah we had a tournament last weekend actually!”

“Oh, really? How’d that go?”

Jungwon’s attention switched back and forth between Riki and Junghwan, watching the two talk like it was a tennis relay; Riki’s expression easing more and more into something comfortable, something invested, something enamored, something that tipped Jungwon off and gave him a certain impression that made him crack a grin. They were conversing as if he wasn’t even there, but completely unintentionally, knowing both probably didn’t harbor a bone in their body that was ill-willed.

Reluctantly, he poked Riki’s elbow.

“Hey, text me.” Jungwon tapped the phone that was currently in his pocket and Riki seemed to get the memo, a small but gracious nod as he launched into conversation with Junghwan yet again, as if the distraction didn’t even happen, undeterred.

Jungwon started walking away, leaving his best friend behind with a greater ease than he had expected from himself. He clung to Riki like he were his life vest, one of those little circular pool things that keep you afloat while he was flung into the sea that was his first house party, but maybe he felt okay now. Maybe he felt a little free now, the opinions of other people creating less of an itch—it was either the alcohol or genuine personal growth, probably a mixture of both—but he waded back through the same people he had to push past a few minutes earlier and he felt fine, completely fine.

He downed the rest of the punch in his Solo cup, going down much easier this time as he was already a little tipsy, and poured himself another, a little too much actually, the juice almost licking the rim of the cup. He frowned at it, watching his wavy reflection, and took a few sips so the amount went down a bit, so it wasn’t in the danger zone of splashing out and onto someone’s outfit at the slightest jostle.

Now, his brain was a little clouded as far as judgment goes, a few barriers that gated him from behavior a little rowdy, a little outside himself, were broken down and he started to act more on impulse than thought, one of his previous wishes being answered. All he could think about right now was how there were absolutely no snacks lying about, a disgrace, and how hungry he was, how he could really eat anything right now. 

He strode confidently to the pantry, or one of them, absolutely beside himself with craving, swinging it open only to be met with an assortment of herbs and spices packed into those really aesthetic glass containers, neatly arranged in rows alphabetically. It was a marvel in kitchen organization, and sober Jungwon would’ve been not only pleased but ecstatic at this, but drunk Jungwon was unimpressed. Drunk Jungwon was hungry and wanted to see a bag of chips, not marjoram. He huffed, closing the door in defeat, but a figure revealing itself from behind the door made him jump.

“Sorry! Oh, jeez, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He spoke coolly and almost robotically, stilted, as if he learned conversation from a textbook dated fifty years ago. He looked up and almost froze when he realized who he was.

“P-Park Sunghoon?” It was difficult even digging the words from his throat and out of his lips, like his body wouldn’t allow him to even say it, he was in far too much shock. Even though he was close to Jongseong—no, had been close—he never expected Sunghoon to go out of his way to talk to him. It was a welcome surprise, but still odd.

“What were you looking for?”

Despite being completely aware that his brain was being plunged further and further into a drunken state, the half-cup of alcoholic concoction he downed only moments earlier just now entering his bloodstream, he tried to choose his words with tact and consideration.

But, there was no fault in being honest here.

“Chips,” he said, “a bag of chips because I’m starving,” he bemoaned, hand gripping the door to the pantry like if he looked inside again he might find some Doritos.

Sunghoon breathed out an empathetic laugh. “The party snacks are set up in the other living room.”

Jungwon’s mouth gaped open. “The other living room?”

And he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help his overreactions: gawking at the fact that the house had multiple living rooms, gawking at how cold Sunghoon’s hands were as he led him to the food—”do you submerge your hands in ice or something?” “no I’m just naturally like this” —and gawking at the fact that there were fucking finger sandwiches when they finally arrived.

“No way,” Jungwon said, his visage aghast, “no way there’s these little things,” he held one precariously within his index finger and thumb, squishing it and squeezing it as if trying to confirm whether it was real or not, checking to see if it would stretch or if it was fake, his brain unable to process a simple thing like that.

Sunghoon was leaning over the counter, watching him with amusement.

Jungwon didn’t notice this—probably because he was sufficiently drunk at this point—but he didn’t recall bumping into anyone or having to push past anybody in the hallways as they made their way here, and he didn’t catch the fact that the people loitering around the snack bar before they arrived quickly cleared out, some more naturally exiting the scene than others. It was like the world bent to Sunghoon’s will, and it was partially because it did, he wordlessly exerted some great force, like gravity, wherever he went, pulling people in and pushing people out whenever and however he wanted.

