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Chapter Text

The campus gym was its usual jungle of chaos. Basketballs flying. People grunting. Speakers blasting a mix of K-hiphop and someone’s aggressively emotional EDM playlist. The air smelled like ambition and protein powder.

Mark passed Chenle the ball and got a half-hearted dribble in return.

“Are you even here right now?” Mark asked, wiping sweat off his forehead.

Chenle didn’t answer. His eyes were locked across the gym, like a hawk. A very muscular hawk was over there. Two of them, actually.

No. Three.

“Holy biceps,” Chenle whispered.

Mark followed his gaze. “Oh god. You’re staring at Jeno again.”

“And Jaemin,” Chenle added quickly. “Don’t erase Jaemin from the biceps narrative. He’s earned his place.”

Indeed, Jaemin was doing curls in front of the mirror like it owed him money. His tank top clung to him like it had a personal vendetta against modesty. Beside him, Jeno was bench pressing with calm, terrifying precision. The sleeves of his dri-fit shirt stretched like they were trying to hold back a hurricane of muscle.

Then there was Haechan.

He was doing lunges.

With five-pound dumbbells.

And screaming.

“Someone film this for the archives,” Haechan shouted. “My glutes are gonna look like premium peaches.”

“Focus,” Jaemin muttered.

“Don’t hate me because I train smarter, not harder.”

“You’re lunging into a vending machine.”

“I’m fueling with intention.”

Mark sighed. “Why do we come here on weekends?”

“Because I need this,” Chenle said. “This is my church. That is my holy trinity.” He pointed across the room. “Bicep, bicep, chaos.”

“You say that,” Mark said, “but you’ve been staring for a solid five minutes.”

Chenle shrugged. “It’s not weird to appreciate hard work, Mark. It’s like admiring art. Michelangelo, but sweaty.”

Mark shook his head. “You need help.”

Chenle returned to dribbling, pretending like he hadn’t just created an internal power ranking of gym arms. Jaemin was still number two. Beautiful, yes. Confident, absolutely. But his muscles were too loud. Like they came with a speaker.

Jeno, though…

Jeno’s muscles were quiet. Noble. The kind that carried groceries for old ladies and said thank you to the bus driver.

Chenle missed a layup by six feet.

“Are you even trying?” Mark asked.

“I’m suffering from visual overload.”

“You mean a crush.”

Chenle made a sound like a dying cat. “Don’t start.”

He glanced again. Jeno was resting on the bench, forearms braced on his knees, sweat glistening down his neck in slow motion. Chenle could almost hear a Gregorian chant in the background. Or was that just Haechan groaning dramatically mid-plank?

“Chenle!” Haechan yelled suddenly from across the gym. “Come over here and feel my back. I think my wings are coming in.”

“I am begging you to never say that again,” Jaemin muttered, not even looking up from his dumbbell curl.

Chenle pretended to focus on the game again but failed almost immediately. This time it wasn’t Jaemin or Haechan causing distraction. Jeno had stood up and was adjusting the weights. The fabric of his shirt stretched, and a sliver of his waist peeked out as he reached overhead. Just skin. Just a flash. But Chenle felt it in his kneecaps.

He dropped the ball.

Mark did not miss it. “I will not be responsible when you pass out mid-game from muscle-induced overheating.”

Chenle stared at the ball on the floor like it had betrayed him.

“It’s just appreciation,” he said to no one. “Aesthetics. Physics. The geometry of upper arms.”

“You’re sweating,” Mark pointed out.

“It’s hot in here.”

“It’s January.”

Chenle groaned and walked over to the water fountain. He splashed his face, inhaled deeply, then turned and nearly ran into Jeno.

“Hey,” Jeno said calmly.

Chenle short-circuited.

“Oh,” he managed. “Hi. Uh. Gym. You’re… lifting. Things. Muscles.”

Jeno blinked. “Yes.”

Chenle nodded like he had just solved a murder case. “Cool.”

They stood there in a pause so dense it could be used to build homes.

Then Jeno tilted his head. “Your form’s a little off, by the way. When you shoot.”

Chenle’s brain spun its tires in panic. “What?”

“You lean too far back,” Jeno said. “That’s why your shots arc weird.”

“Oh,” Chenle said, blinking rapidly. “Right. I’ve… always been bad at geometry.”

Jeno smiled, small but sincere. “I can help you fix it, if you want.”

“Fix my geometry?”

Jeno’s eyes crinkled just a bit at the corners. “Your shot.”

“Oh. Yes. Shot. Great. Let’s fix that. Right angles. Triangles. Isosceles… stuff.”

Jeno looked mildly amused, which only made Chenle malfunction harder.

Behind them, Haechan tripped over a yoga mat and yelled, “I demand respect! These glutes don’t build themselves!”

“You’re doing great, sweetie!” Jaemin called back without looking.

Jeno glanced over, mildly alarmed. Chenle took the chance to escape back to the court like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.

Mark caught his eye. “That went well.”

“I hate you,” Chenle whispered.

“Did you confess your love? Get a date? Name your firstborn?”

Chenle lay flat on the hardwood floor. “He offered to fix my geometry. I said isosceles.”

Mark walked away laughing.

Chenle stared at the ceiling, brain full of muscle, math, and a pair of quiet brown eyes that had looked at him like he wasn’t just loud background noise.

Just appreciation, he repeated to himself.

Totally fine.

Totally straight.

Right?

Chenle should have known something was wrong the moment Jaemin tied his hair back.

It wasn’t a regular hair tie. It was a black elastic band, looped three times with precision, like a signal flare to the gym deities that someone was about to die.

That someone was him.

“Alright,” Jaemin said, cracking his knuckles and standing behind the bench. “Ten reps. Three sets. No breaks. No whining. No weird commentary about arm symmetry.”

Chenle blinked from the bench, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

“I thought we were just doing light chest,” he muttered.

Jaemin arched a brow. “You said you wanted to feel the pump.”

“I meant metaphorically.”

Haechan, leaning against the wall with a protein bar and a grin that screamed instigator energy, cackled. “Too late, buddy. The Jaemin Special has been activated.”

“I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for the Jaemin Special,” Chenle said.

Jaemin handed him a pair of dumbbells. “Start with these. If you can still talk after, we go heavier.”

Chenle took them. “These look like they have trauma.”

“Just like you’re about to,” Jaemin said sweetly.

He started the first rep. By rep six, his soul left his body.

“I can see heaven,” Chenle wheezed.

“You can see your weak chest is what you can see,” Jaemin replied. “Keep your back flat. Elbows steady. No bouncing.”

Haechan sat down on a nearby yoga mat, casually munching like he was watching an episode of I Live Alone. “Should we livestream this? Title it ‘Boy Regrets Gym Crush, Regrets Life.’”

Chenle groaned. “I never said I had a gym crush.”

“Please,” Haechan said. “You talk about Jeno’s arms like they paid your tuition.”

Chenle dropped the weights and flailed dramatically. “I just appreciate structural integrity in the human body!”

“You appreciate biceps like a man appreciates air conditioning in August.”

“You say that like it’s a crime.”

“It is,” Jaemin interrupted, “when you waste my time with this weak sauce performance. Two more sets.”

“I’m already dying.”

“Die stronger.”

Chenle whimpered but picked the weights back up. Sweat pooled at his lower back. His arms shook. His vision blurred. He was ninety percent sure he smelled colors. Haechan cheered from the side every time Chenle made a noise that sounded vaguely like a dying sea otter.

“Get it, baby bench warmer! You’re making gravity your—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jaemin warned without looking.

Chenle was halfway through his second set when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Jeno.

On the rowing machine.

Calm. Efficient. Headphones in. Arms flexing with every pull like someone had rendered his form with a graphics engine. Even sitting down, he looked composed. His shirt clung to him in all the worst (best) ways. He wasn’t even looking at Chenle, but it didn’t matter.

Chenle’s grip faltered. One of the dumbbells slipped.

“Focus,” Jaemin barked. “You’re gonna smash your face and I’m not filling out incident forms.”

“Tell my parents I died brave,” Chenle gasped.

“Tell them you died pathetic,” Haechan offered.

“Tell them I died hot.”

“You’re red in the face and crying.”

Chenle flopped onto the bench between sets, arms outstretched like he was waiting to be crucified. “This is it. This is my villain origin story. I trusted Jaemin. I believed in friendship.”

“You asked me to train you,” Jaemin said, perfectly unbothered.

“I didn’t know you were secretly a war general.”

“I’m literally just holding you accountable.”

“You’re holding my soul hostage.”

Behind them, Jeno stepped off the rowing machine, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel. Chenle turned his head too fast and pulled a muscle in his shoulder.

“Son of—”

“You okay?” Jeno asked, finally noticing the heap of limbs and regret on the bench press.

Chenle bolted upright, ignoring the pain. “Totally. Yep. Just thriving. Muscles feeling fantastic. Love it. Living my best gym life.”

Jaemin stood behind him with his arms crossed. “He tried to flirt with a dumbbell five minutes ago.”

Jeno chuckled under his breath. “Good to know.”

Haechan whispered dramatically, “He laughed. Jeno laughed. That’s, like, one laugh a week. It was you. You triggered it.”

“Shut up,” Chenle hissed, face burning.

Jeno just smiled, nodded politely, and walked over to the water cooler.

Chenle turned back to Jaemin, slumping like a melting popsicle. “Do I have to do the third set?”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to be able to lift your gym crush in a dramatic bridal carry someday?”

Chenle blinked. “…that’s a very specific image.”

Jaemin smirked. “Thought so. Third set. Let’s go.”

Chenle lay back on the bench and stared at the ceiling.

“I hate everything,” he whispered.

Haechan took out his phone. “Smile for the ‘Before’ picture.”

Jaemin adjusted the weights. “Don’t worry. The ‘After’ will be glorious.”

And somewhere behind him, Jeno sipped from his water bottle, completely unaware that Chenle was training to one day pick him up like a prince in a drama.

Totally fine.

Totally straight.

Right?

Chenle couldn’t feel his arms.

Like, actually. His arms were gone. Replaced by two wet noodles with the strength of overcooked ramen and the emotional resilience of a toddler after bedtime.

He lay face-down on a gym bench, unmoving, except for the occasional dramatic groan that echoed through the post-lunchtime emptiness of the gym. Jaemin had moved on to spotting Haechan (who was bench pressing while giggling for no reason), and Mark had long since returned to the basketball courts, sending a single thumbs-up from the door like he was sending off a soldier to war.

“You alive?” Jeno’s voice came from somewhere above him.

Chenle didn’t move. “Not sure.”

He heard a soft chuckle, followed by the unmistakable clink of a smoothie bottle being placed near his head.

“Thought you might need one. Banana protein. It’s the least terrifying flavor.”

Chenle blinked. He slowly rolled his head to the side and saw Jeno crouched next to the bench, holding out a cold bottle, his forearm veins popping gently like they had their own agenda.

“I can’t hold things,” Chenle whispered.

Jeno uncapped the bottle and held it near his mouth. “I won’t judge.”

Chenle paused. “Are you about to feed me like a baby bird?”

“I’m offering you a sports drink, not chewing it for you,” Jeno said, amused.

“You’re very nice. Suspiciously nice.”

“I think you’re just very dramatic.”

Chenle took a tiny sip, trying not to make it weird. It was weird. He was acutely aware of the fact that Jeno was very close and smelled like fresh laundry and victory. Who even smelled that good after sweating?

“Thanks,” Chenle muttered. “I’ll name my firstborn after you.”

Jeno gave him a look. “Please don’t do that.”

“What if it’s a goldfish?”

“Still no.”

“Ugh. Boundaries.”

Jeno stood up and stretched, arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to show the line where abs started to happen. Chenle stared. Not even discreetly. His soul briefly left his body.

“Are you good?” Jeno asked, pulling his shirt back down.

Chenle blinked. “Yep. Just having a mild, personal, full-body crisis.”

“Want help getting up?”

“No, I need to live here now. On this bench. In shame.”

Jeno didn’t ask again. He just reached down and gently lifted Chenle up by the arm, careful and solid, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like Chenle wasn’t currently a sweaty existential mess of admiration and emotional static.

Once standing, Chenle took a breath. His legs wobbled. His brain wobbled more.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jeno asked, concern barely visible in his voice but glowing quietly in his eyes.

Chenle, tired and emotionally compromised, looked up and said the only thing his brain could produce.

“You have really good hands.”

Jeno blinked.

Chenle wanted to die.

“I mean, like, for lifting! Grip strength! Spotting people! Not… like… not in a weird way. Like, purely technical. Very efficient hands. So… good job.”

Jeno’s expression was unreadable for a second before he let out a soft laugh and said, “Thanks?”

Chenle nodded too fast. “Cool. Great. Smoothie’s good. I’ll go sit down now.”

“Need help walking?”

“Absolutely not. I have pride.”

Jeno didn’t say anything, but he stayed close anyway, walking beside him at a slow pace as Chenle shuffled like a newly born deer toward the lounge area. He tried not to look, but out of the corner of his eye, he could still see the line of Jeno’s jaw, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the gentle rhythm of his breath.

And the hands. Still thinking about the hands.

He dropped onto the nearest bench with a groan that sounded like something was leaving his soul.

Jeno crouched again, uncapped the smoothie, and passed it to him one more time. “Drink more. You’ll feel less like death.”

He tried to drink more of the smoothie, pretending his hands weren’t still a little shaky. But mostly, he tried not to think about the fact that Jeno had lifted him like he weighed nothing, had looked at him like he was worth looking at, had smiled like Chenle wasn’t the single most embarrassing person in the room.

And he definitely tried not to think about Jeno’s arms.

Or his face.

Or the way he had said “I won’t judge” like it wasn’t even a joke.

Jeno stood, stretching again, and Chenle caught himself watching the motion. Again. Brain still offline, attention trailing down the muscles in his arm, the subtle ripple of effort through his shirt.

This was fine. It was just appreciation. Like admiring a statue. A sweaty, protein-shake-gifting statue with forearms carved by angels and a surprisingly soft personality.

Totally fine.

Totally straight.

Right?

Chenle was at the store for two things. Strawberry milk and revenge.

Not like, actual revenge. More like emotional restitution. Jaemin had nearly destroyed his soul and all upper body function during Tuesday’s impromptu boot camp, so Chenle was buying junk food with the ferocity of a man reclaiming his autonomy through snacks. There was a two-for-one deal on seaweed chips, and he was absolutely going to take advantage of it.

He was humming to himself in the snack aisle, basketball shorts flapping around his knees, shopping basket in one hand and a bright blue hoodie tucked under the other arm, when it happened.

He reached for the last bag of honey butter chips.

So did someone else.

Their hands met.

Chenle blinked. The fingers across his were warm and firm and very familiar.

Jeno stared back at him.

For a moment, the snack aisle was weirdly quiet. Even the supermarket radio seemed to pause.

“Oh,” Jeno said simply.

“Oh,” Chenle echoed. Then, because words were hard and he’d seen this in dramas, he added, “You can have it.”

“You reached first,” Jeno replied.

“But you’re stronger.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But your forearms deserve nice things.”

Jeno looked at him.

Chenle could hear his own soul buffering.

“I mean,” he coughed, “you work out a lot. You burn more calories. You need the chips more than me.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Always,” Chenle said, even as his brain tried to climb out the emergency exit in his skull.

Jeno offered a ghost of a smile and took the bag gently. Then, to Chenle’s horror and weird delight, he reached into his own basket and pulled out another one. “There was another stack near frozen foods. I grabbed two.”

He handed it over.

Chenle accepted it like someone being handed a trophy. “You’re like a snack fairy.”

