Archive of Our Own

"Jaemin, are you even listening to me?" Doyoung says exasperatedly, shaky fingers combing through his hair.

Jaemin has not been doing that. In fact, for the past five minutes that his brother has joined him in the hotel lobby and begun his rant, he hasn’t taken in a single word. He knew what the conversation would pertain to before Doyoung even opened his mouth, and he’d rather waste time dreaming of a scenario where he doesn’t have to be sitting and listening to it. 

Jaemin bats his eyelashes at his brother, feigning interest. "Yes. I heard everything you said."

Doyoung's forehead wrinkles. He's already developing signs of premature ageing, no doubt from the stress of taking on the entire company at such a young age. Their grandfather has retired and their parents are too busy getting drunk on warm and sunny beaches on the other side of the world to worry about something like running a business. Especially one that's drowning. Or doing anything else that requires an ounce of responsibility, like being parents. Not that Jaemin wants to help his brother out — he wants to get further away, not stay stuck with it all. Though he’s never had much of a choice in that regard. 

"Hwang is offering fifty thousand for the gala alone. You have to say yes, Jaemin. We don’t have much of a choice." 

Jaemin snorts. "Say yes to what? That old fart? He smells like mozzarella sticks and still thinks racist, sexist and homophobic jokes are okay and hilarious."

"He's willing to pay a lot of money for you," Doyoung grits his teeth. "Money that we need. Though I can't see why you're worth so much as a gala date, it's not my place to question, not when this can solve all of our problems. I’m asking for this small favour, for the good of the company."

Jaemin shrugs, crossing his legs. The leather couch squeaks underneath him. “Why should I care? It’s not my problem.”

Doyoung scoffs. “It is while you live here, and while you’re a part of this family.” 

“Like that’s my choice? You wouldn’t even let me go to university, or do literally anything else with my life.” 

“You don’t need university when you’re joining the family business.” 

“You don’t even let me leave the hotel without good reason. How do you explain that?” 

“Everything you could need is here. And it’s for your own good that you stay here, where you can’t get into trouble with those friends of yours.”

Jaemin clenches his jaw. All sorts of people brush past them, wheeling suitcases as they check out and head off to somewhere else. How he wishes to join them, to be anywhere but here, away from suffocating demands he doesn’t want to comply with and a brother who has never cared to understand him because it’s never suited him to do so. Because it doesn’t suit him to know that he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Jaemin narrows his eyes. "It's not the date that he’s paying for. You know that, right? He just wants to fuck me afterwards,” he leans further back on the couch. "And he probably thinks he can, once he’s paid so much for my generous company. It’d be his right. Surely you thought of that when you gave him the idea that I can be bought for a high price?"

Doyoung lowers his voice. "You're making it sound like I'm selling you off. We need the money. Or do you want to be thrown on the streets when we lose the hotels, too? Because I don't want that."

Jaemin rolls his eyes, the picture of someone completely unfazed. His heart beats wildly in his chest at the thought of Doyoung actually forcing anything on him, however, and it’s a sickening feeling to conclude that Doyoung would probably scold him for putting up a fight against Hwang. That his own brother finds him a nuisance for not offering himself up on a silver platter. It spurs him to respond. “You go and entertain Hwang, then, if you need his money so badly. I'm sure Taeyong won't mind." The lobby is reasonably empty, but Jaemin keeps his voice low anyway. He doesn't need any passers-by to get any ideas and for a scandal to break out.

"I'm not going to cheat on my boyfriend," Doyoung crosses his arms tightly. His tie is loose, his business shirt rumpled. It does seem he's under a lot of stress. But whatever. 

“Oh, and what? Do you think I’d want to cheat on mine?” It slips from his lips. But he presses on. “So I’m the sacrificial lamb?”

It’s hypothetical reasoning at best. He doesn't know why he says it, to spite his brother perhaps. If he had a boyfriend his brother would know, and it's clear by the glare he receives that Doyoung instantly sees through his bullshit. But so what? Jaemin shouldn't have to entertain men for money. Especially at a gala, and one he doesn't want to go to. He avoids these sorts of events like the plague, using every excuse under the sun to avoid snobby rich people who care far too little about how he’s doing, and far too much about the numbers in his bank account, and whether he’s interested in an arranged marriage.

"You don't have a boyfriend," Doyoung sighs. He's running out of patience, and time, as he checks his watch. "I have to give the man an answer in about an hour. Can you do this one thing for me? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just think of the business.” 

"No." Jaemin will not be getting groped by the creepy old man. He’s caught him eyeing his ass far too many times to be confident that this is purely an escort situation. To his own misfortune, he’s never been great under pressure, and his mouth doesn’t stop moving. "I'm going to the gala with my boyfriend, and that’s final." 

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. "And who is this boyfriend, then? Is he on the guest list?"

He regrets it the moment Doyoung’s words pass his lips. While Jaemin can be snarky, biting back at Doyoung every chance he gets, in moments of panic he tends to ramble like a toddler. It’d be easier for the couch to swallow him whole before he can say anything incriminating. He’s never been a great liar, not like his brother. "He's my plus-one. I probably forgot to tell Jungwoo to add him to the guest list, it was a last-minute sort of thing. He doesn’t like fancy parties.” 

“Then what’s his name? I must know him. I know everyone in your life.”  

Jaemin’s eyes sweep left and right, searching for any answer to his problems. But all he sees are glum-looking businessmen, a few bored flight attendants, and an unhappy couple mid-fight during their check-in. Doyoung’s polished black shoes tap against the varnished tiles as he awaits an answer Jaemin can’t give. 

As if sent by the Gods, the doors to the lobby swing open, and in walks the solution Jaemin’s been looking for — and the one who will inevitably kill him once he discovers what Jaemin’s been up to.

Doyoung follows his gaze. He must be making a face because it clicks straight away. “Is that him?” 

The man in question is Huang Renjun, sporting a navy blue crew neck over a white shirt, his glasses sitting perfectly on his nose as he surveys his surroundings. His laptop bag is slung around his shoulder, and it’s as he’s running his fingers through his slicked-back chin-length hair that they make eye contact — and Jaemin squeaks. 

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Doyoung responds with a sharpness that has Jaemin digging his heels into the floor, waiting for it to open up and drag him anywhere but here. He’s truly screwed himself now. “Then you'll have no problem if I introduce myself.” 

“Wait!” Jaemin sputters, but Doyoung is walking over before he can say anything else, polished shoes clacking like a death march. He moves to follow his brother with a panicked quickness, rushing over just as Doyoung opens his irritating mouth. 

He holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Jaemin’s brother. I have reason to believe you’re his boyfriend?” 

Jaemin’s history with Huang Renjun is both a travesty and an embarrassment. His own diary will be the first to admit that it was during a rough time in Jaemin’s life that they met, his own bowl cut and braces aside. The school Jaemin was forced to attend through his teen years was a vicious jungle, filled with lions and tigers ready to pounce at any specimen that showed even a hint of fear. Due to coming from old money thanks to hotel chains spanning across several key cities across the continent, naturally, Jaemin was higher on the social ladder than most people. He didn’t have a vicious bone in his body, but he wasn’t about to let anyone rip him to shreds because he was a sympathiser, either. 

Renjun was a transfer student on a scholarship. Coming from the lower end of the city, he had a reputation before he’d even started. Trashy, dirty, not worth anyone’s time. If anyone were to talk with him, they’d be a social outcast by the first bell. But Renjun happened to be his assigned deskmate in algebra, and things spun out from there. 

It’s not that Renjun would try to talk to him, but Jaemin didn’t particularly care. He was beautiful, in the sort of unnoticeable way. He shrunk into the shadows and prayed no one would spot him, but Jaemin did, and that’s all it took to fall head over heels. Of course, Jaemin had to play along with his friends when they would make snarky comments, and he’d pretend to laugh at their slimy jokes. If he didn’t, it would get back to his grandfather as soon as he got home from school, and the verbal whipping was enough to force his own laughter for the next year or two. But it killed him, because every time he let his friends run wild, Renjun would pull further away. 

“Hey, Renjun,” Jaemin would often whisper once the teacher's back was turned. 

“What?” Renjun would reply, unamused. 

“You look really nice in a beanie. It suits you.” He’d say it bashfully, his cheeks flaming red. During that particular winter, he’d noticed Renjun walking to school every day, a beanie always covering his ears. And it was cute. 

But Renjun would scowl. Now, Jaemin knows, it’s because he couldn’t possibly think he was being genuine. He figured Jaemin was like everyone else, pulling his leg. “Fuck off, Na.” 

But back then it had hurt. This specific instance was particularly brutal. “Why? Did I say something wrong?” 

Renjun had been practically seething. “At least the others are upfront with their cruelty. You pretend to be nice, to like me. But you’re just like them. I was stupid for thinking otherwise.” 

He’d stalked off then, and during the next lesson, their assigned seating had been rearranged. 

And it’s not that Jaemin has attachment issues, but it is possible that he’d followed Renjun’s activities once they’d graduated. College in another city, a major in Journalism, only to come back and work for a newspaper with its key demographic being the lower side, and its main goal to defame those socially higher than them. Jaemin can see why it was his calling. 

Renjun’s latest assignments include a whole bunch of hotel reviews. And the draft for Jaemin’s family hotel happens to be in the works. He’s seen Renjun a few times now — run-ins at the breakfast buffet, lounging by the pool, enjoying the golf course. And every time without fail, he’d receive that same scowl, one he’s been determined to crack ever since. He’s made it his own personal goal. No matter how many times he has to smile and wave like a nosy neighbour. 

Pretending to date him was definitely not part of the plan. 

“Boyfriend?” Renjun frowns. He takes it better than Jaemin’s expecting, though it may be because he’s standing behind his brother with clasped hands, a desperate look in his eyes. 

“Play along! Please!” he mouths. 

Renjun’s expression morphs into one of confidence and ease. His skill at deceit would be attractive if Jaemin weren't busy crying on the inside. “And what reason would that be?” 

Doyoung drops his outstretched hand. He turns and Jaemin straightens in an instant. He gestures to him, “my brother has told me he’s invited you to our gala tomorrow night. You’re his plus-one.” 

“Oh, he has, has he? That’s interesting.” Renjun raises an eyebrow at him, the first time they’ve locked eyes without a scowl present. Jaemin may faint. “I don’t recall us discussing this.”

“Surprise!” Jaemin chuckles nervously. “I know you wanted us to be a secret for a little longer but Doyoung was curious and—” his arms flail in a vague attempt to gesture as smoothly as his brother. “Here we are.” His eyes are screaming for help. 

“Well, it’s certainly a surprise,” Renjun gives his brother a tight-lipped smile. “I would’ve appreciated a little warning, but nevertheless. I’m Huang Renjun. It’s nice to meet you, Mr—?” 

“Kim.” Doyoung supplies. “But you can call me Doyoung. I’m afraid to say I had no idea about you, but I suppose if that was my brother's intention then you’ve certainly done a terrific job at sneaking past me.” 

Jaemin gulps. He didn’t imagine he’d get this far, with Renjun playing along. He was expecting a slap, a yell, some berating from his brother then the promise to take that nasty old man to the gala. God, the gala. 

Renjun is eyeing Jaemin with barely concealed animosity. He prays Doyoung doesn’t care to pick it up. “That’s our Jaemin, can never quite predict a man like him.” Each syllable is delivered like a verbal knife to the gut. 

“Yes, he’s always been rather uncooperative to other people’s wishes. Maybe it’s part of his charm. I suppose I’ll never know.” 

“I completely understand what you mean. He often races into things without thinking of the consequences, but who is to stop him, right?” Renjun responds, gritting his teeth.

His brother laughs along, completely oblivious. Jaemin’s a little stumped that they’re getting on well, circumstances aside. Even if it is at his expense. “Well, Renjun, it was lovely to make your acquaintance, but I’m sure you and my brother have much to talk about, and I have a business meeting to get to. Hopefully we can chat more at the gala?” 

“Can’t wait,” Renjun plasters a bright smile on his face, finally shaking Doyoung’s hand. 

Doyoung squeezes Jaemin’s shoulder as he leaves, a warning that they’ll be talking about this later. It’s no doubt that his brother will make time to dredge up every bit of information about Renjun and use it as ammo against Jaemin later. He’s done it with all his other lovers, and they weren’t from the lower side. 

Not that Renjun’s a lover. 

As soon as Doyoung disappears from the lobby, Renjun drops his calm expression and rounds on him. “What the fuck was that? Huh?” 

Jaemin eyes the present company around them and decides that they won’t be doing this in public, in the lobby of all places. “I can explain, let’s just go somewhere else—”

“Explain?” Renjun seethes. He’s gripping his laptop bag so tight his nails dig into the leather material. “Explain what? That first you stalk me during my entire stay here, appearing around every single bloody corner with your stupid grin, trying to talk to me like we’re old pals despite high school being the worst experience of my life, and now I’ve been roped into being your boyfriend? How the fuck do you plan on explaining that?” 

“Okay, well, firstly, thank you for playing along,” he says, a measly attempt at smoothing things over. He’s scarily close to shitting himself and he pretends he doesn’t hear the cutting words, he’ll cry about them later. “Um, secondly, it was a bad situation and I panicked! But I can explain it and I’ll pay you for your time so like, please don’t yell at me. Again. Just let me explain why I need you to, um, be my fake boyfriend. It’ll make sense if you listen to me.” 

Renjun narrows his eyes. 

“Also I haven’t been stalking you,” Jaemin adds. He has, accidentally. He chooses not to think about how his actions have definitely come across as stalking. “I live here, if you’re reviewing the place then we’re going to bump into each other. I thought it would be polite to say hello.” 

Renjun’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “How do you even know I’m reviewing your hotel? The whole point is the owners don’t know.” He presses his lips together as if refraining from punching him. He’s not buying anything Jaemin is saying. 

“It’s our job to know these things.” Bad excuse. “And, I mean, we’ve all read your articles. Logically, you’d come here at some point, right? So I just assumed that’s why you’re staying here,” he explains, but he’s a terrible liar. “But I’m not an owner. Just someone who lives here. I’m not trying to force your opinion.” He doesn’t know why he says that. Renjun doesn’t care. 

“You better start explaining, Na,” Renjun jabs a finger at his chest. “I didn’t leave high school just to wind up around you again. The sooner I can go back to pretending you don’t exist, the better.” 

Jaemin hesitates. Hearing it from the source, it’s obvious Renjun hates him. He’s never been able to gather enough reasons as to why. He wasn’t particularly cruel. He tried to be nice when he could. Why is he the worst of the worst? 

But he soldiers on. It’s not time for that, not if he doesn’t want to end up in an old man’s arms. “How much free time do you have?” 

Renjun considers it. “Enough time for you to buy me a coffee.” 

Jaemin sighs. “Then let’s go. I’ll tell you everything.” 

Upon arriving at the hotel-owned cafe, Renjun sends him a glare so sharp that he’s almost convinced it could really kill him. It has him spinning on his heel in the opposite direction and merging with the foot traffic out on the streets. Despite the hustle and bustle and the strangers elbowing him and brushing his shoulders, Renjun manages to keep a steady pace with him. He dodges every passer-by like it’s easy, whereas Jaemin does his best not to stumble in his designer shoes and, god forbid, scuff them. Doyoung’s wrath would be a nightmare. He pretends to have a destination in mind and musters the last bit of grace he has, lifting up his chin and holding his arms firm to his sides. 

Two minutes later and it becomes clear he has no idea where he’s going. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Renjun asks, raising a dainty eyebrow. His signature snark is gone, replaced with genuine confusion. 

“Um— well—” The more he stumbles, the faster he prays that an answer will come. 

“You have no idea where you’re going, do you, Na?”

They stop at a red light. Enough time for Renjun to proceed with his line of questioning. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten lost already. You haven’t, have you? Your hotel is literally two blocks away.”

Jaemin keeps his eyes on the traffic light, his throat oddly parched. “I know where I’m going.” He doesn’t. He’s an idiot. 

The thing about Renjun is, he never gives up. “Don’t tell me you’ve never walked the streets before.” 

