Archive of Our Own ^beta

Juyeon wonders, caught halfway in a throng of nameless faces — all young, all alive, all dying inside — how it only takes one glimpse of a pair of glittering eyes to make him feel like he is suffocating. 

Jaehyun, standing across the room, is as much of a stranger as he is achingly familiar. He’s blond now, hair shimmering like spun gold under the flickering kitchen lights every time he throws back his head to laugh. Juyeon is too far to hear but he has long since memorized what it sounds like — sharp, pizzicato notes plucked over violin strings, unapologetic in its tone. 

It’s been a year but Juyeon still doesn’t know quite what to do with himself when Jaehyun catches his eye, unwavering even as things keep flickering in and out of his vision. Brave in a way Juyeon isn’t, and never has been. 

(And oh, isn’t it so much easier to pretend I never missed you when I couldn’t see you?) 

Jaehyun lifts his beer bottle in an approximation of a greeting, lips twisted in a wry smile just bordering on this side of bitter, and suddenly Juyeon is reminded of a time when Jaehyun’s smile was untainted — a time when Juyeon could feel it pressed between shoulderblades and trace the outline of it with his mouth, beautiful and golden and his. But that was a long time ago, before the hurt and the brutal arguments ending in stagnant silence and the resounding slam of a bedroom door, before Juyeon ruined something that couldn’t be unbroken. Funny, how quickly things change. 

An elbow to his ribs tears his gaze from Jaehyun’s. “Hey man, you okay?” It’s Eric, bemused smile rapidly morphing into something like concern the longer Juyeon takes to answer. Jaehyun is being led out of the kitchen by some stranger, hand securely wrapped around his waist like it belongs there. 

“Yeah,” Juyeon says eventually, watching until the lemonade yellow of Jaehyun’s hair disappears into the darkness of the hallway. “Yeah, I’m — I’m just gonna go get another drink.” He turns before he can catch Eric’s answering expression, and wonders why he feels so lost. 

“Is Jaehyun hyung coming to the party on Friday?” 

Younghoon gives Juyeon a cursory glance over the edge of his laptop, narrowed and skeptical. “Why don't you just ask him yourself? Aren’t you friends?” he asks, fingers never stopping in their flighty journey across the keyboard, and okay, Younghoon has a point. 

They are friends — at face value, at the very least. Juyeon would consider Jaehyun more of a close acquaintance though, a friend-of-a-friend, somebody who he sees almost everyday only because they’re part of the same circle. They’ve never gotten past the ‘hey, the weather’s nice today’ and the ‘how are you’s’, but Juyeon would say they’re pretty comfortable with each other. 

Okay, so they’re not exactly friends, but they’re getting there. Friends-adjacent. Pre-friends!

Juyeon purses his lips. “I don't see him often because we don't have any classes together, and you guys are roommates,” he says. “So is Jaehyun hyung coming or not?” He tries his best not to sound too eager, but if the unimpressed look Younghoon slants over at him is any indication, he’s not very successful. 

“You know he doesn’t like parties,” Younghoon sighs, rubbing the back of his hand tiredly against his eyes. “But I’m sure it won’t be too hard to convince him to come.” His hands drop. “Why do you want him to go so bad, anyway?” 

Jaehyun bites his lip and looks away. “I was just asking,” he says unconvincingly. 

Younghoon squints at him for a moment before his eyes go comically wide. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.” 

“What?” Juyeon watches him, mildly alarmed, as he hastily shuts his laptop, and then there’s a finger jabbing at the space between his eyes. 

“You’re not interested in him, are you?” Younghoon accuses. He barrels on before Juyeon can even think to respond. “You can’t be. Jaehyun has too bright of a future to be involved in all your risky, brainless, highly illegal shenanigans.” 

Juyeon scowls, removing Younghoon’s hand from his face. “I’m really not that reckless,” he says, even though they both know it’s a lie. The scratches cutting across his palms are proof of that — trophies from a party gone awry when Juyeon had to climb over the wired fence to escape the angry swears of a policeman behind him. “Besides,” he continues, quieter now, fiddling with the silver rings on his fingers, “would it be so bad if I really were interested in him?” 

Because he is — interested, he means. And he can pinpoint the start of it all to one moment, really, that one time he’d been waiting for Younghoon at the dining table and Jaehyun had emerged from his bedroom, wonderfully sleep-soft with the lingering dregs of drowsiness pulling down at eyes half-shut, and smiled at him with butterscotch sunlight like flecks of gold tangled in his eyelashes. 

It’s not that Juyeon had never noticed that Jaehyun was pretty, but here, with caramel waves of hair sticking up in various places like tiny sprouts between sidewalk cracks and cheeks stained peony pink from bedsheet-warmth, he looks heavenly. 

So Juyeon had sat there, starstruck with a dry mouth and a runaway heartbeat, until Younghoon tugged him out of the dorm and into winter air, and Juyeon had been consumed with thoughts of honey-butter rays poured over the lazy upward quirk of a smile for the rest of the day. 

Now, Younghoon stares at him with eyes that are unblinking, silently assessing, before the caustic edge of them softens into something less abrasive. 

“I’ll ask him,” he says, “but no promises, alright?” 

Juyeon smiles. 

“Have you seen Jaehyun hyung?” 

Juyeon doesn’t recognize the face of the boy when he turns around, but he seems to. He’s pretty, with shocking teal-blue hair and sky-high cheekbones dusted with glitter of the same shade, kohl-lined eyes that turn terrifyingly cold when they land on Juyeon’s own. 

“You’re Juyeon, aren’t you?” he drawls, skirting straight over his question so smoothly Juyeon barely even notices. His gaze flickers over Juyeon’s form in a way that’s more calculating than seductive, but it makes Juyeon squirm just the same. “Jaehyun hyung was right,” he sighs, lifting the cup to his lips. “You’re so infuriatingly hot, it makes it kind of difficult to get mad at you.” 

Juyeon blinks. “What?” 

“I’m Chanhee,” the stranger — Chanhee — says. “If you had cared enough to ask.” He leans languidly against the kitchen countertop, teeth glinting in a razor-sharp smile. “I would tell you where Jaehyun hyung went, but I think he’s having a good enough time without his asshole ex coming after him.” 

Irritation twitches at Juyeon’s right eyebrow and a huff escapes his lips before he can reel it back. “Listen, I just—” 

“Nope,” Chanhee says, pushing off the counter and striding forward until he’s almost toe-to-toe with Juyeon. Juyeon hadn’t noticed before, but Chanhee’s the same height as him, made even taller by the leather, heeled boots he’s wearing. He feels himself shrink a little under Chanhee’s barbed stare, flinching when a hand shoots out to push back against his chest. “I suggest you go back and return to whatever you were doing before, Juyeon. He’s not yours to look after anymore.” 

With a dip of his head, Chanhee slinks off into the crowd, and Juyeon watches his brightly dyed head of hair disappear within a sea of writhing people until he gets dizzy with the motion. 

“Are you really doing your homework right now?” Jaehyun jumps in his seat, turning around to see Juyeon slide into the chair next to him. A playful scowl knits his eyebrows together and Juyeon barely resists the urge to smooth it out with his own fingers. He laughs at his disgruntled expression instead, hand tightening around the glass of beer he’s holding. “I take it you’re not enjoying the party?” 

Jaehyun huffs. “Don't tease me, I have a very important project due in two days and I can’t afford to procrastinate on it.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

A flicker of the eyes, nervous for reasons Juyeon doesn’t understand, and the biting of his bottom lip. “Because you invited me,” he says, nothing more than a quiet breath. Juyeon’s gaze snaps to his and the gentle slope of Jaehyun’s cheeks are flushed carnation and candied apple, hidden halfway behind bashful fingers. “Ah, was that too—” 

“Dance with me,” Juyeon blurts out. It’s not what he meant to say but it feels right on his tongue, so he stands up and extends a hand to Jaehyun. “Come on,” Juyeon beckons when Jaehyun just stares at it like it is a foreign object, “I promise I won’t get mad if you step on my feet.” 

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, hesitancy in the thin line of his lips. “I can’t leave my laptop,” he says, but he still slips his hand into Juyeon’s and allows him to pull him to his feet. 

“Then we’ll dance right here,” Juyeon says simply. His hands find purchase on Jaehyun’s hips and he starts to sway them side to side, two lone dandelions against a backdrop ravaged by storm-drunk wind. Embarrassed, Jaehyun ducks his head into Juyeon’s neck. 

“Should we really be ballroom dancing to an EDM song?” he grumbles. 

