Archive of Our Own ^beta

When are you going to meet someone, Jeno? Isn’t it time to get back out there? You deserve to be loved. I just want to make sure you’re being looked after, Jen, that’s all.

Coming home for the holidays was easy. Stepping back into his childhood bedroom, slipping on familiar pyjamas stashed away in his drawers and drinking from his favourite mug. It was all too easy. What wasn’t easy, however, was his mom’s new-found fondness for pestering. 

‘Maybe you should try asking online,’ Donghyuck had joked a week before Jeno was set to return home. Jeno had laughed it off, shoving at his friend's shoulder. As if. 

But now, sitting here, staring at a message from his mom—should I prepare an extra seat at the table?—Jeno begins to panic. He knows she means well, if the added hehe just kidding, my lovely is anything to go by, but it still stings nonetheless. What’s with all the pressure? He’s still a kid. It’s too soon. Not after—he just can't. But still, maybe Donghyuck was right; maybe he should try online. But it feels sort of pathetic. I can’t get someone to actually want to date me, so I’m asking someone to pretend. Jeno cringes. 

It’s fine. December twentieth, his phone reads. That gives him five days before Christmas—five days to find someone and then convince them to come home with him. Oh god. He falls back on his bed in exasperation. This is not going to work. Who in their right mind would do something so stupid?

❄️

‘I’ll do it,’ Na Jaemin beams, two rows of seven hundred pearly white teeth on full display.

Jeno shakes his head. 

‘No, you idiot. Not you. Someone I don’t know. I can’t date you, that’s—it’s—no.’

Jaemin pouts, his bottom lip jutting out, red and shiny. ‘You hate me,’ he says, and Jeno has to slap his shoulder for him to stick his lip back in. 

Jeno had given up on the online thing—Lee Donghyuck never came up with good plans. Instead, two days before he was set to go home, Jeno went to the campus library to look for Jaemin, another person who seemingly can't come up with a good plan. 

‘I thought you’d be somewhat helpful,’ Jeno whines, slouching back in his chair.

Jaemin shrugs and turns back to his laptop screen. He presses a few buttons before shutting it down. 

‘I am very helpful, I’ll have you know,’ he smiles brightly, faltering only a little when the girl beside him, working on her own laptop, sends a glare his way. He lowers his voice to a whisper: ‘who else would pretend to date you without anything in return?’ 

Jeno supposes that’s true—Donghyuck would, of course, want something, Renjun is already going home with someone, so that’s out of the question; and both Jisung and Chenle have yet to graduate high school. And since Jeno refuses to redownload Tinder for the umpteenth time, so his options remain rather limited. 

‘I love your mom,’ Jaemin speaks up again, piling everything into his bag. ‘And she loves me, what more could you want?’ 

Jeno chews on the peeling skin of his lips, trying to weigh the pros and cons of it all. They jumble together in foamy writing before him:

Pros:

Jaemin is someone he knows and is comfortable with. 

He’s respectful and charming, and he gets along with everyone.

Jeno’s mom does love him. 

Cons:

Jeno knows Jaemin. 

Pretending to date your best friend could potentially make things awkward.

Jeno blinks the imaginary list away, coming back to reality. Three pros and two cons. That’s not bad. Maybe Jaemin’s idea isn’t entirely the worst. It’s better than Donghyuck’s, that for sure. Okay, it’s fine. This might actually work. 

Jaemin spins on his heels as they leave the library, his face screwed up all serious, his fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of his striped sweater. Jeno eyes him suspiciously, only because he’s positive that the sweater is in fact his and not Jaemin’s. 

‘I’m not going home this year,’ he explains, ‘you’d actually be doing me a favour.’ 

Jeno’s heart lurches. He finds himself wanting to reach forward and stop Jaemin’s hands from fidgeting, but just as soon as Jaemin’s uncharacteristic emotions take place, they vanish, replaced with his familiar bright—menacing—grin.

He bumps his hip off of Jeno’s. ‘What's the worst that can happen, anyway?’ 

❄️

The worst that can happen, it seems, is this. 

‘This is Mark!’ 

Jeno knows Mark. Mark is the scrawny, bug-eyed kid who stole his lollipop right out of his mouth in primary school. Mark is also, unfortunately, the one who kissed Jeno for a house party truth or dare and then shattered his heart into tiny red shards two days later when Jeno saw him kissing a girl down at the bridge by their school. He’s not worth it, Renjun had said with a comforting hand on Jeno’s back. Definitely not worth it, Donghyuck agreed, steering him away from the scene. And Jeno supposed it was true. In any case, it had been a fleeting crush; Jeno had left, and Mark had remained; a tiny fading memory. 

Until now. 

Jeno startles back over the threshold of the front door, clutching at the strap of his gear bag in an attempt to ground himself. 

This is Mark. This is Mark. This is Mark.

There’s a smell of almond essence trickling through the hallway, and out of the corner of his eye, Jeno can see his mom’s black cat sauntering past them. His mom has a happy grin plastered across her face, her arm hugged tightly around Mark’s waist. Jeno doesn’t know what he was expecting to find when he came home, but it was definitely not this. He can’t get his brain to catch up with what’s happening in front of him, he tries to quickly make sense of it all—Mark is here. Beside his mom. In his home. What?! 

And then: ‘hey, Jen.’ Mark. 

And then: ‘everything okay?’ Jaemin. 

Oh god. 

❄️

When they were kids, Jaemin went to a different school—one across town, a private one that specialised in fancy languages and competitive sports—while Jeno attended the local school. Jeno liked to poke fun at Jaemin’s uniform and the way he butchered the French pronunciation, and in turn, Jaemin laughed at the bowl cut his mom gave him and how he was never allowed out until all his homework was completed. They knew one another through their parents; the Na’s aren’t the friendliest, but still, before Jeno’s dad passed away a few years ago, he regularly went for drinks with Jaemin’s dad every Friday night. Though eventually, through Jeno, Jaemin became friends with his friends until they somehow clustered into a small group that drove each of their parents insane with sleepover requests and 3am gaming sessions. 

Though, Jaemin never knew Mark. 

Mark wasn’t Jeno’s friend. He wasn’t anything. 

Until today. 