Silence. 

“You must have at least driven this way, right?”

More silence. The light turns green and Jaemin walks, a boy on a skateboard shoving past him without a care in the world.

It’s infuriatingly embarrassing, really, being confronted with a situation where it’s obvious how sheltered his life has become. That is, he doesn’t walk the streets, and if he does go anywhere, it’s with his brother's permission and they have a chauffeur. But he doesn’t have to say anything, it’ll be painted on his face. His grandfather had always warned him that he was too sensitive, that some things should be kept secret. 

If Jaemin weren’t as obsessed with Renjun as he is, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight softening of his tone. “I know a place we can go to. It’s just a block from here. It’s better than anything you’d pick.”

Jaemin plasters a fake smile on his face, ignoring the curious gaze that burns into the side of his head. “Great. Cool.”

The place Renjun knows is bustling with people their age and those who look exactly like the kind of population that Doyoung has never wanted Jaemin to be near. Individuals who bask in their own sense of freedom, with their ripped shirts and skewed beanies and artwork staining their skin. People his age, who gather together to study, to socialise, to drink overpriced coffee that barely hits the spot. And even though he’s far out of his comfort zone, quaking in his brown slacks, he finds he likes it. He likes that no one bats an eye at him as they enter the coffee shop, that no one attempts to pull him into dull conversation with talks of marriage and children even though he’s barely an adult. 

Here, he’s just another random guy in a huge city. 

They order first, waiting in silence for the barista to make their drinks. Jaemin takes delight in the unimpressed twist to Renjun’s mouth as he overhears the copious amounts of caffeine loaded into his drink. Doyoung would cuss him out if he knew, but Jaemin figures he needs it, for the conversation that is to follow.

As they sit at one of the tables near the window, Renjun cups his tea, his pretty silver rings glinting in the sunlight. He has such slender fingers, a quality Jaemin had figured out long ago, when he used to gaze at them any time Renjun so much as picked up a pen. Silence hangs over them like a cloud, neither wanting to be the first to speak, and Jaemin hooks an ankle around one of the legs of his chair to ground himself. The intense scrutiny Renjun holds him under as he waits for Jaemin to speak, to explain himself, is something he’s never really been held to. The only other person to treat him like this is his brother, who pulls age rank every chance he gets. It doesn’t help matters that he’s simply curious, admiring the brickwork on the walls of the shop, the industrial sort-of aesthetic it’s opted for, the browns and the reds giving it an earthy tone. It’s home-y, or at least what he pictures a home to feel like. 

And the crowds on the street are of equal interest to him, as a toddler stares through the window at him while its mother wrestles with a map, while the man beside her fidgets with one of the wheels on his suitcase. Teenagers roll past on skateboards, whistling and shouting and causing a ruckus, while people in suits storm past using their briefcases as a shield. It’s all so interesting, the amount of diversity. Of course, staying at the hotel twenty-four-seven means he does see different sorts of people — but it’s usually those who can afford a renowned five-star hotel.

“You’re being weird,” Renjun states, sounding bored. Jaemin’s eyes flick back to his on instinct, but he finds that his face doesn’t quite match his tone. He’s eyeing Jaemin curiously, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Am I?” How embarrassing. He sits a little higher in his chair. Unhooks his leg.

“Yup.” There’s a hint of amusement now. 

“How so?” 

“You look like you’ve never seen a city street before,” Renjun responds. “Do rich people prefer not to mingle with those lower than them?” There’s the knife again. 

Jaemin frowns. “No. I’m just— not really allowed to go out much, unless it’s for a certain occasion. I only see people if they’re staying at the hotel, or I sneak out with my friends. This is a nice place, I’m taking it all in while I can.” He doesn’t know why it feels shameful to admit, or why he’s admitting it. He’s pretty sheltered, but he’s usually surrounded by other people who are equally as sheltered — he’s never noticed how embarrassing it is, that he’s an adult who’s not allowed out of the hotel unless his brother gives him permission, and a driver to accompany him. Of course, his friends have voiced to him how it’s pretty fucking weird — but he’s never had to explain it to them. It’s just how his life has always been. Explaining it, saying the words out loud, it’s shameful. 

Renjun opens his mouth to reply, then promptly closes it. He seems to be struggling to find adequate words. Jaemin coughs, averting his gaze to his drink and its environmentally friendly cup. “I know it’s a dumb privileged rich kid problem, you don’t have to say anything. I’m living in a five-star hotel, with everything I could possibly want an arm’s reach away. I literally have nothing to complain about.”

Renjun clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Go ahead and admire the view.”

Jaemin has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something stupid. That the city view doesn’t compare to the man across from him. Like telling Renjun he's been admiring that particular view for years. 

“Or maybe we just get back to business,” Renjun says after taking a sip of his tea. There’s a flush to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before, like he’s just realised the implications of his earlier statement. But it seems Renjun isn’t the type to let a misconstrued sentence deter him from his mission. “Since that’s the only reason why we’re here.” 

“Yeah. That’s fine with me.” Jaemin wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks. He takes a deep breath. “As I said before, I’d really appreciate it if you’d be my fake boyfriend for the gala tomorrow night.” 

“Well, I caught that part,” Renjun sighs. “But why do you need a fake date? Surely there are single rich people. You could be the desirable bachelor, or whatever. You’re young and attractive. Objectively.” 

Jaemin blinks. Reminds himself to breathe. And not think about how Renjun has referred to him as attractive, even if it was an objective statement. And Renjun’s seen him go through puberty. With a bowl cut. “My brother’s trying to set me up with this old rich guy who wants to pay money for me to escort him to this gala we’re throwing tomorrow night, but I just know that it’s not a date he wants. For how much money he’s offering, he’s going to want more than just a conversation,” he winces at the thought. But it’s easy to spill it to Renjun, as stupid as it sounds. Because he says everything how it is. There’s no point dancing around the subject.

Renjun tilts his head, nails tapping against the table. “Pretty sure that’s literally the plot of a television show.” 

“I wish I was making this up. As soon as Doyoung mentioned it to me I genuinely considered making a run for it. You haven’t seen Hwang — if he was a dilf I might have considered it. Barely. But the man is two steps away from lying in a casket. Honest.” 

Renjun’s lips quirk upwards. “Sounds pretty desirable to me.” 

Jaemin shudders just thinking about the old man trying to have his way with him after the gala. “I really can’t be left alone with that man. I swear. I’ll die before I become his date.” 

Renjun considers him carefully. Probably weighing the pros and cons in his head. Jaemin can’t blame him for needing to give this some extra thought — he’s asking a lot. And part of it is pretty selfish, a small percentage of this motivated by his desire to talk to his high school crush. But he also really doesn’t have any other options. The fact that Renjun entered the lobby when he did was a lucky coincidence.

“So I just have to pretend to be your boyfriend for one night?”

Jaemin nods. “One night. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll come up with a breakup story at some point, that you decided I was too selfish, or something outrageous. I’ll make myself sound like a real dick, I promise.” 

But Renjun still seems unsure, fiddling with his rings. 

He should offer something in return. It’ll encourage Renjun to say yes, but he owes him too. And he can offer something no one else can, something Renjun will want more than anything. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll be his own way out. “I’ll give you inside info about all of the people we meet at the gala. Things you won’t find out from anyone else. You can investigate all you want about the kind of shit they get up to in their spare time. Plus, when they drink enough wine, most of them will tell you anything you want. I can guarantee it.”  

For the first time, Renjun smiles at him. It’s beautiful, softening his otherwise sharp features. He looks like the guy Jaemin fell for all those years ago, when he’d first transferred. They’d shaken hands and everything. And he knows he’s got him now, because Renjun’s eyes sparkle with mischievous interest. 

Hook, line and sinker. “Deal.” 

Despite being immensely grateful for the opportunity, Renjun had gone right back to his bitter snark like it had never happened. They parted ways once they got back to the hotel, Renjun threatening a restraining order against him once Jaemin had offered to buy his suit, and that had been the end of it. Renjun had decided to take the stairs up to his room (Jaemin has a weird feeling it was because he didn’t want him to see which floor his room was on. But also could have been because he was sick of his company). Jaemin had taken the elevator, and gone back to sulk in his suite, not speaking to a single soul for the rest of the night. Not that it was any different to his usual routine.

The next morning starts off uneventfully, with Jaemin taking his daily shower, washing his hair thoroughly with his far too expensive shampoo and conditioners. He scrubs harder than normal, nervous for the gala and the fact that Renjun is going to be his date — he almost convinced himself he dreamt their entire conversation the day before. But the matter is confirmed to be very real during breakfast in the buffet hall, when Jaemin looks up from his toast and finds himself face to face with a very red Doyoung. 

“You’re dating a journalist?” his brother hisses, flashing Jaemin his pearly whites. Perks of dating a dentist, Jaemin supposes. 

He sighs, dropping the toast back onto the plate. This conversation will be a pain in the ass, he can already tell. Doyoung doesn’t quit until he finds out every detail about something, which is the topic of many disgruntled employees when meetings drag on for far too long. And it seems Doyoung has done his research on Jaemin’s fake boyfriend, just as he guessed he would. “Yes. Renjun is a journalist. What about it?” 

“Not just that. A journalist who is reviewing hotels. ”

“I’m sure he’ll give us a good one, unbiased of course. Though he did say I brighten up the place significantly, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Doyoung huffs, dropping into the chair beside Jaemin despite there being no invitation for him to do so. Doyoung has always done whatever he wants. “Oh, Jaemin. You’ve always been the more naive one between the two of us, but I didn’t think you’d be so stupid. Even for you, this is ridiculous. Can’t you see what’s going on here?” 

Jaemin frowns, eyeing his brother as the latter smoothens the crease in his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“He’s using you, of course.”

Well. It might very well look like that. If only Doyoung knew.  

“And,” he continues. “I’m assuming you haven’t been dating for long since I’m only finding out now, and it hasn’t been reported in any of the papers or on any blogs online, so I think it’s best that Renjun doesn’t come to the gala. The timing is too convenient. I think he might be looking for inside gossip, and you know well that our friends and acquaintances aren’t all from old money. Money sourced legitimately, even. Don’t you, Jaemin? It’s a risk we can’t afford to take.” 

Jaemin’s busy thinking about how if Doyoung finds out Jaemin promised Renjun that specific information, he’d have a heart attack. He’s due for one, at this rate. “I do. But I don’t think that’s the case. We—” he pauses, finding the words hard to push out because he wishes they were actually true. “We really like each other. You’ll see that when you get to know him. He’s not using me.”

The initial anger from Doyoung is gone in a flash, but replaced by shallow sympathy. He must sound pathetic. “Jaemin, I think you should at least give this some thought. How well do you even know him? You rarely leave the hotel, so how did you two meet? How long has this even been going on?”

He and Renjun should have planned these answers beforehand, because Jaemin grapples for a response as Doyoung squints at him. He’s never been a great liar, and Renjun’s calming presence would do well to balance him out now, especially because he always seems to have a cover, or knows the right thing to say. “We met in high school, actually, he was in my year.” At least that part is true. “We didn’t talk a lot but we sat next to each other, so we kept in touch over the years, when he went to university. And since he came back to the city, we reconnected. And got together. It’s been a couple of months now, I suppose.” 

“And how did you hide this for so long?”

Jaemin shrugs, taking a bite of his toast. “Your security team sucks. Or they’re just very supportive of me sneaking men into my room.”

Doyoung makes a face. Jaemin thinks it’s because of his comment, but alas, “don’t talk with your mouth full. Who raised you?” 

“You did.” 

There’s no bite to his voice, but Doyoung leans back as though burned. It’s a sore topic between them, and probably not the best time to bring up all of the issues between them. Families like theirs find it easier to walk over such topics, pretend they don’t exist, until eventually, they fade away. And as more and more guests file in to start their morning with a filling meal, any chance of having a conversation about it is diminished. Doyoung watches as Jaemin eats, but his eyes are empty, his concentration on whatever he’s thinking inside his head. 

Jaemin happily munches on his toast in the meantime, knowing he won’t be eating any of the garbage at the gala. Rich people's food is foul — no flavour, gross textures. It doesn’t matter who the chef is if the menu is bland. He should have warned Renjun that he should eat something filling before the gala, but maybe he knows too, from his school years. 

“Everything I do, I do for the betterment of our family and our business.” 

The words are spoken abruptly, but Jaemin waits until the toast crumbs are wiped from his fingers with a silk serviette to reply. “Maybe you think so. But I don’t.” 

Doyoung scrutinises him. “And why not?” 

It seems they are broaching the sensitive subject after all. “How does keeping me locked up better our family? I would have liked to go to university like my friends, to see them outside of the hotel, to have a life outside these grossly patterned walls. And I certainly don’t see how offering me up as bait to an old man will better our family, money or not.” 

Doyoung pointedly ignores the first part of his statement. Because there is no answer that would make sense. “The money will help us expand, to finish construction quicker, to eliminate the risk of us going under. It’s a safe risk.”

“Safe?” 

Doyoung fiddles with Jaemin’s fork, pointedly ignoring his stare. “I see how our opinions may differ. But Hwang has already received the news that you have a partner, god knows how, and pulled his offer that he so generously extended until this morning. I was going to decline once I had met Renjun, but then Jungwoo came to inform me that he’s a journalist from the lower side so I took the chance to change your mind.” 

“How kind of you.” Of course, it was Jungwoo. That snake can find almost any dirt in a matter of seconds. If anyone must be convinced that he and Renjun are a couple, it’s his brother's assistant. He’ll be keeping a close eye on them tonight.

“You can understand why it’s suspicious, can’t you?” 

“I told you, we’ve known each other since high school.” 

The fork clatters against the table as Doyoung sighs. “Why do you have to make everything difficult? Things would be so much simpler if you would just go along with it. Why must you fight me every step of the way?” 

Jaemin swallows, unexpected tears pricking his eyes as his patience wears thin. He’s always done what his brother has wanted, ever since he was a young boy — declined hangouts with his friends, completed his homework on time, gotten good grades (not that he ever got the chance to use them). His worst offences include abandoning the bowl cut once he turned eighteen, and sneaking his friends up to his room when he doesn’t have permission to go out. But the moment he decides he won’t be bait, he’s the bad brother? The entire situation is unfair, it’s bullshit, and oh, he wishes he had any grasp of independence so he could run and never look back. But he can’t. So he blinks the tears away, straightens his back, and stands up from his chair. 

“Renjun is coming to the gala. I suppose you’ll have to find another way to pull money from Hwang. Because I won’t be the way it’s done.” 

He stalks off, knowing his brother won’t chase him and cause a scene. He has an inkling that they won’t be discussing this at all, and it’s just one of many conversations that remain buried in dirt. The way it’s always been. 

His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he pulls it out once he’s in the elevator, heading back to his floor. 

mark 

10:28 — yoooo are we getting ready at jaem’s? 

jeno

10:31 — babe i told u we were yest

mark

10:31 — oh lol srry 

jisung 

10:32 — can i bring hyuck? he’s clingy 

jeno

10:33 — sure 

jaemin 

9:33 — only if you bring me lunch 

jisung 

9:33 — deal

It appears his day will be full of distractions, which is exactly what he needs before he throws himself in bed and doesn’t crawl out until the gala is well and truly over — when Renjun inevitably finds him and guts him like a fish for not showing up. Oh, but what if Renjun doesn’t show up? 

A private text from Jeno lights up his screen.

jeno

9:36 — we’ll be there soon. don’t think about the gala until we get there. i know u hate them but don’t think we won’t drag u there -.-

Well, then. It seems he has no choice but to remain positive. 

“Are we missing something?” Jeno says through a mouthful of chips. He’d scavenged the kitchen area for any trace of food as soon as he arrived, having already eaten his share of nuggets, and now he’s content to sit on Jaemin’s bed, dropping crumbs everywhere. 

“What do you mean?” Jaemin inquires, ruffling through his jewellery drawers. He’s looking for something that won’t bring any attention to himself, but will do enough to give his plain black suit and bow tie a nod of approval from Doyoung — even though every person clad in a suit tonight will be wearing slight variations of each other anyway. He settles on silver cufflinks, embedded with a ruby stone Jaemin doesn’t care to know the price of. He’s more of a stand in the corner and prays no one approaches sort-of-guy, anyway. 