But Jungwon surged on, blinded by his desire to stuff himself silly, and so he went to town; grabbing finger sandwiches off the platters, plucking the cubed fruit off the dainty little skewers one by one and gobbling them up, indulging in the chocolate covered strawberries, trying each and every flavor of biscuit because he didn’t even know they made biscuits like this and—

“—wow these are delicious,” he exclaimed in delight, still chewing.

The other living room was just as spacious as the first, the pure white furniture and placement of the decor situated just right, making it look like a carbon copy. There was even music playing on the speaker still at the same volume, but this room was empty, devoid of people, which made it a little eerie, a little unnatural for only two inhabitants, Levitating playing at full blast.

Jungwon fell back onto the couch, white leather, he discovered. The solo cup within his clutches, now emptied, his second of the night within an hour, tumbled onto the floor.

“I ate too much,” he groaned.

Sunghoon let out an awkward laugh, joining him on the couch, hands neatly placed on his lap like a businessman.

“It’s okay, it’s a party, go wild.” Except his tone and his actions betrayed his words. The only wild Sunghoon was getting up to, as it appeared to Jungwon at least, was accompanying the resident nerd, the uninvited yet somehow invited guest, to the snack bar. He wasn’t an expert on alcohol, but it didn’t seem he was drunk at all, not even buzzed; if he were, in this moment he wouldn’t be so rigid, a living, breathing, walking mimicry of the ice prince persona that he portrayed when he observed him strutting around school like he was the president, like nobody should touch or even try to speak to him.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, rather performatively in fact, with his clenched fist moving up in front of his lips and everything. “Your outfit is rather...striking…” he spared a glance at Jungwon’s form, splayed out and taking up about three quarters of the couch with Sunghoon occupying the remaining portion, “I didn’t know you dressed like this.”

Jungwon raised his head from the pillow he was laying down on, an arduous task, ogling Sunghoon without subtlety. “Are you saying you watch me?”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened and he stiffened as if he just got struck by lightning. “N-no, I don’t mean…” he stuttered, fumbling, “I, uh…”

Jungwon lifted himself off the couch, sitting upright, inching closer to Sunghoon to study him. “Do you like it?”

This seemed to bring Sunghoon out of his small panic, face flushed, looking at the younger cautiously, proceeding words testing the waters. “Yes,” he spoke with a hush, “yes, I do.”

Jungwon entertained the idea that Sunghoon was into him, like, into him. He played around with the idea in his head, him inching closer and closer and Sunghoon’s face only growing more and more red, he was fully cognizant of the effect that he had on him but it was almost like he didn’t want to believe it, or he was faking it, or this was all a setup for a prank, he didn’t know. But he felt like he was on fire, his skin prickling with exhilaration just because who would’ve thought he’d end up in this situation, making a move on the Park Sunghoon?

He pushed a little more.

“Do you think I’m hot?”

The space between them was dwindling into mere centimeters, in the single digits, and he was in range to feel his breath, hot, a stark contrast to the rest of his body, and tingling with want, with need, something he didn’t expect.

Sunghoon didn’t speak up, not bothering to answer the question, because his eyes became despondent as they zeroed in on Jungwon’s lips hovering closer and closer, until he’d had enough, surging forward and closing the distance at once, their lips smashing together, two opposite forces colliding.

Jungwon pressed forward languidly, carefully, lips trying to find purchase in Sunghoon’s like a rock climber scaling a wall, navigating this new and unfounded territory with a timidity that scrambled and shook and was only even more sedated by the alcohol flowing through him. He wanted it, he thought, but he had no answer as to why exactly, conflicted at the fact that he closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel it, feel all of it so intimately: feel how surprisingly soft Sunghoon’s lips were, feel him breathing into his mouth, so alive, so human-like . 

They broke off from each other, freezing in their positions, having no idea what to do, where to go from here. They stared at each other, Jungwon’s eyes hesitant and waiting, Sunghoon’s sparkling with something predatory and triumphant, smug almost. He licked his lips, Jungwon retreated backward.