Jaemin sits across from Mark at the dinner table, eyeing him suspiciously. Mark refuses to make eye contact with him, and Jeno has to kick at Jaemin’s ankle for him to stop whatever weird behaviour he’s trying to exhibit. Jeno’s mom busies herself with boiling the kettle and putting warm cookies on a freshly washed plate. She hums a song that sounds vaguely familiar, and when she sets a pot of tea and a plate of cookies down in the middle of the table, she takes a seat next to Mark. 

‘So,’ she begins, lifting the yellow pot and pouring black tea into all five cups. ‘How was the journey from the city?’

Jeno shrugs, feeling itchy all over. 

Beside him, Jaemin picks up a cookie. Before biting into it he answers in place of Jeno, ‘it wasn’t as busy as we thought it would be, the holiday traffic mustn’t have started.’ 

Jeno’s mom nods along in agreement, and pushes the milk jug in Mark’s direction. 

The house is too quiet, and Jeno feels on edge. Everyone is acting so weird—why the hell is Mark Lee here, and since when does his mom use teapots? 

‘Mom—’

‘I didn’t know you were coming home, Jaemin.’ Mrs. Lee says as she stirs sugar into her tea. She gives Jeno a quick glance, ‘this one never tells me anything.’ 

Jaemin laughs soft and polite; he bites down on the cookie, and Jeno watches from the corner of his eye as crumbs gather on his bottom lip. 

Jeno doesn’t know how he does it, but Jaemin continues to be patient as Jeno’s mom bombards him with question after question: do your parents know you're coming home? Is it a surprise? Oh, I love surprises! Should we send them a text and tell them to come over? 

He has to tell her exactly why Jaemin is here. After all, that was the plan, wasn’t it? Now is his chance. Jeno shoots Mark one last confused look. He straightens up in his seat and clears his throat. 

‘Mom,’ he begins, his hand hovering over Jaemin’s. This is weird. ‘Actually—’

‘Oh, honey!’ Mrs. Lee beams, clasping her hands together excitedly. ‘Sorry to interrupt, love, but did you know that Mark just got back from Australia?’ 

Jeno shakes his head with a sigh, his arm falls down to his lap. No, he didn’t know that. 

‘He just came home a few days ago, didn’t you, Mark?’ When Mark nods, Mrs. Lee continues. ‘He came home and had a little fight with his parents. You know me, Jen-baby, I absolutely hate parents who just outright refuse to understand their children.’ She offers Mark’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. ‘Now, I know that you don’t want me in your business or anything, but... Well, oh—Mark, dear, why don’t you explain?’

Jeno can’t read minds—although sometimes, like now, he finds himself wishing he could—but from what he can tell, Mark Lee looks like he’s about to throw up all over his mom’s yellow teapot and cookies. 

Jeno tries to interject and say it’s okay. Mark doesn’t have to say anything, and this is really weird and awkward, and Jaemin is right there, and I need to tell you something; can’t you just listen? But then Jaemin is clearing his throat and standing up, the legs of his chair scraping on the tiles, startling each of them. 

‘Mrs. Lee,’ he says, giving Jeno’s shoulder a tight squeeze. ‘Should we go and surprise my parents together?’

It’s true that Jeno’s mom loves Jaemin. Ever since some years ago, when he had forgotten to take off his shoes, too caught up in outside fun, and accidentally dragged mud into her house. She had been furious, running out from the kitchen to the front door with her apron crumpled up in her hands. Though, she gave in so easily when Jaemin’s eyes brimmed with guilty tears as he begged her not to tell his mom. Jeno, to this day, makes fun of Jaemin for it—you gave her so many wrinkles that day. The vein in her forehead was about to burst. Jaemin never seems to care.

So it’s no surprise when she happily agrees to his request, ruffling Mark’s hair before following Jaemin down the very hallway his younger self destroyed, leaving Jeno alone with Mark for what seems like the first time ever. 

Mark doesn’t speak, avoiding eye contact with Jeno at all costs. Though, it’s not as if Jeno knows what to say either. He wishes Donghyuck or Renjun were here; they would know exactly what to say, having waited years to get Mark alone after that day by the bridge. 

He clears his throat, hoping the words will come crawling up. 

‘I think your mom’s trying to set us up,’ says Mark, rather abruptly. 

Jeno’s eyes widen, ‘wha—huh?’

Mark nods. ‘Yeah, she—uh—I came out to my—to my family yesterday, and well,’ he shrugs halfheartedly. Jeno wants to curl into a ball. There’s no way. ‘And Mrs. Lee was there because it was my mom's birthday, and she had been invited, of course, and—and I didn't mean to say it. It just kind of slipped out, and—yeah, now I'm here because your mom doesn't want me to be with them for the holidays, I guess. I mean I still have to go back on Christmas Day, for sure, but… Yeah. And also because she thinks that since you're—" Jeno winces, has Mark always been so inarticulate? He doesn’t even have a minute to catch up before Mark is gesturing to him, ‘since you’re… gay, that—you know?’

Oh. 

Jeno stiffens, feeling every single wall around his heart stand up. 

Mark shakes his head, waving his hands about, and Jeno’s taken back to when they were kids and Mark’s eyes were saucer wide and his gangly, not-finished-growing-yet bones popped out everywhere. 

‘I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. Shit, I’m so bad at this—fuck—okay, okay—’

Jeno reaches across the table, his hands resting on Mark's flailing ones, against his better judgement. 

‘Mark, it’s fine.’ He says, ‘calm down, please.’ 

Mark nods, deflating only a little. 

‘Sorry,’ he says, bowing his head in defeat. ‘I think your mom thought that since I came out and you’re gay, we would…’ He trails off, not finishing his sentence, but Jeno hears the be a good match that’s left unsaid. 

The fact that Mark Lee just came out to him has Jeno’s world tipping and his head pounding. He cringes, devising a way to kill his mom in his head. He can’t bring himself to understand why she would think this was a good idea; it’s so backwards—two queer people growing up in the same town does not mean they have to end up together. 

‘I should go,’ Mark says, standing up from his seat. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ 

Jeno stands up, too. 

‘You didn’t upset me,’ he tries, but Mark narrows his eyes. ‘I’m just surprised is all, I didn’t realise you were—’

‘Yeah.’ Mark shrugs; their one-time kiss isn't mentioned; perhaps Mark forgot or simply doesn't care; either way, Jeno is grateful. When he reaches the front door, he turns around to Jeno. ‘I’m sorry I ruined the bringing your boyfriend home thing, by the way,’ he says, and Jeno startles.