Beside him, Donghyuck makes a squeak of surprise, peeking at his collection of rings. “Dude, you have so much cool shit! This one drawer could pay my rent for like, the next ten years!” 

Jisung sighs, slinging an arm around his boyfriend and dragging him backwards until he falls on his ass. “You don’t want to see his walk-in closet, then. I don’t think you’ll be able to handle it. You might feel tempted to steal something.”

Donghyuck’s mouth drops open. “Wow,” he gapes. Jaemin finds amusement in his lack of denial about the stealing allegation. “The rich truly do live differently to us regular folk, huh. I’m seeing it with my own eyes. Crazy.”

“Better get used to it,” Mark says from Jaemin’s bed, his head resting on Jeno’s thigh. “You’ll be seeing a whole lot of them tonight.” 

“And they’re all unbearable,” Jisung adds. “Seriously. They won’t stop until they know everything about you so they can use it against you later. Or decide whether you’re good enough to expand their family tree, if you know what I mean.”

Jaemin watches as Donghyuck pales, wondering briefly if Renjun is going through the same crisis at this moment. But Renjun spent years at school with upper society’s unfortunate offspring, so he’s probably used to the whole scene, dealing with those who place their worth higher than they should ever hope it is. Donghyuck is different, someone born and raised in the outer parts of the city, never having stepped into their world before. How Jisung managed to convince his parents to request an invite on Donghyuck’s behalf is a mystery — maybe they just don’t care. He and Jisung had met at community art classes when Jisung was going through his mysterious hipster faze (he still has the tattoos as marks of remembrance — and Donghyuck too, who is equally as tattooed and very much still a free-thinking art kid). And how Jisung managed to pull out the non-existent charm to catch someone like Donghyuck is something all of them are still trying to figure out. But they’re cute, in the two-inexperienced-teenagers-having-their first-date-at-a-school-dance kind of way.

“Don’t be nervous,” Jaemin reassures him with a smile. “I hate going to these but it’s always easier when you know people, and we’ll all be there tonight. We won’t leave you alone with any of them.” 

“Thanks,” Donghyuck replies before Jisung captures his attention with something on his phone.

“Can we go back to what I was saying?” Jeno whines. 

“We can when you stop getting crumbs in my hair,” Mark winces, shaking his head and ensuring that Jaemin’s sheets will suffer instead. 

Jeno playfully swats him on the forehead. “Your fault for choosing my thigh as a cushion for your massive head. My legs are going numb, you know. I can’t feel them.” 

“Oh, so you don’t want me to cuddle you? That hurts, babe.” 

Jaemin chuckles, but it’s more to soothe the awkwardness he feels rather than out of amusement. It’s times like these where he wishes he had someone of his own to joke about such things with, who he could exchange jabs with, ones that neither of them really mean, and any worries can be kissed away because kisses make everyone feel better. He values his friends' company dearly, but now that he’s surrounded by couples, it’s a glaring reminder that he probably won’t find anyone for him anytime soon. And when he goes into his head, pictures someone by his side who knows exactly what to say to rile him up, but would kiss away his frown as soon as the words pass their lips, it's the same person he’s always come to find in his mind. It doesn’t help that this person has made a sudden reappearance in his life.

“Jaemin,” Jeno’s voice snaps him to attention. “You still haven’t explained how you got Huang Renjun to pretend to be your boyfriend.” 

Jisung looks up from his phone, and Mark rises to sit against the headboard. Everyone is looking at him expectantly. 

“Who’s Huang Renjun?” Donghyuck interrupts. 

“This guy we used to go to high school with.” Mark explains. “He was kind of quiet, but nice enough. Everyone used to give him a hard time because he was a scholarship kid, but we found out later that Jaemin used to have a crush. And he didn’t tell us until after graduation, if you can imagine.” 

“It was the worst betrayal,” Jisung pipes up. 

“I don’t have any regrets. I didn’t know what you’d do, and I didn’t wanna risk anyone else finding out,” Jaemin shrugs. “But it doesn’t matter. He hated me.”

“Why?” Donghyuck frowns. “Were you mean to him?” 

“No. But in the classes I had with him my classmates were, and I didn’t say anything, so it’s just as bad, I guess. I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t all bad! I used to compliment him and stuff… but he just told me to fuck off. Everytime.” 

“Which is why I wanna know how you convinced someone like him to fake date you,” Jeno sounds bewildered. “If that was me I would have given you up to Doyoung, like, straight away. It’d be great revenge.” 

“And that’s why you’re a mean friend!” Jaemin pouts. He picks up his own abandoned nuggets. 

He only told his friends the basics of the situation, summarised as soon as they walked in the door. He doesn’t plan on sharing the fact that he’s promising Renjun insider information on the people that will be present at the party, so his attempts to convince his friends that Renjun is doing it out of the goodness of his heart don’t go as swimmingly as he’d hoped. He’s complained too many times about the man’s attitude towards him, and unfortunately, it’s one of the few things his friends have retained in their memories over the years. In short, they don’t buy his words at all. 

“We just wanna know if anything happened to make the guy suddenly change how he feels about you,” Mark interjects, always the diplomat.

“Nothing happened,” Jaemin shrugs, staring intently at the nugget in his hand. “He saw that I was in a crisis and decided to be a good human.”

“Whatever,” Jisung snorts, leaning over and snatching the nugget from his hand. “Still don’t believe you. No one is that nice.”

“Hey!” 

“I’m so confused,” Donghyuck whines. “Is there history or something? Maybe this guy is just really nice and wants to do Jaemin a favour.” 

“Aha!” Jeno exclaims, clicking his fingers. He narrows his eyes at Jaemin. “You promised him a favour, didn’t you?” 

Jaemin’s face drops. “Um. No.” 

“You totally did. Dude, what the hell. ”

“What did you promise him?” Mark asks, looking back and forth between Jaemin and Jeno. “It’s not anything bad, is it?” 

“No!” Jaemin responds. “I didn’t promise him anything. I swear. He literally just got stuck in a conversation between Doyoung and I, Doyoung didn’t even give him the opportunity to deny anything.” When his friends stare back blankly, he grows exasperated. “I’m telling the truth! Maybe Renjun just wants to go to a gala? Write an article about the experience or something? Whatever it is, he didn’t tell me, and I’d rather go with him than Hwang.” 

Jisung’s lip curls at the mention of that man. “That’s fair. I wish the old bastard would take a one-way trip to hell, already. Ever since I saw him hanging out by the pool, like, way too often for someone who doesn’t swim or have kids who swim.” 

Mark shudders. “Yeah. I can’t believe Doyoung wants Jaem to entertain him.”

Jaemin feels physically ill at the thought. “Not my brother's finest moment, I’ll say. He was still trying to convince me at breakfast today, like I’d suddenly change my mind and decide I want to offer myself up for the good of the company.” 

“I guess Renjun really is your knight in shining armour,” Jeno sighs. “Who knew. I always figured he’d be the first in line to get a look at your downfall.” 

“Maybe the flirting finally won him over,” Jisung snickers. “Oh, Renjun, I love your beanie, and oh, your handwriting is so pretty. ” 

Jaemin grabs a pillow from the couch and hurls it at his head. “Shut up.” 

Unfazed, Jisung grins at him. “It's not my fault I had to sit behind you in that morning class. I heard everything. Don’t know how I didn’t realise you liked him.”

It would be more humiliating if Jaemin could recall all the words he’d exchanged with Renjun during their desk-sharing period. Thankfully it was years ago, and he can’t hold himself accountable for half the things he said as a lovesick teenager. “I was nice. I was charming. ” 

Even Donghyuck joins in on the laughter, despite not having known Jaemin back then.

“Whatever,” he sulks. “He liked me sometimes.” 

“Let’s just hope he likes you enough to keep up the lovers act all night,” Mark says. The mood drops considerably after that, as well-meaning as Mark is. 

“Yeah,” Jaemin replies half-heartedly. He hadn’t really thought about how at any moment, Renjun could expose his lie in front of all of those people at the gala, especially the investors and board members of the company. While it wouldn’t be enough to destroy them, the damage to their reputation would be irreparable. But Renjun wouldn’t do something like that. He may hold a grudge against Jaemin, but he wouldn’t pull something so vicious. Especially not when Jaemin’s promised him something greater.

Would he?

But it’s too late to dwell on it now. The plan is in place. “Does anyone feel like going swimming?”

Jisung, Mark and Donghyuck dive into the pool and splash the surrounding area as soon as they make it outside, and some of the older guests send them scathing looks. Jaemin and Jeno wield mirrored expressions of shame, ducking their heads and laying down on the only sunbeds unaffected by their friends' antics. Jaemin already had a shower that morning and doesn't want to reek of chlorine when he meets up with Renjun. Because there's no use denying the fact — he's self-conscious and wants to look his best tonight. Because Renjun will be there. Even though he's been dragged there by the promise of career-changing information, and probably doesn’t care what he looks like. 

"You're thinking too much," Jeno murmurs from beside him. "Let's just relax before tonight's shit-show, yeah?" 

Jaemin blows out a breath through his teeth, watching as Jisung tackles Donghyuck below the surface, the water lapping against the edges of the pool. It’s a massive thing, yet somehow his friends are taking up the entire space with their antics. "I don't know why I'm so stressed. This is better than Hwang, right? I haven't made a stupid decision, right? Tell me I haven’t." 

"Why're you doubting yourself now? Is it because of what Mark said? If it is, trust me, he says a lot of stupid things. Don't listen to him too closely." 

"I don't know." Jaemin pauses, fiddling with his thumbs. He doesn't want to concern Jeno, so he has to choose his words carefully. "I guess I just keep forgetting I don't really know Renjun. I didn't know him that well in high school, and it's been years since then. And I guess..." he sighs, contemplating the best way to word what he wants to say. "Meeting him made me think about everything I've been missing out on. Because of Doyoung. Like, I knew I was, but seeing someone from high school, an adult with a proper job and life experience and maturity... I felt like a child talking to him. It’s stupid." 

Jeno doesn't speak straight away, but the concern in his eyes is on clear display. He doesn't want that. It was stupid bringing it up because it doesn't matter, because he probably won't be seeing Renjun after tonight. "Jaemin," Jeno starts slow, never a good sign. "How come you never said anything to us?" 

Jaemin chuckles dryly. His friends know enough, they've had their fair share of times running past security after "visiting" hours and smuggling Jaemin through the lobby. But what's the use in telling them his own complicated feelings when they can't do anything anyway? It's not his friends' fault, and he'd never want to put the burden on them. And, a voice that sounds like Renjun's reminds him, he’s privileged. It's not like his brother has thrown him out on the street. He spends his days at a five-star hotel. Why should he be complaining?

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he fishes it out instead of giving Jeno a half-hearted reply.

Doyoung

12:07 — Where are you?

Doyoung

12:07 — We are continuing our discussion later. Be on your best behaviour tonight.

He keeps his expression vague, but inside, he's rolling his eyes. Even over text, his brother is as ignorant as they come, but at least it means Doyoung won't be nagging him for the rest of the day. And at the gala — his assistant is the enemy, the one to avoid. Next to Jungwoo, Doyoung will seem tolerable.

"Who's that?" Jeno nods towards his phone. 

Before Jaemin can respond, they're interrupted by a nuisance calling out from the pool.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Jisung teases before Mark dunks his head below the surface. Jaemin snorts, taking the opportunity to slide his phone back in his pocket and flag a waiter for a poolside drink. Jeno does the same. Jisung resurfaces amid laughter, splashing at Mark in retaliation. “Fuck you, dude!” 

Jaemin thinks it’s the end of the conversation, but against his luck, Jisung swims up to the edge of the pool. He props his forearms on the tile, peering up at him. “Did you get his number, then?” 

“Hm?” 

“Huang Renjun. Did you get his number? Since you two are dating and all.” Jisung enunciates the word with too much enthused sarcasm for his liking. 

Jaemin frowns. “Why does it matter?” 

Jeno huffs out a laugh beside him. “You’re supposed to be meeting him tonight, but you didn’t exchange numbers? How does he know where to meet you? What to wear? What to say? Who he should avoid?” 

He hasn’t thought of that. But Renjun hadn’t mentioned it either, so he mustn’t have been worried. Which means it’s not important. They don’t need each other’s numbers, since this arrangement is just for one night. “We decided to meet in the lobby at seven-thirty. What does it matter?” 

“Jaemin, Jaemin, Jaemin,” Jisung tuts. 

“What?” 

“If you think you’re going to trick Jungwoo, Doyoung, and the rest of them, you’re kidding yourself,” Jeno says. 

“I didn’t think it was that important. How would they know if we have each other’s numbers or not? Doyoung doesn’t go through my phone.” 

Jeno still looks amused, but Jisung rolls his eyes. “You’re helpless, dude. Good luck with all that.” He rolls back into the pool, already bored of their discussion. Jaemin would be offended if it weren’t a regular behaviour perpetrated by his annoying friend. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jeno says. "I think Jisung just wants a show."

"There'll be a show when his grandmother spots the tattoos he can't cover with concealer and the boyfriend on his arm."

The corner of Jeno's mouth twitches. 

Their drinks arrive, Jaemin having ordered a pink lemonade and Jeno's being some sort of flavoured water because he's on another "health kick," whatever that's supposed to mean. It's a yearly occurrence and sucks every time because the usual pliant and sweet Jeno becomes one full of grumpy snark. The only person who doesn't protest is Mark, who goes googly-eyed at his boyfriend's bulging biceps. It's sickening. 

Jaemin leans back on the sunbed, dropping his head to the side to peer at Jeno. "So, what have I missed?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"What's been going on while I've been locked in the tower? Spare no details."

Jeno shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. Once he's satisfied, he smacks his lips before answering. "Jisung's started surfing. He's horrible, by the way. He's only doing it because he has Donghyuck as his instructor, but he spends half the lesson staring at his ass which is why he can barely stand up on the board after like, a month." 

Jaemin giggles. "That doesn't surprise me at all. Poor Donghyuck."

"I'm never watching another lesson again," Jeno shudders. "Mark's still set on this cafe idea, but I think his parents are finally going to go for it. He made a PowerPoint and wrote a speech and everything. It was cute. Plus, I said I'd help out on the days I don't have class. He's so passionate about it, I don't think it's just one of his ideas, you know? And I'll support him all the way." 

"Mn." It must be nice for Mark, to know Jeno always has his back. Jaemin replays Jeno's words, something dawning on him. "Classes? You're taking classes?" 

"Ah," Jeno flushes, caught off guard. "Yeah. I decided I want to study law after all." 

Jaemin's eyes widen, and he sits up. "Jeno, that's so cool! I'm so proud of you!" 

Jeno lowers his gaze, bashful. "It's nothing. I'm just lucky I got in. I didn't want my dad to have a say in it, or call in a favour or something, so there was always a chance I'd get rejected."

"Never. No chance."

"You're silly." 

"No. Just very proud of you." 

Jeno rolls his eyes, waving at him to lay back down. "Anyway. It's weird, going back to school now. I thought I was young, but there are babies in my classes. As in, just got out of high school babies.”

"Sounds like a nightmare." 

Jeno hums. "Do you know what you want to do? It'd be cool if we went to the same school."

Jaemin doesn't know how to respond to that. He's thought about it frequently, getting a degree and then a job, the things he'd like to do. But he doesn't know what to say to Jeno, who thought university wasn't for him but decided to return once he'd found his passion. That if he truly decides that it's something he wants to pursue, he'll have to face the reality that Doyoung might tell him no. 

"Do you still like Renjun?"

The question comes seemingly from nowhere, and Jaemin chokes on his own spit. Sputtering, he responds, "what?"

Jeno, however, is unphased. "Do you still like Renjun?"

"Why are you asking me that?" 

"I don't know," Jeno shrugs. "It seemed relevant to the crisis going on inside your head right now. I don't care what the answer is. I'm just curious."