Jeno deadpanned, “Please don’t call me that in public.”

“Too late.”

They continued walking through the store together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Chenle wasn’t sure how it happened. He just kept drifting next to Jeno’s cart, grabbing similar things, making little comments about ramen brands and debating between spicy or extra spicy instant tteokbokki.

It was easy.

It was also stressful.

Because somewhere between the dried squid and the yogurt drink aisle, Chenle realized he was no longer observing Jeno’s biceps like museum exhibits. He was noticing how Jeno squinted slightly when reading labels. How he would patiently wait for people to pass with their carts before moving. How he mumbled things under his breath when calculating prices. How he was weirdly gentle when placing eggs in the cart.

They got to the register. Chenle watched as Jeno methodically organized everything on the conveyor belt with mathematical precision.

“Hey,” Jeno said casually as he swiped his card. “You heading home after this?”

“Yeah,” Chenle said, then blurted, “Wanna walk together?”

Jeno glanced at him.

Chenle cleared his throat. “I mean, since we’re going the same way. Environment. One sidewalk. Save the planet.”

“Sure,” Jeno said, his lips quirking up again.

They walked together out of the store, plastic bags rustling between them, evening light soft around their shoulders.

Chenle looked straight ahead, heart doing gymnastics.

Totally fine.

Totally straight.

Right?

Chenle did not believe in fate.

He believed in muscle memory, basketball instincts, and the power of a really good playlist. Fate was for dramas and hopeless romantics. Not for caffeine-seeking, aggressively platonic gym attendees like him.

So when he walked into the café near campus one Tuesday morning and spotted Lee Jeno sitting by the window, glasses on, sipping tea like a peaceful adult with his life together, he did not read into it.

At all.

“Just here for a drink,” Chenle muttered to himself. “Not stalking. Not fate. Just thirsty.”

He joined the short line and tried very hard not to keep glancing over at Jeno, who was dressed like an academic boyfriend on Pinterest. Hoodie, laptop open, wireframe glasses. His hair was slightly messy like he had towel-dried it and just let it be, the way people with naturally good hair often did.

Chenle clicked his tongue and turned back to the cashier.

“One iced matcha. Large. Sweet. The works.”

Once he had his drink in hand, he hovered for a second. There were plenty of tables. Plenty. Yet somehow, his feet walked him over to the one across from Jeno.

“Hey,” he said, as casually as he could, like his heart hadn’t done a weird hiccup two minutes ago.

Jeno looked up, surprised but not unhappy. “Oh. Morning.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Chenle said, settling in. “This is a vibe I didn’t know you had.”

Jeno raised a brow. “The vibe of drinking tea?”

“The vibe of being out in the world, wearing glasses, looking like someone who reads for fun.”

“I do read for fun.”

“Right. Of course you do. Responsible. Intelligent. Tea guy.”

Jeno tilted his head, clearly amused, but didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted his laptop to the side and offered a small smile.

And there it was.

That eye smile. Soft, crinkled, sincere. Like a warm blanket made of politeness and quiet charm.

Chenle sipped his drink too fast. Brain freeze. Great.

Jeno reached for his own cup, and when he did, the sleeve of his hoodie tugged slightly, revealing the forearm veins Chenle absolutely was not noticing. Just like he wasn’t noticing how nice Jeno’s hands looked when he typed. Or how calm his energy was. Or how he helped an old woman at the grocery store last week by reaching the top shelf without being asked.

Just facts. Observations. Not feelings.

“You waiting for someone?” Jeno asked.

“Nah,” Chenle replied. “Had a group thing earlier but it got canceled. Now I’m pretending to be productive.”

Jeno nodded. “Same.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence. Chenle chewed on his straw and watched a bird pecking at crumbs outside the window. His brain, however, was not silent.

He had always appreciated hard work. Athletes, performers, anyone who pushed themselves. It made sense that he found Jeno’s whole gym thing admirable. And Jeno was cool. A bit quiet, but not in a boring way. Calm. Observant. Funny in that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way.

And okay, maybe his eye smile made Chenle’s stomach feel weird, but that was just… social confusion. Surely.

Jeno closed his laptop. “Want to split this?” He pushed a second muffin toward the center of the table. “I accidentally ordered two.”

“Accidentally?”

“Okay, I was hungry when I ordered.”

Chenle shrugged. “Sure.”

He reached for the muffin and tried not to think about how domestic this felt. Two guys. One table. One baked good. Stop.

Across the café, the door jingled and a familiar voice rang out, “Well, well, well. Look at these two.”

Chenle looked up. Mark was at the counter, eyebrow lifted, mouth already stretched into a smirk. He pointed at the table with his drink. “I didn’t know you guys were doing coffee dates without me.”

Jeno gave him a relaxed wave. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey, man,” Mark grinned and stepped closer. “Chenle, you’re aware this is the same guy whose biceps you talk about like they’re a Marvel franchise, right?”

Chenle stared at him, betrayed. “Why are you like this?”

“I just say what everyone’s thinking.”

Jeno looked amused, sipping his tea like this was his favorite morning entertainment.

“We’re not on a date,” Chenle clarified. “We just ran into each other.”

“Sure. And I just happened to bring my telescope to the basketball courts last week.”

“You what?”

“Not important.” Mark patted his shoulder. “I’ll leave you two not-dating people alone. Carry on.”

He winked before heading to the other side of the café with his drink.

Chenle buried his face in his hands. “I hate him.”

“You don’t,” Jeno said.

“I really do.”

Jeno chuckled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling just enough to make Chenle look away and question everything about his life.

Totally fine.

Totally straight.

Right?

Chenle had made a grave mistake.

It wasn’t forgetting to do his assignment. It wasn’t using body wash as shampoo again. It was something much more immediate.

He forgot to check the weather.

He had just barely stepped out of the gym building when the sky decided to unleash its full dramatic potential. Rain came down in sheets, not the gentle cinematic drizzle, but the kind that slapped your face sideways and soaked your socks in less than a minute.

“Cool,” Chenle muttered, arms tucked close to his chest. “Awesome. Love this for me.”

His arms were soaked, his hair stuck to his forehead, and the chill was already sinking into his bones. The gym door clicked shut behind him. There was no turning back.

He cursed under his breath and stepped closer to the wall, trying and failing to find shelter under the world’s smallest overhang. His shivering did not go unnoticed for long.

He debated sprinting to the bus stop, but his legs still hadn’t forgiven him for the Jaemin workout from two days ago. So he stood there, sulking under the tiny overhang by the gym door, wondering how long it would take to develop pneumonia and whether it’d be covered under student insurance.

“Forgot your jacket?” came a voice, low and calm and definitely belonging to someone annoyingly dry.

Chenle turned and saw Jeno walking toward him, umbrella in hand, dry as toast, wearing that clean hoodie with the drawstrings still perfectly symmetrical. Even his hair wasn’t frizzy. It was downright disrespectful.

“You brought an umbrella,” Chenle said, voice flat with betrayal.

Jeno blinked. “It was forecasted.”

“I don’t live by forecasts. I live by vibes.”

“And now you’re soaked.”

“I’m not soaked,” Chenle said with defiance as a fat droplet slid dramatically down his temple. “I’m aggressively hydrated.”

Jeno tilted the umbrella slightly, shielding them both. “Come on. I’m walking home anyway.”

“I don’t want to ruin your umbrella.”

“It’s water-resistant.”

“That’s what they said about my self-esteem and yet—”

Jeno gave him a look. Not annoyed, just quietly amused. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Chenle stepped under the umbrella, closer than he was prepared for.

Jeno gave him a look. Not annoyed, just the usual patient expression that somehow made Chenle want to crawl into a laundry basket and scream.

They began walking side by side, the umbrella covering just enough. Chenle instinctively tried to keep some distance so he wouldn’t brush against Jeno too much, but it didn’t matter. Their shoulders bumped lightly anyway. And with every step, Chenle became more aware of just how cold he was.

They began walking, the soft sound of rain pattering around them. The umbrella wasn’t huge, so they ended up shoulder to shoulder. Or more like, bicep to shoulder. Jeno was taller. Why was he taller?

“Here,” Jeno said, nudging him gently. “Come closer. You’ll get soaked.”

Chenle obeyed with the speed of a person who absolutely did not want to catch pneumonia. Or feel feelings. Unfortunately, both seemed likely.

Jeno smiled.

That dumb soft smile with the eye crinkles again. The one that should be illegal to deploy during mild meteorological crises. Chenle looked away, focusing on the sidewalk like it held the answers to his spiraling mental state.

He was dry. Kind. Still smelled good despite leaving the gym. Who even managed that?

It was honestly infuriating.

This was supposed to be simple. Muscles were cool. Admiring muscles wasn’t weird. Jeno just happened to have very good ones. And a good personality. And good hygiene. And really good—

Suddenly, the rain picked up like it had just been waiting for the drama. A heavy gust tilted the umbrella, and a sharp gust of wind blew cold droplets onto Chenle’s side.

Jeno reacted instantly. Without a word, he shifted his grip on the umbrella and brought his other arm up and around Chenle’s shoulders, pulling him in snugly to his side.

“There,” he said, calm and unbothered, like he hadn’t just casually triggered a full emotional meltdown.

Chenle stopped breathing.

Jeno’s arm was solid, warm, confident. Not forceful. Just… there. Protective. His hand rested casually on Chenle’s far shoulder, pulling him slightly closer so the umbrella could shield him fully.

He was now very close. Physically, he was warm and dry. Mentally, he was a collapsing amusement park. Jeno’s arm was heavy but gentle. His body radiated warmth like it was professionally designed for it.

“There,” Jeno said simply. “You’re shivering.”

“I—I’m not,” Chenle lied. His teeth chattered once for dramatic effect.

“You’re cold and barely dressed,” Jeno said.

“You make it sound scandalous.”

“It’s just basic thermoregulation.”

Chenle wanted to scream.

This was nothing. Just one guy making sure another guy didn’t catch pneumonia. Anyone would do it. This wasn’t about the way Jeno’s hoodie smelled like lavender detergent and faint cologne. It wasn’t about the way Jeno’s arm felt steady and dependable, or how the umbrella made their little bubble of dry air feel… cozy.

Nope. Not about that.

Chenle tried to focus on other things. The sidewalk. The sound of rain on pavement. The weird leaf stuck to his shoe. Anything except the literal warmth of Jeno’s body pressed against his. He swallowed.

“You’re really considerate,” he mumbled.

Jeno glanced down at him. “It’s nothing.”

“No, but like… why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“Nice. Gentlemanly. A full k-drama lead in gym shoes.”

Jeno laughed. “I don’t know. Habit?”

He smiled again. That dumb eye-smile that crinkled just right, like a plot twist in Chenle’s emotional journey.

“I…” Chenle cleared his throat. “I’m fine, you know. You don’t have to go full protective boyfriend.”

Jeno gave a quiet chuckle. “I’m just trying to keep you dry.”

“Right. Just that. Great.”

Chenle looked away quickly, heart thumping and brain screaming. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t short-circuiting because a friend held an umbrella. He admired Jeno’s muscles, sure. And his work ethic. And okay, maybe his smile was nice. But that was normal. Appreciative. Platonic.

Right?

They kept walking like that, Chenle tucked under Jeno’s arm, too close to pretend this was still about body admiration and not, you know, a full-blown situation.

Then a voice broke through the downpour.

“Brooooo?”

Both of them turned to see Haechan, half-sheltered under a café awning, holding a convenience store sandwich and looking like he’d just spotted a baby deer sharing a milkshake.

“Yo,” Chenle greeted, too loudly. “What’s up, man?”

Haechan tilted his head. “Not much. Just watching this romantic rainy walk in real-time. Should I go? Should I give you privacy?”

“It’s not—” Chenle started.

Jeno waved. “Hey, Haechan.”

Haechan squinted. “You guys dating or just umbrella-close?”

Chenle yelped. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind I ask when I see someone cradled under someone else’s armpit like a newlywed.”

Jeno’s arm didn’t move. He just looked at Chenle, clearly waiting to see how he’d respond.

Chenle flailed. “We’re not a thing. It’s just rain! He didn’t want me to die from exposure!”

“Okay,” Haechan said, dragging out the syllables. “Sure. I believe you. Totally. Carry on, Mr. and Mr. Cloudburst.”

As they turned the corner, Chenle sighed deeply and stepped a little away from Jeno’s hold, even though he instantly missed the warmth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.

Jeno looked at him. “Do what?”

“Be all… hero in a hoodie.”

Jeno shrugged. “I don’t think about it. I just do it.”

Chenle hated how endearing that sounded.

He didn’t say anything else the rest of the way, brain whirring, socks squishing in his shoes. His shirt clung to his skin, but he wasn’t even thinking about the rain anymore.

Totally fine.

Totally straight.

Right?

Saturday evening arrived with the kind of calm that should’ve warned Chenle something was coming.

He stood outside Jeno’s apartment door, cut up fruits in hand, pretending not to be too aware of his reflection in the hallway mirror. He wasn’t nervous. He was just… evaluating his vibe. Totally different.

The door opened before he could knock. Jaemin popped his head out, already grinning.

“Oh look, it’s our second-most-delusional friend,” Jaemin chirped. “Come in, the race nerd’s already mid-meltdown.”

Chenle stepped in and froze. He had expected something more… gym-themed. Maybe protein shake dust on the counters. A dumbbell in the sink. But no. The apartment was clean. Cozy. String lights hung across the living room, casting a soft glow. A big TV was already tuned into the pre-race coverage. On the coffee table, a colorful array of chips, fruit, and perfectly shaped onigiri sat like an offering to the snack gods.

And there, cross-legged on the floor, was Jeno. In his favorite F1 team shirt, flipping through a sleek tablet, eyes focused and mouth slightly parted in concentration.

Chenle stared.

“He lives like this?” Chenle muttered to himself. “With… adult stuff? And it all looks tidy. Why does tidy remind me of him brushing sweat off his forehead at the gym?”

Jaemin leaned in. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Chenle dropped his bag on the floor and moved toward the couch, trying not to trip over his own feet.

Mark and Renjun were already arguing about tire strategy like it was fantasy football. Haechan was doing impressions of the F1 announcers while juggling three different chip flavors. Jisung was upside-down on an armchair.

Jeno looked up when Chenle approached and smiled. That same eye-crinkling smile that had no business being so gentle.

“I saved these for you,” he said, holding out a small bowl. Chenle looked down. His favorite chips. The weird spicy-lime kind he had only ever mentioned once in passing.

“You remembered?” Chenle blinked.

Jeno shrugged. “You said they were elite. I had to verify the claim.”

Chenle took the bowl with robotic hands. His heart made a weird hiccup. This meant nothing. Just thoughtful snacking.

The race began, and suddenly the room erupted in overlapping commentary.

“Red Bull’s going full gremlin mode again,” Haechan said, mouth full.

“Look at that overtake!” Mark shouted, pointing dramatically like they could influence the screen.

Jeno, still calm, tapped a corner of his tablet. “They switched to soft tires too early. Watch what happens at lap twenty-three.”

Chenle blinked. “Wait, how do you even know that?”

Jeno angled the screen so he could see. “This is the live timing and strategy dashboard. You can see the tire degradation, fuel strategy, pit windows… it’s mostly about anticipating how the car reacts under certain conditions.”

“You actually know what all those numbers mean?” Jaemin asked.

“Each second saved in the pit can decide the race,” Jeno said, smiling like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Chenle’s brain short-circuited again.

He makes car aerodynamics sound like poetry, Chenle thought. Who does that? Who’s this hot and this smart? Is this even legal?

He tried to distract himself by passing the cut up fruits he brought to Jeno.