‘What?’ 

Mark frowns, ‘Jaemin?’ 

Oh. The cogs in Jeno’s brain begin to turn once again. 

‘It’s—yeah. That’s okay.’ Jeno laughs awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He had completely forgotten about all of that. ‘Are you sure it’s safe for you to go home?’ 

Mark shrugs, and Jeno feels guilt pool in his belly. He tries to get Mark to stay, but he doesn’t budge. It’s fine, he says, and although Jeno doesn’t believe him, he still watches him go. 

❄️

While waiting for his mom and Jaemin to return, Jeno busies himself with unpacking and fixing the decorations his mom so carelessly put up around the house. It’s been three years since his dad passed, and three years of his mom trying her absolute best but never quite getting it—his dad was always the holiday one out of the three of them, making sure everyone was together and the tree stayed shining and twinkling. Jeno feels his loss every single day, but around the holidays more so. 

Just as he’s moving a bauble a little more left, the front door opens and closes. There’s some rustling and some footsteps, and then Jaemin; creeping in and bumping Jeno’s hip with his own.

‘Sorry, Jen, we got a little caught up.’ He says, removing his coat and throwing it down on the couch. 

Jeno nods in understanding, wishing Jaemin wouldn’t apologise for wanting to spend time with his own family. He knows how their relationship balances on a thin line. Jaemin had initially planned on staying on campus rather than coming home this year, so Jeno’s happy he had a sudden change of mind. 

Jeno’s mom comes in behind Jaemin, her cheeks rosy from the winter breeze. She rolls up her sleeves, and with a tsk, she picks Jaemin’s coat up from the couch, rewarding him with a light slap to the back of his head before walking back out to the hallway. She doesn’t come back in, though Jeno hears her padding around and humming the same song from earlier on. 

‘She loves me,’ Jaemin grimaces, rubbing where she hit. 

‘You wish,’ Jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

There’s momentary silence as Jaemin busies himself looking around the sitting room, as if he wasn’t just here a few months ago. Jeno brushes Christmas glitter from his hands and gestures to the couch for them to sit. 

‘I need to tell her,’ Jeno whispers, his eyes darting to the hallway. 

Jaemin agrees, ‘now?’

Jeno shrugs, not quite certain. He doesn’t want to hold it off any longer, especially with the whole Mark fiasco. 

‘I think so—’

‘Tell me what?’

Shit. 

Jeno winces, looking over in the direction of his mom’s voice, and seeing her head peeking in through the door, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘What are you hiding from me, Jeno Lee?’ 

Jeno feels himself clamming up; he looks to Jaemin for help, but his friend only shrugs, holding up his hands in defence. Demon. Demon. All his friends are demons. 

‘Mom, I was trying to tell you earlier on,’ Jeno begins, sitting on his hands for comfort. Mrs. Lee comes into full view, her apron on, and a smell of cinnamon wafting in from behind her. ‘But Mark was here, and—oh yeah, wait. Hold on. What the hell was that all about?’ 

Mrs. Lee waves her hands around dismissively, tutting and shaking her head, ‘another time, don’t change the subject, what’s going on?’ 

Jeno gulps. He can’t do this. It’s too awkward. She’s never going to believe he’s dating Jaemin. Why is he doing this anyway? His mind feels blank. Why did he think this was a good idea? It’s not. It’s not a good idea; he feels like he’s about to die of embarrassment. Maybe he should just tell Mark to come back, even that would be a better idea than this. But then Jaemin is  reaching out and there’s a comforting hand on his thigh, giving him a gentle squeeze. And Jeno’s mom sees it happen, her eyes zeroing in. Jeno’s face flushes red hot. 

Oh, is all she says. Her lips rounding and her eyes widening. Then, as if in slow motion, her face splits into a smile that stretches all the way to her ears—the puzzle pieces slotting together in her head. One nimble finger points to Jaemin and then to Jeno, questioningly. Against all the voices in his head screaming at him to tell the truth, Jeno nods in confirmation, and Jaemin wraps an arm around his shoulders—playing the part perfectly. 

‘Well,’ Mrs. Lee says, slightly dazed. ‘I was not expecting that.’ 

That makes two of us, Jeno wants to say, but he swallows his words down.

❄️

Mrs. Lee doesn’t ask any further questions or demand any answers, only pulling Jeno aside before bed—I’m so sorry for the Mark thing, forgive me? And who is Jeno not to forgive his mom for continuously trying her hardest, and only sometimes not getting it quite right? Though, Jeno isn’t sure if he should be grateful or suspicious over her lack of enthusiasm for him and Jaemin. 

None of that matters now, however, not when Jeno finds himself stuck with Jaemin’s bare feet tangling together with his own in his twin-sized bed. He can’t help but wish he had listened to his mom when she suggested Jaemin sleep in the guest room—curse his juvenile need to constantly prove himself.

And it’s not as if they've never shared a bed before. Jeno can remember several past sleepovers, but they were never under the pretence of we’re dating. 

Beside him Jaemin wiggles around, hissing as his bare back comes in contact with the cold wall. 

‘Move over a little,’ he huffs.

Jeno struggles with keeping the covers over his body, ‘you move over, I’m gonna fall if I move any further.’ 

Jaemin shifts around a little before sitting up with an exasperated sigh. ‘Get up,’ he says, and against his better judgement Jeno does as told. 

Then Jaemin is lying back down on his side just as before, but this time with his arm outstretched over the pillow, creating more room for Jeno to slot in.

‘Come on,’ he says, staring up at Jeno. ‘Lie back down.’ 

Lie back down. Lie back down. Lie back down. 

Jeno stares down at his friend in bewilderment, not sure why his heart rate begins to increase. You’re crazy, he wants to say. He doesn’t. Instead, he shuts up and wills himself to lie back down next to a shirtless Jaemin, his arm resting snug under Jeno’s neck. Demon. 

‘Comfy?’ Jaemin asks through the darkness, and Jeno can only nod, not fully trusting his voice. 

❄️

It’s Christmas Eve when Jeno’s mom suggests they take holiday pictures.

When he asks her why—why now and not last year, not the year before, why now—she only shrugs, her smile wide but her eyes far away in a distant memory. Jeno feels a hollowness take over deep within him. 

