Chapter Text
The moment feels endless. Sitting in the 45th seat, waiting for the last boys to appear on the screen. Waiting for a big entrance of a big company. Looking for the dramatics of the survival shows when the last trainees appear and have to take the last seats — the last, sitting on top of all of them; the place all of them wanted but neither was brave enough to take it.
Jaemin, along with 98 other pairs of eyes, sets his tired gaze on the screen. Performances are coming up, and his legs are growing jittery. Jisung beside him cannot stop muttering under his breath about the competition, and Chenle, on his other side, is snoring lightly. Nervousness runs differently in their systems, but even Chenle is awakened by the collective gasp of the studio when the screen lights up in a familiar pink.
SM Entertainment, it reads. Jaemin’s stomach drops. SM Entertainment never participates in these shows; to create some elusiveness, Jaemin assumes. He clears his throat and sits up higher. Carefully, hiding whatever emotion might surface on his face, he takes in the last two trainees.
Mark Lee steps in, a pearly white smile looking up and down at all of the trainees sitting and staring at them. He takes it with ease, and with a well-practised elegance, he bows in greetings.
“He was on High School Rapper,” Jisung murmurs, sounding choked-off. Panicked eyes meet Jaemin’s. “He’s good good.”
Another trainee appears from the shadows and Mark Lee furrows his eyebrows as he pulls the other boy into the limelight. Lee Jeno, as the screen says, looks around minutely, then bows too. He looks boyish and lost, eyes raking over the scene in front of him until his gaze falls upon the chair on the top. It stops there, staring.
“And him?” Jaemin asks. Human encyclopedia on trainees, Park Jisung, squints a little, then shrugs.
“Lee Jeno,” he tasted the name in his mouth, “I haven’t heard of him yet.”
Jeno says something to Mark, and Mark hurriedly shakes his head. It’s interesting to see the minuscule change on Jeno’s face at first. Then the dam is opened. His shyness melts and hardens into a steeled look. Jaemin’s interest picks up when Jeno starts climbing the stairs, eyes on the target, a soldier’s gaze. The chair on top is a blessing and a curse — it’s a burden, mostly. Yet, Jeno looks at it like it’s his already like the first place is already secured in his hands, and it starts something in Jaemin’s chest.
He always thought being in the middle is the safest. Now, seeing the unabashed greed on Jeno’s face, the pure want to prove himself to be the very best — maybe it’s the start of something.
Jaemin is unseeing while the other trainees perform. It’s a long day, hours rolling over his tired body until it’s his turn to make something of himself. Their time is nearing as they get ushered backstage to touch upon their makeup and hand them their microphones. Heart beating in his throat, a scared little bird in his ribcage, he mechanically walks out to be blinded by the lights. He hears the mentors gush about them, gush about him, and it’s finally familiar.
“Hello everyone, I’m Na Jaemin!” He sends a wide smile, all sharp, white teeth and charm, practised to enchant and conquer. Isn’t it easy? With the light on him, he barely sees the faces of the crowd or the mentors, and his heart slows its quick chase. As the eldest in the trio, he tugs Jisung into position and sends Chenle a sharp look before the familiar music starts and settles into muscle memory.
Maybe his eyes fall on the top seat a few times more than it’s decent. Maybe he checks Jeno's reaction one time too many — the only face that’s not blurred by the stage lamps, pinched into a thoughtful look. Maybe it’s sheer curiosity, how a person with such a strong vision sees him — rival or an easy target? — that keeps Jaemin looking back at him over and over.
The song ends quicker than he expected. Chest heaving up and down, he looks around, dazed; he almost missed performing. The mentors huddle together, deep in thought, dramatic to the bone. Jaemin turns to Jisung and Chenle when no one is looking and mouths ‘good job, babies’, which earns him two disgusted faces and less high-strung nerves.
They call Jisung first, an obvious A.
Jaemin smiles and claps, then helps by putting on the sticker. Then comes Chenle, with another obvious A score, smiling so wide, his whisker-like dimples curve into his cheeks.
And Jaemin — grade B.
“You were… a little out of it,” Boa smiles as she hands over the sticker, “you have an A in you. Just work for it a little harder.”