“For, uh, hydration safety,” he said awkwardly.

Jeno chuckled softly. “Fruit. Very athletic of you.”

“Yeah, you know me. Health god,” Chenle mumbled.

Jisung, who had been silently munching chips, suddenly snorted. “You ate mozzarella sticks for breakfast yesterday.”

Chenle threw a pillow at him.

The race reached a tense moment. Drivers were weaving through a turn like it was a street fight. Jeno leaned forward, focused, the screen reflecting in his eyes. Chenle sat beside him, trying not to breathe too loudly. His shoulder brushed Jeno’s. He froze.

Jeno didn’t flinch. Instead, he glanced at Chenle, calm and steady, and gave a small, reassuring smile.

It was like he was telling him, silently, that it was okay to feel… whatever this was.

Chenle looked away immediately. His brain was doing donuts.

He admired Jeno’s muscles. That was allowed. He admired his intelligence. Also allowed. He admired the way his voice went soft when explaining tire temperature physics. Totally normal. Totally.

He tried to focus on the race, but every time Jeno shifted closer to point something out, Chenle’s soul left his body.

After the race ended with a chaotic last-lap finish, the room erupted.

“YES,” Mark shouted, high-fiving Renjun.

Haechan collapsed face-first onto the couch and pretended to snore. “Wake me when Ferrari stops self-sabotaging.”

Jaemin started narrating in a dramatic voice. “And so, our emotionally constipated protagonist realized—”

“Shut it,” Chenle hissed.

Jeno stretched and looked over at Chenle. “Want to help me clear these dishes?”

Chenle nodded, taking Jeno’s hand as he stood. The warmth and steadiness of that simple gesture made his heart thump faster. Jeno was not just strong in the gym but strong in everything he did.

In the kitchen, as they cleared plates and bowls, Chenle spotted his own hoodie draped over a chair. He realized silently that he had left it there during a quick visit after gym class a week ago. Jeno must have seen it and kept it safe without a fuss.

Jeno picked up the fruit tray and examined it carefully. “These strawberries are a bit unevenly sliced.”

Chenle laughed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and affection. “You’re too perfect at everything.”

Jeno shrugged with a lazy smile, his eye-crinkle lighting up again. “I’m not perfect. Just… certain things matter to me.”

Chenle nodded, watching that smile. He admired Jeno’s muscles, his mind, and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he loved. Somehow, all of that felt bigger than just admiration.

He swallowed and looked away, scrubbing at a plate like it had personally wronged him.

When they returned to the living room, Jisung pointed at Chenle and said loudly, “Did you guys bond over dishes in there?”

“No,” Chenle said too quickly.

As everyone packed up to leave, Jeno handed Chenle his jacket with a small smile.

“You forgot this the last time,” he said.

Chenle stared at the jacket like it had just proposed marriage.

“Oh,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Thanks.”

Jeno tilted his head. “You okay?”

“Yup,” Chenle said, lying.

He walked home clutching the jacket, trying to ignore the fact that it smelled faintly like lavender and warm safety.

Is this fine?

Am I really straight?

Why does it feel like more?

Saturday afternoon hit the campus courts with a blast of sunlight and the bounce of basketballs. Chenle wiped the sweat from his brow, dribbling between his legs as Mark shouted, “Come on, Chenle! Show us that legendary crossover!”

The friend group had grown since gym days. Mark’s usual crew was here, loud and competitive, teasing Chenle mercilessly every time he missed a shot. Chenle laughed it off, secretly happy for the distraction from his own tangled thoughts.

Suddenly, from the sidelines, two familiar figures appeared. Jeno and Haechan strolled up, both carrying drinks and looking ready to spectate rather than sweat.

“Hey!” Haechan called, juggling a basketball effortlessly. “We came for the show and snacks. Mostly the snacks.”

Jeno smiled warmly, settling on a nearby bench with the kind of calm that made Chenle’s heart skip.

Mark grinned. “Perfect timing! Chenle here was just about to officially lose his street cred.”

Chenle rolled his eyes. “I am not losing anything. Just conserving energy.”

As Chenle went for a shot, Haechan shouted, “Ooooh! Air ball! You’re killing us, man!”

Jeno laughed quietly but then turned serious for a moment. “It’s all about positioning and anticipation, like in racing. Think of the court as a track.”

Chenle caught the connection and nodded. “I guess basketball and F1 have more in common than I thought.”

During a break, Jeno handed Chenle a cold drink. Their fingers brushed briefly and Chenle’s pulse quickened.

“You should hydrate,” Jeno said, eyes crinkling in that familiar smile.

Chenle tried not to overthink it but his brain immediately spiraled.

Okay, so I admire his muscles on the court. I admire his smarts off the court. And his smile. Why am I suddenly an emotional mess?

Meanwhile, Haechan was making a hilarious commentary. “And there goes Chenle, the basketball poet, missing a layup again. Someone get this man a GPS!”

Mark chuckled. “Don’t listen to them. You’re the best accidental player I know.”

As the game went on, Jeno and Haechan cheered and teased from the sidelines. Chenle felt a warm glow from their attention, tangled with confusion but mostly joy.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light over the court. Chenle realized maybe these moments were what he wanted most… friends, laughter, and Jeno nearby.

Is this fine?

Am I not straight?

Why am I feeling something more?

The evening air wrapped around them like a soft blanket as Chenle and Jeno walked side by side down the quiet street. The laughter and chatter of their friends faded behind them, leaving a gentle stillness that made every small sound between them feel louder.

Chenle’s heart was pounding, and he kept stealing quick glances at Jeno. Jeno’s eyes seemed calm, but when their gazes met, a flicker of something, curiosity, warmth, maybe more, passed between them. Each time their eyes locked, Chenle felt like the ground beneath him shifted slightly.

After a moment, Jeno broke the silence. “You’ve been quieter than usual tonight.”

Chenle shifted, trying to play it cool. “Just thinking, I guess.”

Jeno smiled gently. “About what? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Chenle laughed nervously, brushing a hand through his hair. “Maybe about… why some things feel so confusing lately.”

Jeno’s gaze softened. “Confusing how?”

Chenle swallowed and glanced at Jeno’s profile. “Like when you get this weird flutter around someone, and suddenly everything else doesn’t make sense.”

Jeno’s smile grew, a little teasing. “Sounds like trouble.”

Chenle caught himself looking at Jeno’s hand resting just a few inches from his own. He felt the warmth radiating from it, almost magnetic.

“I don’t know,” Chenle murmured. “Maybe I’m overthinking.”

“Or maybe you’re finally noticing,” Jeno said quietly, eyes locking with his. “You really surprised me out there today. I didn’t think you had moves like that.”

Chenle laughed nervously. “I don’t know about moves. I mostly just try not to trip.”

Jeno’s smile deepened, his eyes sparkling. “You’re too modest. I noticed how you kept looking at me when I was shooting.”

Chenle’s cheeks heated. “Did I? Maybe I was just wondering why you look so calm even when you miss.”

Jeno tilted his head, amused. “Maybe I was trying to look cool for you.”

Chenle’s breath caught. His heart flipped in a way that had nothing to do with basketball.

They slowed their steps, the streetlight above flickering softly and casting a warm glow over their faces. Chenle’s hand brushed lightly against Jeno’s arm. Neither pulled away. Instead, their hands drifted closer, hovering just inches apart.

“Can I ask you something?” Chenle’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Anything,” Jeno replied, his eyes fixed on Chenle’s.

Chenle swallowed and looked down at their hands, fingers trembling. “Do you ever feel like maybe you’re meant to be closer to someone? Like more than just friends?”

Jeno’s gaze softened. “Yeah. Sometimes. But it’s scary to admit.”

Chenle nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.”

Their hands finally touched, fingers entwining with a gentle hesitance that made Chenle’s chest feel tight. Their faces drew closer, breaths mingling in the quiet night.

Chenle’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in.

Suddenly a stray dog barked in the distance.

They pulled apart quickly, cheeks flushing.

Jeno chuckled softly, a mixture of amusement and understanding in his eyes. “Well, that was close.”

Chenle laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Maybe a little too close.”

Jeno smiled, reaching out to squeeze Chenle’s hand gently. “Whatever happens, it’s okay to feel more.”

“Did you… want to?” Chenle asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno smiled softly. “I think I do. But maybe not tonight.”

Chenle laughed nervously. “Good call. Would have ruined my whole reputation.”

Jeno nudged him playfully. “Your reputation is fine. Your heart, maybe not so much.”

Chenle let out a shaky breath and looked away, feeling both terrified and somehow relieved.

Tonight, the lines blurred.

And Chenle knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be quite the same.

Is it fine?

If I’m not straight?

Because I’m feeling something more.

The sky above campus was the kind of bruised lavender that only came after a spring thunderstorm. The scent of rain still lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy crunch of sneakers on a worn basketball court. The game had long ended. The others had peeled off. Haechan yelling something about ramen, Jisung hopping on his bike with wet hair, Renjun pretending he wasn’t sore. But Chenle had lingered behind, tossing the ball lazily at the rim, missing more shots than usual.

Mark stayed, too. He always did.

Now they sat on the low concrete steps beside the court, each with a bottle of sports drink and damp shirts clinging to their backs. The court lights buzzed softly above them. In the distance, the campus library’s windows still glowed. But here, in the blue-gray quiet of evening, the air between them felt like the pause in a verse. Like something unspoken was about to rhyme.

Mark took a long sip, then looked over. “You’ve been off all game.”

Chenle let the basketball roll away. “I wasn’t off. You just played like a possessed squirrel.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Mark said, smirking. “And also not true. Come on. What’s eating you?”

Chenle didn’t answer at first. He leaned back on his hands, letting the cool stone steps press against his palms.

“It’s…” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know. It’s so dumb.”

Mark waited. He didn’t push, just turned his bottle slowly in his hands.

Chenle exhaled, watching the mist of his breath in the cooling air.

“Jeno,” he said finally.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Ah.”

Chenle groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “Not ‘ah.’ That’s a terrifying ‘ah.’”

“I mean, I’ve been waiting for this particular ‘ah’ for weeks now,” Mark said, like he was announcing the arrival of spring.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Chenle mumbled, voice muffled by his palms. “I keep thinking it’s just admiration. Like wow, he’s strong, he’s smart, he’s a good friend. But then we get close, and I want to… I don’t know… hold his hand or lean in and… and last night I almost kissed him.”

Mark didn’t laugh. He just looked at Chenle, thoughtful.

Chenle peeked through his fingers. “You’re not gonna say something annoying and wise, are you?”

“I’m trying really hard not to,” Mark said, holding back a smile. “But okay. Let me try this.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You ever notice how the sky doesn’t try to be anything?” he said. “It doesn’t decide to be just one thing. Sometimes it’s bright, sometimes stormy, sometimes it glows gold, sometimes it’s a mess of clouds. But no matter what it is, we still look up and call it the sky.”

Chenle blinked at him. “That’s the most Mark Lee thing you’ve ever said.”

Mark grinned. “Thanks.”

Chenle was quiet again. He let the words settle, like rainwater seeping into the cracks.

“I don’t think I’m straight,” he said at last. Saying it made his chest feel both lighter and heavier. Like exhaling after holding something in too long.

Mark nodded slowly. “Okay. So what are you feeling?”

Chenle thought for a moment. “It’s like… every time I see Jeno smile at me, it’s not just butterflies. It’s a whole zoo. And when he talks about things he loves, like F1 or fixing bikes or the dumb science behind gym equipment, I just want to listen forever. And when he looks at me, I don’t want to look away.”

Mark patted his back, gentle. “Sounds a lot like the start of something.”

Chenle looked at him. “Is it fine? If I’m not straight?”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “Of course it is.”

Chenle let the words soak in.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the lights flicker above the empty court.

Then Mark said, “Also, for what it’s worth, Jeno looks at you like he’s watching his favorite driver about to win a race.”

Chenle choked on his drink. “Mark!”

“What?” Mark grinned. “I’m just saying. Might be a mutual thing.”

Chenle rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. For the first time in weeks, his thoughts didn’t spiral into confusion. They drifted, gently, toward something that felt like clarity.

He stood and picked up the basketball again. “One more round?”

“Only if you admit you’re gonna lose,” Mark said, stretching.

“Never.”

The court echoed with their laughter, fading into the dusk.

It’s fine.

I’m not straight.

But am I ready for something more?

It started out as just another ordinary day on campus. The friends had scattered after class, and Chenle found himself walking toward the library when he suddenly spotted Jeno carrying a stack of books, looking a little overwhelmed. Without thinking, Chenle called out, “Hey, need a hand?”

Jeno’s face brightened. “Thanks, I could use some help.”

As they walked together toward the library entrance, the crowd thinned and they quickly found themselves alone on the quiet stone steps. The usual chatter of friends was nowhere to be found.

Chenle’s heart started beating faster. He was too close to Jeno, closer than usual, and the warmth of Jeno’s shoulder brushing his own sent sparks through him.

They both hesitated, glancing sideways at each other. Chenle’s breath hitched as he caught Jeno’s eye. Those familiar eyes that always made him feel both calm and caught off guard.

“Chenle,” Jeno said softly, “you’ve been acting kinda different lately. What’s going on?”

Chenle swallowed hard. His mind spun in circles. Should he say it? Should he just confess?

Before he could talk himself out of it, his panic bubbled over. “Okay, okay, I have to say something,” he blurted, voice cracking. “I think… I think I like you. Like, really like you.”

Jeno’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. For a moment, everything was still.

Then Chenle’s face flamed red and, without another word, he turned and bolted down the steps, his heart pounding like a drum.

“Chenle, wait!” Jeno called after him, but the words got lost in the wind.

Chenle didn’t look back. He didn’t want to.

He just needed to run away from the confusion, from the feelings, from the truth that was suddenly undeniable.

I thought it’s fine.

That I’m not straight.

But why am I scared for something more?

Chapter Text

The air around the court was thick with the fading heat of practice and something heavier that only Chenle could feel. He sat with his head tilted back, squinting at the sky like it had the answers. It didn’t. The clouds just floated above him, carefree, oblivious.

The rest of the group lounged nearby, stretching lazily, sipping water, teasing one another about missed layups and bad defense. Chenle stayed quiet.

Mark sat next to him, close enough that their arms brushed.

“You good?” Mark asked under his breath.

Chenle nodded, but his chest felt tight. “Yeah.”

Mark gave a tiny shrug, like he was leaving space. “You don’t have to say anything now. Just know you don’t have to say it alone.”

Before Chenle could respond, Jaemin dropped onto the bench in front of them, slinging a towel around his neck. “Okay, so who’s going to address the fact that Chenle’s been more emotionally distant than Renjun during mandatory group hugs?”

“I’m not emotionally distant,” Renjun replied flatly. “I’m just allergic to your arms.”

Haechan sprawled out across two chairs. “Chenle’s been quiet for days. I miss the screaming. Is this your soft launch into monkhood?”

“Maybe he’s in love,” Jisung said around a mouthful of granola. “Or worse. Being introspective.”

Chenle laughed, but it came out weak and shaky.

Mark turned slightly toward the others. “He’s been going through some stuff. Let him breathe.”

That made everyone pause.

Chenle stared at the ground. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his shorts. He took a breath.

“Can I say something?” he asked, voice quiet.

They all turned toward him, suddenly attentive.

Chenle didn’t look up. “I’ve been avoiding someone. Jeno.”

No one said a word. He continued.

“It’s because… I like him. And I kind of… confessed. On accident. Then I panicked and ran away like a sitcom character.”

Silence. Then Jaemin blinked slowly. “So that’s why you’ve been ducking behind bushes.”