‘For old times sake.’ 

Jeno’s thumbs feel on fire when he picks up the chestnut brown picture frame on their mantle; Jeno, seventeen, sits in front of his parents, a hand each on his shoulders, his hair crispy and golden from when he tried to box dye it himself; he finds himself touching the now black hair curling up at the base of his neck in reminiscence. It was the last picture they took together; the Christmas tree twinkled brighter back then. The hollow feeling inside him grows wider, so he puts the frame down, his chest aching. It’s all too much. 

Jaemin offers to take the picture, but Mrs. Lee shakes her head—nonsense, she says, telling him to stop being silly and go over beside Jeno. Jaemin does as told, squatting down in front of the tree next to Jeno. He’s wearing the blue Christmas sweater Jeno’s mom forced him into—one with white glittery snowflakes all over it. Jeno bites the laughter down on his tongue, he can’t afford to poke fun, not while he’s wearing something just that bit worse; a green sweater with tiny reindeer all over it. When Jaemin wraps an arm around his waist to help balance himself, Jeno has to distract himself. Looking forward, instead, to the coffee table where his mom is balancing her phone against a pile of books. 

‘Ready?’ Jeno hears the smile in her voice. She readies the timer and comes running behind them, putting one hand on each of their shoulders, much like in the picture on the mantle. His chest burns and burns and burns. His mom pinches his ear, ‘Jeno! Smile!’ 

Jeno hears Jaemin’s laughter in his left ear, sees the timer on his mom's phone counting down from ten, feels giddy fingers digging into his side. Though it’s all fuzzy. He knows he’s smiling; can feel it in the burn of his jaw. Still, there’s a swarming sensation of guilt flooding through his veins all the way up to his heart when the picture finally snaps and his mom squeezes both of their cheeks with an, okay, just one more! He looks to the frame on the mantle and then to Jaemin, who remains caught up in something his mom is saying. It’s fine, he tells himself, this is fine. 

❄️

When Jeno’s mom is gone to bed and they’re alone, Jaemin asks, should we watch something? From where he stands by the television, rooting through Jeno’s DVD collection. 

Jeno shrugs distractedly, picking at his nails. 

It takes a few short seconds for Jaemin to finally settle on something, and soon after he slots the DVD into the console, he plants himself down next to Jeno; their hips bumping together. 

Jeno doesn’t remember the last time he and Jaemin sat together like this. Since university started and assignments piled up, their group never got a second to be together like they used to, let alone just him and Jaemin. But when the movie begins to play and Jeno sees the familiar telltale signs of The Polar Express beginning to play out, he finds himself relaxing back happily into fond memories of movie nights and sleepovers. Only coming back down to reality when Jaemin’s fingers start to absentmindedly play with his. Being in close proximity to Jaemin isn’t new, not when they grew up drinking from the same cup, swapping clothes, and sharing beds. But there’s been a new, unfamiliar feeling bubbling beneath Jeno’s skin lately whenever Jaemin initiates contact; it’s jarring—the way his heart picks up pace, the way his clothes start to stick sweaty to his body. He figures it’s because of their ruse—because of what they’re pretending to be—the sharing a bed as a couple, the taking photos as a couple, the look his mom gives them when they say they’re going to watch a movie instead of going to bed because they’re a couple and that’s what couples do. It’s fake, but nevertheless it’s uncharted territory, and Jeno is beginning to find it difficult to draw a clear line—especially with the weight of Jaemin’s fingers slotting so casually in between his own. Jaemin’s hand is warm and fleshy, and Jeno’s heart is in his throat, his teeth, his lips. Everywhere. This is not familiar, and Jeno is beginning to realise nothing really is anymore. 

Just as the hot chocolate scene unfolds on screen, Jaemin turns to him with concern etched in the creases of his brow. 

‘You okay?’ 

And then Jeno’s stupidstupidstupid eyes flicker down to their intertwined fingers. Of course, Jaemin catches it; of course he does—the recognition in his eyes is instant, and Jeno doesn’t have time to mourn the loss of warmth before Jaemin pulls away.

‘Shit, sorry.’ There's a colourful dust on Jaemin’s cheeks that Jeno finds himself wrongfully hoping isn’t the fault of the Christmas lights.

‘It’s okay,’ Jeno says, confused by the airiness of his own voice. ‘It was nice.’ 

When Jaemin stares at him, Jeno stares right back, suddenly feeling bold under dim lighting.

Jaemin cocks his head to the side, apprehension flooding his face. Still, his fingers slide into Jeno’s once more, and he’s so much closer than he had been only a minute ago—Jeno can smell the cheap lime shampoo his mom buys in his hair. Can smell himself off the pyjamas Jaemin borrowed. 

Jeno finds himself feeling thankful for the sound of Tom Hanks’ voice—something about tickets, something about something about something, Jeno doesn’t care, it drowns out the hammering of his heart and the rush of his blood, and that’s all that matters. 

Closerclosercloser. Jaemin’s face is in front of him, his torso twisted weird. His eyelashes are so long, his pupils blown wide. Jeno tries to bring himself back down to earth, digs his blunt nails into his palm as hard as he can. 

Then, just as he's about to close his eyes, Jaemin falls back with a squeak of realisation. Scrambling all the way over to the far end of the couch, eyes wide, knees to his chest.

Jeno blinks himself back to reality.

Oh shit. 

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. 

‘I—‘ Jeno tries, his voice wobbly. He reaches out, but Jaemin flinches, pushing himself further away. Jeno’s eyebrows furrow, and he tries again, ‘Jaem.’ It’s just me. It’s me. Don’t pull away.

Jaemin shakes his head, ‘shit, Jen, I’m so sorry. Oh fuck, I am soso sorry.’

He's up from the couch in an instant, still shaking his head as he backs away towards the door. Jeno tries to stand, to speak, to try and reason with him, but Jaemin waves his hands around in a flurry of panic. 

Sorry, he's muttering, almost inconsolable. Sorrysorrysorry . Then he’s gone, and all Jeno can hear is the soft pads of his feet rushing up the stairs. 

Jeno falls back with a huff, rubbing his hands over his face. His heart rate yet to slow down, and his head swarming with static. What the hell just happened?

❄️

Jeno finds him not even five minutes later, sitting on the floor, his back against the side of Jeno’s bed, his knees tucked into his chest. 