Juyeon shrugs. “It doesn't matter. We’re having fun, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Jaehyun says, and Juyeon feels more than sees the word form against his skin, lips like a searing brand when he presses his head further into the crook of Juyeon’s neck. He hopes Jaehyun can’t feel the way his pulse jumps underneath tentative fingertips and shadow-light brushes of monarch butterfly lashes, and allows himself to sink into the gentle rhythm of measured breaths and the beat of a song long faded away. 

The boy in front of him is pretty. 

Juyeon can tell even with the lights dimmed nearly all the way down, the room illuminated by nothing more than the garish bulbs emanating from the kitchen. It’s just enough to reveal glimpses of moonshot hair and a dangerously dimpled smile, growing infinitely more impish when he loops his arms around Juyeon’s neck and Juyeon doesn’t pull away. 

He can dance, too — Juyeon can tell from the way his body moves to the beat, simple movements that he weaves into something like art. Effortlessly smooth, in a way that would be enticing if Juyeon could be bothered to pay more attention. 

It’s cute. He’s cute, and Juyeon feels almost bad for not being able to reciprocate his obvious interest because even with all this, he’s still not— 

He’s not Jaehyun. 

The fact weighs like a sinking stone in his stomach, and when the boy nips cheekily at the sweat-slick skin of his collarbone, he feels nothing. The fingers toying with the hairs at his nape are too spindly, and he doesn’t sigh into Juyeon’s lips as he kisses him, cold and listless. 

A sudden wave of unease sweeps through him and he pushes the boy away. His hands leave his neck and it’s like Juyeon can finally breathe again. In and out, oxygen that scrapes through his lungs like fragments of fractured glass, a broken mirror. The boy blinks curiously at him, a little bewildered, as Juyeon stumbles back unsteadily on his feet. 

“Sorry, I—” Juyeon says, nearly gasping, “I need to go get some air.” 

“Okay?” the boy says, the tail end curled up like a question. 

Juyeon turns and heads towards the balcony. 

When Juyeon steps into Younghoon and Jaehyun’s shared apartment, the room is dead silent save for the low rattle of the air conditioning and the distant cacophony of Seoul traffic filtering in through the half-open windows along with the sunshine. 

“Hyung?” There’s no answer, just the low hum of electricity in the air and the scent of spicy tteokbokki left over from lunch. Juyeon’s eyebrows furrow as he shuffles further into the apartment, the rustle of the plastic bags bumping against his legs almost deafening in the undisturbed quiet. 

His steps falter when he sees a smudge of brown against the couch — socks, he realizes dimly. Teddy bear socks, with sewn-on flaps for ears and a robin-red bow to match, because of course Jaehyun would own these types of things. He’s asleep on the couch, wrapped in a quilt the color of spring blossoms and Juyeon feels something in his left rib cage stutter a beat when he sees the tip of Jaehyun’s nose peeking out from the bundle, flushed from the cold. 

Even asleep, Jaehyun is lovely, with light spilling like liquid gold in the dips and crevices of porcelain skin, amber droplets on the tips of feathered eyelashes. There’s something inexplicably gilded about this moment, and Juyeon allows himself to simply be selfish and look for a moment, watch as Jaehyun’s chest crests mountains and valleys in measured breaths and he shifts with a quiet noise in his sleep, small and wonderful and Jaehyun. 

God, Juyeon is so in love with him. 

“Hyung,” Juyeon says again, louder now. He gives a gentle nudge to his shoulder, something like awe cracking open in his chest when Jaehyun’s eyes open with a flutter. “Hi,” he greets, just this side of breathless. 

The confused frown that forms a knot between Jaehyun’s eyebrows is unbearably adorable. “Juyeonie?” he mumbles, blinking rapidly as if he can’t believe Juyeon is really here. He tries to sit up onto his elbows but Juyeon stops him with a hand on his chest. 

“Don't get up, hyung,” Juyeon scolds, pushing him back down into the cushions. He pulls the disrupted blankets back over his shoulders and under his chin, pressing an enormous palm to Jaehyun’s forehead. It’s clammy and unnaturally warm underneath his skin, and Juyeon makes a small noise of displeasure underneath his breath at the temperature. Jaehyun watches Juyeon fuss over him with half-lidded eyes, drifting shut every few seconds with the lingering dregs of sleep. 

“Where’s Younghoon?” he asks. 

“Something came up, so he sent me to take care of you instead.” He starts to sort through the mess of plastic bags on the floor. Ice packs, cans of chicken broth, painkillers to help with the headache. “You don't mind, right, hyung?” The sentence is lighthearted but Juyeon can’t help the twinge of anxiety that plucks at his nerves, afraid of the answer. 

But Jaehyun replies without a second hesitation, mumbling out a quiet, “‘Course not, Juyeonie” with a yawn. The warmth that spills into his sternum is almost shocking, but Juyeon swallows down his hummingbird heartbeat — tells himself that it’s just the fever talking. Hope is not something he is allowed to have, not when he’s alone in the apartment with Jaehyun, so irresistibly beautiful with his songbird voice and pretty doe eyes. 

Still, even his best efforts are not enough to stave off the beetroot flush that overtakes his face, blinking down rapidly at the pill in his hand. “Right,” he says shortly, abruptly rising to his feet. “I’m going to get you some water.” Thankfully, Jaehyun is too exhausted to notice the sudden tightness in his voice, simply humming in acknowledgement before rolling over onto his back. 

It would be embarrassing to admit that Juyeon almost spills the water while pouring it twice but that’s exactly what happens, focus split between the glass in his hand and the coffee-stained mug teetering at the edge of the sink. A Christmas mug, painted in a garish combination of greens and reds with the text “Yule be sorry” plastered over the front in excessively curly font. It’s the ugliest thing Juyeon has ever seen in his life, and yet it’s so unmistakably Jaehyun to have something like this lying around in his kitchen and to be using it in the dead of March, that all Juyeon can think is — cute. 

A groan from Jaehyun snaps Juyeon back to his senses, startling so hard water sloshes over the rim of the cup and onto the counter. Disregarding it for now, he pads back over to Jaehyun and crouches down beside him. 

“Hey,” he says. “You should eat this. It should help your headache lessen, at least.” The medicine and water are accepted from his hands but Jaehyun makes no move to put it in his mouth, the same confused, contemplative look from before present on his lips. Juyeon frowns. “What’s wrong, hyung?” He peers down into Jaehyun’s hand. “Is it too big? If it’s too hard to swallow I can cut it in half—”

“You’re so nice to me,” Jaehyun cuts him off so unexpectedly Juyeon recoils. “Everybody told me to stay away from you but I don't get it.” 

Juyeon barks out a sharp laugh. “It’s just because I have run-ins with the police every other week,” he says, dropping back to sit comfortably on his heels. “I really don't care what they think, hyung. It’s all just mindless gossip anyway.” 

“Then why do you do it?” Jaehyun’s normally soft features are schooled into an expression of upset, almost foreign on his face, and Juyeon’s not sure how to juggle the sudden rigidity in his voice. He looks down at his fingers with a shrug. 

“I don't know,” Juyeon sighs. He tugs his jacket tighter around him like the thin piece of fabric would protect him from the heat of Jaehyun’s stare. “Things like that are fun. I don't feel like I should have to give that up just because everybody’s saying stuff about me.” 

“So you wouldn’t give it up?” Jaehyun says. “For anything, I mean. Or — or someone.” Now it’s his turn to look down, suddenly adamant on not meeting Juyeon’s eyes. 

A beat of hesitation, lasting for a fracture of a second, before he shakes his head. “I don't think so.”  To dispel some of the tension, Juyeon laughs again, but it sounds out of place in the empty apartment, ricocheting off the walls like metal bullets. “Besides, there’s nobody that would ask me to give all the parties up anyway, so why would I do it? It doesn’t make sense.” 

“Oh.” For some odd, unknown reason just beyond Juyeon’s reach, Jaehyun actually looks disappointed. “I guess it doesn’t.” 

Juyeon lets out a breath, then nods his head towards the medicine still cupped in Jaehyun’s hands. “You really should eat that, hyung,” he says softly, watching as Jaehyun slips it past his lips and grasping for straws as to the reason why Jaehyun won’t look at him.  

The wind outside on the balcony is cold, almost frigid against the length of Juyeon’s bare arms. The whisper of it makes goosebumps rise on Juyeon’s skin, but it’s nice. Sobering, wheedling between the alcohol-clouded parts of his brain and shaking him awake. 