“Not a bush,” Haechan corrected. “It was a recycling bin.”

“You were all watching?” Chenle hissed.

Renjun shrugged. “You’re not subtle.”

Chenle buried his face in his hands. “Okay, great. So we’ve all known for longer than I have.”

Mark chuckled softly. “I didn’t tell anyone. Swear.”

Chenle peeked through his fingers. “Okay. Well. The real reason I’ve been running isn’t just because I panicked. It’s because… I hadn’t said it out loud. Not really. Not to anyone besides Mark.”

He paused, then forced the words past the lump in his throat.

“I’m not straight.”

His voice wobbled. “And for a while I thought I could pretend. I thought it was just a weird phase or admiration or whatever. But it’s not. It’s real. And it’s scary. Because I didn’t know how you guys would react.”

Everyone was quiet again.

Then Jaemin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Chenle. You once made us sit through a full PowerPoint ranking Jeno’s triceps by week. This is not news.”

“That never happened.”

“I took screenshots,” Jisung muttered, pulling out his phone.

“But seriously,” Haechan said, softer now, “we love you. That’s not going to change. Ever.”

Renjun nodded. “You being honest with yourself doesn’t make you someone different. It just makes you more you.”

“And I mean, we’ve all kind of suspected,” Jaemin added with a smirk. “We just wanted to let you get there on your own.”

Chenle’s eyes stung. He looked around at his friends. Their faces warm, open, teasing as always, but kind underneath.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “I really thought I’d ruin everything by saying it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Mark said. “You made it more real.”

Chenle breathed in, and it felt fuller than it had in days.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

The plan had seemed safe. Too safe, actually.

A casual movie night at Renjun’s apartment. Popcorn. Blankets. Dumb commentary from Haechan. Jaemin stealing everyone’s snacks. Mark humming along to the soundtrack even though no one asked. All familiar. All manageable.

Chenle had agreed to come the second he heard Jeno wouldn’t be there. “Group project,” Mark had said. “He’s helping his engineering lab mates tonight.”

That gave Chenle the space to breathe. He wasn’t ready to see Jeno yet. Not after the confession. Not after the runaway scene. Not after the crushing cocktail of panic, fear, and longing that still swirled in his chest like a shaken soda bottle.

So Chenle came. He wore his comfiest hoodie. He brought his favorite chips. He curled up into a beanbag in the corner like a human shrimp and pretended he was totally fine.

The movie had just started. A terrible action flick. Explosions. Car chases. Renjun judging the script with every breath.

Then the doorbell rang.

“I got it!” Haechan yelled, jumping up. He swung the door open and let out a noise between a gasp and a dramatic gasp.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

Chenle’s stomach dropped.

He sat up slowly. His eyes flicked toward the door, and sure enough… there was Jeno.

Wearing his usual hoodie. Holding a bottle of peach soda. Looking unfairly soft and casually beautiful.

“I thought you had group work,” Mark said from the kitchen.

“It got canceled last minute,” Jeno replied, stepping in. “Figured I’d stop by.”

Chenle’s brain short-circuited. He hadn’t mentally prepared for this. He hadn’t emotionally braced himself. He’d left his defenses at home, along with his will to function like a normal person.

Jeno’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on him.

Chenle froze.

Jeno smiled. A quiet, careful smile. The kind that could crack open an entire planet.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Chenle’s throat closed. “Hey,” he managed, voice cracking like a dropped plate.

The others exchanged glances.

Haechan made a swift executive decision. “Okay, new seating plan! Chenle, move over. Jisung, you’re on popcorn refills. Mark, you’re DJ for snack music. Let’s go!”

Mark blinked. “Snack music isn’t a thing.”

“It is now!” Haechan insisted.

Jaemin walked past Chenle and subtly nudged his shoulder. “You good?” he murmured.

“Nope,” Chenle whispered.

Renjun passed by next with a soda. “Want an out?”

Chenle shook his head. “I think I need to face this.”

Jeno sat a few feet away, not too close but definitely closer than Chenle had expected. The tension buzzed like static between them, and every time their eyes met, Chenle’s breath hitched.

The movie played. Something exploded on screen. Chenle didn’t register a second of it.

Jeno leaned slightly toward him. “I wasn’t trying to surprise you,” he said quietly.

Chenle stared at the screen. “I know.”

“I just… didn’t want to avoid you. That’s all.”

Chenle closed his eyes for a beat, then looked at him. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

Jeno gave a soft laugh. “I noticed.”

A long pause passed between them. Not quite awkward. Just heavy.

“I’m working on it,” Chenle admitted. “The… feelings. The panic. The ‘me running away like a cartoon character.’”

Jeno tilted his head. “Can I say something without making it worse?”

Chenle nodded slowly.

“I missed you.”

Chenle felt the words hit like a slow-burning meteor. He blinked hard.

“I missed you too,” he said. His voice was smaller than he wanted it to be. But it was honest.

Neither of them moved.

The movie continued, ridiculous and loud, but in the soft glow of Renjun’s living room, everything else faded around them.

From across the room, their friends watched quietly. No teasing. No winks. Just quiet support wrapped in popcorn and shared glances.

Chenle didn’t know what came next. But for now, Jeno was here. Jeno had stayed. And that had to mean something.

The movie had ended in a blaze of CGI nonsense and loud guitar riffs. The credits rolled over the hum of conversation and the soft rustle of snack wrappers being tossed into a bin. People stretched, yawned, traded lazy goodbyes. Chenle stayed rooted to his spot, fingers twisted in the edge of his hoodie, pulse still tapping out Morse code in his chest.

He felt Jeno’s presence before he even saw him. Afamiliar warmth at his side, quiet and steady. Chenle glanced over and found Jeno standing beside the couch, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, eyes soft.

“I’ll walk you home,” Jeno offered gently.

Chenle blinked. “Oh. You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Jeno said with a small shrug. “I want to.”

Renjun looked up from where he was stuffing blankets into a basket. “It’s not even that late, you know.”

Mark, already halfway into his shoes, said, “Let them go, Renjun.”

Haechan whispered loudly, “Make good choices.”

Jaemin threw popcorn at him.

Chenle rolled his eyes and grabbed his bag, following Jeno out the door into the night air. It was cooler than he expected, the sky above painted in navy and speckled with soft stars.

They walked without speaking at first. The crunch of gravel under their shoes filled the silence. Jeno matched Chenle’s pace perfectly.

“You didn’t have to come tonight,” Chenle said eventually, voice low.

“I wanted to,” Jeno replied.

Chenle glanced at him. “You’re taking this really well.”

Jeno smiled faintly. “You ran away from me in public. I figured you needed space. And I care about you more than I care about what that looked like.”

Chenle stopped walking for a second. His heart skipped.

Jeno noticed but didn’t comment. He just waited.

“I’m still figuring things out,” Chenle said softly. “I don’t know how to be around you without feeling… like I’m going to explode.”

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” Jeno said. “I’m not expecting anything.”

Chenle looked up. “But you’re waiting.”

Jeno’s gaze held his. “Yeah.”

The breeze picked up, rustling the trees lining the path. Jeno’s hand brushed against Chenle’s lightly. Not enough to hold. Just enough to feel.

Chenle didn’t move away.

They walked a few more paces like that. Quietly, gently, almost touching.

When they reached the front of Chenle’s building, he paused at the gate. Jeno looked at him like he was memorizing something.

Chenle shifted on his feet. “This is the part where I say goodnight and try not to panic again, right?”

Jeno smiled softly. “If that’s what you need.”

Chenle hesitated. His hand twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out. He wanted a hundred things. But his fear was still louder than his courage.

Instead, he whispered, “Thank you. For being patient.”

Jeno nodded. “Always.”

He turned to leave, but not before casting one last glance over his shoulder. Their eyes met.

And for a moment, everything was still again.

Chenle stood at the gate long after Jeno disappeared down the path.

His chest was full of sparks he didn’t know what to do with.

Jeno had always liked quiet.

The quiet before a basketball shot landed. The stillness of the gym before anyone arrived. The buzz of his headphones when the rest of the world felt too much. He liked things that made sense, that moved in logical lines. Math, physics, engines, muscle mechanics.

Chenle didn’t make sense.

He was loud. Unfiltered. Always talking with his voice, his hands, and his entire body. He’d swing into a room like he was born for the spotlight, and somehow, without even trying, make Jeno feel like gravity had shifted.

The worst part? It had never even annoyed him. Not once.

The first time Jeno really noticed it, really felt it, was during a scrimmage at the campus gym. Chenle was running backwards, yelling about someone missing a layup, and then tripped over a Gatorade bottle. He hit the floor with a curse and a laugh, and when Jeno reached out to help him up, Chenle grinned like he hadn’t just fallen in front of twenty people.

“Did you see that?” he said, eyes bright. “Gym sabotage. That bottle’s got beef.”

Jeno had laughed. Out loud. And it wasn’t even funny. Not really. But something about the way Chenle looked at him, like Jeno’s laugh was worth earning, stuck with him.

It didn’t stop after that. Not even when it should have.

At first, Jeno told himself it was just a harmless crush. It would fade. He was good at hiding things. He had years of practice. He’d sit on the bench next to Chenle and make jokes and keep his heart quiet. That was the deal.

Then came the stares.

Not his own. Chenle’s.

Suddenly, Chenle was looking at him longer. Getting flustered mid-sentence. Tripping over gym equipment. Chenle, who never ran out of words, started malfunctioning around Jeno like he’d swallowed a glitch.

Jeno noticed every single instance. The supermarket aisle hand-touch. The hoodie lending. The umbrella walk. The way Chenle practically vibrated with panic when they sat too close.

He noticed. And it scared him.

Not because Chenle was pulling away, but because he wasn’t.

Not really.

The umbrella night was when Jeno knew.

He’d seen Chenle leave the gym, hoodie-less, already soaked and scowling at the sky like it had betrayed him personally. Jeno had debated it for a few seconds. He could walk home, pretend he didn’t see him, let him deal with it alone.

But he didn’t want to.

He wanted to stand beside him.

So he did.

And when Chenle stepped under his umbrella, shoulders tense and voice sarcastic and cracking, Jeno kept steady. He let the silence do its work and let the rain be the excuse.

It wasn’t until the gust of wind made Chenle shiver that Jeno reached out and wrapped his arm around him. Just to pull him in. To keep him warm. To make it easier to share the umbrella.

Just that.

He told himself it was nothing.

But when Chenle froze, leaned in slightly, and didn’t pull away, Jeno’s heart did something dangerous.

And when Haechan spotted them mid-walk and made a dramatic scene out of nothing, Jeno kept quiet. He wanted to see what Chenle would say.

He didn’t deny it.

Not really.

And Jeno wondered if he was starting to see it too.

The movie night was supposed to be safe. That’s what Mark had told him.

“Chenle’s coming,” he said. “He thinks you’re busy. If you’re not ready, maybe skip this one.”

Jeno almost didn’t go. But then he saw the group chat photo. Chenle curled into a beanbag, holding his favorite chips, wearing that hoodie with the loose thread on the sleeve.

And Jeno couldn’t stay away.

He walked in. Saw Chenle’s eyes go wide, then quickly dart away. Watched the friends all silently reshuffle to let him sit nearby without forcing it. Haechan created chaos, as usual, but the space was there. The chance to be close.

So Jeno sat down.

Watched the movie.

Watched Chenle not watch the movie.

And when their eyes met, just for a second, and Chenle looked like he was bracing for impact, Jeno whispered what he’d been holding in for days.

“I missed you.”

Simple. Honest.

And when Chenle’s voice cracked, when he said he missed Jeno too, Jeno’s chest ached.

Not because it wasn’t enough.

But because it was.

It was everything.

The walk home after was quiet. Chenle’s hoodie sleeves were pulled over his hands again, the way he did when he felt exposed. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t yelling. He just walked beside Jeno, quietly.

Jeno offered to walk him home. He didn’t expect a yes. But Chenle said yes.

No hesitation.

They walked slowly. Their shoulders brushed. Jeno wanted to reach for his hand, but didn’t.

Instead, he said, “I’m not expecting anything.”

And it wasn’t a lie.

He wasn’t.

He was just hoping. Gently. Quietly.

He watched Chenle’s eyes flicker toward his. Watched him almost say something. Then watched him pull back.

That was okay.

Because even in retreat, Chenle had stayed close.

Jeno could wait a little longer.

That night, Jeno lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His hoodie still faintly smelled like Chenle’s shampoo. Some citrusy, chaotic scent that was so him.

He closed his eyes and replayed every glance, every word, every half-smile Chenle had given him.

Then he opened his phone and pulled up the group photo from earlier.

Chenle, mid-laugh, eyes squinted, chips in one hand. Looking like he belonged.

Looking like home.

Jeno smiled to himself and whispered into the dark,

“Totally not just a crush.”

And maybe, just maybe, not one-sided anymore.

This wasn’t a date.

It wasn’t.

It was just two friends hanging out. Totally normal. Totally casual. Just because Jeno had asked if Chenle wanted to check out the new ramen place didn’t mean it was A Thing. People got noodles all the time. People who were totally fine and not spiraling in their own brain because the person they might like (okay, definitely liked) had smiled at them like they were the best part of the room.

Chenle adjusted his hoodie for the sixth time as he stood outside the restaurant, trying not to pace.

Then he saw him.

Jeno, walking toward him in a black sweatshirt and jeans, hair tousled like he’d just run a hand through it. He smiled when he saw Chenle. That same crinkle-eyed smile that made Chenle want to lie down in traffic.

“You beat me here,” Jeno said, sounding almost surprised.

Chenle shrugged, heart hammering. “What can I say? Noodles motivate me.”

They stepped inside, found a booth by the window. The place was quiet, not empty, but low-lit and cozy, with the kind of background music that made silences feel intentional instead of awkward.

Which was dangerous.

Because the silence between them? It was not casual.

It was thick. Charged. Like something wanted to be said but neither of them knew how to start.

“So,” Jeno said after they ordered. “How’s… everything?”

“Vague question,” Chenle replied, sipping his water like it would keep his soul from leaking out. “You gotta be more specific or I’ll spiral.”

Jeno smiled again, softer this time. “How’s your week been?”

“Oh. Yeah. Fine. Totally normal. No breakdowns. No crises. No random basketball-based identity unraveling.”

Jeno huffed a laugh. “Good to hear.”

Their eyes met.

Chenle looked away.

The waiter brought the ramen, mercifully interrupting whatever moment had just tried to happen.

Chenle immediately took a big bite and burned his tongue. “Hot,” he choked. “This is great. I love pain.”

Jeno passed him his water with a quiet smirk. “You okay?”

“No,” Chenle wheezed. “But I will be. Eventually. After physical therapy.”

Jeno’s laughter was soft but real.

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of chopsticks and the occasional slurp. But underneath it all, the energy buzzed like static.

Chenle kept sneaking glances. The way Jeno held his chopsticks. The way his hair kept falling into his eyes. The way he sat like he didn’t know how quietly magnetic he was.

It was annoying. And kind of devastating.

Jeno caught him staring once. Raised an eyebrow. Didn’t say anything.

Chenle shoved noodles into his mouth to avoid talking.

Eventually, Jeno leaned back slightly and said, “You’ve been quiet.”

Chenle cleared his throat. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jeno tilted his head. “I mean since the other night.”

Right. The walk home. The almost moment. The thing neither of them had mentioned since.

Chenle twirled his noodles and tried not to sound like he was about to pass out. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk about that.”

“I do,” Jeno said simply.

Silence again.

Chenle exhaled. “I’m trying to be normal. Around you. But it’s hard.”