B is fine. B is far better than he expected, deliberately setting his expectations low. He came here to represent his company, to show himself a bit before they debuted — publicity never hurts. But seeing the spring in Chenle and Jisung’s steps, of the accumulated years of blood, sweat and tears finally paying off, he might have set his expectations too low.
Here, he’s allowed to be greedy. To want the top spot and the center position with it. To want to be in the final group, even if it means dragging their original debut date a little back. Jaemin thinks until he comes eye to eye with Jeno.
He’s softer up close, with rounder features, and less of the high rise of his hunger is visible. Mark Lee is explaining something to Jisung and Chenle, both looking a bit awestruck by the sudden friendly approach of someone who seems to be a thousand steps ahead of them, and Jeno seems misplaced on the sideline. The cameras aren’t rolling here, too focused on the mishmash of happenings outside — so Jaemin feels a little put off. He knows how to act in front of cameras; outside of it, he's a little unsure how to treat trainees.
“Congratulations,” Jeno says, voice almost disappearing against Chenle's loud cackle. He seems a little shy when he gazes at Jaemin from the corner of his eye. “You were good.”
Jaemin scoffs, the sound surprising even him.
"Thanks," he immediately says, so he doesn't come off as rude, "but I could've been better."
Jeno nods a little too quickly. Jaemin raises an eyebrow.
"I mean—" Jeno starts, looking at Jaemin, then looking away, "there's always a place for self-improvement."
Well, that's true. But Jaemin is not exactly a saint, and he thoroughly enjoys the way Jeno doesn't seem to be able to look him in the eye. The fierce boy from outside disappeared, and the change in him almost gives Jaemin a whiplash.
"That's a really fun approach."
"It might not be fun, but it's useful."
Jaemin opens his mouth to retort, but a staff member appears and signals Mark and Jeno that it's their turn. Maybe it's for the better, to have the unfortunate words stuck in his throat — this Jeno kid doesn't deserve to get the blunt end of his misplaced anger. Jeno turns, but before he leaves, Jaemin pats his shoulder.
"Hey," Jaemin offers a tight-lipped smile, "good luck!"
Jeno blinks at him, surprised. Then he smiles, eyes disappearing into crescents.
Jaemin watches the performance through the screen. Once again, Jeno's eyes change once the song starts, and the performance just gets better and better. Jeno might not have a fun life approach, but all the pressure he put on himself has really turned him into a diamond on stage. Jaemin purses his lips into a thin line; he shouldn't have bothered wishing him luck.
***
His bland expression is easy to misinterpret, and Mnet’s editors are having a field day showing different angles of his face, dramatic music in the background, as Jeno climbs the stairs and takes the top seat. It’s almost ridiculous how few seconds of raw footage can be turned into a one-sided rivalry. His hand itches to look himself up online, but their phones are confiscated — maybe it’s for the greater good.
“At least they know who you are,” Chenle says, stuffing his face, words coming out muffled around the food. “They’ll keep you, so you bring in viewers.”
“That’s not how it works, Chenle,” Jisung chides, worried eyes landing on Jaemin. “You don’t know how the public reacted — they might keep him for long, but won’t put him into the final group.”
Jaemin chews silently. The food is already bland, but Jisung’s overbearing analysis makes it taste like ash in his mouth. It’s funny how it shouldn’t matter to him this much — street-casted, being an idol wasn’t really his dream. Going with the flow, finding he does like being surrounded by music, likes making music stemmed from an unknown place. And here, sitting at the same table as child prodigies who dreamed this dream for a long time, it surprises him just how much he cares. He pushes the bowl away.
“I just have to show I mean no harm,” Jaemin concludes.
If this is all an act, he'll give them a good show.
Jeno and Mark appear at the door, still sleep-warm and dazed. Jeno looks around, searching for something when his eyes meet Jaemin’s. Jaemin tries a smile, a little wobbly, a little too wide, just to show that there are no bad feelings here. Jeno blinks, then ducks his head to speak quickly to Mark. The rejection is clear.
So yeah. They’re not friends.
Mark laughs loudly in the demure sound of the canteen and draws Jeno towards another table. Throwing an arm over his shoulder, Jeno looks almost small in his embrace as he lets himself get tugged along. Jaemin’s gaze lingers until they disappear in the queue.
A tray is slammed on the table beside them. An unknown trainee stares back at them, dark-eyed and mischievous in the curl of his mouth.