He hasn't seen Renjun in years. Yes, he's still as attractive as he was years ago, and yes, he still feels the remaining butterflies that can only be expected from meeting a high school crush years later, but does he actively like him? The guy who hates him, and is only doing him a favour for personal gain? When their only conversation had been about their fake arrangement and Renjun could barely hide his distaste? "I think he's pretty. But he always was." 

Jeno nods, like a psychiatrist assessing a patient. "I see. So there’s potential there.” He ignores Jaemin’s squeak of indignation. “What did you see in him, anyway? All I can remember is he was always rude to you. He kind of used to glare at everyone, but especially you. Which I get, because you’re annoying, but still. Unless you're into that sort of thing?"

"No!" Jaemin protests, a little too loudly. The old ladies lying nearby stare daggers at him. He lowers his voice, "he had his nice moments."

"Such as?" 

"Like when we got locked in the school together once."

“Locked in?” Jeno frowns. "When? How come I've never heard this story?" 

"I was sworn to secrecy. And it was embarrassing." 

"I don't care. Tell me now."

Jaemin huffs. He takes in Jeno's crossed arms and betrayed expression and knows he’s going to cave. "It's a long story. Do you really want to know?" 

"We've got all afternoon. Start talking."

It was almost like fate, how they had both managed to land in the same situation at the same time. And though it had happened so long ago now, in their last year of high school, with graduation right on the horizon — Jaemin has no trouble recalling it like it was yesterday. It had been a regular afternoon for him, the last bell signalling freedom still ringing in his ears as he piled into the hallway with the other students, Jeno hanging off his frame. Normally they would hang out after school, grab an ice cream and ditch their tight and suffocating blazers, roll up their sleeves, and relax before Jaemin would be whisked back to the hotel. But that afternoon Jeno had some club activity to get to. Squash, maybe? Jaemin hadn’t really been paying attention. They’d parted ways at the entrance to the school, and Jaemin had hung around for a bit, watching his classmates leave in their little groups or be picked up by their drivers. 

Jaemin was half-expecting to spot a familiar face, not that Doyoung had ever personally picked him up (other than when he’d wait in the car), but a phone call had crushed his hopes for a quick trip home. 

“The meeting is running late, Mr Lee never knows when to shut up. I don’t know how soon I can arrange someone to pick you up.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Just wait for a bit, okay? Don’t leave the school on your own. I’m sure it won't be too long.”

“Okay.”

Like another chore being ticked off the checklist, his brother had hung up quickly. Naturally, with nothing to do other than to wait for Doyoung to get out of his meeting, and no friends who were available (Mark had been out with a cold all week and Jisung was on a family vacation, the lucky twerp), he surmised that the best option available to him was to head to the library and abuse the school wifi by wasting time with a movie or a drama, whatever he could get his hands on. And so he crept into the empty space, floorboards creaking under his scuffed school shoes, burying himself in one of the bean bags in a corner, his laptop cradled on his lap. He was hidden from sight by the surrounding bookshelves, but it didn’t seem to matter much. Even the teachers appeared to leave the premises as soon as the school day was over, because there was no one around to disturb him or kick him out for lingering after hours. He pressed play on some romantic comedy-drama episode, and from then on, the only sounds he heard other than his own breathing and the audio was some clattering. He didn’t let it distract him from the male lead's handsome face, however. 

He was so immersed in the twisted plotline the drama was following that it took another episode and a half for him to realise that the sun was no longer filtering through the windows, and when he had pulled out an earphone, the library was eerily quiet. And very dark. 

“Fuck,” he’d muttered, and shoved his earphones into his pocket. He’d also shut his laptop, and slid it back into his schoolbag. “Fuck. What time is it?” 

His phone revealed that it was at least six pm, or something like that, and his brother still hadn’t called him. 

It certainly explained the stiffness in his neck. Beanbags were not great ergonomically. After some stretching to work out the kinks, he decided that his best option was to head out to the front of the school and try calling Doyoung again. His brother's meeting could not have dragged on for more than a couple of hours, and his brother wouldn't have forgotten him, probably. 

And since when did it get so dark at six o’clock, anyway?

It was with a sinking feeling that he left the library. Walking through the hallways, he gained a new understanding of why so many scary movies were centred around a high school at night time. The fact that their school has been around for centuries, held together by crumbling bricks and strong faith, only worsened the spooky effect with its creaky doorways and loose floorboards. With every squeak of his leather shoes, his paranoia heightened. So when he reached the entrance, only to find a body, a person, a student or whatever, facing the door, standing so still a gust of wind could not have blown them away, Jaemin did the most natural thing — he shrieked. 

“Ghost!” 

Clutching the straps of his bag tightly, he had twisted on his heel and prepared to run for his life. 

Only for the ghost to snap at him from behind, “I’m not a fucking ghost. Shut up.” 

The irritation. The annoyance. The undertone of disgust. He could pinpoint that voice from anywhere. “Renjun?” 

Spinning around, Renjun eyed him with contempt. His crush stood in the doorway, looking as pleased to see him as always — which was never. He took in Jaemin’s dishevelled appearance, and chose to stay silent rather than give him any sort of reply.

That had never deterred Jaemin. But he was still in a state of shock at seeing him standing there. “What are you doing here? It’s late. Are you waiting for someone?” 

Renjun picked up his school bag, previously discarded by the door. “None of your business.” 

“Oh—kay. Whatever you say.” Confident that he wouldn't be fighting for his life anytime soon, Jaemin joined Renjun at the door. As he reached for the handle to exit the school, Renjun spoke again. 

“That won't work.” 

Jaemin tugged on it. Indeed, it did not work. He tugged again, harder this time. Still the door didn’t budge. It stayed shut, unmoving, uncaring of his growing despair. “I don’t understand.” 

Renjun let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re locked in, genius. Whichever staff member that was supposed to do the last sweep of the school decided they didn’t want to tonight, apparently. There’s no way out. I’ve tried every single exit, they’re all locked.” 

“No way,” Jaemin refused to believe it. “They wouldn’t be that careless. Someone’s gotta be here, right?” 

“I told you, I’ve checked all the exits in the school. I looked in every room. No one’s here,” Renjun insisted. “Although— I didn’t see you. At any time this afternoon, actually. Where were you?” 

Jaemin blinked, surprised Renjun had it in him to talk this much. And to talk to him, of all people. He talked animatedly when arguing a point, he noticed. “I was in the library.” 

“No, I was in the library. I didn’t see you there.” 

And he definitely would have noticed if Renjun was there. If Renjun was in the room, his eyes would gravitate nowhere else. But he had been watching a drama, and he had been slouched on a beanbag, hidden by shelving. It would explain the clattering he had heard, and why Renjun hadn’t been able to see him. He wouldn’t have searched every nook and cranny. It was kind of funny, the fact that they’d unintentionally, and technically, spent the afternoon together. “I was, um, you know. In the corner. On the beanbags. So that’s probably why you didn’t see me. And I wasn’t exactly listening for anyone so I didn’t realise when everyone had left for the night…” 

Renjun’s eyes rolled back with a force so hard Jaemin was surprised they didn’t fall out of his head. “Of course. I should have fucking guessed. Out of all people in this whole fucking school, I had to be stuck with you because you were hiding in a fucking corner!” He tugged on his maroon tie, loosening it with the hand not curled into a fist. 

Jaemin’s throat was dry as he swallowed, the sudden agitation having caught him off guard. “I’m sorry?” 

Either Renjun didn’t hear him or he didn’t care. He slumped against the wall, his backpack a cushion for his back as his head narrowly missed making contact with the brick. Jaemin’s eyes zeroed in on Renjun’s hands (not an irregular occurrence) and noticed that they shook ever so slightly. Was he frustrated? Scared? A bit of both? Would he take a swing at Jaemin if he asked what was wrong? 

“My brother will be out of his meeting soon,” Jaemin tried to reassure him, even though it was likely Renjun didn’t want to hear it. “He’ll let us out. I’ll text him, he knows the principal, someone will be here in no time.” 

He didn’t expect Renjun to be grateful, but he certainly didn’t expect him to choke on a laugh. “Of course. Once again, Na Jaemin uses his privilege to save the day. That count as your one good deed? Or will you help an old lady cross the street afterwards, just to make sure people understand that you’re a nice guy?” 

Jaemin furrowed his brows, fingers clutching his phone in his pocket. “I don’t understand.” 

“Drop the act.” 

Act? It hadn’t occurred to him at the time, but years later when he would reflect on this moment, he’d come to realise what he’d struggled to in high school — that Renjun thought he was just playing the part, and deep down, he was just like the rest of their peers. At least teenage Jaemin knew enough to protest, which was better than keeping silent. “It’s not an act. No one’s around, why would I bother?” 

Renjun gave him a pointed look. “I don’t know. I’m not like you.” 

Jaemin had huffed. His attraction to Renjun only extended so far, and their interactions being restricted to class meant they didn’t have a chance to talk for a long while, so Jaemin never got to the point of outright annoyance at Renjun’s insinuations. And he’d like to claim that ordinarily, he was a mellow guy, not one for conflict, maybe a sneaky comment or two, but he’d never expressed anything but like towards Renjun. Sometimes an embarrassing amount of it. But he was equally as tired, the cramp in his neck had not been fixed by a couple of stretches, and for once in his life, he wanted more than anything to be back at the hotel. Plus, his stomach had started rumbling, protesting for food. Which he had none of. So Renjun could fuck off with that attitude, no matter how cute his bangs looked at that very moment, especially how they fell into his eyes in gentle waves. He could fuck off, indeed. 

“Look. I know you hate me, and you don’t want to be here, especially with me. But I don’t want to be here either. So I’m going to use my privilege to get the fuck out of here, and in the meantime, I’m going to go sit in the library and finish this drama episode because Joon Pyo is eally annoying me right now but I have to see him become a better person for Jandi. Okay?” 

Renjun gawked. 

Maybe he’d gone a little too far. His cheeks flushed, Jaemin had muttered, “and you can, like, join me. If you want. To sit in the library. While I wait for my brother.” 

That was how they had ended up back in the library, their table illuminated by both of their laptop screens, a wide space between them at their chosen table. Jaemin was deeply ingrained in his drama upon receiving no response from his text to Doyoung, and Renjun was working on some essay due the next day. An awkward silence had followed them from the hallways to the library, and neither of them had touched on it. There was no point. Jaemin had gotten over his momentary frustration and had begun to feel nothing but mortification about his outburst, and Renjun had kept his face as neutral as he usually did. There was no telling what he was thinking. 

Jaemin was the first to crack upon hearing the fifth sigh pass Renjun’s pretty lips, and decided enough was enough. There was every chance that he’d be snapped at, told to fuck off, to mind his own business. But it was hard to become immersed in the romantic, tension-filled scene in front of him when the grumbles of his classmate interrupted the mood. 

“Are you okay?” he inquired.

Renjun, his face so close to his laptop screen he could have kissed it, tilted his head. “What?” 

“Are you okay? You keep sighing.” 

“What's it to you? Mind your own business.” 

It stung, like it always did. But he had been expecting it. So he pressed play on his laptop once again, and ignored the strain on his heart. Who said low expectations meant any less pain? They were definitely lying. 

“I, um—” Renjun cleared his throat, pulling away from his laptop screen. “I’m just—” he faltered, struggling to get the words out. Jaemin decided it was best to stay silent, and wait for Renjun to finish. “I’m stressed about this essay.”

“Mhm.” 

Renjun gestured at the screen, still stumbling over his words. “It’s finished but I just feel like, like something is missing? Or I haven’t written enough, or I didn’t talk about the topic enough. And I’ve read it over already, about a thousand times at this point, but I can’t figure out what it is.” 

Jaemin recognised it for what it was. An apology. An explanation for his behaviour. An olive branch, extended towards him. It must have crossed Renjun’s mind that if they were going to be stuck in this situation together, there was no use fighting. Especially when there was no one around to witness them. “What subject is it?”

“History.” 

Jaemin perked up, turning to face Renjun. “Really? I love history.”

Renjun eyes him curiously. “Huh. Usually I do well at essay-based subjects, but I’ve always struggled with history. Maybe it’s having to memorise all the dates, and the complicated namesake. And how our teacher drones on for hours.” 

“Oh, yeah. All the famous people in history just had to have annoying names. It’s a rule, you know. It’s how they stay relevant — you have to keep searching up their names on the internet or in a textbook to find out how to spell them.”

Renjun made a small sound, almost like a scoff but not quite. Like a laugh. It occurred to Jaemin that he’d made Renjun laugh, and it had single-handedly been the softest thing ever. So the same thing happened to him that was common between every teenager that was beginning to score with their crush. He got a sudden bout of confidence, and he wasn’t going to waste it. “Do you want me to read it over? I get pretty good marks in history, and a second pair of eyes might help you figure out what’s wrong.”

Renjun took a moment to decide, pressing his lips together. 

“I promise my intentions are pure. It’s not like we have anything else to do, anyway.” 

Renjun slid his laptop over with a lingering weariness. It was a simple essay, centred around some random fight in history (there were so many, and Jaemin hadn’t remembered the details from the class discussion). He was a history enthusiast, but he hadn’t cared so much for the content of the essay, in fact, he was preoccupied trying not to leave sweaty fingerprints on the mousepad because he could feel Renjun’s sharp gaze on the side of his head. Probably waiting for a hint of Jaemin doing something suspicious. But that aside, Jaemin had immediately picked up on the writing, as it completely enraptured him. There was no hiding that Renjun didn’t like history much — it was less of a report and more of a fantasy retelling. But he had a way with words, and Jaemin stopped thinking about how Renjun was edging closer, how he was willingly letting Jaemin in, and started thinking about how much potential he had. 

By the time he’d finished skimming through the document, Renjun was antsy, jiggling his thigh on the plastic chair as he awaited Jaemin’s critique. He’d abandoned his tie entirely, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. 

Jaemin tried not to stare at the pale stretch of skin. “I can tell you don’t like history much, but there’s nothing wrong with your essay.” 

The response came immediately, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Renjun, I’m serious. This is really good. I didn’t think I’d actually get invested reading about an event that happened a long time ago. And I like history. I don’t think you need to change anything.” 

He began to slide the laptop back over, but before he could, Renjun was pulling his chair up beside his. “I said I don’t believe you. Did you even read it? Show me your favourite part.”

Jaemin’s neck was warm. Renjun had never been this close before. So close, that if he shifted slightly, their legs would brush up against each other. “My— my favourite part?” 

“Yep. Show me.” 

Jaemin leaned closer to the laptop, closer to Renjun, to scroll up to one of the earlier paragraphs. “Um,” he pointed a shaky finger at the screen. “Here. Where you talk about the location and the scene of the battle, the weapons and stuff. Usually, it’s quite boring. Just a name and a definition, or a descriptor to aid in the understanding of what the whole thing looks like. But when you talked about it, I could see it so clearly, which shows you understand what you’re writing about. Does that make sense?” His speech was slow and jumbled, and he doubted Renjun even caught half of it.

In any case, Renjun seemed satisfied enough to back off. From arguing, that was. He didn’t move away from Jaemin. “Oh. I see what you mean. Thank you, then. For reading it over.” 

Awkward silence took over once more. Jaemin didn’t know what to say, if Renjun wanted him to say anything, if it was right to say something. Neither had moved back to their original spots. And then Jaemin’s stomach let out a rumble, and the shred of dignity he had left flew out the door. He cleared his throat, reaching for his laptop in an attempt to cover it up, but it was useless.

“Are you hungry?” 

Sheepishly, he responded. “A bit. I didn’t really eat lunch.” 

“That’s irresponsible,” Renjun grumbled. He paused, leaning over in his seat to grab his bag. Jaemin couldn’t see what he was digging around for, until he pulled out a packet of what looked like chocolate. “You’re lucky, you know. My aunt went on a trip to Australia and brought back all of these snacks. She made me bring this today to share with some friends, so I haven’t opened it yet. Do you want one?” 