Having put all his energy into willing himself to walk up the stairs, Jeno’s not sure what exactly to say. He wants to pull Jaemin’s face out of his knees, wants to hold him, and tell him it’s fine—everything is okay; there’s nothing to be sorry about. Nothing happened; it was a mistake, I should be the one who’s sorry. But his feet are stuck to the floor like glue, and all he can do is stand lamely and stare. 

When Jaemin finally looks up from his knees—red, puffy cheeks and wet eyes—Jeno feels bile rise in his throat, he stutters back a step.

‘I can't do this anymore,’ Jaemin mumbles, rubbing rough hands over his face repeatedly. 

Jeno feels his throat begin to constrict. 

‘Do what?’ He asks. 

‘This,’ Jaemin’s voice rises in frustration as he waves a hand in between them. ‘Us. Everything. This—‘ Jeno doesn’t understand. He tries again to reach out, to come closer, but when Jaemin mutters out a weak, don’t, he halts all movement. 

‘I don’t get it…’ Jeno says, confused. 

He knows what had happened downstairs was, to say the least, strange, but it’s fine. It’s completely fine, and if Jaemin would just stand up and come back to the sitting room to finish the end of the movie, then they could move on and pretend this— whatever this is—never happened and— 

But then Jaemin is speaking, small and quiet yet full of certainty. Jeno has to will his heart to slow down its pace so that he can hear him, and hear him he does.

‘I like you, Jen.’ 

Jeno has never been punched directly in the gut before, but he’s positive that if ever it happened, it might feel something like this.

His eyes sting with unshed tears, but he can’t bring himself to close them; Jaemin’s words freezing him into complete shock. 

I like you. I like you. I like you. 

Jeno can’t speak; can’t find the right words. His mouth feels dry and cottony, his teeth aching from the clench of his jaw. 

‘I’ve liked you for so long,’ when Jaemin laughs it’s void and pitiful. ‘I fucked up—I thought maybe being with you like this... I thought—I don’t actually know what I thought,’ he finally stands, brushing off the back of his pyjama bottoms. ‘But I fucked up, Jen, and I can’t do this anymore. You deserve more, and I wanted to help, I swear. But I—I just can’t be a part of this lie anymore, it feels like it's killing me.’ 

Jeno digs his nails into his palm. 

‘You… like me?’ He asks dumbly. 

Jaemin nods. Yes. 

‘Jaem—‘ 

Jaemin shrugs, cutting him off: ‘it’s okay. Actually, it’s perfectly fine. I don’t expect you to feel the same, I just... I really needed to be honest.’ 

Jeno feels dumbfounded. When did this happen? Did Jaemin feel this way back in the library? Back when he agreed to go along with Jeno’s plan? Did he feel this way in bed yesterday? Or the day before? With Jeno’s head on his arm? Or when they took family photos? With his arm around his waist? What about at the table with Mark, the first day they got here? Jeno clenches his fists, how could he have been so oblivious? There are so many questions, so many thoughts rushing around in his head. Too many words he can’t put into sentences. Why and how and when. 

Then, as if Jaemin read Jeno’s mind: ‘you don’t have to say anything,’ interrupting all spiralling. ‘I’m just—I’ll sleep in the spare room.’ 

Jeno doesn’t open his mouth to disagree, only moving an inch to step aside for Jaemin to pass. Smells of cheap lime shampoo and sounds of doors shutting, and once Jeno is sure that Jaemin is fully out of sight, he falls face first into his bed, feeling feverish. 

❄️

When Jeno wakes up, it’s 1pm. 

His first instinct is to reach out, throw his arm over Jaemin’s warm waist, and ask for five more minutes; to complain about his heavy breathing and awful morning breath—already so accustomed to sharing a bed after only a few days. But when Jeno reaches out, the small space beside him is empty. 

It startles Jeno into sitting up, looking around his bedroom for any sign of Jaemin. Where could he have gone? Maybe he’s showering, but the shower isn’t running. Maybe he just got out of the shower and is getting dressed before coming back in. 

Then memories of only a few hours before start to flood back. 

I like you. I’ve liked you for so long. 

I can't do this anymore. I can't be a part of this lie. 

I don’t expect you to feel the same. I’ll sleep in the spare room. 

And how Jeno had just stood there, practically immobile.  

In an instant, Jeno is bolting out of bed, warm feet hitting cold wood. He rushes out of his room, and down the hall to where the spare room is. He raises his hand to knock, but then lowers it again in hesitation. He can’t do it. His hands are shaking, and there’s a lump in his throat the size of the world. 

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, he turns around in hopes of seeing Jaemin, but is quickly disheartened.

'Mom,' he tries to smile, but the frown on her face immediately tells him he's failed.

Then she pulls him into a hug, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. She’s much smaller than him, but it doesn’t stop him from falling almost limp in her embrace. 

‘Happy Christmas, Jen,’ and Oh. Jeno pulls back. Oh. It’s Christmas. ‘You slept so late.’ She chastises, slapping him lightly on his arm. 

‘I didn’t even—‘ 

She shakes her head, rubbing the spot where she had just hit. 

‘Jaemin left this morning,’ she says, and Jeno’s ears perk up. ‘Did something happen? He’s gone back home.’ 

Shit. 

Jeno feels tears start to sting at his eyes. 

This can't be happening. Jaemin can’t be gone. 

He opens the door in front of him, and—Oh. Jeno deflates at the sight in front of him. The spare room looks so empty, so colourless, with the bed made neatly as if no one ever slept in it, the pyjamas Jaemin borrowed folded on top. He is truly gone. Jeno’s mom's hands are on his shoulders, comforting him—what happened, she asks, is everything okay? Jeno? Talk to me. But Jeno can never seem to find the right words to say.

He blinks back his tears and straightens up. 

‘It’s fine,’ he says, trying his best to mean it. 

Jaemin left, so what? 

If he wants to leave, then he can leave. 

Jeno’s mom gives him a look, one that says, I see right through you, but he does his best to shake it off. It’s Christmas; he doesn’t have time to think about what ifs and what could have beens. Everything is fine. 

❄️

Everything is not fine, it seems. 