If he were in a normal state of mind, this would’ve been surefire sign to stay away, keep his distance, flee the scene, any and every survival instinct kicking in and willing him to escape because this was bad for him, bad bad bad, but he stayed, lingering, keeping himself anchored on the couch, either because he was too drunk and his body felt too heavy to lug himself anywhere, or because, if he was really out of it, he wanted to see what Sunghoon would do, if they would go any further.

“You never answered me,” he didn’t know why he spoke up first, “do you think I’m hot?” 

He couldn’t believe himself.

It was a little white lie, a lie that flowed out of him a little too easily that he almost believed it himself, his brain a little too inebriated to prevent his throat from vocalizing something, anything, because the more that Sunghoon remained on the other edge of the couch, a sneer glued to his face that reeked of hunger, he thought he’d puke.

He wholeheartedly believed a spirit possessed his body and said those words because he, Jungwon, was not hot, and he didn’t think he was hot, nobody did, but he permitted himself to do a little cosplay of a hot guy for the night, and he allowed himself to live the fantasy. Sunghoon, however, was hot, and he knew he was hot, everybody did, and he didn’t live a fantasy, being hot was his reality, and Jungwon envied that, was attracted to it even.

Sunghoon laughed his stilted little robotic laugh again, a small series of ha ha ha’s that unnerved him more and more every time he heard it. His hands returned to his lap again.

“You’re more feisty than I thought.”

Jungwon cringed.

“Feisty?” He questioned. Sunghoon perked up, eyes full of innocence, unaware that he said anything off.

“Yeah, a little,” he said, “I thought you were, um, tamer, I guess? Quieter. Not as slutty.” He breathed out in a low voice.

At the word slutty, Jungwon’s heart dropped.

He opened his mouth to speak but he didn’t even know what to say to that really.

“I-I’m not…” was all he could manage.

Sunghoon barked out a laugh, dark and sinister, and he wondered if he sounded like this all the time, if he sounded like this with Jongseong and Jake, if, maybe, they all did. “I give you a little bit of attention, I talk to you for a few minutes, and suddenly you’re all over me.” He stretched himself out, groaning, as if he’d just performed a great feat and needed to unwind afterwards.

Jungwon was at a loss. He didn’t want to speak, so he didn’t, pulling his knees to his chest and curling up into a ball.

His quiet demeanor, it wasn’t exactly an inaccurate assumption to make based off of how he acted at school—keeping to himself, walking around clutching books to his chest perfectly portraying his attitude of wanting to be undisturbed, wanting to not say a word—but did it really take only one kiss to blow that assumption out of the water? One alcohol-fueled touch-deprived heartbroken-powered kiss where he’s on the couch at a party at Jiyoon’s place and there’s a very handsome man right in front of him and every light in his head is green saying to go and there are people doing back handsprings into the pool which is much more risque than his own actions, and suddenly he’s feisty Jungwon? Slutty Jungwon?

Picking up on the silence, Sunghoon stirred.

“So,”

Something flashed across his eyes and a switch seemed to flip, turning to angle himself toward Jungwon.

“Do you, uh,” he faltered, eyes cast away in concentration, carefully evaluating his words, then returning, “I have some Adderall upstairs, if you want to do a line.”

Half of Jungwon’s face was submerged in his own sweatshirt, “no thank you, I’m fine.”

Sunghoon cleared his throat, cocking his head to the side, a twisted grimace, as if he wasn’t used to being told no and his patience was thinning. He closed the distance between them, taking Jungwon’s hand.

“I don’t think you understand, we should go upstairs.”

Jungwon felt his entire body heat up. “No thank you,” he repeated.

Sunghoon’s face grew red. “I insist—”

“Sunghoon!”

Jungwon thanked God, the universe, whatever higher power, for the sudden interjection, because Sunghoon’s grip on his hand was tightening and his body was feeling more and more heavy and his throat was getting scratchy and his eyes were getting blurry because he knew he was about to start crying and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t handle it, feeling like the room around him was about to crumble, like the world was abandoning him. But the universe sent someone to save him and he just wanted to kiss whoever had ran in and decided to—

Oh, it was Jongseong.

Sunghoon whipped around, scandalized and a little upset.

“What?”

“It’s Jake, he’s,” Jongseong ran up to the couch, clutching the armrest and heaving like he just ran a mile, “you know how he gets, right? He’s yelling, throwing shit, just causing a scene and I can’t get him to shut up, he only listens to you.” He said, eyes apologetic and tone tinged with a friendly kind of warmth, a familiarity that beckoned Sunghoon to sigh and leave Jungwon behind on the couch as if he wasn’t up to something nefarious and tapped his best friend on the shoulder as he passed him.

