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Summary
Part of Jaemin’s appeal is that he's got pretending down to an art form —there’s a mask he slips on every morning and tucks under his pillow every night, for all to see and none to know. It slips right off, however, when they're like this —all pent up energy and wandering hands, skates tossed to the side and mouth latched onto Donghyuck again before the locker room door has even closed behind them.