"You keep looking at him like that, and you'll land a redemption arc later on the show," he says, laughter hiding in his tone. He sits down without asking, and without sparing them another glance, he continues, "Lee Donghyuck, by the way."
Jisung waves weakly. "Uh, hi."
"You," he turns to Jaemin, "have stolen my thunder. I had this friends to rivals to back to friends narrative in my head with Renjun, but you got evil edited. Can't have nice things in this place."
"By all means, steal the show," Jaemin dryly replies.
Jaemin remembers Donghyuck slightly from the screening of the first episode yesterday. He remembers his loud motormouth, annoying and acting all and mighty — and sadly, righteously so. Donghyuck sang his heart out in his performance, and vocal coaches melted into a puddle.
"Don't mind him, he's nuts." Another tray lands on the table. Renjun, Jaemin recalls as another vocally strong trainee from the same company as Donghyuck. “His grand plan is to cause trouble and get screentime. Like there’s no downside of this.”
“You say that like you don’t get anything from my limelight,” Donghyuck whines, but Renjun pays him no mind.
“So what’s the deal? Are you playing the same game?” Renjun turns to Jaemin. He bobs the teabag in his mug up and down, almost like a nervous tick, and suddenly it hits Jaemin — this is a shark tank. These same-aged trainees want to see the competition; Donghyuck and Renjun are not sitting there for their pleasant company. In their eyes, Jaemin, an insignificant trainee, out of the blue has robbed everyone of precious screen time with a simple ploy.
“I appreciate the thought,” Jaemin says, levelling them with a cool expression, “but I’m not a mastermind. That was an innocuous moment turned upside down."
Jaemin hears something akin to 'lucky bastard' from Donghyuck. Renjun seems a little harder to crack, scrutinising Jaemin's face longer than it is comfortable, and all Jaemin can do is stare back openly. Then Renjun looks around quickly and starts rummaging through the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a handful of small packets. He places them in a small heap on the table. Everyone's eyes are glued to it, waiting for Renjun's approval.
"Candy," he says simply, the crinkle of the wrapper colouring the terse silence of the canteen. "I risked my wellbeing to smuggle in this, you better appreciate it."
It's a childish peace offering. It works, though.
***
Being in grade B is still not the end of the world. He sees faces familiar from the first evaluation, who were decidedly good — just not good enough. Floating in-between more dangerous zones and the fragile top, Jaemin itches with newfound greed to prove himself. When he looks into the mirror, practising the same dance over and over, he picks on the same manic glint in all of the trainees' eyes. Out of sheer stubbornness, Jaemin stays the latest, keeps practising until the moves settle into his bones, until his voice grow hoarse repeating the same lyrics.
During the check-ins, neither of the mentors comment on him. He decides to take this as a positive thing.
When the song is over, Jaemin lets his legs collapse under his weight. Just to enjoy a few moments of the tranquil peace of the empty practice room.
Suddenly, the door opens. Jaemin doesn't have it in him to open his eyes.
“Oh." The soft sound rings through the silent room. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”
bJaemin's eyes shoot open. He pushes himself up embarrassingly fast because — he knows this voice. And sure enough, Jeno stands there, shoulder leaning on the door frame.
“It’s fine, I am finishing already,” Jaemin says, pushing himself up. His muscles are screaming in overexertion, and he’s in a dire need to finally sleep it off. But sleep cannot come in bigger chunks than a few hours until the re-evaluation. Jeno looks tired in the fluorescent light, and Jaemin checks his watch. 3:27AM — the cameras start rolling in less than 3 hours. He looks up at him, amused. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah, I’m growing nervous. Practice helps me take my mind off things.”
Jaemin chuckles. “Funny. It’s the exact opposite for me.”
Jeno steps inside, worn-out trainers squeaking against the hardboard. He throws his bag into one corner. Jaemin walks next to him to rummage through his own bag and pull out a bottle of water. He didn’t even notice how thirsty he was. As he gulps down the water, he catches Jeno’s eyes on him. He raises his eyebrows in question.
Jeno opens his mouth, then closes it. Turns away from him. “Don’t go just because of me. We’re practising the same song after all.”
Jaemin really needs sleep. He also needs to find whatever he’s lacking in the eyes of the mentors and correct them. And seeing Jeno’s pretty pink sweater, with the letter A blaring back at him, he might witness what it takes to be in A. He nods.