He peers past the openings in the chiseled columns where his legs have slotted between, down, down, down onto the floor far below. Juyeon has never been afraid of heights, but knowing that the only thing standing between him and his death is the stone his hands have molded themselves against is — dizzying. Especially with the vodka still sloshing in his system, the driveway continues to faze in and out focus, laughably tiny one moment and right in his face the next. It’s… terrifying, a little bit, but mostly just fun. A delighted giggle escapes him and he kicks his legs up in the open air, feels the air whoosh past him with every movement. It’s almost like he’s flying, birthed with wings made of wax and feathers, skirting too close to the sun. 

He toys with the notion, closes his eyes and imagines what would happen if he could touch it, if he brushed his fingertips against its fiery surface and felt it burn through layers of skin, his bone, the very core of his body. Would he fall, wax melted into liquid, a human comet streaking across a startling midnight sky, remembered forever as a tragedy, a lesson for children filled with too much longing? 

Juyeon remembers falling, remembers how the wind had felt whistling through his hair, the roar of blood in his ears. He had only loved the thrill of it because there had been somebody to catch him — Jaehyun, hands made of blue-stained porcelain and laced-up daisies but strong enough to keep him from hitting the ground just the same. 

He thinks, if the stone were to crumble beneath his touch now, the fall wouldn’t be so kind. But he dreams of it just the same, thinks of macabre ragdolls with undone stitches and wine-red blood like rubies underneath cloaked moonlight, thinks of broken stones and broken bones and falling into the arms of a stardusted man who loved him long ago. 

Younghoon is drunk. 

Juyeon has nobody to blame except himself, really, because he hadn’t stopped Younghoon from popping open the first bottle of red wine, and he hadn’t stopped him from downing another flute of champagne after he decided the wine wasn’t enough either. 

He’s not entirely sure of the reason why Younghoon is drinking like he wants to black out — hadn’t been able to decipher his words through his angry tears before he broke off into stifled silence and marched straight towards the alcohol stash in his cupboard. Juyeon doesn’t think it matters all that much; he’ll be here to nurse him back to life from the skull-splitting hangover he’s bound to have anyway. 

It doesn’t take long for Juyeon to figure out that he had made a grave mistake, because Younghoon is a whole handful and a half while drunk. He switches moods faster than a summer storm and it makes him volatile, unpredictable, and subsequently exhausting. One moment his limbs will be starfished all over Juyeon’s lap and the next he’s cursing Juyeon halfway to hell from the other end of the couch, trying to jab his finger in the middle of Juyeon’s forehead and nearly taking out one of his eyeballs instead. 

And it’s not that Juyeon regrets being here, but drunk-Younghoon is — well, a handful. 

He’s in one of his hostile moods now, long limbs all cramped together against the armrest like he’d be burned if he strayed within one foot of Juyeon. The glaring hasn’t let up in the past ten minutes and Juyeon wonders dimly when he’ll finally get tired. 

“Where’s Jaehyunie?” Younghoon demands suddenly. 

Juyeon barely reigns in a sigh, eyeing the bottle of champagne on the table. He’s starting to think he won’t be able to get through this sober. “He’s in class right now,” he answers patiently. “You’re the one who told me that, remember?” 

“Oh.” He’s suddenly amiable now, leaning forward eagerly on his knees. “Hey, wanna know a secret?” It’s meant to be a whisper but it doesn’t come out as one. 

Juyeon eyes him suspiciously. “Sure.” 

The delighted grin that stretches across his lips is almost terrifying in its intensity. “Jaehyunie doesn’t like parties.” Younghoon looks so awfully proud of himself that Juyeon snorts, unable to keep it in. The notion is ridiculous to even think about — whenever Juyeon looks over at Jaehyun during a party, he’s always smiling, laughing, or generally looking like he’s enjoying himself. So what if he always sticks close to the walls? Jaehyun likes parties just fine. 

“That’s a great secret, hyung,” Juyeon says, still chuckling. Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say because the malicious glint in Younghoon’s eyes is back, all traces of his earlier warmth evaporating into thin air. 

“It’s true!” he whines indignantly. He looks about a second away from stomping his feet against the ground like a kid throwing a tantrum. The mental image is enough to make Juyeon fold in half from the force of his laughter. “Stop laughing!” 

“Okay, okay,” Juyeon concedes. He crosses his arms over his chest in a vain effort to keep himself from launching into another fit of hysterics. “Then why does Jaehyun hyung even show up?”

Younghoon scowls. “Because he knows you’re always gonna be there,” he snaps, and Juyeon goes stiff at the words. It would’ve been bad enough to stop there but Younghoon just keeps going, oblivious to the way Juyeon’s pulse has gone thunderous in his chest, something unnameable thickening in his throat. “He hates parties, but he goes to see you.” 

And it could mean nothing, because Jaehyun has a heart bigger than the world and all his friends say he finds it hard to say no to people, but at the same time it means everything. Everything, because Jaehyun doesn’t go for the alcohol or the music, but every time Juyeon finds Jaehyun through the endless sea of people, he is always looking right back at him. He’s always brushed it off as a coincidence, but what if — what if —

Younghoon makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat at Juyeon’s silence, slinking down the couch and throwing his feet over Juyeon’s lap. There’s a smug smile tugging up the corners of his mouth when he speaks, tickled and unspeakably pleased. “You’re a dumbass,” he says happily. “Both of you are dumbasses.” 

Juyeon swallows over the sudden dryness of his throat. “Go to sleep, hyung,” he croaks. 

“‘Mkay,” Younghoon mumbles. He’s out like a light within a minute. 

Juyeon doesn’t look when the door to the balcony cracks open, but he does look when the person lowers himself beside him with a sigh, recognition sparking at the weary sound. It’s Younghoon, and he looks simultaneously nothing like Juyeon remembers but also the exact same. It could be the hair — midnight black swept artfully over his forehead — but Juyeon thinks it’s the look in his eyes, bright and dazzling in a way it couldn’t be when he’d been weighed down under the stress of university. Happier. 

Juyeon exhales lightly in amusement. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

Younghoon hums. “Wonder whose fault that is.” The words sting a little — not because it’s a false accusation but because it’s something that Juyeon has spent too many nights thinking about, assigning blame and realizing all fingers only point to him. “Sorry,” Younghoon says, a tinge apologetic but not at all regretful, “Too soon?” When Juyeon doesn’t answer, Younghoon knocks an ankle genially against his. “Chanhee told me you were here.” 

“You know him?” 

Younghoon tilts his head to the side with a lopsided grin. “Something like that,” he replies vaguely, waving the question away with a dismissive hand. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here, but now that I think about it, I should’ve expected you.” He releases a laugh, but Juyeon doesn’t quite understand what’s so funny. “Still about the parties?” 

“No,” Juyeon says, so immediately that Younghoon’s laughter cuts clean in half, startled. The back of his neck goes hot with a mortified flush and he looks away, lips pursed. “No, it’s just — it’s a family friend’s birthday and she wanted to host it at my house, so — yeah,” Juyeon finishes lamely with a wince. 

A beat of silence. “Okay,” Younghoon says eventually. With another soft breath, he leans back onto his hands, tilting his chin to stare somewhere far off into the distance. Juyeon’s grateful Younghoon can no longer see the way his mouth repeatedly snaps open and shut, mismatched sentences swirling in his head but clotting once they reach his throat. It’d be inappropriate, he thinks, to ask about Jaehyun now, but curiosity — a burning desire to know — is eating away at him. 

He decides to go for it. “Hyung’s at the party,” Juyeon says, a little too quickly. He doesn’t have to say Jaehyun’s name for Younghoon to know who he’s talking about, and the glint in Younghoon’s eyes is knowing, like he’d stepped out onto this balcony with the expectation that the conversation would travel down this road eventually. “I thought—” He takes a deep breath to gather himself, palms rubbing against his jeans like the feeling of the rough denim underneath his skin will ground him. “I thought he hated parties.” 

“He does.” 

Juyeon hesitates. “Then why is he here?” 

Younghoon’s smile is soft, unlike the Cheshire’s grin he’d shown before. “I thought I told you the reason why a year ago,” he says, and it’s like he steals the breath right out of Juyeon’s lungs, because he remembers .

Toppled glass bottles, cherry blossom flush, a man who wasn’t nearly as drunk as Juyeon thought, and all Juyeon can muster is a winded “oh.” 