“I’ll deal with him,” he assured, sounding like a superhero all of a sudden, or more like trying to be one, as he disappeared down a corridor.

And now it was just the two, and if Jungwon wasn’t feeling himself get more and more drunk, where every time he turned his head the world seemed to lag and had to catch up with him, where he didn’t even have full control of his body and just splayed himself out like a starfish at the end of the couch like he was a marionette who just got his strings cut, then he would be feeling very strong emotions right now.

A part of him wanted to speak up, to divulge everything that his own best friend had been up to, how he was literally in danger and if he didn’t run in, whether it was a ploy or not, then his life might’ve been over that night. But he didn’t, because the man in front of him wasn’t the same one he’d gotten used to talking to everything about, spilling his heart to; about his shortcomings, about his secrets, about the things he felt; it was all futile, everything he’d poured into whatever they’d had was flushed down the drain and he was left with nothing but an empty shell of a boy who’d turned his back on him.

He walked over, crouching to be eye-level with Jungwon.

“Can I take you home?”

Jungwon’s first reaction to seeing Jongseong’s face settle right in front of his was rage, he felt angry, he felt upset, the first thing his brain jumped to is why are you such a fucking dick? and despite a small part of his brain advocating for the opposite, the other opinion, the one that reasoned that maybe he did have his best interests at heart, he didn’t care, it was the first time they’d interacted since that awful day, his birthday, where they talked like they always had for the main part of the day and at the end he gave all of his love to somebody else like a traitor, just like Olivia Rodrigo said.

He was so insolent asking something like that of him, so fucking cocky, can I take you home? Jongseong was an idiot, and a loser, and he couldn’t even imagine how insensitive it was of him to even come up to him like this and talk to him. And his face, his stupid fucking face, he had to have been so smug, thinking he’d ride in like a knight on a white horse and he’d be the obedient, cute, loving Jungwon he had been for months now, so presumptuous. 

He was blinded by his fury, and impulsively, in one fell motion, he reached over and smacked him across the face. His breath hitched in his throat when he realized what he did but he didn’t falter, at least he didn’t think he did.

Jongseong reeled from the impact, head facing toward the large, wall-length windows, giving Jungwon a view of his side profile. He closed his eyes and took a breath inward, head frozen in place before he gradually turned to him again, each movement slow and deliberate, calculated, patient, like he always was.

“I know you’re upset with me, and you have every right to be,” Jay started, words falling into line perfectly, like they were meticulously picked out of a basket, sequenced together with thought and clarity, “but you’re way too drunk to be here right now and to be talking to Sunghoon and I just want to get you home.”

Jungwon was so angry. He was so so fucking angry because of the fact that everything Jay was saying was correct and most of all so thoughtful and considerate; he validated him in his frustration, he confronted him with the hard truth that yes he was too drunk to be in a place he was not only unfamiliar with but uncomfortable being in, and no he probably shouldn’t have been talking to Sunghoon because based off the information he’s gathered so far he’s kind of a fucking psycho and a menace to even be around.

Jungwon turned away from him, now facing the back of the couch. He heard a sigh, exasperated and troubled, as if he’d just finished dealing with a gaggle of children all day and had another petulant one on his hands. He heard him stand, but he didn’t hear any footsteps, and he was trying to figure out whether Jongseong was leering at him from above, or maybe he was just doing something on his phone.

Then, he felt a gentle but resolute tug as a hand found its way into his and pulled him to a seating position, and he wondered if this was his new thing, having other people physically coax him into action because he wouldn’t himself, neither verbally nor physically this time, and allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and onto his own two feet.

“There you go,” 

And oh my fucking God if Jongseong’s voice wasn’t deep and raspy and made him feel so good and so special, and he almost wanted to throw out everything he’d said about him earlier just to hear him praise him again.

“Can you walk?” He looked at him, and the amount of care behind both his eyes and his words made him want to hurl.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” he replied with a little bit of snark, maybe more than Jongseong deserved but he didn’t care, he’d delude himself into believing the man deserved every bit of snark and every bad thing in the world to happen to him still.