There’s still an elephant in the room; the acknowledgement of the morning dismissal at the canteen.
“Look, the editing—” Jaemin starts, but a warm palm settles on his shoulder.
“I know.” Jeno scrunches his nose. “Mnet will do anything for viewership.”
Jaemin tries to find insincerity in his words. He finds nothing.
“How would you know? Maybe I do hate you,” Jaemin jokes, feeling lighter. “Maybe Mnet is the only one who really gets me.”
Jeno giggles. “You wound me.”
The hand on his shoulder slips away, and it’s a pity the touch disappeared so quickly. Instead, Jeno reaches his hand out for him, and Jaemin accepts it easily. In the place where he thought everybody would tear at each other’s throat, finding camaraderie in others is almost too easy.
***
Receiving another B during the re-evaluation doesn’t even surprise him. He makes mistakes in front of the camera he hadn’t made ever since the first day they learned the dance. It’s the learning curve that matters at this point — what he learned now will come in handy later. Chenle arrives, his pink sweater exchanged for the orange of the Bs, and settles down beside Jaemin with a shrug.
“Forgot the choreo,” he offers as an explanation. It doesn’t seem to bother him; not until Jaemin notices the slight tremor of his hands.
“There’s still time to prove your worth,” Jaemin whispers. Chenle freezes for a second then shrugs again. His hands settle on his lap.
Mark Lee has easily stolen the center position, and it wasn’t even in Jaemin nor either of the other trainees to hold it against him. Jaemin unwillingly agrees that he’s the best to represent all of them at MCountdown. When everybody is looking at Mark, Jaemin risks a glance at Jeno and hopes this time, it will stay a secret. He expects envy to mar his handsome face; instead, Jaemin finds open adoration, and his heart stutters for a moment.
The world is static for a moment, and it starts again when Jeno turns to him and offers him a wide smile.
***
The first elimination is heart-breaking. It’s the way those trainees haven’t even got the chance to show themselves to the world, and they are already rejected which makes it hard to watch. And Jaemin sits amongst them, waiting for his turn to stay or leave, but it takes too long — the initial hammering of his heart has slowed down, tiredness washing over him. He perks up when Jisung’s name is called at 36th place. Chenle comes following, even if a little shell-shocked, at 35th, and Jaemin’s pretty sure fate has a thing for them. Renjun is called on the 21st, Donghyuck on the 14th.
It’s nice knowing all of them have made the first round. Jaemin sighs. Swallows the bitter taste in his mouth, and decides at least he tried. He had shown himself, just not the best of himself yet. He’s a little over-conscious of the eyes on his nape, of Jeno’s position a few seats behind him. Is he thinking the same thing? It wouldn’t make sense; Jeno has offered nothing but diligence and kindness, if a little awkwardly, and the viewers must have seen the same.
Jaemin’s name is called suddenly, and his face is on the screen. Under it, 10th place sits with an incredible amount of votes, and he has to pinch his arm to see if it’s real. If it’s not something he just made up daydreaming.
He stands, shaking from head to toe as he makes his way to the high chairs; to the chairs of the future debutés, and right now, his place is here. He blinks owlishly at the camera facing him, and only when his cheeks are beginning to hurt does he notice he’s been smiling like a fool.
It’s a whirlwind after that. Jeno comes third, and his face is both relieved and disappointed. Jaemin wants to laugh at him for wanting too much — but dreams should be big, bigger than life.
Mark comes first, to no one’s surprise. After the shooting is over, he goes around, offering kind words for the wounded and people are drawn to him like moths to a flame. Jaemin retreats into a quiet corner to rationalize what happened out there.
“Jaemin! For a second!” He hears Mark before he sees him, the crowd parts like the Red Sea to let him through. Mark seems to be unaware of his charms because the smile he’s offering to Jaemin is a little unsure, a little skittish. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.”
“No need. I’m pretty sure everyone here knows who you are.” Jaemin lets out a small puff of laughter. “Probably I should be the one to introduce myself.”
“Also no need,” Mark says, eyes round and sparkling, “I’ve heard a few things about you.”
“Oh? From whom?”
Mark’s eyes fly over his shoulder and widen a little. He steps closer, using their little bubble to whisper.
“A little birdie who doesn’t seem happy that we’re talking.”
