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It’s 7:54 AM in the morning and Jaemin is already seething.
It really was too early for him to be gritting his teeth and grumbling under his breath for only Haechan and Renjun, who were standing on either side of him on the newly mopped marble floor of the shooting range room, to hear.
In all honesty, it was way too early for Jaemin to be doing anything.
Official class hours of the academy for special agents in training didn’t start till 9:00 AM, and yet here he was, eyes blazing as his gaze followed a certain dark haired student’s movement across the room.
Much like anything that leaves an awful taste in Jaemin’s mouth— it was Jeno Lee’s fault.
Jeno Lee who showed up just a few minutes later than Jaemin, gym bag slung over one shoulder, and wearing a tight fit uniform that showed off his arms in a way that brought tears to Haechan’s eyes.
His hair was a perfect mess and his smile as he spoke to this year’s student body president and vice president, Mark Lee and Jongseong Park, was nothing short of devastatingly handsome.
Jaemin was never really late to any of his classes— he, Haechan, and Renjun shared a room and they made a pact to always go to class together.
If he made them late for even just a second, Renjun can and will drop kick him to his death, professors and students watching be damned.
But recently, it was Jaemin who has been dragging them both to class early.
The reason being because Jaemin absolutely hated this class.
For various reasons— the most major one being he shared it with Jeno Lee— and the second one (by only very very little) was the fact that he was shit at it.
He was better than most of the class, and will most likely get nothing less than 90 on it at the end of the term, but for Jaemin— who had a consistent term average of 95 or higher ever since he was a first year, this class was going very shittily.
There’s just something about shooting that makes the course difficult for him— he doesn’t like handling a gun, doesn’t like the stillness and the steadiness that is required for shooting, and hates the loud sound it makes.
Almost everyone in the academy knew that Jaemin has always preferred hand to hand combat— liked the way he had to keep moving, liked the blood pumping thrill it gave him, and loved the ease and familiarity that can be developed from doing it for years until it turns into muscle memory.
He even does well in his current classes— more than decent in hacking considering he used to be pretty shit in anything coding related, exceptionally well at data acquisition (only second, along with Jeno, to Chenle Zhong) and combat (tying with Jeno for almost all of their lessons), and he was by far the best at his infiltration class (which was a little bit of a surprise considering he shared the class with both Sunghoon Park and Minjeong Kim).
He was pretty good with his face and his body— knew and mastered it well— more comfortable and familiar with his body than any other weapon.
Guns were a different story. Jaemin has been practicing it relentlessly— but can never seem to make it as familiar to him. His body still recoils with the gun— his nose still scrunches at the smell of gunpowder— and his shoulders still bunch up the tiniest bit at its boom.
That’s why even if he was backed into a corner in any kind of fight, his trusty knives were still Jaemin’s weapon of choice.
And that’s why he’s been getting his roommates to come to this specific class earlier than necessary— so that he can sneak in a few practices before it officially starts.
He hates it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to work hard to kick ass at it anyway.
What infuriated him more was that Jeno, to nobody’s surprise really, was doing exceptionally well at it— always consistently getting 9s and 10s in all of his shots and never getting anything lower than a 97 on their tests— even that one time he forgot to wear contact lenses and bring glasses for the class (everybody knew Jeno Lee was basically blind without either. the way he still got the highest score in the class that day is an insult that Jaemin took very very personally).
Jeno Lee who Jaemin has been competing with for the top spot in their grade for about four years now— who most likely had to wake up at ass o’clock for the marine specialization’s diving practices (after what he knows was a night of partying as it was one of his best friend’s, Jisung Park’s, birthday), before coming here and still manages to look like he stepped out of a magazine.
Jaemin was so infuriated, it was painful.
It really should just be another normal class day, being frustrated with Jeno was a normal occurence, but Jaemin was feeling especially annoyed today considering last night’s events.
It was 11 in the evening when someone knocked twice on their door.