He ripped open the packaging and held it out to Jaemin. Renjun was being nice to him. Offering a snack because he was hungry. A snack that he was meant to share with friends, when they were anything but. He had to bite down on his right cheek to refrain from grinning too hard and spooking Renjun. “Yeah, thank you.” What he’d originally thought was chocolate turned out to be a chocolate-coated biscuit, sickeningly sweet as he bit into it. He’d always liked sweet things. “Your aunt has good taste.” 

Renjun shook his head, mouth twisted in amusement. “I think she just wanted to bring back as many things as possible. Just in case someone forgot she went away.”

“Isn’t the best part of going on a trip coming back and making everyone jealous?” Jaemin joked. 

“I suppose you would know.”

There it was again. The scorn. The bitterness. 

Jaemin focused his gaze on the packet in front of him. “I’ve never really tried a lot of snacks. I can see why people eat them all the time.” The aftertaste of the chocolate lingered on his tongue. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not really allowed to eat many things. I just eat whatever Doyoung requests from the chefs.” 

“Oh,” Renjun responded, though he sounded like he couldn’t really grasp what Jaemin was telling him. But Renjun skipped over it before Jaemin could say anything. Not that Jaemin was going to talk about his home situation in further detail to his one-sided enemy. “What were you watching earlier?” 

Jaemin met Renjun’s eyes, but couldn’t read the expression on his face. Whether he was genuinely interested or wanted to avoid another awkward moment between the two because Doyoung still hadn’t texted back. “Just a drama. Something to pass the time.” 

“Ah.” Renjun swung his leg, and his shoe collided with the leg of Jaemin’s chair. He rested it there, their thighs pressed together through their uniform pants. Jaemin’s brain spun trying to work out what was happening. “Can we watch it? I don’t mind if I don’t understand.” 

Jaemin’s eyes widened and he fumbled for his laptop, dragging it closer. “Uh, yeah sure, give me a sec—” 

The unmistakable laugh came again, right under Renjun’s breath. But it wasn’t cruel. And when he snuck a glance, Renjun was smiling — with a wary gentleness. But it was still gentle. Another apology? It didn’t matter. “If I don’t understand I can just ask you, right? You’ll tell me what’s happening?” 

“Yep. Yeah,” Jaemin replied, super smooth. “But it’s a really basic plot, so you’ll probably catch on anyway.” 

“What’s it about?” 

Jaemin smacked his lips together, pondering the best way to summarise it. “A poor girl gets transferred to a school with a ton of rich kids and falls for this really wealthy dude.” 

When Renjun didn’t immediately respond, Jaemin glanced over. Renjun was already staring at him, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. 

“What?”

“Sounds like a stupid plot, is all,” Renjun sounded bored, but there was a lilt to his voice. It was tripping Jaemin up. 

“It’s fun, you’ll see.” 

Once he had the tab open again, he extended one of the earphones to Renjun. Their hands brushed together, and Jaemin hit play. 

From what he could remember when thinking back to this time in the past, he was pretty sure Renjun didn’t understand most of it. It was comprehensible given the number of subplots, but he interrupted every two seconds to ask Jaemin who this person was and what they were doing, and, oh, why are they fighting now? And Jaemin could feel himself growing irritated because being infatuated with someone only goes so far, but every single time he’d turn his head to offer a reply the same smile would be painted on Renjun’s lips, and his eyes would twinkle like he was purposefully trying to rile him up. To tease him.

And somewhere between all of that, their chairs were pushed side by side, and Renjun’s ankle had been linked with his for the better half of an hour. He didn’t know if Renjun noticed that. Or if he noticed that every time they’d start another discussion, Jaemin could count his eyelashes because they were just that close, peering at the laptop screen. Or that as the minutes ticked by, Renjun was letting his guard down. Letting him in. 

He didn’t know what had caused it. But something between them had changed. A glimmer of understanding had passed between them. 

And all it took was his brother storming into the library to ruin it. 

He didn’t like remembering that part. There was a lot of shouting. Renjun had sprung apart from him the instant he noticed Doyoung. The worst part had been the warmth leaving his side. And then, his brother tugged him out of the chair by his shirt collar. Immediately, he’d spat out, “ what do you think you’re doing? ”

Taeyong had placed a hand on Doyoung’s shoulder, encouraging him to let Jaemin go. Their principal, a sweaty, red-faced, bald-headed old man stood in the doorway and watched the events unfold. He’d retired shortly after — not a surprise. 

“What are you talking about?” Jaemin had retorted, rubbing his neck. 

“I did you a favour coming down here myself, and you repay me by canoodling with another student? Was this the plan all along, to have some alone time without me noticing?” 

“No!” Jaemin didn’t mean to sound so hysterical. But out of the corner of his eye, he could see Renjun edging away, picking up his school bag. And his eyes — there was nothing but distrust. Gone was any hint of acceptance between them. “The only reason I was still here was that you made me wait until you finished your stupid meeting! I texted you but you never answered!”

Doyoung zeroed in on Renjun. “And who are you? Was this your idea?” 

Jaemin kept his mouth shut, as did Renjun. The principal didn’t get the memo. “That’s our scholarship student.” He didn’t even give his name. To him, Renjun was just a scholarship student. 

Renjun’s face dropped completely, his mouth set in a grim line. 

“And who are you, to be hanging around Jaemin? Was this your idea? Luring him in when no one was around to stop it, right?” Doyoung scoffed. He took a step in Renjun’s direction, jabbing a finger at him. “I do hope you aren’t expecting anything. Jaemin knows he isn’t to be fraternizing with people in your situation, nor getting into a relationship with them. He may entertain someone like you because he’s bored, or feeling a little rebellious. But he won’t forget his place. And neither should someone like you. Don’t bother him again, or speak to anyone about this, or I will be taking further action.” 

His brother didn’t give Jaemin a chance to explain. Jaemin couldn’t even look at Renjun as he was dragged out by his school bag, his laptop crammed into his arms and Doyoung’s outraged hissing in his ear. It probably wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Renjun wouldn’t have believed that Doyoung was just an overstressed, overprotective, classist idiot who despised the idea of Jaemin having free will. Renjun would never believe Jaemin. 

Doyoung never did remember the kid he yelled at. It was probably for the best. The Renjun of now would probably aim a well-placed kick to his balls, and Doyoung has never had a high pain tolerance. 

It didn't matter, anyway. That was the last time he and Renjun spoke in their school years. The next day, Renjun went back to pretending Jaemin was nothing more than a fly on the wall — any chance of mutual acceptance was well and truly gone. 

“Oh, wow,” Jeno whistles once Jaemin has finished speaking. “That’s brutal. What the hell?” 

Jaemin takes a sip of his drink. He hasn’t thought about it in a long time, and it’s weird to revisit that exact period in his life. At the time it had been the worst thing to happen, heartbreaking, and embarrassing that Renjun had to bear witness to his family being presented like that. Now, it’s just sad. A part of him wishes he’d put his foot down back then. But it had only been for an hour or two that he and Renjun had found common footing. There was no guarantee it wouldn’t have been for naught if he’d put up a fight. 

“It makes a lot of sense though,” Jeno continues. “You were off for like, a month during that time. You didn’t laugh at any of Mark’s jokes and he was seriously upset about it. Plus, our homeroom teacher asked me if you were okay, but I just thought you were tired.” 

“Is that why you kept taking me to the nurse so I could nap during the day?” 

“Mhm. Can’t believe I gave you an excuse to skip out on algebra for nothing. ” 

Jaemin grins over at his friend, grateful all the same. It’s nice that Jeno had tried his best to be there for him, even if Jaemin had been completely oblivious to his efforts. He does remember thinking it was kind of weird at the time, but who in their right mind would turn down the opportunity to leave class and nap?

Jeno doesn’t share eye contact, instead gazing out at the pool. Their friends are still splashing around, Jisung has since acquired a pool noodle and has started hitting Mark with it despite his pleas for mercy, but Jeno speaks with an undertone of seriousness. “It explains a lot, you know.”

Jaemin cocks his head. “What do you mean? Explains what?” 

Jeno shrugs, appearing nonchalant. “You always make us snuggle in snacks. Even during school, you’d steal our food all the time, even when we told you to go buy snacks yourself. It just makes sense now, since you never told me about the diet thing.”

Jaemin scrunches his nose. He didn’t think Jeno would recall such a random part of the story, never mind bring it up again. “It’s not as serious as it sounds. I just wanted to eat sweets like everyone else, is all. I wasn’t starved, if that’s what you’re thinking. Doyoung took care of me.”

His words seem to reassure Jeno. They don’t speak further about it, not that there’s anything else to say, because Mark pulls himself out of the pool and plops onto Jeno’s lap, soaking body and all. Jeno’s protests go ignored as Mark makes his boyfriend’s chest and now wet linen shirt his home, blinking up at Jaemin. “Whatcha talking about?”

“Nothing worthwhile,” Jaemin says. “Had enough of the pool?” 

A mischievous expression breaks out on Mark’s face, and Jaemin’s stomach fills with dread. “Nope.” 

Innocent Jeno, who hasn’t caught on, blinks lazily. “Then why are you getting me all wet?” 

“Thought you liked that, babe.” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes, turning away. It’s to his own detriment that their flirting has him distracted, because it takes him too long to notice that their other friends have also dragged themselves from the pool, and even as the pool water clinging to their skin drips onto the pavement beside him, Jaemin still doesn’t notice their presence. That is, until Jisung leans close and whispers in his ear, “your turn.” 

Jaemin scrambles away so fast half of his ass hangs off the other side of the sunbed, wiping at the wetness on his ear with a panicked expression. “What the fuck. ” 

Jisung and Donghyuck watch him with gleaming expressions. 

“Stay back you bastards. I’ll call security! I know you’re up to no good!”

“So dramatic,” Jeno mutters beside him.

Traitor. “Shut up, Jeno. You’re not the one at risk here!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Mark adds gleefully. 

“What?” Jeno hisses. 

“It’s just a little dip, Jaemin,” Jisung prods. 

“The water isn’t even cold,” Donghyuck chirps. 

He protests, he really does. When the disastrous duo creeps closer Jaemin yells, kicks his legs, he flaps his arms. Uncaring, they grab at his shirt, his nicely pressed trousers, and haul him to his feet. Jaemin’s never really been an athlete, like whatsoever, and even as he digs his heels into the pavement it does nothing as the pool grows closer and closer, the aqua water as ominous as it gets. 

“Let’s talk this out,” Jaemin pleads. “These pants were expensive, okay? Would you really do that to me?” 

“Just take them off,” Donghyuck says, like it's the most obvious solution in the world, grip tightening on his wrist.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he whines, pulling his mouth into a pout. “I’m a good person! I don’t deserve this!” 

 Right as the words leave his mouth, he glances up at the hotel rooms that overlook the pool. Almost as if it were fate, because surely it couldn’t be anything else, he makes eye contact with none other than Renjun, standing out on his balcony and watching the scene unfold. It makes sense, if he were reviewing the hotel he’d want to make a note on the scenery, the acoustics, the vibes. But at this very moment, when Jaemin is being mistreated and humiliated, is when he happens to be watching. 

He fights with a new fervour, slapping Donghyuck’s hand off his wrist. “I refuse! You can’t do this to me!”

Jisung still has a tight grip, and he cackles. “Save it, dude. You’re screwed.” 

“At least let me take off my loafers.” 

The duo exchange a glance, as if it’s an important question they must think seriously about. “Fine. The loafers can go.”

Shooting Jisung with his worst, most burning glare, he slips off his shoes. There’s a pressure on his back — probably Mark — and all too soon he’s flying, straight into the pool, expensive pants and all. 

But before he’d fallen, he’d seen Renjun’s face. It wielded the very same smile Jaemin had craved to bring out of him, that he hadn’t seen since their lock-in, and had only witnessed a glimpse of in the coffee shop yesterday. It was that same smile, filled with amusement and glee and an eagerness to see Jaemin pout, to see him complain, to annoy him. Renjun had been watching the scene unfold, watching Jaemin — and there was a fondness there, for a second. No hatred. No stand-offishness. There was something there. 

Definitely worth falling into the pool, then. 

Not worth cleaning the chlorine out of his hair. 

“Park Jisung you fucking menace!”

The lobby is different at night, despite it only being seven o’clock. There’s less of a rush, not as many travellers checking in or people waiting around to check out, so the staff don’t linger at reception. Jaemin is the only other person in the room, and it’s almost out of sheer amusement that he sits on the same couch as he had the day before when he’d argued with Doyoung. Except this time, he’s waiting for Renjun. And he’s hoping against hope that the man hasn’t regained his senses and taken off, or left Jaemin to rot. 

There would be no hard feelings, if he did. Jaemin doesn’t want to go to the gala either — and he doesn’t have the same sort of history with high society that Renjun does. 

His suit is as boring as he’d planned it to be, a plain black piece with a bow tie, the requirement for all men in attendance. Personally, he’s never been a fan of bow ties, nor revelling in his own apparent superiority which is an unspoken rule. His blazer cuts into his shoulders ever so slightly and his vest pinched at his ribs, a refreshing reminder that he’s grown since he was seventeen, but a pain because Doyoung will demand he be fitted for a new one. All first world problems of course — but Jaemin’s so nervous he’s begun sweating through his white shirt and his thoughts enjoy nothing more than spiralling. 

Right on time, the elevator dings. And out steps Renjun. 

He, too, has decided that the basics are better and his suit is similar to Jaemin’s, plain black. It’s better that they don’t stand out, or give people a reason to approach them. But it’s not like it matters, because no one can deny the beauty that someone like Huang Renjun holds, and even something so simple brings him to full bloom. 

Renjun gives him a once over as he approaches, but the face he makes is unreadable. He purses his lips, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Ready to get this party started?” 

Jaemin nods, tongue jumbled in his mouth. 

“Lead the way, then.” Renjun links their arms. At Jaemin’s questioning look, he adds, “people will be expecting a couple. It’s better we act as such from the start, right? So it looks natural?” 

He’s right. Jaemin feels hot under the collar, and it doesn’t disappear as he makes to move in the direction of the banquet hall, but Renjun keeps him rooted to the spot. 

“Wait.”

Jaemin sends him a questioning glance.

“We— we’ve got our story straight, don’t we? We know what we’re going to say if people start to question us? Because people will question us, won't they? That's what they’ll do?” 

Renjun’s eyes dance side to side. Jaemin feels he can breathe again, and breathe easy knowing he’s not alone. That Renjun is just as jittery as he is. Just as unsure about this whole thing. 

“We knew each other in high school, and got close when I found out you were back in the city.” He turns to the side to face Renjun properly, but to keep their arms linked. “Since it’s a new thing I think it’s fine if we don’t have all the details. People shouldn’t expect us to know much about each other at this point, right?” 

Renjun’s eyes are hard. “I don’t know. They’re your people, not mine.” 

Jaemin brushes the comment off. “Let’s go, then. If anything happens we can deal with it when it happens, right?” 

His heart hammers in his chest as they make their way past the lobby. Jaemin knows the path to the banquet hall easily, which gives him plenty of time to think about how he wanted so badly to believe that they could get along, especially after having seen that look from Renjun today. But nothing has changed. Why can’t he get it through his own head that Renjun doesn’t like him, and he can’t force him to, as much as he’d like it to be so?

“By the way,” Renjun clears his throat just as they’re approaching the room. The double doors are closed, but classical music and the chatter of socialites seeps underneath regardless. They’re not the only ones making an entrance, an older couple cuts right in front of them, so they fall in line behind. The door is opened by the staff member on guard duty, and Jaemin’s breath catches in his throat. His heart rattles in his chest. Is it ridiculously hot in the room, or something? 

“Jaemin,” Renjun says again. Oh, he’d been saying something, hadn’t he? 

“Mhm?” 

A soft puff of air passes Renjun’s lips. As they descend the stairs to the crowd below, plenty of eyes land on them. The conversation doesn't halter, and their stares flicker away almost instantly. But the remnants still burn Jaemin’s skin like a brand, and he shrinks away by reflex. Renjun unlinks his arm from Jaemin’s, instead taking Jaemin’s sweaty hand in his and squeezing it tight. “You clean up well,” Renjun murmurs, his breath tickling Jaemin’s earlobe. “I wanted to say it earlier.” 