After opening presents and forcing a smile on his face to keep his mom happy, Jeno caves, excusing himself and running back up to his room. He removes his phone from charge, and opens up his messages. 

i fucked up, he types out to both Renjun and Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck replies first. Of course he does. He’s always on his phone. Renjun is probably smushing faces with his new boyfriend somewhere, probably under the mistletoe or something. Good for him, Jeno thinks bitterly, good for him. 

what do u mean u fucked up

i mean i fucked up real bad 

like real bad hyuck

ok maybe idk EXPLAIN 

i brought jaemin home w me as my pretend boyfriend and now he’s gone home like as in he left suddenly this morning without telling me and he’s gone and idk what to do and im freaking out 

Jeno takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. 

Then—

ARE U FUCKING STUPID 

ARE U STUOIDDDDDDD

U TOOK JAEMIN HOME????

JAEMIN????? 

I TOLD U TO GO ONLINE

NOT TO UR BEST FRIEND ????? 

WTF 

Okay, he supposes he deserves that. Donghyuck is right. Jeno is stupid. Out of all the people he could have chosen, he chose Jaemin. Maybe this is his karma for being so damn stupid. 

He finds himself wishing Renjun would reply, Donghyuck is kind of mean. But an ofc u did, from Renjun ten minutes later has him locking his phone and sliding it across the floor to the other side of the room. 

Demon. All of his friends are demons. Unhelpful demons. 

❄️

His mom finds him only a few minutes later, his head in his hands, hot tears soaking his palms. 

‘My baby,’ voice full of concern when she squats down in front of him, her hands reaching up to pull his own away from his face. She smells like Christmas, like all the ingredients she has been messing around with and testing for the past week have conjugated into the perfect comforting aroma, lingering all over her; in her hair, on her skin. Jeno feels himself relaxing into her hand that cups his cheek, traces of childhood and comforting memories soothing him into a sleepy trance. Her thumb wipes under his eye, collecting wet tears that have pooled in his eyelashes. ‘What’s going on?’ 

When Jeno finally looks at her, there’s worry etched all over her face; in the lines between her brows, in the downward curve of her lips. 

The truth sits on his tongue, waiting to tumble out. 

‘I lied,’ he says, giving it permission. Her hand stays on his cheek. ‘Jaemin, he’s not—we’re not—it was all a lie.’ 

Jeno’s mom nods, understandingly. 

‘I didn’t want you to be mad, or upset, or... I don’t know. I just didn’t want to disappoint you.’ Jeno feels pathetic, he feels the tears start to fall again, but his mom only shushes him with whispers of it’s okay and shh, don’t cry. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m soso sorry—I messed up so bad, Jaemin is gone now and—‘ 

‘Hey, woah,’ his mom interrupts, both hands on his cheeks now, forcing him to look at her. ‘I could never in my life be disappointed in you, not in a million years. Jeno, do you understand me?’ Jeno nods. He feels so small in her grip, as if he has been transported back in time. ‘You are everything to me, to your—to your father, we love you so much no matter what, okay?’ 

Jeno squeezes his eyes shut; the tears refusing to stop. 

‘I miss dad so much,’ he sobs, his wet eyes opening to find his mom with tears in her own. ‘Mom, I—I miss him so much, everyday, it won’t stop. I’m so scared to—to—‘ 

I’m so scared to move on, to put my love somewhere else, to let someone else in, and consequently open myself up to more heartbreak. Jeno can’t say it, but his mom knows and understands, she always does. He doesn’t know why he thought she wouldn’t. 

‘I know, my love.’ She whispers, pulling his face into the crook of her neck. I know, she says. I know. I know. I know. And Jeno cries harder than ever before, his tears soaking the thin fabric of her shirt.

They stay like that for a while— holding each other, on the floor of Jeno’s childhood bedroom, Jeno crying, his mom crying. Tears and snot, soothing words, bubbles of understanding, grief, and sorrow. 

Jeno knows grief. Feels it every morning he wakes up, feels it in his chest, in his arms and his legs, in his throat. It’s not something that goes away. It gets bigger and bigger, so giant and terrifying and all consuming. It’s feeling happy, but reminding yourself not to feel too happy. It’s taking a sip of a familiar drink and bursting into tears. It’s knowing you love someone, but feeling too scared, too guilty. 

‘It won’t be like this forever,’ says his mom, all cried out. Heaving herself up from the ground, her knees crackling. She extends her hand for Jeno, who takes it gladly. ‘You’re allowed to love again, it’s a different love but it’s love nonetheless, and it’s allowed.’ 

Jeno nods, tucking in his chin, feeling vulnerable. 

‘I think you should go and find him,’ she says, dusting off the knees of her pants before making her way to the door. 

‘But dinner, and—and—‘ 

She narrows her eyes, ‘Jeno.’ 

Jeno shuts up. 

She leaves then, her voice trailing down the hallway after her, ‘dinner won’t be ready for another while anyway.’ 

Sitting on his bed, Jeno quickly realises three things. One: running away from your problems is ten times easier than confronting them. Two: he has no idea how he’s supposed to talk to Jaemin after last night. And three: his mom is the strongest person he knows. 

❄️

As he walks down the street, Jeno finds himself feeling thankful for the fact that everywhere in his small town closes down during Christmas Day. There is nobody that might stop and talk to him, nobody to ask him about university or his mom, or express their sympathy for his loss, only to then begin to selfishly reminisce in the middle of the street. It allows Jeno to make it to Jaemin’s house quicker than he might have on a normal day. 

Jaemin’s house is much bigger than Jeno’s, with a garden greener than anything. It’s huge, expensive, and well looked after, but Jeno feels the emptiness dripping from its walls as he nears the front door, finding himself in the same position as just an hour before, outside the spare room back home. Except this time, when he raises his hand to knock, he does so with full confidence—well, he tries to, at least.

Jaemin isn’t the one to answer the door. 

‘Jeno,’ says Mrs. Na, nodding in acknowledgement, her voice flat. 

‘Hi, Merry Christmas, Mrs.—'

She closes the door an inch, cutting Jeno’s fretting off to call out Jaemin’s name. 

‘Just a moment,’ she says, and then she’s gone, leaving Jeno standing on his own. 

He starts to shiver, the winter air biting the tips of his ears and sneaking under his clothes. He wiggles his fingers and his toes in an attempt to generate heat while waiting. Jeno has always known that Jaemin’s family is, to say the least, cold. Still, however, he finds himself huffing in annoyance; a simple Merry Christmas in return would have been nice. 