There was a 10 PM curfew for all students but nobody really gave a shit anymore about whatever the seniors got up to.
Jaemin was already wearing his matching pajamas with strawberry prints (Haechan got it for him for shits and giggles but jokes on him, it was soft and cool on Jaemin’s skin and he’s fallen absolutely in love with it), laying on his bed diagonally, eyes on the movie Renjun had put on.
“Open the door, Jamie,” Haechan huffs.
Jaemin groans, “why me?”
“You’re closer,” Renjun says, throwing his stuffed fox at him.
“No,” Jaemin says, but he stands up after a few seconds anyway, grumbling under his breath about strangling someone(s) in their sleep.
When he swings the door open, his breath hitches at the sight of Jeno Lee in a black leather jacket and jeans that made his thighs look in a way he would rather not put into words, both hands deep in his pockets.
“Hey,” Jeno says, looking at him from head to toe.
Jaemin is instantly cautious, arms crossed in front of his chest, “what are you doing here, Jeno Lee?”
He hears someone ask “Jeno Lee?!” behind him and some shuffling on the beds.
Jeno looks over his shoulder for a second, chuckling at whatever he sees.
“Hey,” he hears Renjun say.
“What’s up,” Jeno says, nodding his head coolly at them.
When Jeno’s eyes flit back to him, his lips curl up the slightest bit, “cute pajamas.”
Jaemin squints his eyes at him, not even bothering to acknowledge the comment, “can I help you?”
“Actually,” Jeno leans back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s Jisung’s birthday today and the guys are throwing a little party on the eighth floor. We’re inviting a few people… so I thought I’d come over to invite you.”
Jaemin doesn’t say anything— suspicious over Jeno Lee’s true intentions.
When the silence stretches, Jeno bites at the corner of his lip, before saying, “I know shooting’s been stressing you out lately, just wanna help you loosen up. It’s gonna be fun, I promise. We’re just gonna chill, nothing crazy.”
There was a hopeful smile on his face but each word he utters, the more Jaemin’s eyes squint— until his view of Jeno almost turns into a straight line.
After a few beats, Jaemin steels himself and then smiles the smile he learned from infiltration class— wide, beautiful, and venomous as a snake.
Jeno’s breath hitches the slightest bit at the sight of it.
“Thank you, but I’ll have to pass,” Jaemin says, “I’ll have to wake up early tomorrow to get in some practice before class since you know— I’m having such a hard time with it.”
Jeno opens his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, but Jaemin was already shutting the door.
“Thanks for the invite, Jeno Lee. Enjoy your party.”
When he turns back to his friends, it’s to the sight of them with their jaws on the ground.
“I cannot believe you would just turn him down like that,” Haechan says, hand clutching his chest.
“You fool,” Renjun says, seeing through everything, like he always does, “you absolute fool.”
But Jaemin wasn’t listening anymore, grumbling under his breath, “how dare he mock me like that,” before he falls face down on his bed and screeches into his pillow.
Renjun looks at each of his roommates, and then at the sky— questions God about his choices regarding friendships for him.
“Look at him,” Jaemin says, a hint of disgust in his tone, as his eyes follow the way Jeno’s bicep flexes when he runs his fingers through his hair.
Renjun sighs dreamily, “I am looking,” chin unconsciously finding its way to rest on his palm.
Haechan hums back, equally wistful, “very very closely.”
Jaemin turns his head towards his best friends and squints his eyes at them, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up when he catches Jeno chuckling at something Mark says.
“Traitors,” Jaemin tells his roommates. He wonders if he should call himself that as well.
“Yes yes,” Renjun waves him away with a stupid smile on his face, not even looking at him, “go and do your practice now, Nana.”
Haechan hums again, “Mm-hmm. Let the adults have their fun.”
Jaemin rolls his eyes and then moves on to the fourth lane, the one he usually takes, for some practice.