An apology, Renjun style. If Jaemin weren’t shitting himself, he’d be grinning. Doing a little dance, maybe. His stomach does a somersault. 

“Oh— Ah— You too.” 

The bottom stair squeaks under his leather shoe, and then they’re on the floor, facing the crowd. 

Whoever his brother hired certainly knows how to do their job. The regular tablecloths have been cleared away, replaced with ones of pure white with gold trimming. The marble floors shine under the dim lighting, evidence of the hard work of whoever took the time to scrub away the muck and grease. Even the musicians on the makeshift stage perform in front of a wall of roses. The most dazzling is the chandelier above them, worth far too much and ironically probably the thing that evoked his brothers desire to sell him off — to pay for the stupid thing. His brother had worked fast to get it installed so quickly. The guests certainly seem satisfied with the displays, though it could be the champagne they clutch like a lifeline doing most of the pleasing. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Jaemin responds. “I know I said no one would question us, but…” Now that they’re on the ground floor, hungry eyes fill every corner of the room, waiting for a vulnerable moment to strike. Jaemin has yet to spot his brother, his assistant, or Taeyong. He sweeps the crowd hoping to spot any one of his friends, but they’re either late or trying to lay low, and either one is possible. He squeezes Renjun’s hand once more, deciding that there’s no use. They won’t be able to stand against the wall and pretend they’re invisible. They just have to dive in, and pray the current won’t take them out too far out to sea. 

“We’ve got this,” Renjun shrugs. And so, they throw themselves to the wolves. 

The first contender is one of his brother's colleagues, a man by the name of Jaehyun. Jaemin doesn’t know that much about him, other than that he and Doyoung attended college together, and that Jaehyun is a handsome man always clothed in some designer brand — Jaemin knows nothing about fashion, but he does recognise that he’s dressed to the nines in a black suit with (many) gold embellishments and absolutely no clothes underneath the blazer. His long hair is slicked back to show off his (many) assets. Jaehyun has always been kind to Jaemin at events he couldn’t escape, and all things considered, he’s probably the best sort of person to be bombarding them first. In terms of dirt, he has nothing to tell Renjun. He’s never heard a whisper about any illegal dealings, anything that could potentially destroy a reputation, or a career. The man likes to sleep around — but that’s hardly a crime.

“I must say, this is certainly unexpected,” Jaehyun says, sparing a glance at their intertwined hands. “Doyoung told me you’re quite the introvert, Jaemin. Barely leave the hotel, or something like that? But you’ve landed yourself such a gorgeous boyfriend.” 

Jaemin grits his teeth, maintaining a painted to perfection smile on the outside. Of course, Doyoung would drum up an excuse to explain their situation without giving away the fact that he’s the one who prefers Jaemin shut-in. Of course. 

Renjun shrugs nonchalantly. He’s been sweet to Jaehyun so far, but Jaemin can’t get an accurate read on what he’s thinking. “I don’t mind. It’s a lovely hotel, and I’d rather spend time with Jaemin privately than go out and have to interact with the public, anyway.” 

“I’m sure you value your privacy very much, especially so early on in the relationship,” Jaehyun pulls one of the corners of his lips up into a smirk. “You’re both quite young, right? I’d say enjoy it while it lasts.” Jaemin’s cheeks burn at the insinuation that he and Renjun are— insatiable.

Someone else approaches, another colleague Jaemin doesn’t know the name of, and pulls Jaehyun into a conversation about stocks, or investments, whatever it means. But something else captures his attention. Renjun is tugging on his arm and nodding in the direction behind Jaehyun’s head. Carrying glasses of champagne and giggling amongst themselves, Jeno and Mark make faces at his brother's colleague like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen. Jaemin suppresses a groan out of sheer embarrassment, but beside him, Renjun chuckles under his breath. 

Turning to him for an answer, Renjun beats him to the question. “They were pulling faces the whole time. It’s my fault, I must have looked miserable.” 

When he hears miserable Jaemin assumes he should start to feel concerned, because as much as he needs Renjun tonight he isn’t going to keep him here if he’s hating it, but Renjun tugs on his hand again. Like it’s become a habit, already. “I was miserable because rich people talk about the most boring things,” he says, enunciating it clearly, like he’s mapping it out for Jaemin so he understands every word. Jaemin’s struggling to understand why Renjun feels the need to reassure him. “And since when did talking about someone’s sex life become socially acceptable?”

Jaemin chokes on his own spit, and Renjun pats him on the back. “Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound it. More amused. Entertained. 

“Shall we go over to your friends?” Renjun pulls them in the direction of Jeno without waiting for a response. Jaemin’s hand is going to feel empty when the night is over, he’s decided. He’s already become accustomed to the weight of Renjun’s palm pressed against his, the calluses on the pads of his fingers rubbing against Jaemin’s soft ones, courtesy of his expensive hand cream. 

Before they even get close to Mark and Jeno, who are inhaling far too much champagne this early in the night, two women step in front of them. 

“Sooyoung, Joohyun,” Jaemin blinks in surprise, coming to a harsh stop. Renjun’s shoulder collides with his, but he doesn’t move away. “How are you, ladies?” 

“Always such a gentleman,” Sooyoung fawns over him, patting him on the shoulder. She looks regal tonight in a fluffy cream-coloured dress, the golden eyeshadow and pearl liner giving her the look of a fairy princess, floating on a cloud. She’s always been gorgeous, and she’s fully aware of it, too. “We came to ask about you, actually!” 

Renjun tenses at Jaemin’s side. “What about us?” Jaemin asks. A man like Jaehyun is simple enough to navigate a conversation with. Experienced socialites like Joohyun and Sooyoung are on a completely different level, and Jaemin doesn’t risk peeking at Renjun’s face lest he spots any sign of regret across his pretty features. 

Joohyun isn’t as excited as Sooyoung. She stands with her arms crossed, every bit the intimidating political figure in her designer tux, red velvet and perfectly tailored to her slim figure. She eyes them with suspicion, her eyes narrowed as she switches her focus between them. Maybe she’s had a conversation with Jungwoo about Doyoung’s suspicions that Renjun is using him? It wouldn’t surprise Jaemin. He’s heard they know each other well. 

“So this is your partner?” she raises a well-manicured brow, nodding at Renjun. “How long has this been going on? I’ve heard no one knew a thing about him. Quite rare for someone or your social standing, Jaemin.” 

No one is undoubtedly referring to the people in the room at this moment. Gossip spreads fast. It is natural to assume that anyone Jaemin dates will be of public interest as soon as a single soul spots them together. “I’ve found I’m quite good at keeping secrets,” he answers, but his voice is uneasy. 

“Both Jaemin and I wanted to see if what we had could become a long-term arrangement before he decided to introduce me to everyone,” Renjun speaks up. “We both agreed that it’s what would be best if we were serious about this. It hasn’t been long, but…” he pauses to smile at Jaemin. Jaemin’s heart stutters in his chest, even though his brain is telling him it’s just a lie. “We both realised pretty quickly that it’s serious.” 

Sooyoung squeals, her heels clicking on the marble. “That’s so cute! And so mature! So it’s super serious, then? Does that mean we can expect a wedding in the future? Because I love weddings. I helped my sister design hers and it was absolutely lovely—”

Jaemin gulps, thrown off by the question. They are playing pretend, but how is he supposed to answer something like that? But he doesn’t have to, because Renjun cuts in anyway. “Nothing yet. But I’m definitely not opposed to the idea, and I don’t think Jaem is either. Right, love?” 

His nickname and the term of endearment roll so easily off Renjun’s tongue, and Jaemin works overtime to keep his face impassive. Inside, desire rolls beneath the surface of his skin, because he wants so badly to hear him say those words again, and for him to mean it. And then, just as he swallows and refocuses on Sooyoung’s scarlet painted smile, a hand finds its way to his hip, and Renjun pulls him firmly against his side. 

Both women watch as his face grows warm, and his mouth opens but no words follow his action. They both look to him for an answer, but he doesn’t have one. 

“And what is it you do for a living, Renjun?” Joohyun breaks the brief moment of tension as Jaemin unfurls his tongue. “Is it a viable career?” 

Renjun’s warm against Jaemin, yet his voice is nothing but cold at the sudden round of questioning. “I’m a journalist. And it’s what I’m passionate about, so I suppose that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Joohyun has nothing to say to that, and Jaemin finally finds his voice. “He’s very good at his job, and he works hard. He’s going to be really successful at what he loves.” 

Renjun squeezes his side. Jaemin feels brave enough to grip the bottom of Renjun’s blazer, the fabric slipping through his sweaty palms. He doesn’t know whether Renjun plans on saying anything else to combat Joohyun’s subtle judgement, because right on time Jisung slams into Jaemin’s side, Donghyuck in tow. Pain blooms under his rib cage from Jisung’s sharp and pointy elbow, and even worse, the collision has ripped Jaemin away from Renjun’s side. 

“What the—?” Jaemin hisses, barely managing to get a hold of himself in public. 

“Sorry,” Jisung mumbles, though he doesn’t look one bit apologetic. “Have you seen my grandmother around?” 

Jaemin sends him a dirty look, unable to hide his annoyance at Jisung for interrupting, and doing it with such a force that now he and Renjun are parted by the perpetrator, and he has no reasonable excuse to find a way back to Renjun’s side. He hasn’t been paying much attention to his surroundings so he hasn’t spotted Jisung’s grandmother. She’s a little hard to miss — her little white dog stays in her purse at all times, yipping at anyone who tries to get close. He tells Jisung as such, and his friend seemingly relaxes, tugging the collar of his tuxedo away from his neck. Donghyuck watches his boyfriend, stress-bitten lips tugging upwards. 

“Why? What’s the deal?” Jaemin has to question when Jisung shows no sign of giving him an explanation. 

He doesn’t notice that Joohyun and Sooyoung have grown bored of their company until Renjun sidles over to him, making the decision about their sudden separation for the both of them. One glance around the room reveals their ex-conversation partners busy schmoozing up to another couple, and a second sweep is to check whether his brother has made himself present. Thankfully, Doyoung is nowhere in sight. When Renjun’s slim fingers trail down the back of Jaemin’s hand, he has to suppress a shiver at the want his talented hands leave behind. It also reminds his giddy brain that he hadn’t told Renjun his friends are in on the whole fake aspect. 

“My grandmother loves Donghyuck,” Jisung groans, a glass of champagne in his tight grip. He must have snagged it when Jaemin wasn’t looking. He could use a glass, himself. “I was counting on her liking him, but I didn’t think she’d like him that much. Jaemin you don’t understand, she’s talking about buying the house next to hers so we can live together, and she can see Hyuck whenever she wants. What if she steals him away from me?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist and nuzzling against the back of his neck. “All I did was charm her a little. Want me to flash my tattoos?” 

“No, I have a bad feeling she’d like that.”

Renjun makes a confused sound, so subtle that Jaemin only catches it because he’s painfully aware of how close they are. He probably doesn’t remember Jisung and definitely doesn’t know Donghyuck, so he’d have a hard time following the topic of conversation. Suddenly, he feels a wash of guilt at leaving Renjun to stand idly by. It jolts him into action. “Um, guys? This is Renjun, the guy I was telling you about.” He’s so painfully awkward, and it’s only worse when he raises their joined hands as the indicator because Jisung lets out an unruly gasp. A few heads turn. 

“I’m sorry!” He apologises in an instant, bowing his head. “We didn’t mean to ignore you at all! I’m Jisung.”

Donghyuck mimics the same action, still draped across Jisung. “I’m Donghyuck,” he smiles warmly. “Don’t mind my boyfriend, he’s very self-centred. Especially tonight, after I’ve noticed how charming his grandmother is.” 

Jisung makes a face, drawing a laugh out of Jaemin. 

“What’s this about a grandmother?” Jeno muses, walking onto the scene with Mark on his arm. 

“If it’s about Jisung’s, whatever it is, I agree,” Mark adds. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaemin catches Renjun’s mixed expression. Torn between amusement, confusion, and worry. If he remembers Jaemin from high school he’d also remember Mark and Jeno, because the three of them were always together. Jisung is a different story because they didn’t share a lot of the same classes — but the addition of Mark and Jeno could definitely bring back bad memories.

Jaemin leans down to whisper close to Renjun’s ear. “Are you okay?”

“Just confused,” he whispers back. 

That’s something Jaemin can explain, at least. “You don’t recognise Donghyuck, right?” Once Renjun nods, he explains, “he’s not from a rich family or anything. Jisung met him at community art classes — he’s a surfing instructor. It’s his first time at an event like this, actually.” 

“So he’s just… a regular guy?” Renjun’s eyebrows crinkle. “Like me?” 

“I suppose you could put it like that, yes.” 

“So what was the issue?” 

“Ah, well,” Jaemin licks his lips. He’s feeling a bit dehydrated, having spent the afternoon by the pool under the sun. He’d forgotten to hydrate when he’d gotten back to his room. “Jisung was worried his family wouldn’t accept Donghyuck. He wants him to be able to come to events like this. But I think it worked a little too well.” 

Renjun makes a noise of agreement. “I did get that sort of impression, yes. Maybe Donghyuck can teach me to charm your brother like that? Should we give it a shot?” His eyes flicker up to meet Jaemin’s, holding a certain mesmerising glint. 

Jaemin’s lips tug up into a grin. “l hope he has a high success rate. Doyoung’s a tough guy.” 

“I’m a worthy opponent, don’t you think?” Renjun tilts his head to the side.

Flirting. It feels like flirting. And Jaemin would put it down to this whole charade they have going on, except for the fact that not a single soul is listening in on them, nor could they, because they’ve been speaking in lowered voices and the band on the stage continues to play obnoxiously loud, providing a certain cover. But why would Renjun be flirting? Does he — dare he even think it — enjoy Jaemin’s company? Has he forgotten about their history? Sustained a blow to the head rendering him unable to remember much about Jaemin, and his feelings? 

Through the swirl of his thoughts, a downward spiral that will lead to nothing but heartache, Jeno cuts through the fog. “Hey, lovebirds?” He places a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, pulling him upright. “Hi Renjun,” he greets politely, though he receives a wary look in return. “May I borrow your lovely boyfriend for a second?” 

Renjun nods, but it doesn’t matter. Jeno marches Jaemin in the direction of a waiter holding a tray of champagne, one hand still on his shoulder as a guide. He doesn’t pull away until they both have glasses in their hands, and the others are out of speaking distance. A few guests greet them as they stand on the spot, but none approach. Despite being playful and sweet in nature, Jeno has an intimidating aura that tends to keep acquaintances away. It’s a privilege Jaemin loves to utilise whenever Doyoung forces him to play the part of the socialite. 

“What was that for?” Jaemin bemoans, taking an exasperated sip of his champagne. As soon as the liquid touches the tip of his tongue and spreads to the back of his throat he discerns that it’s not the expensive kind, but the kind that tastes like battery acid dipped in something vaguely sweet. He winces, smacking his lips together. 

“You say no to the deal with Hwang, we get cheap champagne,” Jeno says, almost mournfully as he swishes the drink inside his own glass. 

“So I was supposed to say yes?” 

“For the greater good, possibly.” 

Jaemin smacks him on the shoulder, satisfied when Jeno almost spills his drink on his tux. “So why did you drag me over here? It wasn’t just to complain about the drinks, was it?” 

Jeno shakes his head, swallowing his own battery acid. “I wanted to ask you something.” He stares at something in the distance. 

Jaemin follows his gaze, surprised when it lands on Renjun. Furthering his own shock, Renjun is engaged in an animated discussion with Donghyuck, his smile brighter than Jaemin’s ever seen it. He’s been apart from Jaemin for a minute, and he already seems more enthused, running his hands through his hair and avoiding the guests who want to stop and have a chat. 

Jaemin feels himself growing smaller. 

“Are you sure he hates you?” 

Jaemin’s mouth twists as he blows air out of his nostrils. “Positive.” 

Jeno clears his throat, tapping his shoe on the marble. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, actually. I’ve been watching you two—” 

“Creep,” Jaemin interjects. 