“I’m not asking you to be normal,” Jeno said. “Just honest.”

Chenle looked up. Jeno’s gaze was steady, quiet but warm.

“I’m scared,” Chenle admitted. “That if I mess this up, I lose more than a maybe. I lose you.”

Jeno didn’t flinch. “You won’t.”

Chenle stared. “How can you be so sure?”

Jeno smiled faintly. “Because I’ve already waited this long.”

The words hung between them like a question with an answer neither of them could say aloud.

Then Jeno picked up his spoon and said, “Also, if you ghost me again, I will report you to the friendship council.”

Chenle blinked. “The what?”

Jeno’s face was calm. “It meets Tuesdays. Renjun is president.”

Chenle choked on his noodles again. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“And yet, here you are,” Jeno said quietly. “Getting ramen with me.”

Chenle looked at him.

And smiled.

Not quite ready. But closer.

So much closer.

They left the ramen shop just as the sky turned a gentle dusk-gray, the streetlights flickering on one by one like sleepy fireflies. The air was cool, but not cold, the kind of temperature that made hoodie sleeves feel like armor.

Chenle shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from doing something stupid. Like reaching out.

Jeno walked beside him, matching his pace with the same quiet ease he always carried. Not rushing. Not filling the silence. Just being there.

It was infuriating how comforting that was.

They passed a row of tiny cafés and a bookstore with the lights still on. Chenle stared a little too hard at a display of handmade bookmarks, willing his heart to calm down. Jeno didn’t say anything, but he was close enough that Chenle could hear the soft rhythm of his breathing.

Then it happened.

They were approaching the crosswalk when Chenle tripped slightly on a crack in the pavement. Just a minor stumble, nothing dramatic. But before he could even register it, Jeno’s hand shot out.

Not to grab him.

Not to steady him.

Just… a soft touch. His fingers brushed Chenle’s lower back. Light. Barely there. A silent, steady I’ve got you.

And it wasn’t the pressure that got him.

It was the care.

It was the way Jeno’s hand lingered just for a second longer than necessary. Like he wasn’t just reacting. Like he wanted to touch him. Like maybe he’d wanted to for a while.

Chenle froze.

Only for a breath.

But his whole body registered it.

Jeno didn’t move away immediately. His hand rested there, gentle and quiet and warm, until Chenle turned his head slightly, eyes wide.

They looked at each other.

No jokes. No snark.

Just the hum of traffic, the glow of the streetlight, and the unspoken fact that Chenle’s heart had just somersaulted into another dimension.

“You okay?” Jeno asked softly.

“Yeah,” Chenle said. His voice cracked halfway through. “Sorry. Just… sidewalk betrayal.”

Jeno smiled, but his eyes didn’t tease. He lowered his hand slowly.

“I wasn’t trying to startle you,” he said.

“You didn’t.”

A beat passed.

“I just… noticed you were gonna fall,” Jeno added, quieter this time.

Chenle swallowed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The crosswalk light changed. They walked across together, closer than before, not quite touching.

But something had shifted.

Something small.

Something real.

Chenle didn’t know what it meant yet. But the memory of that soft touch... the easy, instinctive way Jeno reached for him... stayed like warmth beneath his skin.

When they reached the edge of campus, Jeno glanced over. “This is you, right?”

Chenle nodded.

Neither of them moved.

Then Chenle said, too fast, “Do you wanna come in for tea?”

Jeno blinked. “Tea?”

“I have like… two bags. And some crackers. Very classy. Michelin-starred hospitality.”

Jeno smiled slowly, like the idea meant more than it should have.

“Another time,” he said gently. “But thank you.”

Chenle tried not to look disappointed. He nodded. “Cool. Just thought I’d ask.”

Jeno stepped back once, then paused. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

Jeno tilted his head, eyes warm. “I liked tonight.”

Chenle’s chest tightened. “Me too.”

Another pause. Like something was waiting to happen.

But Jeno just smiled.

And Chenle just stood there.

And the stars came out above them like they were in on a secret neither boy had the courage to say out loud.

Jeno turned and walked away.

Chenle stood at his gate for a long time, one hand still hovering near where Jeno had touched him.

It had been nothing.

Just a small gesture.

But Chenle felt like it had changed everything.

The moment didn’t feel cinematic.

No orchestral swell. No golden backlighting. Just soft indie music from Jeno’s speaker, half a bowl of chips on the floor, and Chenle sitting in the corner of his friend’s room, heart unraveling in real time.

It had been a regular hangout. No Mark. No Jaemin. No group chat chaos. Just the two of them, trading playlists and commentary, watching dumb videos and pretending nothing was shifting underneath the surface.

But it was.

Because Chenle was hyper-aware of everything. The way Jeno sat close, not too close, but close enough that his knee brushed Chenle’s every so often. The way his laugh settled into the room like it belonged there. Like Chenle belonged there.

He wasn’t confused anymore.

He knew.

And it terrified him.

Jeno clicked into another track. Soft guitar, warm vocals. The kind of song that made your chest ache without knowing why.

“Hey,” Chenle said, and his voice cracked like static.

Jeno looked over, brows raised. “Yeah?”

“I need to say something,” Chenle said, and he barely recognized his own voice. It was quieter. Smaller. But not less honest.

Jeno turned toward him. The music faded into the background. “Okay.”

Chenle exhaled once. Then again. He didn’t look at him.

“I like you.”

It didn’t explode out of him. It landed soft. Tired. True.

“I like you,” he repeated, slower this time, “and I’ve tried every possible way not to.”

He stared at the blanket twisted in his hands. “I told myself it was just gym stuff. Just friendship. Just admiration. That I liked your laugh, your arms, your whole… existence, in the same way I like playlists or clean rebounds. But I don’t.”

He swallowed. “I like you like I want you to be the first person I see when something good happens. Or when something bad happens. I like you because you make everything feel quieter when you’re next to me, even when I’m spiraling. I like you in the way where I think about you more than I should. And not just in a dumb, dramatic way, but in a way that feels like home.”

Jeno didn’t say anything. He just listened, eyes steady. Kind. Not pushing.

“I’ve been scared,” Chenle whispered. “Because if I said it out loud, I couldn’t take it back. And if you didn’t feel the same, I thought maybe I’d lose you. And that scared me more than anything else.”

He finally looked up.

“And I know I’m a mess about this. I say things weird. I panic at the wrong times. Maybe I should’ve waited until I wasn’t shaking,” he added with a breathy laugh. “But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I just needed you to know.”

The silence that followed crackled. Not empty. Charged.

Then, softly, Jeno asked, “Are you done?”

Chenle blinked. “I think so. Unless you want a detailed breakdown of all the times I’ve nearly confessed at vending machines.”

Jeno’s lips curled, and he leaned in, not fast or sudden, just steady, until their foreheads touched. His breath was warm against Chenle’s skin.

“I’ve been waiting,” Jeno whispered.

And Chenle broke.

Not loudly. Just a quiet, invisible unspooling of everything knotted in his chest.

Jeno’s hand found his. Steady. Grounding. Real.

“This whole time,” Jeno murmured. “I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

Chenle laughed. It was small and watery. “I’m always late.”

“You’re here now,” Jeno said.

And maybe that was enough.

They didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

But Chenle leaned in, and Jeno didn’t move away. They stayed there. Forehead to forehead. Hands tangled. Hearts too loud to ignore.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, Chenle didn’t feel like a soda can about to explode.

He felt full.

He felt right.

He felt seen.

Jeno had imagined a hundred versions of it.

Chenle telling him. Not telling him. Laughing it off. Avoiding it forever. Maybe blurting it out by accident over fries. Maybe whispering it during a game of two-on-two, breathless and red-faced.

He had imagined them all.

But he hadn’t imagined this.

Chenle on the floor of his room, legs half-tucked under him, blanket bunched in his fists. The soft hum of the playlist still playing. A bowl of stale chips between them. No fanfare. No warning.

Just a quiet, cracked, “I like you.”

Jeno had gone still.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Barely breathed.

Because this was the moment. And it was real.

"I like you,” Chenle said again, slower this time. And everything in Jeno’s chest stuttered.

He listened as Chenle spoke, voice wobbling and fast, like the words were heavy and he was afraid they’d fall apart midair. About the spiraling. About the denial. About how hard it had been to face something he hadn’t known how to name.

Jeno didn’t say a word. He couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to. But because he wanted to hold onto every syllable. Every look. Every piece of truth spilling out between them.

“I’ve been scared,” Chenle said. “Because if I said it out loud, I couldn’t take it back. And if you didn’t feel the same, I thought maybe I’d lose you.”

And Jeno wanted to interrupt. He wanted to say, You never had to be scared of that. You never had to do this alone. But he stayed quiet. Let Chenle finish. Let him get all the way there.

It was the most beautiful kind of mess Jeno had ever seen.

And when Chenle finally looked at him, wide-eyed and still braced for impact, Jeno felt something soften inside his chest. Something that had been tight for so long, he hadn’t even realized it was still holding on.

So he asked, gently, “Are you done?”

Chenle blinked, thrown. “I think so. Unless you want a detailed breakdown of all the times I’ve nearly confessed at vending machines.”

Jeno almost laughed. Almost.

But instead, he leaned in. Slowly. Carefully.

Until their foreheads touched.

He closed his eyes, breathed in the space between them, and whispered, “I’ve been waiting.”

That was the truth.

He had waited.

Waited through the confusion and the distance and the awkward half-glances in crowded rooms. Waited through the umbrella walk and the ramen dinner and every time Chenle had almost said something and then didn’t.

He had waited because it was him.

Because it had always been Chenle.

He reached for his hand, not to grab, just to hold, and Chenle let him. Their fingers tangled easily, like they’d done it a thousand times before.

“This whole time,” Jeno murmured. “I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

Chenle laughed, watery and real. “I’m always late.”

“You’re here now.”

Jeno didn’t need anything else.

Not a kiss. Not a label. Not even clarity.

Just this.

Just Chenle.

Leaning into him like gravity didn’t matter, like the floor wasn’t cold, like maybe the whole world had been waiting too.

When Chenle woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t in his bed.

The second thing was that he wasn’t panicking about it.

The third was that he was warm. Really warm. Not just blanket-warm, but hoodie-warm. And not just any hoodie.

Jeno’s.

The sleeves were too long, the collar stretched from where he must’ve tugged it in his sleep. It smelled like detergent and skin and something distinctly Jeno. And instead of making him feel overwhelmed or self-conscious or spiraly, it just felt… nice.

Chenle blinked against the soft light coming through the curtains. The apartment was quiet except for faint clinking sounds from the kitchen.

He sat up slowly, blanket pooling at his waist, heart still beat-skipping from memory.

He’d told Jeno.

Actually told him.

And Jeno hadn’t run. He’d leaned in. Pressed their foreheads together like he wanted to be close. Like he had been waiting.

It still didn’t feel entirely real.

A soft clatter came from the kitchen. Chenle peeked over the edge of the couch.

Jeno was barefoot, in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, hair messy in the way that made him unfairly soft. He was focused on pouring hot water over two mugs of tea, movements unhurried.

Chenle cleared his throat.

Jeno looked up, and his whole face softened. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Chenle said, voice rough with sleep.

“You hungry?”

Chenle nodded. “Starving.”

Jeno gestured to the counter. “Toast and eggs okay? I don’t really do pancakes unless you want a fire hazard.”

Chenle slid off the couch, still wrapped in the hoodie like a blanket burrito. “You had me at toast.”

He padded over, socks slipping slightly on the tile. The kitchen smelled like black tea and scrambled eggs, and somehow, the air between them still felt full, not heavy, but charged.

Not awkward. Just aware.

“Nice hoodie,” Jeno said, glancing over.

Chenle looked down, tugged at the sleeve. “It was on the chair. I assumed that meant it was fair game.”

“It was,” Jeno said easily. “It looks good on you.”

Chenle tried not to smile. Failed.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, seated at the counter. No music. No commentary. Just clinking forks and shared glances and something steady growing between the silence.

Eventually, Chenle cleared his throat. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

Jeno didn’t look up immediately. He finished chewing, sipped his tea, then met Chenle’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “We probably should.”

Chenle felt his stomach twist, and it had nothing to do with the eggs.

“I meant everything I said last night,” he added quickly. “I didn’t just say it because it was late or the music was dramatic. I really… I really like you. Still.”

Jeno leaned his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on his hand. “I know.”

“And I’m still figuring stuff out,” Chenle added, a little breathless now. “Like where I fall, or what I want to call it, or how to deal with the fact that you look unfairly good in the morning.”

Jeno smiled at that.

“But I want this,” Chenle said, softer now. “I want you.”

There was a pause, not hesitation, just weight. Then Jeno said, “That’s enough for me.”

Chenle blinked. “Really?”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” Jeno said. “I just want to be beside you while you do.”

Chenle stared at him. And then, quietly, “So… are we dating?”

Jeno shrugged one shoulder, but his smile said more than his words. “Do you want us to be?”

Chenle looked down at the hoodie he was wearing. At the plate of eggs Jeno had made him. At the mug still warm in his hands.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Then we are,” Jeno replied.

Just like that.

No fanfare. No overthinking.

Just them.

Jeno took another sip of tea. “Though, if we’re official now, I feel like I should warn you... I’m extremely competitive at Mario Kart.”

Chenle smirked. “Oh, it’s on.”

And just like that, the tension broke. It didn’t vanish, not really, but it folded into something lighter. Something comfortable.

Something like love, maybe. Or the beginning of it.

Chenle took another bite of toast, let the quiet settle around them again. This time, it wasn’t charged. It was peaceful.

Warm.

Safe.

His heart was still beating fast, but not from fear.

From being here.

From being seen.

The afternoon light spilled lazily through the curtains, casting golden patches across the living room where they’d been battling it out on Mario Kart for hours. Controllers tossed aside, their faces flushed with laughter and competitive teasing, the air still buzzed with the electric mix of adrenaline and something softer, something unspoken.

Chenle flopped back onto the couch, breathless, cheeks warm. “I swear, you’re cheating. No way you’re that good.”

Jeno grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief but also something else, something tender. “No cheating. Just practice.”

Chenle scooted closer, the space between them shrinking until it felt like the air was too thick to breathe through. His voice dropped to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “Jeno…”

Jeno’s heart hammered. He met Chenle’s gaze, searching. The world seemed to narrow until it was just the two of them, two messy, sappy messes caught in this moment of pure longing.

Without thinking, without any plan or script, Chenle reached out. His hand trembled slightly as it brushed a loose strand of Jeno’s hair behind his ear, fingers lingering on his cheek.

“Can I?” Chenle whispered.

Jeno swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. “Yes.”

Time slowed.

Chenle leaned in, slow and unsteady, like they were both afraid this moment might shatter if they rushed it. Their lips met, soft and shy at first, a tender brush of warmth that sent shivers down Jeno’s spine.

Then, a little deeper, a little more certain, messy, sweet, full of all the nervous energy and unspoken feelings that had been building for so long. Their hands found each other, fingers tangling, hearts pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, eyes shining with a mixture of disbelief and happiness.

Chenle grinned sheepishly. “So… that was kinda amazing.”

Jeno laughed softly, leaning his forehead against Chenle’s. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

And in that perfect, sappy, heartwarming mess of a first kiss, they knew everything was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Chenle had never been afraid of attention. He had, on several occasions, been accused of thriving under it. He liked applause, neon signs, and being right at least seventy percent of the time. But this? This was different.

This was the kind of attention that could ruin him.

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, hoodie strings uneven, hair damp from a stress shower, and phone screen set to the lowest brightness like he was preparing to commit a crime. Which, arguably, he was.