Without pressing any further, Jongseong acquiesced and they made their way toward the front door cautiously, hand in hand, although it looked more like Jungwon was being strung along like an unruly child by a parent through a mall, and he didn’t find himself caring at the looks he got— they got, because of course they weren’t only evaluating him but why him, why with Jongseong—as he was being manhandled through the crowds like a ragdoll, he didn’t care if he looked drunk out of his mind, he didn’t care if even though the rest of his body was limp his right hand was grasping onto Jongseong with the strength of everything, like he was his lifeline, like he wanted to feel every wrinkle in his skin, like he never wanted to let go.

He didn’t care about any of it. He didn’t care about anyone. No one existed right now besides the two of them.

It felt like another world when they exited the bright lights and booming music of the party and the pure whites that surrounded them in the house and stepped into the inky blackness of midnight, bounding across the grass into the unknown, following Jongseong blindly. He was both amazed and unsurprised that he put this much faith in him, because he could’ve been leading him toward anything, anything at all, even to something bad, some things which he didn’t even want to think about, he could’ve been leading him back to Sunghoon, but he trusted him. Again.

They got to Jongseong’s pick up truck, red and shiny and astoundingly nice smelling, but he stopped when the older opened the door to the passenger side and tried to assist him up into it, tugging backward.

“What?” Jongseong halted and released his grip on Jungwon. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s up with Sunghoon?” Jungwon demanded, stepping backward a little more and cementing his feet onto the ground.

Jongseong breathed a long sigh, sighing apparently being the flavor of the night for him, as he ran a hand through his hair and started pacing in front of the open door of his truck.

“That’s...let’s not talk about that right now,”

“I want to know, Jongseong.” He was resolute in this, immovable, he would’ve drilled his feet into the dirt if it was possible in an attempt to show that he wasn’t going anywhere without an answer. And he looked ridiculous, he knew that, he knew that his eyes were half-lidded and he was swaying back and forth like an inflatable tube man in a breeze and his sweatshirt was untucked and there were biscuit crumbs littering his body, but that didn’t deter him. “Just be honest with me, I can take it. I’ve dealt with worse news.”

Jongseong crossed his arms, attempting to identify whether or not Jungwon was drunk enough where he wouldn’t remember and just needed to be taken home or if he was sober enough for it to actually make a difference.

He seemed to arrive at his answer.

“Sunghoon was trying to get with you, okay?” He said matter-of-factly, spilling it all on the table like a told you so. “He’s wanted you for a while now. Months, literally. Remember how insistent I was that you come to his birthday party in December?”

Jungwon looked like he just logged out, any thought that you might’ve been able to perceive going on in his head was absent, his eyes vacant, mouth agape, body frozen in time. But then, thoughts started falling from the sky like Tetris blocks, landing into his brain and colliding with the words that Jongseong just uttered in order to make theories, answers, draw conclusions. It was a lot for him, even though he said he could handle it, he was in a racecar and slowly approaching mach speed.

“I…” he tried to prioritize the questions he wanted answered first, “so, wait, you didn’t want me to come yourself? You were just told to ask me?” Jongseong didn’t answer. “Did you really not feel anything for me this whole time?”

This statement seemed to prick Jongseong. “Jungwon, no, listen,” his hands suddenly flew up in frantic motions as he crossed the distance between them quickly and he found himself full of his scent, also vodka, but his scent too. “Jungwon I did—I do, I guess—I just,” he groaned, running his hands through his hair with even more intensity now, so much so that Jungwon thought that any moment now he’d pull a few strands out, “I like you. A lot. But Sunghoon just,” he pursed his lips, “whatever he says goes.”

And Jungwon knew what he meant. Kind of. 

He was able to piece a few things together, matching the words up like pieces of a page from a book ripped apart, lining them up so the sentences flowed together and made sense, but the other half of the page was still missing, so many things still floated around his brain that he didn’t have a place for, that wouldn’t settle and crashed into each other and plunged him into further doubt and his swaying stopped momentarily as he careened forward and smashed himself into Jongseong’s chest almost instinctively, like his body wanted to, like he gravitated toward him, and his hands grasped his shirt and his head was digging into his chest and his nose was flooded with Jongseong’s cologne and at this contact, at this closeness, he felt a little dam inside of him start to crack and then break, water seeping down and then surging forward so quickly and with such alarming force that he couldn’t contain any of it and if he was sober he might’ve been a little more concerned that he was bawling so loud the partygoers outside might hear him and he didn’t even realize that there was a pair of arms holding him closer and a chin carefully placed on top of his own tuft of hair because he was too worried about the fact that he was soaking his expensive shirt that was probably Armani or Balenciaga and he didn’t know why he was thinking of that specifically when he had so many other things to think about but all of those thoughts kind of faded into the background like a movie you’d fall asleep to because he could only handle thinking of one thing right now and that thing came out in a meek, broken sob as it left Jungwon’s lips, almost inaudible:

“Take me home, please.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. And repeat.