“As I was saying,” Jeno grabs Jaemin by the shoulders and turns him so they’re eye to eye. He’s got the serious set to his jaw, which means he’s talking business. No fooling around, no jokes. He learnt it from his father, apparently. Jaemin missed out on that lesson — and a father. “I’ve been watching you two interact. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to treat you like shit all night, but he seems to really like your company. I haven’t really seen him leave your side, if I’m honest. So, are you sure he hates you?” 

“Maybe he's a fantastic actor,” Jaemin shrugs. “We are pretending to be lovers, remember? Did he take drama in high school? Was he a theatre kid?” 

“I don’t know. Did something happen between you two?” 

Jaemin takes a long gulp of his champagne. It doesn’t taste any better the second time, and he’s starting to feel hot under the collar. He should probably find some water. “No. As far as I know, he still despises me and everything to do with me. We haven’t talked since yesterday. If anything changed, I didn’t do anything to change it.” 

“Alright,” Jeno still seems unsure, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I’ll take your word for it. He seems to be having a good time, so that’s a positive at least, right?” 

Only because of what Jaemin has promised him, which he can’t disclose to Jeno. Inside information on the guests in attendance. Potentially access to their rooms while they’re busy drunk off their asses when this classy gala is pushed out into the clubs and bars within walking distance of the hotel.

His stomach flips. “Yeah—”

“Oh, fuck.” Jeno cuts him off, his eyes widening. Something must be going on behind Jaemin, and he turns to take a peek. 

His stomach does more than flip — it drops to his ass. 

Instead of seeing Donghyuck and Renjun chatting away as he’d expected, his brother has now joined the party. With Taeyong, Jungwoo, and Mr Hwang in tow, and his own friends nowhere to be seen. 

He rushes over before Jeno can give him any piece of advice, only stopping to discard his drink on a random tray held by a bored waitress. Just in time to see Mr Hwang shaking Renjun’s hand, slimy grin present on his wrinkled face. 

“What’s going on?” Jaemin directs his question at Doyoung, paying the old man no mind. As soon as Renjun notices he’s back, the warmth at his side returns. Renjun curls into him like he’s been waiting. 

“We were looking for you, actually,” Doyoung draws out his words, no doubt revelling in how it makes Jaemin flinch. 

“And what is he doing here?” Jaemin looks pointedly at Mr Hwang, and the bright lights bouncing off his balding head, who watches him with keen interest. The man’s eyes sweep Jaemin up and down, zeroing in on every crease and curve of his suit, each movement slow and deliberate. Jaemin’s stomach rolls unhappily. 

“When I heard you weren’t to be my date I was interested in finding out why, since I’d made such a generous offer,” Mr Hwang says. Even his voice is slimy, slipping and sliding over each syllable. “When Mr Kim here,” he gestures to Jungwoo, who aims a smug smirk right at Jaemin, “informed me that you already had a partner, I simply had to check out the man for myself. Especially when I received word that he’s a mere reporter. There has to be something special about him, yes?” 

The man's eyes trail downwards. Jaemin nudges his right shoulder in front of Renjun’s chest, shielding him as best he can from the prying eyes. He doesn't know whether Renjun even cares about someone as pathetic as Hwang, or whether he’s the type to even let it bother him, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He hates that Renjun must be reduced to a piece of meat as a symbol of his worthiness of Jaemin. 

“He seems lovely,” Jungwoo says with feigned politeness. There’s a twist at the end of each syllable. 

Jaemin speaks before he’s even registered his mouth is opening. “And you learnt that from your extensive background research into every aspect of his private life, I assume?” 

“Jaemin!” Doyoung turns to him in shock. “Don’t speak like that while we’re in public. What’s gotten into you?” 

The champagne, probably. The bright lights on the ceiling seem brighter than they were before, and the cutting rays from the chandelier burn his eyelids even as he draws himself away. Even the music and the mild chatter surrounding them seems muted, more so than before, the conversation before him taking centre stage. 

“He’s feisty,” Hwang remarks. “You didn’t tell me that, Doyoung.” 

“Normally he’s a lot more cooperative,” Doyoung shoots daggers at him, “I don’t know where this attitude is coming from.”

“Mhm. I like it. Maybe we can work something out for the golf tournament next month?” 

Jaemin’s intake of air hisses against his front teeth. Renjun catches it, having been surveying silently. He steps beside Jaemin, his polished shoes burning his retinas. Why is everything so piercing? The grip on his waist returns, Renjun’s fingers a steady weight keeping him tethered to the present. A reminder that he’s not dealing with this alone. If Renjun were to stumble upon bare skin, there would be crescent-shaped marks embedded in his skin. It’s the only sign Jaemin has that Renjun is finding this whole thing just as distasteful. 

“Jaemin’s busy then,” Renjun remarks sweetly, slicing through their discussion. When they blink back stupidly, he elaborates, “the golf tournament? Jaemin won’t be making it at that time.” 

“How silly,” Doyoung narrows his eyes at the two of them. “A date hasn't even been finalised. How would you know my brother won’t be present?” 

Doyoung’s sharp, but he doesn't know Renjun. Doesn’t know that Renjun always has an answer. “Because Jaemin finds golf awfully dull, and he enjoys my company so much more. I’m sure a man like you can understand the importance of good company, right, Mr Hwang? Or—” his sweet smile falls ever so slightly, a hint of his distaste making an appearance, “perhaps not.” 

Neither Doyoung or Taeyong speak, and Jaemin half expects Mr Hwang to take offence, or perhaps, not understand the slight at all. But the man simply chuckles, the buttons of his jacket groaning in protest. His next words are directed at Jaemin, who’s busy romanticising a fainting spell in order to leave the gala for the rest of the night. “Possessive, is he?”

Renjun answers for him. “Very.” 

“Then why don’t I believe this little charade?” 

Jaemin feels himself freeze, and Renjun does the same. He’s a shit liar, he knows it, and he knows it’s up to Renjun to make him believe, to convince Doyoung, Jungwoo and Taeyong who haven’t had much to say about it at all. But Hwang is looking at him expectantly, one brow curved upwards like he knows because Doyoung probably told him all of this before they’d even arrived. Because getting a boyfriend isn’t enough to keep them out of his business. 

“What don’t you believe?” His voice quivers, so he keeps it quick and to the point. As he does, Renjun’s other hand joins Jaemin’s waist, his thumbs digging into his side. 

“What’s he getting? Money? Sex?” 

Jaemin is barely listening to the old man as Renjun tugs Jaemin into him, close enough that the tips of their noses are dangerously close to making contact. “What are you doing?” Jaemin breathes out. He keeps his eyes locked on the deep browns of Renjun’s because he knows if he looks up he’ll find scandalised faces staring back at him. Because who does this in the middle of a gala? To Jaemin, the awkward younger brother of Doyoung, of all people?

A warm hand cups his jaw, Renjun’s thumb tickling the small hairs on his cheek, lightly pressing into his cheekbone. Its direction, a cushion, a weight. Tethering Jaemin, again. Because they’ve only been reacquainted for a day, but somehow, Renjun is catching these small things, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. “I’m showing off my boyfriend,” Renjun whispers back, his lips a hair’s breadth away. 

They both hear Hwang grumble, mumble something about a drink, and then turn away. But it doesn’t matter, because Renjun’s lips are sliding against his, and it’s as wonderful as sixteen-year old Jaemin thought it would be. But he doubts his younger self thought their first kiss would happen like this. In a crowded room, someone going all out on the saxophone, his brother’s pained mutters as a commentary. But he doesn’t care, because Renjun still hasn’t pulled away, is still sliding their lips together lazily. It’s chaste, but Jaemin’s heart flutters. 

It would be ironic, catching feelings for his fake date, if it weren’t inevitable. He never really grew out of liking Renjun. He doesn’t think it’s possible. 

Renjun pulls away too soon, pressing his lips together in an effort to subdue his smile. Jaemin knows, because he’s doing the exact same thing.

“So that high school crush really paid off then, huh Jaem?” 

Jaemin pauses his attempts at remaining neutral. Taeyong is grinning at him, like a proud older brother. He’s always been supportive of him in ways Doyoung didn’t know how to, and in the love department he’d been of vital importance — half of the lines Jaemin used on Renjun originated from Taeyong. And now, he must think Jaemin’s efforts have finally paid off, that he’s scored the boy of (many) dreams, except that’s just it. He hasn’t — and he never wanted Renjun to find out about his high school crush. 

“High school crush?” Renjun repeats. His nose is scrunched, adorably so, but Jaemin takes a step back. Furthers the distance between them. He even shakes his head at Taeyong, a plea to remain silent, but it doesn’t make a difference. 

Taeyong is beyond enthusiastic. “He was always so passionate about getting your attention. And now he finally has!” he taps Doyoung on the shoulder. “I know this one doesn’t have faith in you two — but he wasn’t there for the many car talks about Jaemin’s crush. That was enough to have me convinced.” 

Jaemin doesn’t think it would be dramatic to state that he feels a part of him crumble up and die. He sees it now, on Renjun’s face — confusion. And then, hidden behind his polite smile, written in his tight jaw and hardened eyes — fear. Jaemin knows he shouldn’t assume, but once again, he’s faced with a situation where he and Renjun are finally finding common ground, hell, they kissed (as fake as it was), and now — now a misunderstanding threatens to ruin it all. Because finding out that Jaemin’s been nursing a crush paints an entirely new motive for roping Renjun into this fake-boyfriend's act. And he doesn’t know how to tell Renjun it isn’t true if he doesn’t even know Renjun’s thinking about it. 

He blinks away the spots dancing in his vision, taking a deep gulp of heavily perfumed air. Pointedly ignores Renjun’s attempts at eye contact. “Tell me more,” Renjun says. “I’m quite interested in what Jaemin was like in high school. We didn’t see each other very much.” 

The room seems smaller than it was before, the banquet hall appearing to be nothing more than an ensuite with how many people are filling up space, and every time he tries to get a good look, spot someone he knows, they vanish before he can grab a second one. What he needs is a glass of water, the impairment to his vision can be easily attributed to his lack of water intake, and it’s the perfect opportunity to escape the first row viewing to Renjun’s rapid onset of newly acquired distrust for him. He murmurs something about a drink to Renjun, spinning on his heel before he has a chance to inquire further. 

Pushing through the crowd is a nightmare as his vision swims, but a small mercy is that any onlooker would assume he’s simply had too much to drink. He wouldn’t want to ruin their families reputation after all — not when Doyoung still plans to sell him off. But even as he approaches the small table set up for bite-sized snacks, there’s no water in sight, and the only thing staff are carrying is alcohol. Not that he has much of a chance to investigate further because Sooyoung returns, her band of friends in tow. 

“Jaemin!” she calls, fluffing up her locks. “We didn’t get a chance to chat earlier, are you free now?” When he doesn’t respond, his mouth dry, she continues like he has. “These are my friends — Taemin, Jongin, Kun. We met at university, isn’t that cool? They’re all from really wealthy families, which I should have assumed because our college is like super well-screened but still—”

Jaemin makes some noise, any noise, wiping the sweat from his top lip. It ruins the sleeve of his blazer. 

“Anyway, I know you’re dating— Renjun— was it?” Sooyoung leans in conspiratorially. “But Kun thinks you’re super pretty, and he’d love to take you out sometime. He’s happy to pay.” 

Jaemin’s eyes widen, snapping to the three men for the first time. He doesn’t know the one who wants to take him out, or any of them for that matter. The only familiarity in this entire situation is the clawing in his gut, and the constricting feeling in his throat. He can’t deal with this, not now — the talks of university, being propositioned again, the knowledge that no one takes his relationship with Renjun seriously even though they shouldn’t, because it’s as fake as could be. 

He wishes he were back in his room, watching mindless television, as he should be. 

“Have you seen Lee Jeno?” he asks, weakly. 

“Nope.” Sooyoung is flippant, even as she takes in his sorry state. Gone is the charming girl from earlier, asking about marriage and children. “Are you okay? You look a little green. It’s not a good look.” 

Jaemin shakes his head, pressing a palm to his forehead. It comes back damp. 

“Jaemin, focus,” Sooyoung snaps her fingers in front of his face, and his neck cracks as his body jolts backwards. “Are you interested in Kun, or not?” 

“He’s not,” Renjun says, appearing from behind Jaemin. His voice is firm, and so is the hand that winds itself around Jaemin’s wrist. He tugs them away without so much as a goodbye, damning all manners. 

“Where are we going?” Jaemin mumbles, stumbling over his own feet as Renjun drags him away. 

“Balcony.” 

Back is the man of very few words. 

Jaemin flushes as the other socialites watch them cross the room. He still hasn’t spotted his friends, and it crosses his mind that they may have decided he’s in good hands and left. “Why?” 

“Because you look about two seconds from passing out, and as much as I’d love to pretend I’m capable of lifting up someone of your size, I’m not.” 

The door to the balcony swings open easily when Renjun gives it a good push. He doesn’t let go of Jaemin’s wrist until it’s closed again, and they’re both seated on one of the stone benches in the corner, out of view of the partygoers thanks to the colourful array of potted plants that tower over them. 

The gentle breeze is refreshing on his warm skin, soothing the fire licking at his cheeks and chin. It doesn’t hurt to open his eyes now that the only light source is the moon, looming overhead, and when he fills his lungs with air, his heart resumes a sustainable beat. 

“Better?” Renjun speaks into the silence. 

“Mhm.” Jaemin scuffs his shoes on the stone tiles. The glossy black fades to a dull grey on the very tips of the shoe. 

“I can see why you needed me to be your date so badly. Hwang is a fucking dick.” 

Jaemin hears the smile in his voice, knowing it’s reassurance Renjun’s aiming for. It pains him that Renjun continues to be so kind, and strengthens his fear that in a second that will flip, as Renjun tends to do. 

“So you had a crush on me?” 

Jaemin stops ruining his shoes, mulling over a response. His heart picks up speed, thumping inside its cage. He can’t lie, but the truth may very well bury him anyway. 

Renjun continues. “I wanted so badly for you to be different. From the others. I think that’s why I felt how I did, back then.” 

“Why you hated me so much?” Jaemin croaks. His throat is sore, parched. 

A strand of hair hangs in front of Renjun’s cheek. Jaemin longs to tug on it, tuck it behind his ear. He keeps his hands in his lap, caught between his thighs. The air between them is delicate, bound to snap at any moment in time. Just like them, in a way. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. I hated you. On principle, because you were just like every other person who gave me hell back then.” Despite the force with which he delivers his words, there’s no bitterness attached. Maybe it’s been so long, those sorts of feelings are harder to summon. “I hated that I wanted you to stand up for me. Because you could call me pretty and then turn the other way when the others approached like it was nothing.” 

Jaemin’s stomach clenches uncomfortably. It’s only fair that Renjun questions him, open-fire’s at him. He’s been waiting for this moment since yesterday, the day Renjun finally asks why. He doesn’t expect it to be now, when his head feels like it’s been dunked underwater, and his brother is inside waiting. Everyone is inside, waiting. To pester him. To poke and prod. 

“I heard you at the pool today. Talking about that day, at school. You have a very good memory,” Renjun hums, kicking out a leg. It lands near Jaemin’s, diagonal. Purposeful. Jaemin doesn’t know what he’s trying to do. 

“It was a nice day,” Jaemin replies. “I hated when it was over.” 

“Me too.” 

Jaemin tilts his head to the side. He hadn't been expecting Renjun to agree. He also doesn’t expect Renjun to be facing him, eyes blazing with an intensity only someone like him could muster. He vaguely wonders what else Renjun heard from that conversation. “My brother is also a dick,” he states. 

A giggle slips past Renjun’s lips, and Jaemin’s lips twitch upwards. The brief moment of humour settles them, coaxing them little by little. “He is. I’m surprised he didn’t recognise me. Is screaming at anyone caught with his brother a regular occurrence, or?” 

Jaemin shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. There hasn’t been anyone else.” 

He doesn’t mean for it to sound like it does. But he doesn’t regret it, either, even when Renjun inhales so sharply he splutters. 

“No one else?” 

“Mhm.” 