The crime: soft launching his relationship.

The victim: his remaining sanity.

He scrolled through his photo library with the intensity of someone sifting through a conspiracy board. There were a few good shots. Some from the gym. A couple of blurry candids. A photo of Jeno’s hand steadying a weight bar. That one made his lungs stop working for half a second.

Chenle paused.

Maybe it didn’t have to be dramatic. Just a suggestion. A whisper. An acknowledgment for the people paying too much attention without giving them the satisfaction of confirmation.

He posted the hand photo to his story. Just the grip on the weight. The hint of a familiar hoodie sleeve. Captioned it simply:

spotter privileges 🔒💪

Then he dropped his phone and screamed into a pillow.

It took eight minutes for the group chat to combust.

[Jaemin 👑]: wow. soft launch with vein content. bold choice.

[Haechan 🔥]: WHOSE HAND IS THAT

[Jisung 🐣]: i know that wrist. that is jeno’s wrist.

[Renjun 🧠]: he could’ve just said “i’m emotionally compromised.” but sure. this works.

[Mark 🦁]: i told you not to post during a panic spiral. you never listen.

Chenle muted the chat and lay flat on his bed, face covered, spirit hovering somewhere near the ceiling.

He regretted everything.

And also nothing.

Two hours later, he was seated across from Jeno at the usual café. He sipped his drink with extreme caution and avoided direct eye contact. Jeno looked suspiciously serene.

“So,” Jeno said, tone light, “I’m on your Instagram now?”

Chenle blinked too fast. “It’s not like that.”

“No?”

“It was aesthetic. You looked like a motivational quote about upper body strength. I was respecting the artistry.”

Jeno’s mouth twitched. “You could’ve tagged me.”

Chenle stared at his straw like it had personally betrayed him. “Would that have been better or worse?”

Jeno leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “I don’t mind. But you don’t have to post anything if you’re not ready.”

Chenle risked a glance at his face. Jeno looked steady as ever, quiet and warm in a way that made Chenle feel completely unprepared to be perceived.

“I wanted to,” Chenle said finally. “I just didn’t know how to not spiral about it.”

Jeno nodded once. “That’s fair.”

He reached across the table, not for a handhold, just to lightly tap Chenle’s fingers.

“I like being seen with you,” he said. “Whatever pace you want, I’m good with it.”

Chenle swallowed hard. “Why are you so nice?”

“I think you just scare easy.”

“That is not untrue.”

Jeno smiled again, then went back to sipping his drink like he hadn’t just said something that made Chenle’s ribcage feel too small.

Later that week, their friend group had a late lunch off campus. A loud table. Shared dishes. Too many sodas. The usual.

Chenle sat beside Jeno, trying to act normal, which was made significantly harder by the fact that Jeno’s knee kept brushing his under the table.

It wasn’t deliberate. Probably.

Maybe.

Jaemin watched him over the rim of his drink. “So,” he said, casual in the least casual way possible, “how’s gym life treating you these days, Chenle?”

“Fine,” Chenle said.

“Still working out with the crew?”

Chenle nodded.

“Any… new additions?”

Chenle pressed his lips together. “Do you need something?”

“Just making conversation.”

Haechan leaned in, eyes gleaming. “We support your fitness journey. Your emotional gains. Your new… lifting dynamics.”

Jisung chimed in, “I like this phase for you. Your aura is softer now.”

“I will walk into traffic,” Chenle said.

Jeno said nothing, which somehow made it worse. He just sat there with his usual calm expression, sipping his drink like someone completely immune to external chaos.

It wasn’t fair.

He leaned closer for a moment, voice low. “You okay?”

Chenle nodded without looking at him. “Barely.”

“Let me know if you need an exit strategy.”

“Too late. I’m already spiraling in public.”

Jeno hummed like that wasn’t surprising at all.

That night, Chenle was doom-scrolling in bed when he saw Jeno’s story.

A photo. Warm tones. Two bowls of ramen, side by side. A hoodie sleeve visible at the edge of the frame. No tag. Just one caption:

my favorite recovery meal 🫶

Chenle stared at it until his phone dimmed automatically.

He blinked once.

Then messaged:

[Chenle 🐬]: you’re dangerous.

[Jeno 💪]: you started it.

Chenle smiled at his phone like an idiot.

Being seen was scary. But being seen by Jeno?

That felt a lot like safety.

It wasn’t planned.

That was the first lie Chenle told himself.

He had definitely not thrown his hoodie and toothbrush into his backpack just in case. And he had absolutely not picked a shirt that Jeno once said looked good on him. That would be weird. Unhinged, even.

He was simply going to Jeno’s dorm to hang out. Normal boyfriend activities. Normal pacing. No spiraling. Definitely no accidental intimacy.

By the time he was sitting cross-legged on Jeno’s floor, sharing a bowl of chips and losing dramatically at Mario Kart, he was ninety percent sure he could survive the night without emotionally combusting.

And then Jeno yawned.

Not a performative yawn. Not a fake I’m-so-sleepy-let’s-cuddle yawn.

A real one. Honest. Soft.

“You tired?” Chenle asked, tone casual, heart absolutely not casual.

Jeno shrugged. “A little. You don’t have to stay if—”

“I can crash here,” Chenle blurted. “If that’s okay. I brought stuff. Not because I planned it. Just… you know. Spontaneous toothbrush energy.”

Jeno’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

And just like that, the night changed shape.

Jeno’s room was small. Clean. The kind of space that felt lived in but not messy. The bed wasn’t big. Definitely not designed for two emotionally complicated boys to lie in it without incident.

But here they were.

Jeno handed him a blanket. “You can take the left side.”

Chenle nodded. “That’s the better side. Statistically.”

They changed in awkward silence. Not total silence, though. Because Chenle managed to knock over a cup with his elbow and mutter something about gravity being unfair. Jeno laughed. Softly. The kind of laugh that slipped under Chenle’s skin without asking permission.

Eventually, they both climbed into bed. Shoulders stiff. Arms close. Legs carefully positioned with about ten centimeters of respectful distance.

Chenle stared at the ceiling like it held the answer to all human emotion.

Jeno clicked off the light. “You good?”

“Always,” Chenle replied. “Except when I’m conscious.”

The room fell into quiet.

Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either. Just… waiting.

The kind of silence that buzzed with everything unspoken.

Chenle turned his head.

Jeno was already looking at him.

Neither of them moved.

Chenle’s heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat.

He wasn’t scared of the kiss. Not really. He was scared of what it meant. Of what it would feel like to want something and get it. Of not knowing what came next.

Jeno’s voice was quiet. “Can I?”

Chenle nodded.

Jeno leaned in slowly. No rush. No pressure.

Just warmth. Just honesty.

Their lips met, soft and tentative. The kind of kiss that didn’t try to prove anything. The kind that simply said, I’m here. I want this too.

It was barely more than a brush. But it still rewrote something inside him.

Chenle’s hand found the edge of Jeno’s hoodie. Just enough to anchor himself. Jeno kissed him again. A little longer this time. A little more certain.

Then he pulled back, barely.

Chenle whispered, “Okay.”

Jeno smiled. “Okay.”

They stayed like that. Not touching more. Not rushing. Just breathing in the same space.

And somewhere between the silence and the shared air, Chenle realized he wasn’t afraid anymore.

They didn’t mean to fight.

That was the thing about first arguments. You didn’t plan them. They just crept in, quiet and sharp, finding the softest place to land.

It started with a canceled plan.

“Sorry,” Jeno said, phone in hand, eyes flicking across the screen. “My lab partner just asked for a last-minute session. We’ve got a project due.”

Chenle was sitting on the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. He looked up, blinking. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Just for a couple hours.”

Chenle nodded slowly. “Cool. No problem.”

Jeno didn’t notice the pause.

He grabbed his bag, leaned over to kiss Chenle’s cheek light, automatic, and was gone before the door even fully shut.

Chenle stared at the space where he’d been.

His stomach twisted, and he didn’t know why.

It wasn’t about the canceled hangout. Not really.

It was about the way Jeno had said “just a couple hours.” Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t something he was choosing between. Like Chenle was a line item on a schedule instead of someone sitting there waiting, already mentally queued up for Mario Kart, ramen, and pretending not to be clingy.

Which was stupid. He wasn’t clingy.

Just… adjusting.

Just trying to figure out what it meant to be wanted without asking for too much.

They didn’t talk again until the next evening.

It wasn’t awkward. Not at first. Jeno texted like normal. Asked if Chenle wanted to come over.

Chenle said yes. Then spent thirty minutes trying not to overthink his tone.

By the time he showed up, he was already tangled in his own head.

Jeno looked happy to see him. Casual. Relaxed.

And that only made it worse.

They settled into the usual rhythm. Snacks, a playlist, Jeno sitting cross-legged while Chenle sprawled dramatically across the floor like a person in emotional recovery.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Jeno tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

Chenle didn’t look at him. “Nothing.”

“You’re quieter than usual.”

“I’m just tired.”

Jeno studied him for a second. “Is this about yesterday?”

Chenle shrugged. “You were busy. It’s fine.”

“It didn’t feel fine.”

“I said it’s fine.”

Jeno waited a beat. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You kind of are.”

Chenle sat up. “Okay, well, what do you want me to say? That it sucked to get canceled on with zero warning? That I felt like a leftover plan you didn’t need anymore?”

Jeno blinked. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Chenle said, voice sharper than he intended. “That’s the problem. You didn’t mean anything. And I was still sitting there feeling like I shouldn’t even care.”

Jeno was quiet.

Not in a withdrawn way. Just thoughtful.

Then he said, “I didn’t realize it came across that way. I should’ve told you earlier. Or asked if we could reschedule. Not just assumed.”

Chenle looked down at his hands. “I didn’t want to be too much. I didn’t want to be the clingy one.”

“You’re not.”

“I kind of am.”

“You’re not,” Jeno repeated, softer now. “You’re just… figuring it out.”

Chenle’s shoulders dropped a little. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Me neither,” Jeno said. “But I want to try.”

They sat with that for a minute.

The tension didn’t disappear. But it changed. It softened. Took a different shape.

Jeno reached over and brushed Chenle’s hand with his thumb.

“I’ll do better next time,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel like an afterthought.”

Chenle exhaled slowly. “I just want to feel like I matter. Even when it’s inconvenient.”

“You do.”

Chenle looked at him. Really looked.

And this time, he believed it.

They didn’t solve it with a conversation.

Not really.

They had talked, yes. Cleared the air. Said the right things in careful tones, wrapped in honesty. But resolution wasn’t always a moment. Sometimes it was a choice you made afterward.

To show up again.

To stay.

To try.

Which was how Chenle found himself back in Jeno’s room the next day, sitting on the edge of the bed while Jeno moved around quietly behind him, folding laundry with methodical focus.

There were no chips. No playlists. No Mario Kart this time.

Just the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional thud of a drawer closing, and the way Chenle kept fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve like his hands didn’t know how to be calm yet.

“I’m not mad anymore,” he said eventually, voice quiet.

Jeno didn’t turn. “I know.”

Chenle blinked at the wall. “You’re being really gentle with me.”

“That’s not new.”

Chenle’s mouth curved slightly. “Guess not.”

Jeno sat down next to him, close but not touching. The kind of closeness that asked before it took.

“I want to be someone who shows up better,” Jeno said. “Even when I’m distracted. Even when I don’t realize I’ve messed up.”

Chenle nodded. “I want to be someone who says what I’m feeling before it turns into a volcano.”

“That’s fair.”

“I don’t want to be scared of needing you.”

Jeno looked over. “You can need me.”

“I know. I’m still learning how to believe it.”

Silence settled between them, but this time it was soft. Easy. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask to be filled.

Jeno reached out, hand finding Chenle’s on the bedspread. He didn’t squeeze. Just held it, like a placeholder for something more permanent.

Chenle stared at their joined hands for a long moment.

Then he leaned in, letting his shoulder brush Jeno’s. Not asking. Just letting himself be close.

Jeno turned his head. Barely.

Their foreheads touched, light and careful.

It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a fix.

But it was something.

Chenle closed his eyes. “This helps.”

Jeno’s voice was low. “Good.”

They stayed like that for a while. Breathing the same air. Not fixing anything with words. Just being there.

And somehow, that made it better.

“Just act natural,” Chenle muttered to himself as he stood outside Jaemin’s apartment door, holding a bottle of soda and a paper bag of snacks he definitely overthought. “You’re just attending a regular group hangout with your boyfriend and your friends who have zero chill.”

He knocked once. The door opened mid-anxiety spiral.

Jaemin grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment since birth.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t half of the power couple formerly known as gym bros.”

“Don’t do this,” Chenle said, stepping inside.

“Oh, I’m doing this.”

The living room was already full. Jisung was on the floor, surrounded by snack wrappers. Mark was trying to sync a speaker to someone’s phone. Renjun was aggressively texting. Haechan was upside down on the couch, feet in the air.

Then there was Jeno.

Leaning against the kitchen counter. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Smiling softly when he saw him.

Chenle forgot how to stand.

He made his way over like a person not experiencing internal combustion. Jeno handed him a cup and said, “You made it.”

“I always make it,” Chenle replied. “You’re the one who hides in the lab.”

“I wasn’t hiding. I was thriving.”

“In fluorescent lighting.”

“You love me anyway.”

Chenle choked on air. “That’s… a bold assumption.”

Jeno sipped his drink, unfazed. “It’s not wrong, though.”

Chenle decided to pretend he didn’t hear that.

The interrogation began halfway through the movie they weren’t watching.

“So,” Haechan said, casually loud, “how’s dating?”

Chenle blinked. “What?”

“You know. Dating. The thing you’re doing. With your boyfriend. Who is sitting right next to you.”

Jeno raised his eyebrows. “Is this the subtle line of questioning?”

“No,” Jaemin said. “That starts now.”

He grabbed a throw pillow and plopped it in his lap like a clipboard.

“Let’s begin. Question one: when exactly did you start dating? And was it before or after the ramen not-date?”

“Before,” Jeno said.

“After,” Chenle said at the same time.

They both paused.

“Interesting,” Jaemin noted. “Conflict in the timeline. Emotional unreliability. Continue.”

Renjun looked up. “This is exhausting already.”

“Let them answer,” Jisung said. “This is better than TV.”

Mark finally gave up syncing the speaker and turned to them. “Was it the umbrella walk? That was the moment, right?”

“No,” Jeno said.

“Yes,” Chenle said.

Another pause.

Jaemin scribbled something imaginary. “We’ll circle back.”

Haechan leaned in. “How’s the kissing?”

Chenle made a sound only dolphins should be capable of.

Jeno coughed. “We’re taking it slow.”

Mark blinked. “Emotionally or physically?”

“Yes,” they said together.

Everyone groaned.

Eventually, the movie resumed. People settled back into pillows and floor cushions. Popcorn was spilled. Someone started humming a soundtrack.

Chenle ended up sitting next to Jeno again, a little closer this time. Their shoulders touched.

“You okay?” Jeno asked quietly.

“I just survived a legally binding inquisition.”

“You did great.”

“I panicked and contradicted you twice.”

“Charming contradictions. I forgive you.”

Chenle rolled his eyes, but his smile was real.

Jeno nudged his arm. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah,” Chenle said, leaning into him slightly. “Actually, I am

The lights dimmed. The movie rolled on.

Around them, their friends slowly lost interest in the drama and returned to their usual chaos. But for once, Chenle didn’t mind being seen.

Not when the person beside him kept choosing to stay.

The grocery run was supposed to be low-stakes.