“Yeah,” Younghoon says. “Oh.” With a sigh, he leans back onto his hands and stares somewhere far off into the distance. When he speaks, he is not looking at Juyeon. “I know where Jaehyun is.” It’s embarrassing how quickly Juyeon’s gaze snaps up, suddenly wide awake, but Younghoon pays him no heed. “If I tell you, are you going to do something stupid?” 

“No. No, I — no.” 

Younghoon laughs at the way Juyeon’s sentence tumbles over itself, tripping over its own feet. He claps a hand on Juyeon’s shoulder, the gesture terribly familiar and oh, Juyeon has missed his friend so much. “Okay,” he says, again, eyes creased into crescents. “Just don't mess it up this time.” 

The window to Jaehyun’s apartment gets thrown open after the third pebble clatters off the glass, and Jaehyun looks both ruffled and slightly terrified when he peers out into the street. Juyeon grins up at him when Jaehyun’s gaze lands on his, eyes going comically wide before they narrow in a furious glare. “Lee Juyeon,” he whisper-shouts, “Do you think this is Romeo and Juliet? You can’t just throw things at people’s windows at four in the morning — what if you had broken it? What would I have told my poor landlady — she’s old, too, she definitely would’ve thought a serial killer was trying to break in and she’ll never let me out of her sight again—”

“Hyung,” Juyeon says flatly. Jaehyun’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click and the corners of Juyeon’s lips tick into a smile. “What is your obsession with serial killers?” 

“Serial killers are a real threat, Juyeon-ah,” Jaehyun says with a sniff. “I’d be an easy target, too, since I’m young and vulnerable and pretty—”

“You are pretty,” Juyeon says, and watches as Jaehyun promptly flushes a pretty shade of pink, like ripened peaches and drizzled honey. It makes Juyeon want to kiss him, to run his travel-weary palms lined with reverence over skin softer than dawn and discover whether Jaehyun would blush the same color when he touches him. The thought goes as quickly as it had come, shaken off when Jaehyun lets out a little huff of disbelief, not quite sure how to respond. 

“Shut up,” he mutters, though the subtle upward curve of his petal lips betrays him. “Don't go anywhere, okay? I’m coming down in five minutes.” 

It’s almost impossible to stop the way his face splits into a beam when he hears it. “Okay,” he agrees, and Jaehyun disappears back into his bedroom with a gentle goodbye and a click of a window latch. The front door of the building cracks open hesitantly a few minutes later to reveal Jaehyun on the other side, swaddled in a sweatshirt at least two sizes too big. He’s dressed only in his sleepwear, but somehow under the dirty street lamp glow, with his sleeves tugged over wiry fingertips and wisps of hazelnut hair peeking out from beneath the edifice of his hood, he looks radiant. Like everything Juyeon has ever wanted. 

Jaehyun. 

“Juyeon-ah!” Jaehyun says, smile like starlight. It falls off his face amusingly fast when he sees the car Juyeon’s leaning on, though — a Corvette, a brash, vintage red that would be noticeable even if the sky were pitch black. Juyeon had made sure it would attract attention, and had picked this specific car imagining the look on Jaehyun’s face when he saw it. 

“Where did you get that?” The line of Jaehyun’s lips are scrunched in an accusing pout, like he’d just tasted something especially sour. He’s trying his best to look intimidating but it looks more kittenlike than frightening.

Stifling his laugh isn’t too difficult but Juyeon isn’t quite as successful in hiding his grin, a touch too pleased. He pats the hood lovingly with a languid shrug. “I borrowed it.” 

“Borrowed it,” Jaehyun parrots, decidedly unimpressed. “Is that what you’re going to tell the police when they arrest you for stealing a car?”

“I’m not going to get arrested, because I’m not going to get caught,” Juyeon says. “At least not by the beach.” 

Jaehyun perks up so quickly it’s almost laughable. “We’re going to the beach?” 

“Yeah, Gyeongpodae beach.” 

“Juyeon.” Jaehyun looks five seconds away from popping a blood vessel, a sound of exasperation building in his throat. “Juyeon-ah, that's over two hours away.” 

“Maybe even less. The roads should be clear this early in the morning.” Juyeon opens the door to the passenger’s side with a flourish, throwing a careless grin over his shoulder. “Besides, all you have to do is sit here. I’ll be the one driving.” He nudges his head at the empty seat. “Sounds good?” 

An indecipherable flicker of emotion flickers over Jaehyun’s irises like the passing of a storm cloud before a harsh breath whooshes out of him. “Okay,” he says, sliding into the seat. The tone with which he says it makes Juyeon think he’s sending him off to war — which, it’s not that serious, but the determined scrunch between his eyebrows is cute to discourage Juyeon from mentioning anything about it. 

Jaehyun’s body stays scrunched tightly together in an effort to touch as little of the vehicle as possible, as if scared it will come to life and bite him, although his gaze restlessly runs over the interior like he’s trying to commit every little detail to memory. “Okay, fine. But the next time you pull something like this, I’m going to leave you outside to rot, Juyeon-ah. You’ll be sorry, seriously.” 

“Alright,” Juyeon says pleasantly. He hops into the driver’s seat and turns on the ignition, grinning like a madman when the engine roars to life underneath his fingertips, car thrumming with restrained power. A vague noise of panic squeaks out of Jaehyun when he peels out of the driveway, cutting through the nighttime quiet with the grating noise of tires against concrete, and when Juyeon looks over his fingers are white-knuckled over the edge of the seat. It’s impossible not to laugh this time and it explodes out of him like a firecracker, wild and reckless.  

“I’m going to die,” Jaehyun says faintly as the car speeds up. His face has gone paler than the moon. “All of my college tuition is going down the drain because I’m going to die in a car crash, and everybody’s going to say I deserved it because the car wasn’t even mine—” 

“Take a nap, hyung,” Juyeon interrupts, voice bordering a shout over the deafening roar of the engine. He pats Jaehyun’s thigh placatingly, which earns him a deluge of panicked shrieking until both hands are back on the steering wheel. “The lack of sleep is making you delusional.” 

Jaehyun grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “asshole,” but he slumps against his seat obediently anyway. For someone who had complained so much, he falls asleep relatively quickly, and Juyeon just drives until the telephone poles and billboards blur into the backdrop with the snow-craggled mountains. He’s still asleep by the time they arrive, neck cricked at an uncomfortable angle but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. 

Jaehyun awakens with a tap to the shoulder, blinking blearily first at Juyeon, then out into the darkness where he is nodding his head at, towards the sound of the sea. He lets Juyeon lead him out of the car by his hand, down the path until the crunch of crumbling pavement turns into sand beneath their feet and the ocean is right before them, lapping against the shore in gentle waves.

Jaehyun squints at the horizon. It’s shrouded by wispy clouds, seemingly stretching into oblivion. “What are we supposed to be looking at?” 

“Well,” Juyeon says, hands on his hips, “We were supposed to watch the sunrise. Doesn’t look like it will be visible, though.” He tilts his head up. Ominous, gray clouds hover in the sky, and the air smells of earth and smoke, a premonition. “It looks like it might rain, too.” 

“Great,” Jaehyun says dryly. 

A bright grin to counter the thin press of Jaehyun’s lips, and then Juyeon is tugging his shirt up and over his head, throwing it aside carelessly into the sand. Jaehyun squawks — an almost inhuman sound — and slaps a hand over his eyes. “Why are you stripping on the beach, Juyeon-ah, was stealing a car not enough for you? Do you want to get fined for public indecency too?” He dares to take a peek through the gaps in his fingers, only to see Juyeon crouching by the waterside, still shirtless. “Please put a shirt back on,” he pleads weakly. 

Juyeon laughs, disregarding his words to wade further into the water until it laps at the middle of his thighs. It’s beyond freezing, and Juyeon is rapidly losing feeling in the parts of his body that are submerged beneath the indigo and jade surface, but it feels good. Here, beneath a sky with the beginnings of rain hanging suspended in the air like ornaments, in a sea empty enough to convince himself that there’s nobody else that exists in the world, he feels alive.  

“Hyung!” he calls. Jaehyun is stock-still on the shore, but at least his hands have unglued themselves from his face. He’s staring at Juyeon like he’s gone insane, which — he’s not exactly wrong. Still, Juyeon wears his most winning smile and gestures for him to come over. 

“You’re crazy,” Jaehyun says, shaking his head so violently Juyeon is afraid he might get whiplash. “I’m going to get hypothermia and die—”

“Hey, look,” Juyeon interrupts, pointing into the waves. “A sea turtle!” 

Jaehyun gasps. “Where?” 