‘Jen?’ 

Jeno’s head shoots up at the sound of Jaemin’s voice, an immediate sense of relief flooding through him when their gazes meet. 

‘Hi,’ he squeaks, suddenly awkward and unsure of himself. 

Jaemin looks over his shoulder before stepping out onto the porch and shutting the door behind him. 

‘What are you doing here?’ 

‘I—uh—I just wanted to—‘ 

Another voice coming through the door cuts Jeno off—one so distinctly familiar. It has Jaemin’s face faltering and Jeno’s legs beginning to shake with unease as the door behind Jeno slowly creaks open. 

And then: ‘Jeno, what are you ding here?’ Mark.

And then: ‘Jeno, I can explain.’ Jaemin.

Jeno feels his head spin when Mark comes into view. His face contorted in shock, his hand shooting out to grab Jaemin’s wrist. Jeno takes a clumsy step back, not sure what to make of the scene in front of him. Mark and Jaemin? Since when? Jaemin had just left this morning. Why is Mark here? Jeno’s eyes zero in on skin touching skin. He looks back up at Jaemin, who looks ready to cry. He shakes his head in rapids; it’s not what it looks like, he says, but Jeno can’t hear anything except loud buzzing static. It feels like the wind just got knocked out of him full force, like he’s been thrown overboard and his lungs are filling up with water instead of air. 

It’s not what it looks like. It’s not what it looks like. It’s not what it looks like. It’s not what it looks like.

Jeno tears his eyes away from the pair; he turns around and walks out of the garden. Ignoring Jaemin calling his name, ignoring Mark, and trying his best to ignore the way his heart readies itself to pound right out of his chest. 

Jeno isn’t sure where he’s going, but his feet do. And so he allows them to take the lead. 

❄️

When Jeno was seventeen, his dad passed away. It wasn't caused by terminal illness; it wasn't gradual; there was no buildup; there was no planning; there was no time; there was no your father is sick, Jeno, he doesn't have much time left. No, Jeno didn’t get any of that. What he did get was an I’ll be right back, just popping downtown. Jeno remembers waiting, and waiting, and waiting. He waited by the window in the sitting room, he waited by the front door, and he waited on the pavement outside their house.

But his dad never came back. 

It took what felt like hours for his mom to come home and break the news to him.

Where’s dad? Jeno, he’s—there’s been an accident. Where’s dad? Mom? Where is he? Mom? Where’s dad? 

There’s been an accident; that's all she said to him. There’s been an accident. An accident. How could there have been an accident? When? Where? Jeno heard nothing, saw nothing. He waited, he was waiting, so he would have heard if there was an accident. He would have known—how could something happen to his dad without him knowing?

Jeno knows grief. Has felt it coating his heart ever since that day. 

Where they buried him is dark and gloomy and nothing like the person Jeno once knew. Now, Jeno looks up, finding himself at the gates of somewhere he swore he’d never return to, and hears the creak of metal as he opens them. It's Christmas Day, so it’s relatively empty save for a few people scattered around, paying loved ones a visit. 

Jeno’s feet carry him down to the very back of the cemetery, passed hundreds of graves—hundreds of people who used to be. He stops then, in front of his dad. Kneeling down, his knees hurting slightly, he touches the stone with their family name on it. 

‘Hey, dad.’ He whispers. ‘Merry Christmas.’ He knows nobody can respond, but somehow it makes this easier. ‘I miss you. I’m sorry I haven’t really been to visit. I just—it’s hard, you know?’ Starting to feel choked up, he clears his throat. ‘I have so many questions and nobody to give me the answers, and I just wish—I wish you didn’t leave that day, you should have stayed home. I'm still so angry, and I've hated you for so long, you know that? Because you just left without saying goodbye, and—fuck.'

Jeno squeezes his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill out for the hundredth time. 

He laughs then, wet and sputtering, ‘sorry for cursing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I miss you. I wish you were here because I’m having a real bad time right now.’ Jeno doesn’t dare take his eyes off of his dad's name in front of him. ‘I’m so scared, I’m so damn scared, and it makes no sense. Mom keeps telling me to put myself out there and let people in, but I can’t. It’s weird, and I miss you, that's all I know. I loved you, and you left, and it hurts, and now I’m too terrified to start caring about anyone else ever again.’ 

The words tumble out so easily now that he’s here. I miss you, and I wish you weren’t gone, and I’m so damn scared. Falling from the depths of his throat out into the soil beneath. It has him feeling lighter, less hollow, almost.

Jeno goes to stand up, ready to say goodbye, when he stumbles back into something—someone. He flinches around, almost jumping right out of his skin, until he sees who it is. 

‘Hi,’ Jaemin says, cold fog coming out of his mouth. 

‘What are you doing here?’ Jeno asks, skin vibrating with nerves. ‘Ever heard of not creeping up on someone in a cemetery?’ 

Jaemin’s laugh is soft when he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, ‘sorry, I just...' He trails off, looking at the gravestone behind Jeno. 

Jeno shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, scuffing his feet on the concrete. 

‘Followed me?’ He asks, and Jaemin ducks his head in embarrassment. 

He shrugs, his eyes flickering back up to Jeno’s. 

‘You left so suddenly, I wanted to make sure you were okay.’ 

Jeno scoffs, ‘aren’t you nice?’ 

Jaemin’s stance falters, ‘Jeno—‘ 

‘What?’ Jeno bites, his eyes narrowing. Frustration bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. ‘What, Jaemin? What are you going to say? That you’re sorry and you can explain. Mark was just there in your house on Christmas Day after years of never mentioning to any of us that you knew him, right? It’s all just a coincidence, and I’m being stupid, I know. Don’t worry, I get it.’ 

Jeno goes to make his way around Jaemin, to walk away, but Jaemin’s hand locked around his fist stops him in his tracks. 

‘Jeno, would you just listen to me?’ 

Jeno stares down at his wrist, at Jaemin’s fingers locked around his skin. Visions of Mark's hand wrapped around Jaemin's arm flash through his mind; he pulls away quickly, Jaemin's touch starting to burn red hot.

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Jeno says, hugging his arm to his chest as if he’s really been burnt. ‘You left this morning without a word, and I ran to your house just to see Mark Lee—fucking Mark Lee of all people, what the hell, Jaemin?’ 