Just a simple trip for instant noodles, toothpaste, and maybe that cereal Jisung liked that nobody else admitted to eating. Something casual. Domestic. Entirely unimportant.

Chenle had worn mismatched socks and hadn’t even styled his hair. That was how safe he thought this errand was.

He should have known.

They were halfway through the store, arguing over which brand of seaweed tasted less like regret, when they passed the snack aisle. Chenle stopped in his tracks.

“No,” Jeno said immediately, not even slowing down.

“You didn’t even look,” Chenle said, already backtracking to the Pocky display.

“I know what’s there.”

“You don’t know this one.” Chenle picked up a pastel pink box like it was a treasure. “It’s strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s limited edition. It’s destiny.”

Jeno looked unimpressed. “We already have snacks.”

“Not emotional snacks.”

Jeno tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

Chenle held the box closer to his chest. “This one’s for healing childhood wounds.”

“We bought banana milk fifteen minutes ago.”

“That was for spiritual hydration. This is different.”

Jeno looked at the cart. Then back at him. “You know I’m weak when you use full sentences.”

“You spoil me,” Chenle said, grinning like he hadn’t just tried to weaponize food psychology. “It’s unhealthy. I should report you.”

Jeno dropped a pack of ramen into the cart and said it without even looking up.

“That’s because I love you.”

Silence.

Chenle blinked.

The Pocky box slipped out of his hands and landed on the floor with the soft crinkle of cardboard tragedy.

Jeno looked up. Froze.

“Oh,” he said, too casually. “That wasn’t… I mean… okay, technically I meant it. But I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Chenle just stared at him, eyes wide, one hand still frozen in mid-air like the ghost of snack decisions past.

“I wasn’t going to drop it in the snack aisle,” Jeno added quickly. “I was going to wait. For a moment. You know, one with better lighting and less artificial cheese smell.”

Chenle crouched down to pick up the Pocky. Slowly. Like if he moved too fast, he’d shatter. Or combust.

He stood up again and stared at the box in his hands.

“You just said it,” he mumbled. “Like. Like it was normal.”

“It is normal,” Jeno said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You love me. And I’m holding novelty strawberry biscuit sticks.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand how unhinged that is?”

Jeno stepped a little closer. “I’m not taking it back.”

Chenle made a soft wheezing noise and walked away. Not far. Just to the frozen peas. He stared at them like they had answers.

Jeno waited.

When Chenle finally turned around, he pointed the Pocky at Jeno like a sword.

“You can’t just say stuff like that without warning.”

“Noted,” Jeno said. “Next time, I’ll put up a sign.”

Chenle paced in a tiny, spiraling loop. “This was supposed to be casual. A normal errand. You were supposed to argue with me about toothpaste and judge my cereal choices.”

“I did.”

“And then you just went straight to I love you? In public? In fluorescent lighting?”

“You said I spoil you.”

“That’s not an excuse. That’s flirting with consequences.”

Jeno looked entirely too calm for someone who had just detonated Chenle’s entire brain chemistry.

“I meant it,” he said. “But I didn’t mean to say it out loud yet. It just came out. Like… feelings vomit.”

Chenle stopped walking.

He looked at Jeno.

And he laughed. Loud. Unfiltered. The kind of laugh that made other shoppers glance over and Jeno relax, just a little.

“You’re lucky I’m too emotionally stunned to run away,” Chenle said.

“I’d chase you.”

“You’d lose. I’ve got long-distance panic endurance.”

“I’d bring snacks.”

Chenle paused, still grinning. “I can’t say it back yet.”

Jeno nodded. “That’s okay.”

“But I think I’m heading in that direction.”

“I figured.”

They stood in silence for a second. Not awkward. Just full.

Then Chenle tossed the Pocky in the cart and nudged Jeno’s shoulder with his own.

“I hope you’re prepared,” he said. “Because when I say it, it’s going to be really dramatic.”

“I expect nothing less.”

“There might be fireworks. Or glitter.”

“I’ll wear goggles.”

Chenle smiled. “You’re such a disaster.”

“You love it.”

“I will,” Chenle said. “Probably way too much.”

They weren’t hosting. But somehow it still felt like their night.

Jeno had shown up first to Jaemin’s apartment with a six-pack of soda and a bag of spicy chips he claimed were “Chenle-safe.” Chenle arrived twelve minutes later with snacks he pretended were for everyone but clearly hoarded next to his seat on the couch.

Haechan walked in, took one look at them sitting too close and not noticing, and muttered, “This is a dating simulator and I didn’t sign up.”

“You’re just mad we’re beating you to the soft domestic arc,” Chenle shot back, kicking his feet up like he owned the furniture.

Mark and Jisung joined a few minutes later with card games and a Bluetooth speaker that refused to pair. Jaemin was setting up the table like he was planning a themed escape room instead of game night.

Everything was loud. Familiar. Background noise.

Until Renjun arrived.

With someone no one had seen before.

Yangyang was all smirk and charm, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, and a quiet confidence that didn’t match his complete stranger status.

“This is Yangyang,” Renjun said simply, toeing off his shoes.

No one had time to respond before Yangyang gave them a two-finger wave, dropped his bag by the door, and plopped down next to Renjun like he’d been doing it for years.

Chenle blinked. Looked at Jeno. Whispered, “Who is that?”

Jeno shook his head. “I don’t know. I think we just got Renjun’d.”

They played card games for a while. Jisung kept losing. Haechan accused Mark of hiding cards up his sleeve. Chenle made a dramatic show of winning a single round and insisted on being called King of Uno for the rest of the night.

Jeno didn’t say much. He didn’t need to.

Every time Chenle looked over, he was already there. Passing him a drink, letting their knees bump under the table, hiding a soft smile when Chenle got too competitive.

It wasn’t big. Wasn’t showy.

But it felt a lot like being chosen. Over and over.

Chenle tried not to think about how nice it felt.

Later, while Jaemin and Haechan argued over whether you could stack +4 cards (you couldn’t, Haechan was lying), Chenle ended up sprawled across the floor, head resting against Jeno’s knee.

It just happened.

No one commented.

Even when Jeno carded his fingers through Chenle’s hair without looking down, like it was normal.

Like it had always been normal.

Chenle stared at the ceiling and felt something warm in his chest that scared him a little.

It wasn’t the first time Jeno touched him like that.

But it might have been the first time it felt like home.

He closed his eyes and let it sit there, quiet and real.

Meanwhile, in the background, Yangyang was somehow winning every round of every game.

“Who is this guy?” Jaemin muttered.

Renjun just shrugged. “Someone I brought.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Still not giving you one.”

Jisung whispered to Mark, “I think they’re dating.”

Mark whispered back, “I think Renjun sold his soul.”

Yangyang, without breaking eye contact, placed a draw two card on the table and grinned. “Uno.”

By the time the night wound down, everyone was full of snacks and mildly emotionally damaged. The lights dimmed. The Bluetooth speaker finally worked. Someone queued a playlist that sounded suspiciously like one of Chenle’s.

Jeno helped clean up. Chenle followed him to the kitchen, elbows bumping as they rinsed out cups.

“You were quiet tonight,” Chenle said softly.

Jeno glanced at him. “Just watching.”

“Watching what?”

“You.”

Chenle looked down at the sponge in his hand. “Dangerous habit.”

“Feels worth it.”

The room was warm. Too small for anything loud. But not too small for the way Chenle reached for Jeno’s hand, fingers finding his without thinking.

Not a kiss.

Not a big moment.

Just steady contact in a kitchen full of crumbs and leftover laughter.

Jeno squeezed once.

Chenle held on.

It started with a text.

[Jeno 💪]: skipping gym. head feels like static. gonna nap. don’t die while i’m gone.

Which was fine. Normal. People got tired.

But then there was silence.

No replies. No check-ins. No passive-aggressive workout memes.

Which was not fine.

By hour three, Chenle had imagined six worst-case scenarios, including sudden-onset brain fog, mysterious hoodie-related viruses, and one where Jeno accidentally swallowed a protein bar whole and couldn’t breathe.

Mark told him to chill. Haechan sent a meme of a skeleton labeled “me waiting for my gym bro to text back.” Renjun offered absolutely no help and Yangyang replied “maybe he’s dead lol.”

So Chenle did what any reasonable person would do.

He grabbed three types of tea he didn’t know how to brew, a pack of throat lozenges, one of Jeno’s favorite granola bars, and a large bag of anxiety.

Then he went to Jeno’s dorm.

Jeno opened the door looking like a sad anime protagonist. Hoodie up. Eyes heavy. Blanket around his shoulders like a dramatic cape of illness.

Chenle nearly dropped the tea.

“Oh my god,” he said. “You are dying.”

“I have a cold.”

“You look like a tragic novella character.”

Jeno coughed once. “It’s a head cold.”

Chenle stepped inside. “Blink twice if you’re fading.”

“I’m not fading.”

“You skipped gym. You never skip gym.”

“I just needed rest.”

Chenle reached up and placed a hand on Jeno’s forehead. Then immediately yanked it back.

“You’re boiling. You’re a space heater. Are you hallucinating? Do you think I’m Haechan?”

Jeno leaned against the doorframe, amused despite looking like death’s understudy. “You’re being very dramatic.”

“I’m being cautious. You have exactly one immune system, and I’m invested in it.”

Jeno shuffled back toward the bed and sat down with a groan. Chenle trailed behind him, hovering like an underqualified nurse in socks.

“I brought supplies,” he said, emptying the grocery bag. “Tea. Cough drops. Snacks. Love.”

Jeno blinked. “You brought love?”

Chenle froze. “Ignore that last one.”

Jeno smirked, but then his face fell slack again. “I hate being sick.”

“I can tell. You’re being very annoying about it.”

Jeno collapsed back onto his pillow and sighed. “Stay a while?”

Chenle stared. “You’re contagious.”

“I won’t breathe on you.”

“You’re breathing right now.”

“I’ll hold it.”

Chenle threw a blanket over him and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. “Fine. But if you sneeze on me, I’m calling the authorities.”

They didn’t do much.

Jeno dozed off somewhere between Chenle rambling about Renjun’s mystery boyfriend and complaining about the unfair softness of Jeno’s pillows.

Every so often, Jeno stirred. Mumbled something half-asleep. Reached out.

Chenle stayed.

He scrolled. He handed over water. He pretended not to panic every time Jeno coughed like he was three seconds from ascending.

Eventually, Jeno opened one eye and said, voice raspy, “You’re still here.”

“You fell asleep on top of the blanket. I was trapped.”

“You like being trapped.”

“Don’t make me feel feelings. You’re gross right now.”

Jeno smiled, slow and lazy. “You’re taking care of me.”

“I’m supervising your slow demise. There’s a difference.”

“You brought three types of tea.”

“I didn’t know which one had magical healing properties.”

“Thanks,” Jeno said, eyes slipping closed again.

Chenle paused. “You’re welcome.”

Jeno’s breathing evened out.

Chenle stayed there a little longer, arms wrapped around his knees, watching the steady rise and fall of Jeno’s chest under the blanket.

He wasn’t going to say it.

He wasn’t.

But still, under his breath, barely above a whisper—

“Don’t die.”

A pause.

“I love you. Idiot.”

Jeno didn’t respond. Which meant it didn’t count.

Probably.

Jeno didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up warm.

Not the good kind of warm. The kind that made his skin feel tight and his hoodie feel like a wool curse. He blinked against the dim light in his room and tried to move, but his limbs didn’t want to cooperate.

He heard something.

A voice. Close. Muffled.

Chenle?

He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure when it was. The timeline was fuzzy. He’d been slipping in and out of sleep for hours. Maybe days. Time got weird when you were half-human, half-fever.

But the words were soft. They’d floated into his head like a dream.

“Don’t die.”

And then—

“I love you. Idiot.”

It might’ve been a hallucination.

Jeno wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t.

Three days later, he felt human again.

Less swamp monster, more person. The fever broke. His brain stopped vibrating. He could finally drink water without feeling like he’d been drop-kicked by the flu.

He texted Chenle, who responded with:

[Chenle 🐬]: you live???

[Chenle 🐬]: i thought i’d have to deliver your eulogy.

[Chenle 🐬]: was already planning the speech. it was gonna be iconic.

[Jeno 💪]: you watched me sleep for six hours and panicked every time i coughed.

[Jeno 💪]: don’t act cool now.

[Chenle 🐬]: i don’t know what you’re talking about.

[Chenle 🐬]: i was composed and elegant the entire time.

Jeno stared at the screen for a long minute before typing.

[Jeno 💪]: did you say something that night?

[Chenle 🐬]: i said many things. most of them insults.

[Jeno 💪]: no. something else.

[Chenle 🐬]: …did i threaten to unplug your fan? because you deserved that.

[Chenle 🐬]: you were snoring and i was suffering.

[Jeno 💪]: you said something.

[Chenle 🐬]: no i didn’t.

[Jeno 💪]: i think i heard you.

[Chenle 🐬]: you were hallucinating.

[Chenle 🐬]: did you see god too?

[Jeno 💪]: you said you loved me.

[Chenle 🐬]: wow. that’s wild. fever dreams, man.

[Chenle 🐬]: imagine thinking i would say something emotionally vulnerable out loud. couldn’t be me.

 

Jeno sighed. Put the phone down.

He knew what he heard. Maybe. Probably.

But Chenle was like a cat. If you stared too hard, he bolted. If you asked directly, he played dead.

So Jeno waited.

He didn’t push. Didn’t ask again.

Instead, he showed up the next day with a smoothie and said, “You like strawberry, right?”

Chenle blinked at him suspiciously. “Why are you being nice?”

“Just figured I’d return the favor.”

Chenle eyed the smoothie. Then eyed him. “This is a bribe. You’re trying to trick me into saying something.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, it’s not going to work.”

But he drank it.

And Jeno watched him.

And didn’t say anything else.

Because eventually, Chenle would say it again.

And next time, he’d be awake.

It started with a casual text.

[Chenle 🐬]: ball later?

[Chenle 🐬]: mark’s dragging everyone to the gym. come yell at him with me.

[Chenle 🐬]: bring water. and love.

Jeno showed up with both.

And regretted it almost immediately.

Not because of the basketball. He liked the gym. He liked watching Chenle trash talk Mark in Crocs. He liked the way Chenle wiped sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt like he didn’t realize he was being perceived.

No, the problem was new guy.

Sungchan.

Tall. Ridiculously tall. Face like a model. Arms like they’d been sculpted by some gentle god who also cared about core strength. Nice, too, which somehow made it worse.

He and Chenle had apparently played together once before. Just once. But that was all it had taken.

They were on the same team for two rounds, and Jeno watched… observed, really, like a scientist with emotional issues, as Sungchan called Chenle “dude” in a way that sounded suspiciously like a compliment. He high-fived him too often. Got close during plays. Shoulder-to-shoulder during breaks. Too many smiles. Too many shared inside jokes.

Jeno sat on the bleachers and drank his water like it had personally offended him.

It wasn’t like he was the jealous type. Not usually.

But Chenle was laughing. Not the polite kind, either. The full one. The one that made Jeno’s chest feel too small.

“Who’s tall guy?” Jeno asked, trying for casual.

Mark, sitting next to him, barely glanced up. “Sungchan. He’s been around. Chenle played with him in that student tournament last semester.”

“They’re close.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. Good team chemistry. Why?”

“No reason.”

Mark looked at him. Slowly. “You okay, man?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “You’re holding your water bottle like you want to fight it.”

Jeno relaxed his grip immediately.

“I’m fine.”

By the next round, Jeno had inserted himself into the game.

He didn’t say it was to keep an eye on things. He said he was just itching to play.

Chenle gave him a look that said, Really? Now?