Without another word, Juyeon latches onto Jaehyun’s arm and yanks him into the water. A shriek splits the quiet air, and then Jaehyun is sitting soaking wet in the ocean, glaring up at Juyeon through a fringe still dripping with seawater. 

“Sorry, hyung,” Juyeon says, entirely unapologetic. “There was no sea turtle.” 

“I hate you,” Jaehyun hisses, clambering to his feet. Before Juyeon can process what’s happening, Jaehyun’s hands brace themselves against his chest in a hard shove and the next moment he’s spluttering in the water, completely drenched. Jaehyun is already running away, giggles thrown over his shoulder as he tries clumsily to escape. 

“Wow, hyung!” Juyeon laughs, already on his feet. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” It doesn’t take long to catch up to Jaehyun, and it’s even easier to tackle him to the floor, both of them going down with a splash. They end up as a complicated tangle of limbs, Jaehyun with his back against the sand as Juyeon hovers over him with a gleeful grin that smells of victory. 

Catching his breath becomes that much more difficult when he sees how pretty Jaehyun looks under him, caramel hair in wet curls against his forehead and cheeks flushed from the cold, laughter bubbling like champagne past blossom lips. The mole on the bridge of his nose and the delicate spiderweb of his eyelashes are so much clearer from here, and the weight of Juyeon’s heart seems to swell and press against his ribcage, incandescent. 

Jaehyun’s laughter trails off at Juyeon’s silence, blinking inquisitively up at him with a slightly twisted expression. “Juyeon?” His gaze wavers until, for the briefest sliver of a second, they flicker down to Juyeon’s lips like they’ve been drawn there by some invisible string. His eyes look almost pleading, and Juyeon thinks of Younghoon’s words, and how they might be true. 

Tentatively, reverently, Juyeon’s hand comes up to cup against the curve of Jaehyun’s jaw, thumb brushing against his cheekbone, and watches in wonder as Jaehyun’s eyelashes flutter at his touch. From this close, Juyeon can hear the way Jaehyun’s breath hitches in his throat, and all of his doubts dissolve like the pearly foam frothing against the sand of the shore. “Hyung,” he breathes, “hyung, can I kiss you?” 

“Please,” Jaehyun says, small. 

His lips are cold with seawater when they press together, but the insistent slide of Jaehyun’s hands over Juyeon’s back are warm enough for him not to notice. Above them, the sky rumbles with thunder. 

The hallway is unlit, but people cram the walls like wooden crates in a warehouse, pressed against each other so closely it’s hard to tell where one person starts and the other ends. Keeping the lights off had been a strategic move; Juyeon hoped the darkness would keep people out of the path that led directly to his bedroom, but he is, apparently, wrong. 

There are couples everywhere, tucked into corners with hands wandering in utterly indecent places, like the murky dimness of the hallway is enough to mask the lustful debauchery of their actions. Juyeon catches the slick sounds of kissing from behind him and recoils with a small noise of disgust, eyeing his bedroom wearily and hoping the shut door is enough of a warning to keep people from doing unholy things on his bed. 

He’s trying his best to keep his eyes from wandering, but it’s difficult when he’s supposed to be searching for somebody. Younghoon had told him Jaehyun would be somewhere around here — funny, that Juyeon had to ask for the whereabouts of a man in his own home, a place he has had ages to familiarize himself with. 

It makes Juyeon wonder if he truly didn’t know where Jaehyun was, or if he was simply too afraid of what would happen if he actually found him. Still, Younghoon’s words have given him hope — a dangerous thing, he has learned, but once it has entered his bloodstream he can do little to stop its course throughout his body, clinging onto the thought like a stranded sailor to a piece of driftwood in the middle of a thrashing sea, desperate yet determined. 

So he searches, gaze flickering from one face to another, and he hopes, and hopes, and hopes. In the end, Juyeon finds Jaehyun at the end of the hallway. His first observation is that he is not alone. There is another man with him, hair coppery like the bronze statues of national heroes standing proudly on granite podiums. One of the stranger’s hands finds its place comfortably on Jaehyun’s hip, and Juyeon’s foolish, foolish hope tells him that it means nothing, that the way their faces are hovering mere inches from each other is in an effort to hear each other over the music. This could be a thing friends do, right? Jaehyun has always been a very tactile person — pressing himself arm to thigh on the couch while watching movies, tight embraces paired with bright smiles as greetings, except —

Except the bronze-haired man is bridging the hairsbreadth distance between them and slotting his lips against Jaehyun’s, and Juyeon feels the hope he had treated as a shield transform into a bladed weapon and thrust itself between his ribs. He watches, heart in his stomach, as his poorly pieced-together mirage crumbles before him like the antique Chinese vase he had shattered accidentally as a child. That day, he had received a lashing reprimand from his mother for the misstep, but this — this feels like Jaehyun had taken a knife and stabbed Juyeon through the heart himself. 

But still, like an idiot, like a masochist, Juyeon watches as Jaehyun laughs against the other’s lips, watches as the stranger’s mouth carves a steady path downwards to latch onto a spot right underneath Jaehyun’s jaw. It’s a sensitive spot, something Juyeon had discovered only after months of being together, reveling in the way Jaehyun goes putty in Juyeon’s hands with nothing but the warmth of a kiss and a flick of his tongue. But now there’s somebody else who has found the same spot, somebody who has probably spent hours learning Jaehyun’s body the way Juyeon had, somebody who knows how to make Jaehyun go soft and pliable in seconds, knows how pretty Jaehyun looks and sounds tangled up in the bedsheets, and Juyeon —

Juyeon burns. 

He had been stupid to think that Jaehyun would’ve waited for him, stupid to think that Jaehyun would be content with being alone, because of course somebody as beautiful as him would have no trouble finding somebody else. Stupid to believe, stupid to hope. Stupid to think that, after an entire year, Jaehyun had come to a party to see him.  

Younghoon had been right once, but he is wrong now. 

Jaehyun’s eyes, once tightly shut in bliss, open and land directly on Juyeon’s own. Juyeon’s brain screams at him to run, to turn his back and leave the memory behind, but his feet stay rooted firmly on the floor like chains are shackling him there, even as the cloudiness of Jaehyun’s gaze makes way for some clarity, confused and then horrified. 

“Juyeon?” he whispers. 

Something in Juyeon snaps at the sound, the utterance of his name from a voice he hasn’t heard for a year. He staggers backward, shoulder colliding roughly with the wall behind him, and he runs. 

“Where are you going?” 

Juyeon pauses where he’d been shrugging on his jacket, twisting around to see Jaehyun at the end of the hallway. The way he leans against the open archway is deceptively casual, but Juyeon knows him well enough to recognize the tiniest waver of his voice, vulnerability seeping into the syllables like oil through sealed sidewalk cracks. 

The same vulnerability shines through his eyes when Juyeon steps closer, leaning over to brush a chaste kiss against the corner of Jaehyun’s lips, the slightest bit downturned. The gesture has his mouth twitching upwards the slightest bit, but it’s not enough to smooth away the knot between his eyebrows. 

“Party at Haknyeon’s,” Juyeon murmurs, pulling away. 

“Haknyeon?” There’s panic threading through Jaehyun’s tone now, sharp and reedy. “Aren’t his parties dangerous? It usually ends with the cops breaking in, and somebody always ends up getting hurt—” 

Juyeon laughs. “You’re cute, hyung,” he says. “Don't worry, okay? I’ve been hundreds of times and nothing bad has ever happened.” Hesitance lines the thin press of Jaehyun’s lips but Juyeon just smiles and heads toward the door with one last tap under Jaehyun’s chin. He’s not two steps out the door before a hand latches onto his wrist, stopping him before he can disappear down the hallway. 

Juyeon turns. “Hyung?” 

“I don't think you should go,” he says abruptly, gaze trained stubbornly on an invisible spot in the carpet. 

A soft laugh, albeit a bit confused. “I already told you I’d be careful.” 

“That—” When Jaehyun looks up, his mouth is scrunched tightly together like it hurts him to get the words out. “That’s not the issue,” he says eventually. Juyeon blinks at him.

“Okay,” he says, pushing them both back into the apartment so they’re no longer blocking the walkway. The door shuts with a quiet click behind him. “Okay, then what is the issue?” 

“I think you should stop doing this.” Jaehyun waves his hands around. “All of this.” 

A pause. “What?” He can’t help the laugh that escapes him, because what Jaehyun is saying doesn’t make sense in the slightest. But he looks dead serious, frown deepening every second he continues to stay quiet. So Juyeon’s laughter fractures and splits into more silence, suffocating in its intensity. 