Jeno knows he’s being unreasonable, though he can’t find it in himself to pause and form his words into correct coherency. Instead, allowing them to spill and spill and spill; this is me, this is me, this is the true me, and it’s ugly and unsettling, and I hate it. He gets closer, poking an accusatory finger into Jaemin’s chest. 

‘I went to see you, Jaemin,’ he snaps out, nostrils flaring when he jabs his finger in harder. ‘To apologise, to—I don’t even fucking know, but now I wish I hadn’t at all,’ Jaemin takes Jeno’s anger and frustration willingly. ‘I wish I never asked you to come with me; I wish I never slept next to you; I wish I never let you—‘ Jeno falters, trying to gulp down his nerves. ‘I wish I never let you close enough to almost kiss me.’ 

Jaemin’s eyes widen, and Jeno drops his hand down to his side. All his anger, his anxiety, his sorrow, and his fear dissipating into the cold air around them.

Despondently, he shrugs. ‘Whatever, I’m going. You had no right to come here and eavesdrop.’ 

‘Jeno,’ Jaemin calls out, trying again, ‘please don’t go, please.’ 

Looking at Jaemin now feels different than before, when they were in bed together or when they took pictures together. Jeno isn’t sure when everything began to shift and mould into something else. Something new. When the lines between friendship and something more became blurred. Jeno remembers saying, it's okay, it was nice, allowing Jaemin to break the barrier between them, remembers feeling the signs fizzing up under his skin whenever Jaemin got too close. And now, in this damn cemetery, everything feels too real, too raw, too ready to burst and explode in his face. 

Jeno didn’t notice before, caught up in his own problems, but Jaemin’s eyes are rimmed red—it has Jeno softening around the edges in an instant. Has he been crying? Oh god.

Jeno reaches out, ‘Jaem,’ 

Jaemin shifts closer as if sensing Jeno’s change in demeanor; his lips trembling. 

‘Don’t go, please.’ 

Jeno shakes his head, no. No. I’m not leaving, he says. The need to fight knocked right out of him, I’m right here, he says. His hands find purchase on Jaemin’s face, his cheeks cold from the wind. Jaemin leans into his touch, deflating almost completely.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeno spots a bench down the path a little. He pats Jaemin’s cheeks lightly with his hands, nodding silently in the direction of the bench. Jaemin nods, sniffling a little and rolling out his shoulders. 

❄️

When they sit down, Jaemin turns to him. 

‘My parents invited Mark over,’ he says, his arms coming up in defense. Jeno blinks in confusion, waiting for Jaemin to continue. ‘My dad plays golf with his dad or something, I don’t know. I came home this morning, and his family was there. I didn’t invite him over, Jen.’ 

Guilt and embarrassment flood through Jeno’s veins. 

‘Oh,’ is all he can say. 

‘Yeah,’ Jaemin looks at him pointedly, ‘why the hell would I invite Mark over? Especially when I know you were practically in love with him. I don’t even know the guy, I only met him a few days ago.’ 

Jeno’s head shoots up, ‘wha—‘ 

Jaemin folds his arms over his chest, sticking his legs out, and slouches back into the bench.

‘We have the same friend group, Jeno; I was bound to find out sooner or later.’ 

Jeno nods in defeat. God. He feels so stupid. Jaemin’s hand is on his knee, then, squeezing. 

Jeno puffs out a breath of cold air and says, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Jaemin shrugs. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Jaemin’s hand still on Jeno’s knee, watching as people walk by with flowers in their hands. 

Jeno isn’t sure where this leaves them; if Jaemin will get up and walk back to his own house or if he’ll come back to Jeno’s; If he’ll want to forget about everything or if he says he won’t be able to. 

So he asks, for once, knowing exactly what he wants to say. 

‘What now?’ 

Jaemin looks at him, the hand on Jeno’s knee freezing up. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, and Jeno notices how red his bottom lip is from all the biting he must have done to it. ‘If you want, we can pretend this never happened, we can still be friends, and—‘ 

‘I don’t want that,’ Jeno shakes his head, and Jaemin deflates with an oh. Then, Jeno places a hand on top of Jaemin’s. ‘I mean, I don’t want to forget about it.’ He looks around, down the path to where his dad’s grave lies, and then back to Jaemin. ‘Maybe we could try?’ He asks.

Jaemin’s eyes widen in surprise. 'Try?'

Jeno nods, yes. Yes. Yeah. Maybe we could try. He feels giddy all of a sudden, his fingertips burning with excitement. He twists around, facing Jaemin properly now, and reaches upupup; his hands on Jaemin’s cheeks. 

Then—

‘I like you,’ Jeno says, the words falling out so easily. This is what I want to say. I like you. I like you. I like you. Maybe I’ve always liked you. Jaemin starts to shake under his hold. ‘I like you, Jaem, oh fuck—I really like you. This feels crazy. I can’t believe I just said that.’ Jeno laughs, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkling. 

Jaemin only stares; Jeno’s hands grip his cheeks so tightly that he can’t utter a word. 

‘I like you, Jaem. That’s all I know, I like you, and—and it’s really scary, I’m so scared, but I was more scared when I woke up this morning and you were gone.’ Jeno takes a deep breath. Refusing to give Jaemin a second to interject, he carries on, ‘and if you want, then I think we should try, and I also think you should maybe come back to my house, because my mom has been killing herself in that kitchen all week, and if you’re not there, I think she might beat my ass, and—‘ 

Jeno doesn’t get to finish his sentence, not when Jaemin surges forward so suddenly, his cold nose bumping against Jeno’s, his red-raw lips almostalmostalmost making contact, just about touching, but not quite. 

His pupils are blown wide, and Jeno’s transported back to that moment on the couch last night. Except this time—this time—

‘I want to try,’ Jaemin says quietly, his lips ghosting hesitantly over Jeno’s, hands finding purchase up under his jacket. 

When Jaemin finally closes the tiny gap between them, Jeno feels himself beginning to split down his middle, his heart falling flat in between them; red and ugly. But Jaemin only pushes in closer, ignoring the mess, and instead,  licking warmly into Jeno’s mouth when he opens up. The winter air swirls around them, and tightly, Jeno holds onto Jaemin’s face, terrified of the thought of letting go for even a second. Squeezing his eyes shut, allowing Jaemin to take and take and take. He’s waited long enough, Jeno figures. They’ve waited long enough.