For the past week he’d been wound tight with anxiety, so much so that both his mother and Riki had proposed seeing a therapist. But because Jungwon was feeling so stuck, he’d opted instead to get the Headspace app and start meditations and grounding exercises which, surprisingly, were very helpful. He also looked into those affirmation videos on YouTube that would say things like Watch this and your eyes will turn blue! but he decided to steer clear of those.

The entire social landscape of Chambers High School had shifted since the party, at least for Jungwon. People seemed to cater to him: go out of their way to help him and talk to him, give him their leftovers at lunch, strike up conversations with him between classes and at his locker. It was strange, but most unwelcome of the changes was the pushy advances of one Park Sunghoon, who’d grown more and more bold: telling him to eat lunch with him, angling his chin upward with a slight flick of his finger, cornering him at his locker to tell him he thought about him so much he couldn’t even sleep.

It was scary. It was really really scary and he couldn’t help but wonder if, somehow, Park Sunghoon had sent out a decree that everybody be nice to him so he can woo him, or something. He didn’t know. He had no idea how high school worked, to be honest. All he knew is that he wanted everything to go back to the way it was before.

He climbed the steps to the bleachers, metal resounding as each step made him feel heavier and heavier, before taking another deep, meditative breath at the boy he saw sitting by himself at the end, letterman jacket and all.

“Want a Caprisun?” Jongseong asked, taking it out of his backpack.

Jungwon obliged wordlessly, taking it from his hand with a simple nod.

It was early morning and the clouds were just the right amount of gray where it wasn’t too bright but you could tell it wasn’t going to rain, everything felt lowkey, like the world was paused. For a minute or so, the two of them stare out at the track field, watching the cross country team do their morning practice, sipping on their Caprisuns, content to sit in silence for a little while.

Jongseong spoke up first.

“Do you still have that bear?”

Jungwon shifted in his seat, still angled out toward the field. “I burned it as soon as I got home. Threw it in the fireplace.”

Jongseong gasped. “You’re not serious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

And then they fell back into a smaller silence, Jongseong still reeling from the information he just uncovered. He recovered quickly, though, because it was second nature for him to be composed and put together.

“I’ll get you another.” And Jungwon had to physically hide the fact that that made him a little giddy.

“Why did you want to meet me here?”

Jongseong was looking a little too majestic today, Jungwon noticed, eyes cast outward, squinting in the kind of wise old man way, hair blowing too immaculately. “Why did you actually show up?”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “You know why,” he took another sip, finishing it and crushing it into a little ball, “I guess I just can’t stay away from you for too long, even if you’re a horrible person and a traitor.” He snuck in the last part casually, Jongseong scoffed.

“You have been listening to way too much Olivia Rodrigo.”

Jungwon gasped and hit him lightly on the shoulder. “What the fuck? How did you know?”

Jongseong giggled. “Riki told me.” Jungwon grumbled, of course he did. He’s a traitor too. “I’m really sorry,” he started, turning so that he was angled toward Jungwon, even though the other was still facing the track field, “I’m really fucking sorry, about everything, I was a fucking dick.”

Jungwon just nodded. He didn’t want to sound like an ass, but yes, he was very well aware that he was being a dick, and he wanted him to own up to it and feel bad; and what he wanted to respond with was that he actually pulled his heart out of his chest and stomped on it and kicked him while he was already down, but that felt like a little much, and so he spared him the gory details.

“Do you feel bad?” Jongseong nodded wordlessly. “Good,” he responded simply. “Another Caprisun, please.” He dug into his backpack and passed him one. “It makes sense though, honestly,” he unwrapped the straw and stabbed it into the pouch, “Ahn Yujin is pretty, talented, successful and rich, a literal trainee at Starship. Of course you’d go for her, not me.”

“Jungwon don’t say that.”