“I just — I know that you enjoy these things, but they’re not only dangerous, Juyeon, they’re illegal.” Jaehyun traps his lower lip between his teeth, throwing his hands up. “I mean, don't you feel like you’re—” 

“Throwing my life away?” Juyeon cuts in flatly. His voice is low but it makes Jaehyun flinch all the same. He thinks of his parents, disappointed stares and strained smiles with every half-finished assignment he brought to the dinner table, empty praises that erupted into biting words when he came home one day and said he didn’t want to waste four more years of his life in university. He thinks of whispered words exchanged behind his back like his ears weren’t always open to hear them, shallow pity and poor boy, he really fell off, didn’t he? As if having fun every now and then made him a failure, an ugly smear against an otherwise pristine legacy. “Wasting my potential?” 

“You know that’s not what I was going to say.” Jaehyun’s fists are clenched now, trembling where they rest by his sides. “I’m just trying to stop you before you get into a situation where you’re completely in over your head, Juyeon, why are you so afraid—” 

“Afraid?” The word hits Juyeon like a slap to the face, and he’s not so sure why it has renewed anger broiling in his gut but it does, rising like the waters of a flood even as he stands there, frozen. Is he impulsive? Yes. Rebellious? Maybe. But not afraid — never afraid. “You know what I think, hyung? I think you’re afraid that I’ll destroy your pretty little reputation. Lee Jaehyun, top of his class, university’s sweetheart — can’t be seen with his embarrassment of a boyfriend.” 

“Stop,” Jaehyun says shakily, and oh, Juyeon really should listen before he ruins something precious, but he’s just so, so angry.

“That’s why you want to tie me down — ‘cause that’s the only way you can ever love me, right?” Silence, deafening in the disbelief and unspeakable hurt glistening in the glassy sheen of tears in Jaehyun’s eyes. A single tear breaks free and trickles down his cheek like a falling star, and something in Juyeon’s chest wrests itself apart and goes empty, because Jaehyun is crying. And it’s not that Juyeon has never seen him cry before, has held him through midnights when he crumbled quietly under pressure and rocked him until he fell asleep in his arms, but now — Jaehyun is crying because of him. 

But Juyeon is nothing if not stubborn, so he stands there as another tear drops, and another, until Jaehyun is wiping furiously at the trails they have left behind. “You don't get to say — you don't get to just assume—” he says. His chest is heaving and there is venom in his glare, sharp and biting. “Fuck you,” he spits, words landing like bitter vitriol on Juyeon’s skin. He pushes past Juyeon’s stiff form, and then the front door is slamming and Juyeon is left all alone in a room that burns with the smoky ashes of defeat. 

“Hey, you’re back.” 

Juyeon looks up at the sound, pausing from where he’s been pouring himself a drink. It’s the squirrel-like boy from earlier. Juyeon only recognizes him from the silver streaks in his hair and the crater-deep dimples that pop up when he grins, the sharp canines that peek out from behind his lips somehow both adorable and sinister at the same time. 

Juyeon gives him a weak smile. “Guess I am,” he says. “Sorry about the whole thing earlier, by the way.” 

The boy is already waving him off. “You don't need to apologize. If anything, I’m sorry for coming on too strong.” He bats Juyeon’s hand away from where it’s wrapped around the neck of the bottle to refill his own cup, then settles against the counter with a sigh. “Besides, I found somebody else to make out with anyway.” 

Juyeon laughs. “Good for you.” 

“I’m Changmin, by the way,” he says with a bump of his elbow against Juyeon’s arm. “Normally I wouldn’t introduce myself but you looked sad, so.” 

A blink. It takes a moment or two for the meaning to sink in, then another for him to feel slightly peeved. “Sad,” he parrots. Changmin nods gravely. “How?” 

“I don't know.” His lips bunch up in a thoughtful pout, hands waving a mile a minute in nimble, fitful gestures that Juyeon can barely follow without getting dizzy. Juyeon wonders if he’s usually this animated or if it’s the alcohol that makes him like this. “You just look kind of… mopey, that’s all. Like you’re sulking or something.” 

Juyeon’s lips twitch into a frown. He is not sulking. He’s just — hiding in the shadows and drinking alone to drown his sorrows. And this isn’t because he can’t shake off the image of Jaehyun kissing that auburn-haired stranger. It isn’t. He swears. 

“Oh no, did I offend you? Sorry.” Changmin’s head conks to the side and his bangs flop sloppily over his ears. He looks more like a puppy than a vengeful faerie now, big eyes and perpetually pouted lips. “You know, with the way Chanhee talks about you, I thought you’d be a big bad guy who punches old ahjummas in the face for fun, but you’re way more sensitive than he gives you credit for.” 

“What,” Juyeon says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Changmin gives no indication as to whether he heard Juyeon at all. “Then again, Chanhee has a tendency to demonize all of Jaehyun hyung’s exes. Which is valid. They’re gross, for the most part.” He turns, setting a firm hand on Juyeon’s shoulder like he’s a king about to bestow knighthood upon him. In any other setting, Juyeon would laugh at the solemn look on Changmin’s face. Now, he’s a little terrified. “Don't worry, you’re not as much of an asshole as they were.” 

“I didn’t know you knew Jaehyun hyung,” Juyeon says. “Or Chanhee.” 

His face brightens alarmingly fast, all the heaviness of his earlier expression slewing off his features like mud in the rain. “They’re my best friends!” he chirps happily. “I heard your name all the time but I never saw your face, which is why I made a move on you — because you’re, like, really hot, a total catch — but I never would have done it if I knew, I swear.” He pauses here to intake a deep breath, then continues to rattle on. Juyeon’s head is starting to spin with the speed of the words leaving his mouth. “I started to freak out after you left and I was gonna tell Jaehyun hyung, but he was too busy making out with Jacob hyung, so — oh.” 

Changmin cuts himself off with a little gasp, clapping a hand over his mouth. Juyeon tries to keep the souring of his stomach from showing on his face, but he’s never been much of a good liar. Either he’s worse at hiding his emotions than he thought, or Changmin is just strangely perceptive. There’s nowhere to run so Juyeon has to stand there as Changmin points a finger at him, eyes glittering with realization, strangely triumphant. If this were a cartoon, a lightbulb would’ve pinged to life above his head. “That’s why you seemed so upset!” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“Jacob hyung has a boyfriend.” 

Juyeon’s mouth freezes halfway through the words. “Um.”

“Wait, that came out wrong. He does have a boyfriend, but he and Sangyeon hyung are in an open relationship so it’s all good. Jaehyun hyung is hot. Jacob hyung is hot. They kiss sometimes. It happens.” Okay, yeah. Juyeon definitely has a headache now. “The point is! Jaehyun hyung is single. He’s not dating anybody.” 

Juyeon feels like a cold bucket of water has been thrown over him. He looks up, only to be met with Changmin’s fiendish grin. “There, does that make you feel better?” He’s pushing off the counter, cup in hand. “Now you can stop moping—” 

“I wasn’t moping!” 

“—and go find Jaehyun hyung again. Talk things out, okay? I’m gonna go find somebody new to make out with.” Changmin doesn’t turn around as he walks away, only pausing to throw a playful salute over his shoulder, two fingers to brow. “Good luck, Juyeon-ah!” he sings, and then he is gone. 

Juyeon hasn’t been this drunk in a long time. 

Everything has gone blurry around the edges, and standing up makes his head spin so he’s found a barstool near the kitchen counter to slump his body against. It hadn’t been his intention to drink so much, but one drink hadn’t been enough to quell the shadowy remnants of his and Jaehyun’s argument, so he’d downed another, and then another, until their empty bottles littered the space before him like a conquered forest. 

Even Eric had stopped by to ask him if he was okay, but all Juyeon did was wave him off with a noncommittal hum and crack another can of beer open. He’s not entirely sure where Eric is now — not that it matters, because Juyeon is miserable and pathetic and he doesn’t want anybody to see him this way. So he stays alone in his own little spot, cheek pressed against the cool stone of the counter, and matches the idle tapping of his finger to the beat of whatever song is playing to keep himself from passing out. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

A slow blink, and oh — is that Jaehyun? 