Renjun takes a brief pause. His hand stretches further on the bench, closer to Jaemin. “I didn’t realise my acceptance meant so much to you. I don’t like that my entire high school experience has been somewhat of a lie, I must admit. That the guy I despised had a crush on me the entire time.” 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Jaemin murmurs. “No sense wondering about it now. We’ll just talk in circles.” 

“Maybe I want to talk about it,” Renjun sighs, reaching up to untie his bow and unbutton his collar. It had been stewing beneath the surface, but his agitation finally rises above. “Do you know how hard it is to hold on to hate, Jaemin?” 

He doesn’t. He can’t say he’s ever had a deep-seated hatred for anyone, so he could never understand what it’s like to deal with it for years. But Renjun knows that, because Renjun gets him every time. 

“I realised it yesterday,” he says, hanging his head. Jaemin lets himself stare, drinking in the moonlight bouncing off his smooth skin, accentuating the shadows on his face. “And it’s changed everything. Which scares me.” 

“Realised what?”

Renjun blows out a breath, the strands of hair fluttering away from his forehead. “You never had bad intentions. My whole foundation for disliking you was gone, just like that. And all it left me with was the feelings I had before I started to hate you. And I didn’t know what to do about it.” He picks at one of his nails, for once avoiding Jaemin’s face. 

Jaemin knits his eyebrows, doing his best to fit the pieces together. But he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean?” He reaches over to tug on Renjun’s shirt sleeve. “You’re going to have to explain it clearly.” 

Jaemin moves to let go. Renjun catches the tip of his ring finger. “I liked you before I hated you. I thought you were funny,” Renjun’s cheeks bulge as he cringes to himself. “And I thought you were charming. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to like you. And then— hating you sort of painted all over that. Covered it all up. And when that was gone—” 

Jaemin lets their fingers tangle together. They hold hands, loosely, as the music starts to seep under the balcony door, and the cars beep miles below. “I see.” 

“I see?” Renjun scoffs. “That’s all you can say?” 

“What else do you want me to say? I don’t understand.” 

Shaking his head, Renjun stands up. But their hands stay together, even as Renjun avoids Jaemin’s gaze. “I’m telling you I don’t hate you.” 

“Great start,” Jaemin manages a wry smile.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “I’m giving you a great opportunity here and you’re absolutely ruining it.” 

“Opportunity?” 

He lets Renjun pull him to his feet. Even with their height difference, it’s still Jaemin who feels towered over. “We’re leaving the gala. And we’re going to go get dinner and see a movie, or something equally as cliche.” 

Leaving the gala? Does Renjun want to leave the gala? With Jaemin? But they haven’t even been in attendance long, not long enough for Jaemin to give Renjun what he promised. And also— he can’t help but think—

“That sounds like a date,” Jaemin frowns. Upon Renjun’s look that clearly reads yes, thank you for catching on, he continues. “I thought you said you don’t dislike me anymore. Not that you want to go on a date.” 

“It sounds so formal when you put it like that,” Renjun complains. “I want to get to know you outside of the bubble I put you in. I know you have feelings for me, and I find you outrageously attractive. Does that make sense?” 

Jaemin flushes. He’s been sweating for the past half an hour and a majority of it has accumulated on his hairline, his cheeks are warm and not in a cute rosy way, but in an intense forest fire way, but Renjun still thinks he’s outrageously attractive. He hasn’t had that much to drink, has he? “Yes. It makes sense.” 

“Then let’s go.” Renjun pulls on their intertwined hands, giving him a shy smile. The tension between them has evaporated, giving way to something as equally fragile — the beginnings of something new. 

Jaemin smiles too, hidden beneath the palm of his spare hand. And when questioning glances are thrown their way as they storm through the banquet hall, heading straight for the double doors, Jaemin doesn’t have to worry. The promise of tonight is worth it all. 

Renjun squeezes his hand as if he’s thinking the same thing too. 

Jaemin awakens the next morning to a cramped neck, and his phone vibrating incessantly against his clothed thigh. Before he’s even begun cracking his eyes open he’s made aware of his own sorry state by the pounding behind his eyelids and the bitter taste in his throat. Champagne is never good to anyone, especially the morning after. But aside from his minor hangover, all things considered, the true nightmare begins when he opens his eyes. 

He’s not in his hotel room, but on a couch in some apartment, with nothing to indicate who it belongs to since the takeout overtaking the coffee table bears no names and the pile of clothes on the floor he’s almost certain belong to him. There are no photographs on the walls, a few random movie posters taking up precious space. A glance down at his torso reveals he’s wearing a set of flannel pyjamas, lime green with tiny printed red mushrooms covering most of the fabric, an item he’s never owned in his life, nor would he, because Jisung would bully him. But perhaps the scariest part about this whole thing is his phone, the device that has finally stopped its buzzing — but reveals the twenty missed calls he has from Doyoung.  

He tries to minimise his inner freak out. He’s only successful in part because as soon as it starts vibrating again, Jaemin throws it right into his pile of clothing. He can no longer hear it, but the haunting image of a pissy Doyoung sticks in his mind with industrial strength glue. No doubt his brother will have a lot to say, starting with “what the hell was that last night?” and continuing on with, “where the hell are you?” 

He wouldn’t even be able to answer any of them. Rubbing his head and messing with his bedhead in the process, Jaemin tries to recall what happened last night, and locate where exactly he’s found himself. And like his brain has been waiting for this very moment, that is, the opportunity to freak him out further, everything comes rushing back like a montage in a bad, predictable teen movie. 

He and Renjun had left the gala, hand in hand, and found themselves on the subway with no idea about what they wanted to do. Renjun had found sickening amusement in Jaemin’s complete lack of knowledge on public transport social etiquette, but he’d eventually taken pity on him and decided they should go see a movie. Jaemin can’t even remember the premise — both of them had been exhausted from the gala and the emotions that came with it, and passed out half an hour into it. He’s sure they both made quite a sight to the teenage employees who watched them stumble out in their suits, then into the McDonald’s next door. They’d shared nuggets (the only decent option), and Jaemin vaguely recalls spilling his heart out about wanting to pursue a degree but not having the means to do so. Or something along those lines. He may have gone on a rant about history. But Renjun might have been smiling?

He cringes at the image. Out of all the things he has to remember, why must it be the worst? 

He’s sure they came home and crashed right after that. His current attire must belong to Renjun, despite it being the last thing Jaemin would picture him to wear to bed — not that he’s thought about it often — but he seems like the navy silk type, or the boxers and plain tee type. Not the abomination Jaemin currently has on his skin. Even if it is cozy. 

Right on time, footsteps pitter against the wooden flooring, and Renjun enters the small living room, mid-yawn. They make eye contact just as Jaemin’s jaw drops open, taking in the sight of his crush (it seems so juvenile to call him that, but after last night's revelations, it’s nothing but the truth), clad in a matching pair of pink mushroom pyjamas. Renjun catches on to Jaemin’s reaction, dropping his head and taking in the outfit for himself. “Ah,” he flushes. “They must have been the only clean pair I had. My roommate bought them because he thought they were cute, since he loves stuff like this. You’re about his size.” 

Jaemin feels himself nodding, but he isn’t actually thinking much at all. Renjun is quite the sight first thing in the morning, his long hair curled at the ends and ruffled at the back, clad in pink pyjamas with a bashful smile. His heart thumps louder than usual. 

“Don’t worry, he’s staying with a friend,” Renjun adds, despite Jaemin not having said anything about the roommate situation. An awkward silence falls between them, Renjun muffling another yawn with the back of his hand. He inches closer even as Jaemin trains his eyes to his own bare feet, mulling over in his mind the possible excuses he could use to leave the apartment before Renjun kicks him out anyway. But he doesn’t know the way back to the hotel, doesn’t know where he is in the city, doesn’t even know if they’re still in the city. 

The couch dips under Renjun’s weight. “Are you happy with last night?” 

Jaemin straightens in an instant, bewildered by the sudden question. What’s that supposed to mean? Is he talking about their moment on the balcony? But he couldn’t be. There’s no way. Renjun wouldn’t be so bold as to bring it up, and he’s only just begun not hating Jaemin, so it wouldn’t make sense. So the only conclusion is he’s talking about his performance at the gala, and whether Jaemin is satisfied that they’ve convinced everyone. “Yeah,” Jaemin replies a little hoarsely, using his voice for the first time since waking up. 

Renjun is blinking up at him, almost expectantly in the way his eyebrows raise, and his fingers twist in his lap. Their pyjamas are cute when placed next to each other as Renjun presses his knee into the side of Jaemin’s thigh. He’s waiting for him to continue. But what does he want Jaemin to say? And then, it dawns on him — he never fulfilled his end of the bargain. He didn’t get a chance to give Renjun any insider information by mingling with the guests, or even give him a chance to slip away and sneak into some of their rooms. Is that what Renjun’s talking about? He’s pressing Jaemin to hold his end of the bargain?

“Do you still need information about the guests? I can compile what I know on a document and send it to you by email. I know it’s not what I promised, but I can get it done quickly.” 

Renjun pulls his head back, staring Jaemin down with a puzzled expression. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“What else could it be about?” He doesn’t mean to let his thoughts slip, but he blames it on the remnants of sleep yet to drain from his body. 

Renjun assesses him, his lips pursed. Jaemin starts to think he’s blown it again, that at any moment he’s going to see those walls go up again, and he’ll lose a shot at getting to know Renjun forever. But the unexpected happens. Renjun shakes his head as if clearing his own thoughts. “You’re so stupid,” he remarks, almost thoughtfully so. 

Jaemin’s working on a retort when Renjun leans in and kisses him square on the mouth. 

His first thought is wow, this is happening for a second time? And his second thought is oh, this is dry. Both of them had drinks, and no water to hydrate properly, so the kiss is awkward to navigate. But then Jaemin goes back to his first thought, because Renjun licks at his bottom lip, smoothing the glide between them. Then, he pulls away like it’s nothing. 

Jaemin has to stop himself from whining in protest. Instead, he bites into his cheek until the bitter taste of iron fills his mouth, because he cannot, under any circumstances, let Renjun see him grinning like an idiot. Not that it matters, because Renjun springs off the couch, mutters something about breakfast, and beelines for the kitchen like his ass is on fire. 

Which leaves Jaemin on the couch, wondering whether he should start panicking. His hands, having been raised and unsure of where to place on Renjun, drop to his lap.

“Is that what you think this is about?” 

Renjun had said that. Before they’d kissed. When Renjun had asked whether he’d enjoyed their night, was he really referring to his company? But not in a fake-date kind of way, a genuine way? 

Jaemin groans, clutching at his forehead. Why must it be so complicated? Yet it is so ridiculous, but very much so fitting for them. From the very beginning. Complicated. He hears a voice from the kitchen, Renjun’s gentle tone. He must be talking to someone via a call, and Jaemin’s stomach flips at the thought. Renjun kissed him, so Renjun must want him here. He has the opportunity to spend time with him. With his crush. The guy he’s liked since he hit puberty, then finished. Why isn’t he doing anything about it? 

“Jaemin knows he isn’t to be fraternizing with people in your situation, nor getting into a relationship with them. He may entertain someone like you because he’s bored, or feeling a little rebellious. But he won’t forget his place. And neither should someone like you.”

Doyoung’s words from all those years ago (probably not completely accurate as Jaemin’s memory isn’t that great, but they hit all the major points) sound in his head. Jaemin knows they aren’t true. But he can’t pretend like his brother wouldn’t find a way to keep them apart if he saw how genuine Jaemin’s feelings are towards Renjun. The only reason his brother has exercised some form of control is because he hadn’t believed them in the first place. 

Renjun giggles from a room away, soft and sweet. And Jaemin makes a decision. 

The wooden floor stings his bare feet, the morning sunshine yet to warm them enough that it doesn’t feel like icicles are prodding at his toes. He grabs his phone in his pile of clothes, not bothering to glance at the screen as he slides it into the pocket of his pants. The kitchen is small and compact, an assortment of plants propped on every available counter, leaving little room for the pots and pans cluttered on the island. Renjun is leaning against the sink, one hand clutching his phone, the other toying with a piece of hair dangling in front of his face. The floorboards creak beneath Jaemin’s feet as he leans against the doorway, giving him away. Renjun’s eyes snap to him in an instant. 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything, so Renjun continues his conversation. But his eyes don’t stray for a moment. “Yeah. It might be a nice idea to check out the vendors. I’m craving jianbing today. You said the one near that new bank was good, right? I’m hoping there won’t be as many people out and about this morning.” 

Whoever it is on the phone talks back with a degree of energy Jaemin could never summon, but especially not now, this early in the morning. As Renjun listens, he tugs on the corner of his bottom lip with his teeth. He shifts from one foot to the other, adding the occasional “mhm,” and “yeah, yeah,” to the conversation, but he doesn’t sound one-hundred per cent invested in it. And Jaemin knows, knows that Renjun has never been good at saying things outright, he hides behind twisted words and small gestures, like the biscuits he shares and the compliments he slips like he’s discussing the weather. And as Renjun keeps his attention on him, Jaemin sees it in the faint quiver of his eyelashes, in the light scratching of his fingers at his jawline — Renjun’s just as nervous to take action as Jaemin. But he wants to. He’s giving Jaemin every sign. Because he knows Jaemin will understand, if he tries. 

Jaemin takes a step forward. His flannel pants tickle the tops of his feet. Mildly embarrassing that he’s executing his plan in mushroom pyjamas. 

Renjun’s eyes widen ever so slightly, catching on straight away. “Yangyang,” he says quietly. “Can I call you back?” 

Jaemin watches as Renjun hangs up without waiting for an answer. He clears his throat, clenching his sweaty palms. “Last night,” he begins, shakier than he’d like. “You said I wouldn’t be free for the golf tournament in a month. Because we’d be together.” 

It’s been bugging him. He and Renjun were meant to break up after the gala. But Renjun had offered himself as an excuse so easily. Had that meant something, too? Was that a sign, too?

“Will we?” 

There’s so much in that question. But Renjun says so lightly, like it’s nothing more than air. Like it’s just a normal question. Jaemin doesn’t bother dignifying it with an answer. He closes the distance between them, grabbing onto Renjun’s waist and pulling him forward. Renjun sighs just before their lips meet, as though it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for Jaemin to do — and maybe he has. 

Renjun is eager as Jaemin licks along the seam of his mouth, even as he crinkles his nose at their morning breath. But Jaemin finds it hard to care about the liquor still staining their breath when Renjun’s hands move to his hair, using the strands as leverage to pull Jaemin closer, to kiss harder, to suck and steal the breath from his lungs. His tongue pokes and prods, but dances away as soon as Jaemin tries to take any semblance of control. Renjun giggles against his lips, before he tugs on his hair to slot their mouths together with more force, and Jaemin complies. Because he’ll go wherever Renjun wants him to. Especially when it draws a pretty gasp out of Renjun as Jaemin sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, not hard enough to tear, but enough for Renjun to pull away, his eyes darker than they had been before.

“Guess that’s a yes?” Renjun remarks, panting slightly. His lips are a delightful cherry red, and Jaemin can’t look away.

He nods, catching his own breath. 

“Brilliant,” Renjun says. “I do enjoy when a pretty boy I’ve recently decided I’d rather make out with than hate agrees with me for once.” 

As Renjun resumes his position of leaning against the sink, Jaemin’s phone vibrates again. He pulls it out, an excuse not to cower under Renjun’s enticing gaze and his pretty lips, and finds it’s an incoming call from Doyoung, unsurprisingly. 

“Are you going to answer that?” Renjun teases, his smile knowing. 

Jaemin doesn’t amuse him with a response. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and tugs on the waistband of Renjun’s pyjama pants, pulling him snug against him. Renjun goes easy, because much of his wickedness is just for show, he’s quickly learning. And if Jaemin thumbs at his bare hipbone, a smug smile taking over his expression as Renjun shivers in response, and then kisses his swollen lips much like anyone with years of pent up tension would — well. It’s not like his brother has much of a say. Not anymore. 

Jaemin silences his phone on the way to the bedroom.