“Why’d you do it?” Jungwon turned to face him for the first time, locking eyes, “why’d you lead me on if you were just going to cut me off in the end? Because I feel like you knew what you were doing, I feel like you were very aware of what you were doing talking to me in the library and then hours later promposing to somebody else.”

The air was suddenly charged, Jongseong tensing up at the realization that he was done hiding the truth and keeping secrets, because Jungwon was at a breaking point, his frustration seeping out of his skin in waves.

“Sunghoon’s an awkward guy, to start.”

Jungwon knew this, he became very well acquainted with every facet of him at the party: the way he spoke in fractured segments, the way he moved like a robot, the way his skin was ice cold. There was a difference between watching him at school, a bystander as he walked down the hallway like it was Paris Fashion Week like he was inhuman, above them, because in real life, face-to-face, he’s equally as inhuman but even more unnerving, somehow.

“He noticed you a few months ago and asked me to invite you to his party because, well, I can actually socialize, for one,” Jungwon held back a laugh, “so I offered you tutoring and tried talking to you whenever I could because of it, but, when you asked me that night if it was all genuine I said yes because it was, you know? The more that I talked to you, the more I realized that I actually liked talking to you, and that grew into something...uh...something that I knew I shouldn’t have been feeling for a boy my best friend was into…” he admitted.

And now Jungwon saw the bigger picture, because ever since the party, he’d been left with a handful of puzzle pieces to play with that relied solely on his drunken recollection of what Jongseong told him. He’d struggled with the fact that they didn’t fit together at all to really explain the background of what happened, nor did it explain, more importantly, if Jongseong’s feelings for him were all a façade. Because despite everything that’s happened, whether it was with Sunghoon or the promposal situation, it all came back to him and Jongseong, whether he liked it or not.

“But, uh, maybe he caught on, or maybe he just got fed up with it, because come February he kept trying to talk me into leaving you behind. He just wanted me to invite you to the party where he said he’d ‘handle the rest’ and I should make sure you know I wasn’t into you so I should prompose to Yujin…in front of everybody...make it a big thing…”

Jungwon heard the regret and the sorrow ingrain itself into his words as they trailed off into silence, his head now hanging low as he stared at a spot between his own two feet, shame written on his forehead clear as day. And Jungwon didn’t want to feel forgiveness so soon and so easily, washing over him like a tidal wave, refreshing, clearing him from all of his unwanted enmity and grudge that he held against him for so long; it scared him to let go of it so soon, what seemed like his lifeline and the only thing he could cling to since he was left one, blaming everything on him, assuring to himself that Jongseong was the irrational one, the one that had it out for him and was selfish and just a dick.

But obviously that wasn’t true, and a part of him knew it never had been, not even since the day he laid eyes on that stupid promposal poster.

“But I couldn’t leave you…” he started again, shifting himself closer, his advances remarkably more careful and gentle than Sunghoon’s, hand inching closer, delicate, wordlessly asking if it was okay, eyes searching for something the other’s. “I really like you Jungwon, really, and I want to be able to talk to you outside of our stupid tutoring sessions where I can sometimes get away with driving you home or sneaking a trip by your locker before school because I just want you to myself all the time.”

Jungwon met his eyes with sincerity, finding himself being pulled closer to Jongseong, but more willingly this time; he wasn’t gravitating toward him irresistibly, with clouded judgment and with ulterior motives lying dormant underneath. He could pull away at any second if he wanted to, and he knew he’d be okay with that, and he was perfectly in his right mind to do it, but he didn’t. He leaned closer, “what about Yujin?” he said in a whisper, lips only a few centimeters from Jongseong’s.

Jongseong’s mouth shut in a line, and for a second he was afraid he probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but he spoke up, “I’ll let her down easy, okay?” and he was suddenly struck with the realization, hitting him like a lightning bolt, that he really cared about her, even a little; while Jungwon was in bed imagining Yujin was the girl Olivia was singing about in traitor and good 4 u, he totally neglected to acknowledge the fact that she really didn’t have a hand in this, she was simply a bystander who got roped into this big mess. Jongseong was always the considerate one, the one looking out for everybody.

And that was hot.

Their lips met in a gentle union. A peck at first, then evolving into a deeper embrace as Jongseong’s hands found themselves at Jungwon’s waist, holding him still, holding him closer, and Jungwon allowed himself to be held, returning the kiss just as ardent, just as secure. And this one was different for him because he’d always imagined his first kiss with Jongseong would be soft, gentle, both of them probably squirming like a bunch of shy idiots not wanting to press too hard; and although it was just as gentle as he was expecting, he hadn’t expected him to be so passionate.