Wow, Juyeon thinks distantly, prying open his heavy eyelids with great effort and staring blankly at the blurred figure weaving his way through the crowd, I must be really drunk. The Jaehyun-imposter certainly looks like him — has the same burnished hair, the same furrow between his eyebrows whenever he gets truly frustrated — but he can’t be, because Juyeon had watched him storm out of his apartment hours ago. There’s no reason for him to be here, and yet Juyeon isn’t drunk enough to delude himself into imagining the touch that prods insistently at his shoulder. Too real, too tangible in a way the rest of his thoughts weren’t. 

“Juyeon.” Jaehyun’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. He’s here, really here, and a part of Juyeon melts in relief because everything is going to be okay now. Jaehyun is going to take him home to his apartment — their apartment — and they’ll fall asleep together, side by side, like how it’s always been. In the morning Juyeon will apologize and Jaehyun will forgive him, and Juyeon will never hurt him again because he loves him and wants to protect him. 

He resolves to do all these things in his head, but at the end of the day, Juyeon is drunk and still an asshole, so he sneers and slurs, “Look who showed up.” 

Jaehyun scowls. “Don't be an ass. I’m not here to entertain you.” 

Jaehyun’s eyes are swollen and bloodshot, a clear indication that he’s been crying. Juyeon shuts his eyes and turns away. “Then leave,” he says. Shakily, he pushes himself to his feet. The mere action sends his world into a tailspin, but he grits his teeth and braces himself against the counter until the wave passes. Steadier now, he pushes past an intoxicated dancer, ignoring Jaehyun’s call of his name. 

A hand clamps down onto his shoulder. “Let’s go, Juyeon.” 

“I said leave, hyung.” 

“Don't be stupid. I’m here to save you,” Jaehyun snaps. “Unless you want to be arrested by the police.” Juyeon turns. It’s only now that he notices the blue and red lights flashing through the living room window. Most of the room has emptied out already, leaving only him and Jaehyun locked in this strange pantomime, a deadlock where neither of them are willing to yield. “It shouldn’t surprise you that a lot of what your friends were doing was illegal.” 

Juyeon feels it now — the thrill that bubbles through him like the rising tide, the same thrill that tingles through his fingertips when he ducks behind narrow alleyways to make his escape, the same thrill he’d felt when he pressed Jaehyun against sand and seawater and kissed him for the first time, beneath a silvermist sky beginning to cry. There must be something in his eyes because Jaehyun starts when he pivots, grip faltering, but there’s not enough time to say anything. 

The door slams open behind them, police spilling through the opening like blood from an open wound. The sudden pounding of feet against floorboards is jarring above the shouts but Juyeon barely notices, too busy watching Jaehyun, who looks — not terrified, but resigned. Juyeon has always prided himself at picking apart people’s motivations but he can’t read the reason behind why Jaehyun doesn’t struggle when the police pin his arms behind his back, why he lets them slam him against the wall like he is nothing more than a doll held together by frayed thread. 

Why did you even come anyway? Juyeon wants to scream. 

(“I’m here to save you,” Jaehyun had said. In more ways than one, Juyeon wishes it had been possible.) 

He closes his eyes, imagines if he and Jaehyun were alive in the 20’s, Bonnie and Clyde, partners in crime. Just the two of them, running away from the law in an open-roofed car, a tattoo of his name on the inside of his thigh and his ring around Juyeon’s finger, a promise, an oath. Wild grins and stolen kisses with the imprint of a pistol tucked between a waistband. The man Juyeon would kill for, live for, die for. 

Juyeon wonders, in that moment, with the sadness brimming in Jaehyun’s eyes, whether they look more like lovers or enemies. 

Contrary to Changmin’s last words of advice, Juyeon does not go find Jaehyun. He does not go “talk it out,” because Juyeon doesn’t do that. He can’t do that. Being honest with his emotions and other people was something Jaehyun believed in, unafraid to wield the truth even if it was brutal. For the most part, Juyeon was the listener. He’d sit quietly as people listed their grievances and tweak his behavior accordingly, and then he’d never speak of it again. Now that Jaehyun doesn’t want to talk, well. He hasn’t got very many options. 

It’s nearing one o’clock in the morning. Most of the guests have already left hours ago, but there are the stragglers, the plus-ones of distant friends that drank too much and lost track of time the moment they stepped past the apartment’s threshold. It’s those people that Juyeon is forced to kick out, tapping the shoulders of the ones who passed out on the couch and rifling through the rooms to make sure nobody’s hiding in his closet. He finds a couple sleeping in the guest bedroom, very much naked with his bedsheets in a misshapen lump on the carpet, grimaces, and shuts the door behind him. He’ll wake them up later, after he’s done a deep cleansing of the room with bleach and maybe even holy water, if he needs it. 

He makes his way to the adjacent bathroom instead, swinging open the door. It knocks into something unexpectedly hard on the other side with a dull clunk. 

“Ow.” 

Juyeon freezes. He knows that voice, has heard it through tears, through laughter, red-hot with anger. His suspicions are confirmed when he peers cautiously around the door, eyes wandering the eggshell tile walls before ultimately landing on the boy curled up on the floor. Jaehyun. He’s cradling his knee where Juyeon had pummeled the door against him, mouth set in a wince that develops a defensive edge when he realizes who’s standing in the doorway. 

“Did you have to open it that hard?” he snaps. 

Jaehyun is glaring at him. His eyes are bloodshot — probably from the drinking, if the way his words had slurred together meant anything — but the eyelashes that surround them are as delicate as ever. Dark obsidian, unlike the gold hair that spills in waves over his forehead. Jaehyun looks good blond, Juyeon thinks. He looks like the things Juyeon loves; expensive dessert wine in a flute, lemon drops soaked in crystallized sugar, the sliver of lemonade sunlight spilling through his window slats that feels like warm silk on his skin. 

And Juyeon has constructed mountains of apologies, spent midnights combing through entire stacks of paper to piece together fragmented emotions into sentences, but once he opens his mouth the first thing that comes out is, “You look pretty.” 

Jaehyun stares, nonplussed, up at him. He doesn’t gape, but it’s a near thing. Juyeon feels his face heat all the way to his ears. Then, languidly, Jaehyun lolls his head back against the wall and lets out a short laugh, too dry to be genuine. “That’s not funny,” he says.

It wasn’t a joke, Juyeon wants to say, but he doesn’t because Jaehyun isn’t even looking at him anymore, eyes slipping shut without another word. A split second beat of hesitation before Juyeon crouches down beside Jaehyun’s motionless form. He traces his gaze over the gentle planes of Jaehyun’s face, the charcoal hollow of his eyes, the dot on his nose, the cupid’s bow of his lips. He’s strangely hurt by Jaehyun’s silence; he hadn’t walked into here expecting anything, but at the very least, he will make Jaehyun see him. “Hyung,” he says quietly. 

Jaehyun’s eyes crack open. 

“You shouldn’t fall asleep on the bathroom floor.” The scowl he gets in response can be best described as scathing, but Juyeon doesn’t let it deter him. “You can sleep in my room, if you want. Take a shower.” Juyeon holds his hand out, offers it like a sacrifice. An invitation, written in weathered lines and age-old callouses. His heart thumps unevenly against his ribs the longer Jaehyun makes him wait, but Jaehyun doesn’t let him be afraid for long. Jaehyun’s hand is warm, still comically small against the colossal expanse of Juyeon’s palm. 

“Fine,” Jaehyun says finally, but it still feels like a loss when his eyes close again. 

Juyeon runs, because it’s all he knows how to do. Run from the police before they even get the chance to catch sight of his face, run from his parents and the iron-clad expectations they hard-pressed onto his shoulders, run out of the house with his pants askew and shirt inside-out before his one-night-stand can wake up. 

The moment the police release him, he returns home and packs up his things, stuffing the most important items in his backpack and leaving the rest where they are. He’ll get Eric to come back for them later, he thinks, but for now he needs to get out. He doesn’t think about where Jaehyun is — whether he’s still at the station for questioning or if he’s still waiting outside of the building for Juyeon, hope clogged in his throat that he’ll see his form emerge from the doorway. He just needs to run, and yeah, Jaehyun was right. 

He is afraid. 

Afraid to face Jaehyun after he’d delivered him to his worst fear, afraid to see the things he lost — the things he ruined — scattered like shards of stained glass at his feet. Juyeon has been a letdown since the moment he was born. He is familiar with the stinging poison of failure, the dull pang of disappointment. He is aware of how things are supposed to go, so he’ll run before it happens. Leave his misfortunes and his mistakes behind in the hands of a man whom he loves.