He sighs as he takes a look at the various firearms laid on the table in front of him.
A Colt 1911 would be his choice most of the time, it being the handgun that was easiest for him to use— but what was the point of practicing something he found easy anyway.
His eyes travel from one gun to another.
Mossberg 500… Ruger .22…
He picks up the AK47.
Monster of a gun, their mentor called it. It was Jeno Lee’s favorite.
Jaemin shakes the thought away.
He rolls his neck, eyes closing for a few seconds before he focuses on the target a few feet from where he’s standing, and takes a deep breath in.
He cocks the gun, letting the noise behind him drown out, until there was nothing in this room but him and the number 10.
Slowly, he adjusts his stance and raises his arms, gun pointed at the target.
He exhales through his nose, careful not to let his hands shake.
He pulls the trigger— and immediately, his body recoils with the gun, body flinching the slightest bit at the sound.
He squints at the target and his mouth turns into a straight line.
9, but barely.
“One more time,” he whispers to himself.
He cocks the gun and raises his arms, steeling his feet on the ground, and putting all strength in his arms.
He pulls the trigger and almost immediately grimaces.
Same habits. 8.
He was just about to cock the gun, when a voice behind him says, “you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.”
Jaemin knows exactly who owns that voice— has had it randomly playing in his head for so long, he’d recognize it in a heartbeat.
“And you shouldn’t be telling me what to do when I’m holding a gun like this, Jeno Lee,” he deadpanned, not even bothering to turn back.
Jeno chuckles, like he thinks Jaemin is joking.
There’s silence for a few seconds.
Just when Jaemin thinks Jeno was done with him, cocking his gun and raising his arms in front of him—
He feels a presence come closer to his back.
“Here,” Jeno says, lowly, stepping into his space— not close enough to touch, but close enough for Jaemin to feel his warmth.
And if that wasn’t enough, Jeno places a hand between his shoulder blades.
“Here,” Jeno repeats, pressing his hand a little harder, “you’re too bunched up here, try loosening up a little.”
Jaemin gulps.
“Good, good job,” Jeno says, and Jaemin can hear that tiny little curl on the corner of his lips from his voice alone, “try lowering your arms a little too, I noticed you do it a little higher than you’re supposed to.”
“What—“ Jaemin says, less of a question and more of a challenge.
But Jeno just reaches out his arms as well, basically caging Jaemin in, Jeno’s hands on either of Jaemin’s elbows. He lowers them a miniscule amount. He whispers, “just like this.”
The hair on the back of Jaemin’s neck stands up, cheeks heating.
Why does he have to smell so good too? Jaemin almost looks up to the sky and asks God.
“Good boy,” Jeno says— and Jaemin thinks he’s being condescending— but his tone and his choice of words make Jaemin’s eyelids go heavy with something he’d rather not name anyway. “Pull the trigger when you’re ready.”
And Jaemin does (because he may truly just want to be a good b—).
The bullet sings and hits its mark.
There was barely any recoil and Jaemin’s mind was elsewhere— probably wasn’t even paying attention the sound the gun made.
The presence behind him steps back just the slightest bit.
“Quite impressive.”
“You—“ Jaemin turns around to face him, just to see that there wasn’t much space between them still.
“Me,” Jeno smiles, eyes turning into crescents as he smiles playfully, “See. You got your 10. I told you I can help you. But you turn me down everytime I offer help anyway.”
And this definitely makes Jaemin roll his eyes. “Oh I’m so sorry Mr. Top of the class, perfect in every way, you can only do well if you follow my instructions—“ and Jaemin should’ve stopped there, should’ve made it seem like a joke.
But it really has been a frustrating week and so he continues, far too angry for a conversation with someone who just gave him moon eyes a few seconds ago “seriously, dude what is your problem with me?”
“Problem?” Jeno’s frown forms slowly. “I don’t have a problem with you.”
Jaemin is infuriated that he even tries to deny it.