Each motion of his lips, the way his neck tilted just the smallest bit to deepen it at a different angle, the way he didn’t hold back his soft grunts or gasps for air as he gave no indication of stopping but surging forward with both confidence and sensitivity, with something that made him feel comfortable in a way that he never thought he’d experience in something as measly as a kiss but Jongseong was apparently a miracle worker, an accomplisher of all things that Jungwon thought impossible.

When they broke off Jungwon almost whimpered, wanting to know what it felt like for it to go even deeper, for them both to open up even more and show each other how much they cherished each other, this moment, this ending of something toxic and beginning of something new. But then he sobered up and thought that the bleachers at eight in the morning in front of the entire cross country team probably wasn’t the time nor place for that, and so he released him.

After wading through all thoughts about Jongseong clouding his brain, one singular thought protruded above the rest, prompting Jungwon to stir from the lovesick daze first and beg the question:

“What do we do about Sunghoon?”

Jongseong scoffed, taking Jungwon’s hand in his again before standing, prompting Jungwon to stand as well, staring him straight in the eyes. “Sunghoon can suck it.”

Jungwon smirked, bumping his head into his chest. “Ah, so romantic,” he sing-songed, raising his head to meet his eyes and quickly, brazenly, planted a chaste kiss on his lips before bounding past him and down the stairs of the bleachers leading onto a walkway stretching the length from the field to one of the entrances to the school.

Jongseong quickly caught up. “What are you in such a hurry for?” he asked, half-jogging behind him.

“I have to get to class, duh,” he replied, tossing his head back briefly to get a look at the older, hovering behind him and still looking at him with the same lovestruck eyes as earlier, he thought they would’ve worn off by now, at least a little, but they didn’t. He shot his gaze forward again so he didn’t see the blush creep onto his face, growing more and more flustered at the thought of Jongseong actually being a little enamoured with him. It was a little embarrassing, for both of them.

“The bell literally hasn’t even rang yet,” Jongseong stated flatly.

Jungwon groaned, pivoting on his heel as they reached the doors that led into the sophomore hallway where his locker was. “Well I have to catch up with Riki too, tell him that I—” he hesitated, not knowing exactly what to call this, whatever moment they just had.

Jongseong raised his eyebrows. “Tell him that you have a boyfriend now?”

“A what?”

Jongseong nodded, “I fear you do.” He cracked a smile, but then it started to falter a little, “I mean, unless you don’t want to, I didn’t mean to force something like that with you I was just trying to be funny but if you don’t then that’s like cool—”

“Jongseong,” Jungwon grabbed his hands, both of them, that were doing a little flurry of gestures that accurately portrayed the flustered state the older was knee-deep into, pulling them close to his chest, “yes, we can be boyfriends.”

He watched the relief settled into him as he relaxed, forehead freed from stress, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile, then giggle, because it was so funny and endearing how he freaked out, watching the panic creep into him as he feared he misspoke, took a step too far, said something he shouldn’t have without asking for Jungwon’s consent first. It was something so small and so simple that he may or may not—scratch that, he will —remember next month or even next year, but every time he was reminded of Jongseong’s caring nature, his deep infatuation with making sure Jungwon felt safe and comfortable with him, it hit him just as hard as it did the first time, because he was all of a sudden faced once again with the fact that there was someone who had such a strong inclination to protect him and want the best for him that he wanted to turn into pudding.

Jongseong’s previous eagerness returned, grabbing Jungwon’s hand and making a move to push the doors open.

“Wait!” Jungwon stopped him and stared at their hands, interlocked, wound tight, unbreakable. “Are you sure you want to…” and he hoped he got the message across without having to say the words.

Jongseong nodded. “We’re boyfriends, remember? We don’t need to be ashamed.” He said, his words resolute, before specifying: “You don’t have to be ashamed.” His words were tinged with just the right amount of intimacy and comfort, enough to make Jungwon want to believe in him, enough to make him not delude himself into thinking the same thing but actually believing it, enough to tighten his grip around his hand as if it were for the last time, secure in the fact that he would never let him go ever again, and both of them pushed the doors open at the same time, taking the first step into the school together.