Jaemin furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Mark looks a little impatient. He chews his lower lip, checks again something over Jaemin’s shoulder. Steps closer again.
“Look, I just wanted to check — this rivalry to friendship thing that is happening, is it an act?”
Jaemin’s lips thin into a line. He doesn’t appreciate being investigated like this, over editing he doesn’t have power over. The line Mnet is creating is ridiculous and tacky. Using the infamous opening moment to create drama, and then little shared moments to patch things up between them makes Jaemin's stomach churn with unease. It’s almost flattering how Mnet has begun to care about Jaemin’s image.
But when Jaemin’s about to let the myriad of his complaining wash over Mark, he’s faced with deeply rooted concern.
“I’m just asking, because — because Jeno may not seem like that from the outside but he’s pretty sensitive. I wouldn’t want him to be caught up in things that he believes are real but are not.”
“There’s been no rivalry,” Jaemin says, exasperated. “And I wouldn’t act like I like him if it wasn’t true.”
Mark lets out a long breath. “Good. That’s good.”
“What are you two talking about?”
Jaemin winces. Jeno appears like a ghost out of the blue behind his back. He tilts his back to look back at Jeno, caught red-handed talking about him, to mitigate the situation. He’s almost pushed out of character because Jeno’s standing close — too close. Jaemin’s fringe tickles his cheek, and Jeno squints.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaemin tries to keep the teasing in his tone but it comes out weakly. His mind screams to step out of Jeno’s gravitational pull before he does something he would regret later — or worse, not regret it at all. He pulls himself together enough to say, “Congratulations, Jeno.”
Jeno’s smarter. He clears his throat and draws away from Jaemin just a little bit. When he lets his arms fall to his side, their pinkies touch, and neither of them moves away.
“You too, Jaemin.”
“Oh. I see,” Mark looks between them, “I see.”
***
The game is stupid, and Jaemin’s happy not participating. Luck is on his side while drawing names for the next stage, so he doesn’t have to move a finger to make a fool of himself in front of the cameras — he does that regularly already without help. Mark, being a center, has no choice to partake. Beside him, Jeno stands, practically vibrating with excitement to fight off the other 15 contestants and get the song he wants.
It’s a quick game, and it seems Jeno’s competitiveness doesn’t stop no matter how small the prize is.
Jeno's chest heaves up and down, eyes glazed as he puts together the perfect team in his head. His cheeks are coloured, pink like his sweater; his hair tousled — and still. Still. Sleep deprivation has got nothing on him. Jaemin shifts his weight from one leg to another — he’s in grade B, a good choice. He placed 10th, even better. But Jeno might not want to make the rivalry thing worse by choosing him, and that’s fine. Even if he really wants to do Replay, he just needs to suck it up and learn to do things out of his comfort zone.
“Na Jaemin!”
Jaemin blinks, looking around. He hasn’t really paid attention to the forming groups yet as lots of the As are still lining up. Distantly he hears murmurs around him, and Jaemin’s a little taken aback when the MC wildly gestures toward his group. Jeno looks at him, fingers wrapped tightly around the paper claiming Shinee’s Replay, waiting. Waiting for him to come.
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Jaemin asks quietly as he passes Jeno. All he receives is a curt nod.
Donghyuck is called next, and their group fills up quickly with people he doesn’t really know. He glances to the side. Mark has chosen Renjun, Chenle and Jisung. Uh-oh.
Assorted colours sit around the small stack of papers, and Jaemin realizes just how much thought went into choosing this group. This is Jeno’s tactic to shine through — a growth arc. Because everybody here is just toeing the lines of the higher grade, all they need is a little push to make it happen. Jaemin included.
“I think Jaemin should be the center,” Jeno says, examining the roles.
“Are you sure?” Donghyuck asks, side-eyeing Jaemin. For the comment, he receives an elbow between his ribs.
Jeno was chosen unanimously as the leader. Jaemin has assumed he would be the center too.
“He knows what he does to people,” Jeno explains, then halts for a moment, chewing his lip. He doesn’t look at Jaemin. “You all saw him during the first performance. No one could take their eyes off him.”
Jaemin wills the heat away from his cheeks. The team agrees, even Donghyuck reluctantly does. Giving away the rest of the positions is almost too easy; Jeno’s thoughts went over popularity to claim pieces to the picture he’d created in his mind. Jaemin stays quiet until they disperse to sleep off the day’s happenings.