Maybe he’ll even change his number, Juyeon considers as he drives. Make it so Jaehyun can’t follow him, like he did the night of the party. Make it so Juyeon doesn’t have the chance to hurt him again, to be the reason behind why Jaehyun lost his words to anger and cried until he couldn’t stay awake. 

The streets are empty at this time of night. Juyeon’s destination is still undecided but he’s got friends in different locations who’ll be willing to take him in for a while. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find his footing again. After all, running away has always been easier than staying. 

From where it’s sitting in the cupholder, his phone lights up with a call. Jaehyun’s name flashes across the screen in bold, white letters. Juyeon’s grip tightens until his hands are sheet-white around the steering wheel, eyes trained stubbornly on the wide swathe of road before him. Inhale, exhale, don't think. He doesn’t dare look down until the screen turns black again. 

While Jaehyun is taking a bath, Juyeon washes the scent of alcohol from Jaehyun’s clothes. It’s a familiar routine; rub, rinse, dry — enough of a chore to keep his hands occupied and his mind from wandering into more dangerous places, like why the hell Jaehyun is taking so long in the shower or the fact that he’s even in his bathroom in the first place. He absolutely does not think about the way Jaehyun’s fingers would look combing back his wet blond hair or water sliding in rivulets over uninterrupted stretches of porcelain skin, and does Jaehyun still go pink when the temperature is a touch too hot—

A little bit of water splashes onto his feet, startling him out of his thoughts with a violent jolt. Fuck. He looks down at his hands, where his fingers have gone white-knuckled over Jaehyun’s shirt, skin pulled so taut it looks ghostly. He takes a deep breath, blinks twice in rapid succession. Exhales slowly, loosens his grip so it no longer looks like he’s attempting to strangle a piece of fabric to death. He doesn’t think Jaehyun would appreciate it very much if he ruined his pretty little outfit. 

It’s fine. Everything’s fine, he’ll just try very hard not to think at all. Or ever. 

He’s draping Jaehyun’s damp clothing over the back of his chair to dry when the bathroom door cracks open. Jaehyun is wearing his clothes, a worn-out band t-shirt from the bottom of his closet and a pair of old sweatpants that hang loosely from his waist, held up by frayed drawstring. Logically, Juyeon knows that Jaehyun is only an inch or so shorter than him, but standing there, silhouette stark against the golden light in oversized clothes that barely fit him, he looks so small.  

Juyeon’s throat has gone suspiciously dry. 

“You still use the same shampoo,” Jaehyun says suddenly when the silence stretches for a beat too long. “Vanilla and lavender.” 

“Oh,” Juyeon says stupidly, a little speechless. Then, like an idiot, he blurts, “You remember?” A touch too pleased, too eager. It seems he doesn’t have to be embarrassed because Jaehyun flushes abruptly instead. His hands come up to hide his face but his fingers aren’t enough to hide the apple blossom blush high on the soft planes of his cheekbones. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just—” he says, muffled. His eyes narrow when he sees the corner of Juyeon’s mouth twitching in a valiant effort to contain his laughter. “Asshole,” he bites, hands falling away from his face. If Juyeon were more of a fool, he might’ve been able to convince himself that the word sounded almost fond. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that you’re so—” He cuts himself off here, mouth snapping shut. Jaehyun stares at him and the tense line of his shoulders, the easy smile that had been there just moments before fading away like the old photographs tucked in a shoebox beneath Juyeon’s bed, forgotten and dying. 

 “I’m so…?” he prompts. Juyeon clears his throat, looks away. Busies himself with fussing over the clothing hanging over the chair even though they should be left alone. “Juyeon, I’m so what?” 

Cute, he thinks. So cute I wanted to kiss you dazed and breathless, run my fingers over your face and call you beautiful and baby and mine. But they’re nothing more than lovers turned strangers, and Juyeon isn’t allowed to want that. So he remains silent and smooths over the fabric until it’s pin-straight beneath his fingertips, lets the moment slip through the gaps like fine sand. “Are you tired?” he asks, shooting for casual but falling short of it by a mile. 

When he looks up again, Jaehyun’s eyes are blank. Juyeon cringes away from it, almost misses the noncommittal “mm” that Jaehyun provides in lieu of a real answer. A pause just stilted enough to be noticeable passes, but then Jaehyun blinks and the coldness is gone, replaced by something warmer, less abrasive. He shuffles past Juyeon and flops onto his mattress like he belongs there, doesn’t even ask before he throws the covers over himself and falls still with a sigh. 

Juyeon huffs out a laugh. “Guess I’m sleeping on the couch, then.” He’s already making his way towards the door, just another step to further the already cavernous distance between them. Running away, again, before he becomes ensnared in childish fantasies about forgiveness and love and second chances; running away before he deludes himself into thinking he’s gained something only to lose it again. “I left some painkillers for your hangover on the nightstand. Water’s in the kitchen, so you can just down it before you go—” 

“Juyeon.” Juyeon’s sentence snaps clean in half, breaking into a silence that prickles his skin uncomfortably. He braces himself for rejection, for words that sting like lashes of a whip, sharp interrogation of why the fuck he even cares. Why he couldn’t have been bothered to care before, when his concern actually mattered. He senses it like he can sense an incoming storm from the earthy scent of rain, but for all of his fear Juyeon is still terribly, terribly wrong. “Juyeon,” Jaehyun says, softer than the mist shrouding a pearlescent sunrise, “stay?” 

Juyeon lets his hand drop from the doorknob, and he stays. 

Juyeon’s room is poppy orange when he wakes up, alternating between slices of dark shadow and the burnt carmine of the sunlight, carved into the textured expanse of his walls. Consciousness trickles into him slowly, like honey and sugar drizzled over tart raspberries, settling in the crevices of his mind with every languid blink. Cold first, where one of his feet have been left uncovered by the blankets, then the creeping sensation of pins and needles over his arm. Last, warmth, pressed against his right side like a gentle flame, the whisper of a breath against Juyeon’s neck. 

Juyeon turns his head, comes nearly nose to nose with Jaehyun. Ah, right. For the first time in three hundred sixty-five mornings spent in an apartment with aching ribs hollowed out by dust, Juyeon doesn’t have to wake up alone. Elation, white-hot and giddy, burbles up in the empty cavity of his chest, and Juyeon finds himself grinning stupidly at the ceiling. Jaehyun, still sleeping, with his cheek squished against Juyeon’s arm and hands half-clasped underneath his chin like a baby, makes a snuffling noise in his sleep. 

Juyeon exhales lightly in amusement, can’t help the motion of his hand coming to rest gently on Jaehyun’s cheek, brushing over the contours and clefts where marmalade sunlight has smeared itself like jam and hot butter over toast. Wonder and terror take up equal spaces in his heart when Jaehyun’s eyes flutter open, and Juyeon is reminded of a time before Jaehyun was his, when he’d watched him wake up bathed in lemonade sunlight and flushed down the neck with fever, woolen socks and ruby red bows. 

Jaehyun had been as lovely then as he is now. 

The path of Juyeon’s fingers over Jaehyun’s features comes to a standstill at the sight, but Jaehyun doesn’t pull away like he expects. Just stares, something molten and impassive in his eyes. Hesitantly, Juyeon’s hand twitches to life again, runs a finger tenderly over the jut of Jaehyun’s brow bone and down the straight slope of his nose, thumbs absentmindedly at the corner of petal pink lips. And still, Jaehyun just watches, lets Juyeon touch him like this, like he’s trying to learn him all over again — memorize the angles and lines of his face and etch them eternally in the labyrinth of his mind. 

“Hyung,” Juyeon rasps, barely a quiet breath. “I wasn’t joking yesterday, you know? When I said you were pretty.” He’s struck with a strange sort of desperation for Jaehyun to know this, that when it’s Jaehyun’s turn to walk out and leave him behind, he’ll at least understand that Juyeon sees him as someone precious. Someone beautiful, like the spillage of saffron and wine and ginger in the leaves of autumn; simple things — pinkies linked over a coffee-stained desk and crooked, hand drawn hearts in fogged-up windows. 

Don't you see? he thinks. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you a thousand times over. 

Jaehyun exhales lightly through his nose. “Okay,” he says, his own hand coming up to give Juyeon’s a gentle squeeze. And it’s not really an answer, not yet forgiveness, but for the first time since Juyeon’s seen him again, there is the smallest of smiles dancing over his lips, light in his eyes. Juyeon feels an unnameable emotion flood into his chest like daylilies unfurling towards a summer sun, softened petrichor after the passing of a devastating storm. Not quite contentment, not quite joy, but something just as wonderful, something like — 

Hope.