“No, you definitely do,” Jaemin crosses his arms in front of him, “we get it okay, you’re perfect — you’re smart and handsome and rich and popular and you’re the best in our year— much better at shooting than I’ll ever be— there is no need to rub it in every single time just because you hate me— I—“
“What?” Jeno’s face turns into something unreadable.
Jaemin glares at him, “I said it loud and clear, I'm not repeating any of that.”
“Wait…” Jeno blinks at him. once. twice. “You think I’m handsome?”
Heat slowly creeps up Jaemi— something that have been happening far too often around a certain agent-in-training, it’s starting to be a problem. “Objectively. Everyone thinks you’re handsome. Half the school is like— in love with you.”
“Everyone,” Jeno thinks, “…including you.”
Jaemin clears his throat, “objectively. Seriously, what game are you playing right now?”
Jeno blinks at him, slowly. once. twice. thrice.
“You don’t know,” Jeno says under his breath, not a question but a statement— looking like he’s come to the biggest revelation of his life. “You really don’t know,” he says, louder this time.
“Don’t know what?”
“Jaemin… I don’t hate you at all…” He says it slowly, like he had no idea why Jaemin would even think that, “I’m not better than you. At all.”
Jaemin shakes his head, “but you have a problem with me. We’ve been constantly competing for top spot in our year for as long as I can remember. Everywhere I go, may it be in class or the activities and specs I sign up for— you’re literally there being distractingly perfect and reminding me every time that I can’t have y—“
Jaemin cuts himself off, and then looks away, clearing his throat.
After a few beats of silence, Jeno lets out a breathy laugh.
“Holy shit—“ Jeno says, reverently— almost gleefully, “how did I have no idea that you didn’t fucking know.”
“Know what?” Jaemin says, turning his head towards him again, but his eyes remain on Jeno’s chin.
And really, that just won’t do— so Jeno gently places a knuckle under Jaemin’s chin and lifts it up just enough so their gazes meet.
“Jaemin Na. I’ve been trying to get your attention since first year. Me wanting to kiss you so badly has become the tragic inside joke of the academy. I thought you knew. Literally everyone else does.”
Jaemin blinks slowly. once. twice. trice.
The he starts glaring at Jeno.
“You’re playing with me,” Jaemin says.
“I really am not. I can prove it if you’d like,” Jeno lowers his voice, “Fuck. You have no idea how willing I am to do anything just to prove it.”
But Jaemin wasn’t having any of it, and so with a glare— he steps forward, startling Jeno into backing away, but Jaemin holds him steady with both hands on his shoulders.
“Uh, Jaem…” Jeno gulps, as Jaemin inches closer and closer.
Unironically playing gay chicken until you tell me the truth because there is just no way all the shit you said wasn’t a lie, Jaemin thinks, but wisely chose to say nothing.
Jeno lets out a breath, “Jamie…” he whispers, voice deep and helpless.
And Jaemin really was determined to get Jeno to take it all back— but he sees it.
Sees the way Jeno scans every inch of his face with heavy lidded eyes. Sees the way Jeno itches to put his hands on Jaemin— anywhere. Sees the way Jeno licks his lips, eyes dropping down to Jaemin’s mouth.
And who was Jaemin really— to not forget about what he was doing in the first place and press his mouth against Jeno’s in a swift kiss.
Jaemin was just about to pull away— when an arm snakes around him, hand resting on his lower back, and pulling him closer.
“So it’s real,” Jaemin says in barely above a whisper. It was a wonder how his small smile could be so powerful in its brightness .
And instead of answering verbally, Jeno slowly pulls him into a real kiss— deep and sweet and true.
Jaemin hears someone wolf whistling in the room, followed by a voice that sounded suspiciously like Haechan yelling “me next, Jeno.”
But none of it mattered as Jaemin wraps his arms around Jeno’s neck and pulls him impossibly closer.
It was the best shooting class by far.