Jeno has taken the habit to slow down his steps to match Jaemin’s. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaemin, deliberately being slower until the other group members are far too ahead to hear them. He turns to Jeno quickly.
"Jeno, are you trying to set me up?" Jaemin hisses. His eyes flit all over the place — no cameras. "Is it because of the evil editing? I wasn't hating on you, it's just the dramatic music that's—"
“Jaemin,” he interrupts. He tilts his head like he doesn’t understand the weight he had just placed on Jaemin. “I truly believe you’d be the best person for the center position.”
Jaemin is not usually this vulnerable to puppy eyes — he had a fair share of Jisung and Chenle during their traineeship. But all he can do is huff and complain all the way to the dorms, and Jeno listens to him throughout the way. When the door to his room closes, his mouth clamps shut as something tender starts burning in his chest like a fallen star — white-hot and demanding.
Jaemin sucks in a trembling breath. Falling in love in a place like this is out of the question.
***
“It’s not like that,” Jeno says. “You’re doing it wrong again.”
His voice is not unkind, he’s just a touch too blatant. But Jaemin is running low on sleep, nerves already frying with the ticking of the clock, the performance nearing, and he just lags behind — behind everyone. He sees the irritation in the eyes of his teammates as they heap hours on hours to perfect the steps. And he overhears the joyous laughter of the other team, Mark making jokes to prevent disheartening his group.
Jeno watches him from the mirror. Warm brown eyes pin him down, take him apart, then put his pieces back together — Jaemin’s afraid of just how deep Jeno's understanding of him goes in such a short amount of time.
“I’m sorry,” Jaemin presses through his teeth. “Can we do it from the top?”
Jaemin tries to concentrate. But it’s hard, thinking of how over-edited they will get; the contrast between the two groups is just offering themselves up on a silver plate. He forces his attention on himself in the mirror, but his eyes flick over to Jeno watching the other team. Jaemin bumps into Heeseung, and the music suddenly stops.
Jeno looks at all of them for a long moment, then sighs.
“Maybe… we should take a break. Meet you in ten.”
He doesn’t even wait for a response. Jeno turns around and marches off — Jaemin, by sheer instinct, follows him.
Jeno hides in one of the small, sound-proofed rooms where they are allowed to call their families. He sits, legs pulled close to his chest, staring at the iPad in his hands where the choreography is playing, but he’s unseeing. He flinches when Jaemin slides next to him.
“Sorry for causing problems.”
“It’s not you,” Jeno says, voice trembling a little, “it’s me.”
Jaemin giggles, knocking their knees together. “What’s with the bad break-up line, Lee Jeno?”
Jeno laughs, but it rings empty. It’s weird seeing someone so sure of his place like this, losing his grip on his own being. Jaemin has been fighting a losing battle since the very beginning; coming here with little to no expectations just for the sake of his company, to find he really wants this and cramming this newfound vision into his body. But Jeno came with a clear sight — but he’s just another trainee too.
“You’re a good leader,” Jaemin cuts into the permanent silence, and his voice feels too loud in the fragile peace.
“But Mark—”
“He makes people feel good,” Jaemin agrees. “But I don’t think your approach is bad either. Our skill levels are not the same — but you’ve taken this risk. It takes a little longer for us to get levelled, but it will happen eventually. And you keep us on track; you don’t let us get away with anything less than perfection.”
Jaemin sighs. He feels a lot more for Jeno, who always stands there to help out and just be the source of comfort for the team, but words fail him. He looks up, and Jeno is already looking at him.
“You’re a good leader. The other would say the same,” Jaemin whispers. He tries to keep his eyes trained on Jeno’s, but his gaze slips to his lips. Jeno’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Jaemin gulps.
This is a competition, Jaemin repeats it in his head, this is not the place for this. Maybe if he repeats it enough, his body won’t move on his own, to crowd into Jeno’s space. Maybe he won’t cradle Jeno’s soft-looking cheeks in his hands just to feel them heating up under his palms. Maybe he won’t lean in, to leave a chaste kiss on Jeno’s pink lips, to test the waters.
This is a competition. This is not the place for this.
Jeno kisses him first, and the voice in his head stops.