Jeno shrugged. “Felt like it.”

They ended up on opposite teams.

Sungchan stayed with Chenle.

And Jeno decided, somewhere between tip-off and the third pass, that he did not like Sungchan’s hands. Not when they landed on Chenle’s shoulder after a shot. Not when they ruffled Chenle’s hair like they had some sort of established rapport.

He defended too hard.

Bumped too close.

Blocked two of Sungchan’s shots with more intensity than necessary.

“Easy,” Mark said after one shove that wasn’t technically a foul but might’ve broken some unspoken agreement about vibes.

“I’m relaxed,” Jeno said tightly.

“You look like you’re trying to win a divorce settlement.”

After the game, everyone grabbed water and snacks and sat in a tired, happy pile near the edge of the court. Sungchan handed Chenle a towel.

Jeno watched.

Then Chenle looked up at him.

“Good game,” he said. “Didn’t know you were in a competitive mood.”

“Wasn’t,” Jeno said.

“Right,” Chenle said slowly. “Just violently enthusiastic.”

Sungchan wandered off to talk to Mark.

Chenle stood. Walked over to Jeno and sat beside him on the bench, close but not touching.

“You good?” he asked.

Jeno stared at the court.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re mad mad.”

“I’m not.”

Chenle leaned closer. “Is this about Sungchan?”

“No.”

Chenle raised an eyebrow.

Jeno sighed. “Maybe.”

Chenle smiled, soft and obnoxious. “You jealous?”

“No.”

“You totally are.”

“I just didn’t realize you needed a new tall friend. I thought I was tall enough.”

Chenle snorted. “You think I’m flirting with Sungchan?”

Jeno didn’t answer.

“You’re the only one I let hold my water bottle,” Chenle said, nudging his leg.

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is a thing.”

Jeno finally looked at him. “I didn’t like it.”

Chenle’s grin widened. “I know. You looked like you wanted to fight gravity.”

Jeno leaned back against the wall. “He touched your shoulder.”

“We were mid-play.”

“He ruffled your hair.”

“He’s taller than me.”

“I’m tall too.”

“You’re mine,” Chenle said, quieter now.

That shut Jeno up.

Chenle leaned closer. “I get to be annoying. You don’t get to be dramatic.”

“You like it when I’m dramatic.”

“I like you when you’re kissing me.”

Jeno turned to him. “You trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

Jeno looked at him. Long and steady.

Then he reached over and ruffled Chenle’s hair with one hand.

Chenle slapped it away.

“See?” Jeno said. “Not so fun, is it?”

“I’ll tell Sungchan you’re emotionally fragile.”

“I’ll block his number.”

Chenle laughed and bumped their shoulders together.

And just like that, Jeno wasn’t mad anymore.

Not really.

Not when Chenle was right here.

Choosing him again.

Valentine’s Day on campus was a full production.

There were booths. There were balloons. Someone had dressed up like Cupid and was handing out stickers that said Shoot Your Shot. A cappella groups roamed the quad like emotional flash mobs.

Chenle hated it.

He didn’t hate love. He just hated how loud everyone was about it. Every table had someone clutching a heart-shaped letter like it contained nuclear launch codes. Someone had already proposed to their lab partner with a bouquet made entirely of lollipops. And it wasn’t even noon.

He was doing his best to stay under the radar.

That lasted until a girl stepped in front of them.

He and Jeno were walking side by side, drinks in hand, heading toward the library. Jeno had a strawberry smoothie. Chenle’s said u make my heart race in red marker. He hadn’t said it was for Valentine’s. Just “because.” But he’d looked way too smug handing it over.

The girl stopped Jeno directly.

She was holding a folded note. Pink. Decorated. Bold.

“Hi,” she said, cheeks flushed. “You’re Jeno, right?”

Jeno blinked. “Uh. Yeah.”

“I’ve seen you around. In the gym. And in bio. And… um, anyway.” She held out the note. “I know this is random. But I think you’re really cool. And cute. And if you’re not already seeing anyone, maybe we could get coffee sometime?”

Chenle went absolutely still.

Jeno didn’t take the note.

He glanced at Chenle. Then back at her. Then at Chenle again.

Chenle didn’t say anything. He didn’t look mad. Or surprised. Just… blank. His expression was unreadable, which somehow made it worse.

Jeno cleared his throat.

“I’m really flattered,” he said, voice gentle. “But I’m actually seeing someone.”

The girl’s face dropped.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s not super public. But… yeah. Sorry.”

She nodded quickly. Backpedaled. Said something polite and then disappeared into the crowd like a puff of glitter-scented embarrassment.

Jeno turned to Chenle.

Chenle raised his drink and took a long, slow sip.

They walked in silence for a few steps.

Then Chenle said, “She had good taste.”

“Chenle—”

“It’s fine,” Chenle said, shrugging. “She didn’t know.”

“I didn’t like that it happened in front of you.”

“It’s not like you did anything wrong.”

Jeno stopped walking. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Your voice does that thing when you’re not mad but you’re absolutely mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Chenle repeated. “I’m… aware.”

Jeno tilted his head.

Chenle crossed his arms. “You’re not exactly hard to fall for.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“It’s a little your fault.”

“I told her no.”

“I saw you tell her no.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” Chenle said. “I’m just processing the part where I’m dating someone who gets confessed to in daylight with handmade stationery.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“And yet it happened.”

Jeno stared at him.

Chenle sighed. “Look. I know you picked me. I do. It’s just… weird. Watching someone else offer something I already have.”

Jeno stepped closer. “Would it help if I held your hand right now in front of everyone?”

Chenle blinked. “Why?”

“To make it obvious. So no one else forgets.”

Chenle hesitated. “Is this about what happened earlier?”

Jeno shook his head. “No. It’s about you.”

Chenle swallowed.

Then, slowly, Jeno reached down and slid his fingers between Chenle’s.

Their hands locked easily. Like it wasn’t new.

Like it belonged.

Jeno looked around once. Then back at him. “There. Now it’s public.”

Chenle stared at their hands.

Then up at Jeno.

“You’re really annoying.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Chenle muttered. “Unfortunately.”

Jeno smiled.

And didn’t let go.

It started like a lot of their nights did now. Too many blankets, half a movie playing, and Chenle lying on Jeno’s chest like he belonged there. Because he did. Because they’d stopped pretending he didn’t weeks ago.

The lights were low. His fingers were playing absently with the hem of Jeno’s shirt. Jeno’s hand was resting on the back of Chenle’s neck. Warm. Steady.

The movie was forgotten long before they kissed.

And once they started, really started, they didn’t stop.

Not right away.

Jeno’s mouth was on his jaw. Then his throat. Chenle tilted his head to give him more room and let out the kind of sound that made Jeno’s hands shake.

Chenle’s legs slid over Jeno’s lap. Their shirts tangled. Their breaths got louder than the TV.

And then it was just noise. Skin on skin. Gasped laughter. Clothing peeled back like they’d been holding their breath for months. Because they had.

Jeno’s hands found Chenle’s waist, thumbs grazing bare skin. Chenle’s lips were at his collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to leave a mark.

And then—

Jeno froze.

Right in the middle of it.

Not because it wasn’t good.

Because it was too good.

Because he realized he didn’t ask.

“Wait,” he said, pulling back, voice thick. “We should stop.”

Chenle blinked up at him, dazed, mouth red, eyes wide. “What?”

“I didn’t ask. I just… I kept going because you were letting me.”

Chenle stared at him.

Jeno sat back on his heels, face flushed, hands in his hair. “I’m sorry. That’s not okay. I should’ve asked. You didn’t say anything, and I just… assumed.”

“Jeno—”

“No, I mean it. I’m not okay with just assuming. You were responding, but I didn’t check. I didn’t ask. And I don’t want to do anything unless you—”

“Hey.”

Chenle was sitting up now too, shirt pushed halfway up, hair an actual mess, and somehow still managing to look devastating and composed all at once.

“Stop spiraling.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Chenle said, crawling closer and settling into Jeno’s lap like gravity made the decision. “And it’s sweet. It really is. You’re careful. That’s one of the first things I liked about you.”

He kissed the corner of Jeno’s mouth. Not deep. Just there.

“But listen to me.”

Jeno met his eyes.

“I will always tell you no if I don’t want something.”

Chenle’s voice was steady now. Sure.

“I want you to kiss me when you want to. Touch me when you want to. Be close to me whenever you feel it. You don’t need to ask every time. You’re my boyfriend. You have permanent privileges.”

Jeno blinked.

Chenle smirked. “PDA is case by case. Hand-holding, yes. Stealing my hoodie in public, yes. Taking off my shirt in front of Renjun? You die.”

“Noted,” Jeno said, voice still cautious.

“As for the rest?”

Chenle leaned in, lips brushing Jeno’s ear.

“Default is yes. Always yes. Unless I say no.”

Jeno’s exhale was shaky.

“You’re sure?”

Chenle pulled back just enough to look at him.

“You think I don’t want you? After everything? You think I’ve been waiting for months just to chicken out at the last minute?”

“I just didn’t want to rush you.”

“You’re not rushing me. I’m already there.”

Jeno’s eyes flicked to his lips.

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “You gonna kiss me or what?”

And then it wasn’t gentle.

It was full-throttle, no-going-back kissing. Mouths open. Teeth. Tongues. Hands under shirts. Under skin.

Jeno rolled them onto the mattress, one knee between Chenle’s thighs. Chenle gasped against his mouth, clutching at his back, pulling him closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough.

Because he couldn’t.

He wanted everything. Every mark. Every sound.

Jeno’s mouth dragged down his chest. Chenle arched into it, breath catching.

“You’re a menace,” Jeno whispered.

“You love it.”

“I do.”

And this time, there was no stopping.

Because they were both sure.

And it had never been a question.

Something had changed.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not to strangers, at least. But to anyone who’d been around Jeno and Chenle for more than five minutes? It was undeniable.

Jeno was touching Chenle. Casually. Constantly.

A hand on the small of his back while walking. A thumb brushing over his knuckles while they sat on the couch. A hoodie sleeve tugged to pull him closer when they stood in line for drinks.

Chenle let it happen.

Worse… he leaned into it.

Haechan noticed first. Naturally.

“Did Jeno just tuck Chenle’s hair behind his ear?” he asked during lunch, holding his chopsticks mid-air like the world had glitched.

“No,” Jaemin said. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Jisung looked up. “He definitely did.”

Mark blinked slowly. “I thought I imagined that.”

Renjun didn’t even look up from his phone. “They’ve been like this for days.”

“Okay, but—” Haechan gestured wildly, “—what changed? They were barely touching in public before. Now it’s full hand-holding, forehead-kissing, domestic chaos.”

Chenle, who had been sipping from Jeno’s smoothie without asking, shrugged. “We got tired of pretending we’re not obsessed with each other.”

Jeno nodded like that was the most reasonable explanation in the world. “It was overdue.”

Jaemin leaned across the table. “I just want to be clear. You two are now doing PDA. Like… officially.”

“Not excessively,” Chenle said. “Just normal boyfriend things.”

“You’re sitting in his lap.”

“It’s a small bench.”

“It’s a cafeteria table.”

“There’s limited space.”

“There’s an empty chair next to you.”

Jeno took another bite of Chenle’s sandwich. “I offered. He said no.”

Jaemin turned to Mark. “Are we witnessing a soft launch part two?”

Mark shook his head. “This is a hard launch with glitter.”

Later that day, during game night at Jaemin’s, it escalated.

Not on purpose.

Just… proximity. Muscle memory. Months of denial finally catching up.

Chenle sat on the floor, back against the couch. Jeno slid in behind him without thinking, legs on either side, arms draping naturally over Chenle’s shoulders like he’d done it a hundred times.

He started absently playing with the drawstrings of Chenle’s hoodie.

Chenle leaned back into him without blinking.

Jaemin paused mid-card shuffle. “What is happening right now.”

“Nothing,” Jeno said, voice even.

“You’re spooning. On my carpet.”

Chenle tilted his head to the side. “We’re multitasking.”

“This isn’t a bed. This is Uno.”

Haechan crossed his arms. “Is this revenge for all the years we teased you?”

“No,” Jeno said. “But it’s a bonus.”

Yangyang leaned into Renjun. “They’re like cats now. Just climbing on each other without warning.”

Jisung made a face. “Wait. Do they… do they cuddle like this all the time?”

Chenle didn’t answer. He was too busy stealing another kiss behind the couch pillow when no one was looking.

Except they were all looking.

And dying.

At the end of the night, as Jeno and Chenle slipped on their jackets, Jaemin stood by the door with the energy of someone trying not to beg.

“Okay. I can’t believe I’m saying this but please go back to being emotionally repressed.”

Chenle grinned. “No can do.”

“I liked you better when you were pining in silence.”

“That’s your problem.”

“I’m going to start charging you for hand-holding tax.”

Jeno smiled, pulling Chenle close by the wrist. “Worth it.”

Haechan groaned.

Jisung hid behind a couch cushion.

Renjun muttered something about emotional damage.

And the door closed behind them.

Outside, in the cool night air, Chenle looped their fingers together.

“You know you’re making people insane, right?”

“Only the ones who deserve it.”

“Do I deserve it?”

Jeno stopped walking.

Looked at him.

“You deserve all of it.”

Chenle blinked.

Then smiled. Quiet. Sure.

He didn’t say I love you yet.

But it was in his eyes.

And Jeno was already holding it.

The message came at 9:02 a.m.

[Mom ❤️]: Landing 3pm. Let’s get dinner tonight! I want to see your face in person instead of on that grainy video call where your forehead was blurry.

[Chenle 🐬]: Totally normal message. Zero threat level.

[Chenle 🐬]: Absolutely not spiraling.

He was already spiraling.

“You’re spiraling,” Jaemin said flatly, watching Chenle rearrange his closet for the third time that morning.

“I’m curating an outfit. There’s a difference.”

“You’re dressing for a final boss battle.”

“She’s not a boss. She’s… just my mom.”

“Your mom once guessed I was lying just from how I held my chopsticks.”

“She has strong intuition.”

“She has laser vision.”

Chenle turned, holding up two options. “Is the gray sweater too ‘I’m trying to look like I didn’t try,’ or just enough?”

Jaemin didn’t even blink. “You’re dressing like you’re introducing your soulmate. Is Jeno going?”

“I mean,” Chenle muttered, “if he wants to.”

Jaemin grinned. “So, yes.”

Jeno did want to go.

Chenle regretted telling him that immediately.

Because Jeno showed up in a button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled neatly and his hair a little too perfect, and Chenle’s brain turned into static.

“You look… fine,” Chenle said.

Jeno tilted his head. “You okay?”

“Fine. Normal. Healthy. Not afraid of my mom at all.”

“You’re wearing a cardigan.”

“She makes me feel twelve.”

They met at a quiet restaurant near campus. Private booth. Soft lighting. The kind of place Chenle knew his mom would approve of because it didn’t involve QR code menus.

Mrs. Zhong arrived exactly on time.

She was radiant. Poised. The kind of woman who walked into a room and made everyone else feel underdressed.

She hugged Chenle lightly, inspected his face for signs of stress, then turned to Jeno with the full weight of maternal scrutiny.

“You must be Jeno.”

Jeno offered a small bow. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Zhong looked him up and down once. Not unkindly. Just… thoroughly.

Then she nodded. “You have kind eyes. That’s good.”

Chenle sat down so fast he nearly knocked over the teapot.

Dinner started with small talk.

Mrs. Zhong asked Jeno about his studies. His family. Whether he believed in keeping receipts. She was charming. Disarming. Sharp in the way only someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of her son’s personality could be.

“You’re on the same team at the gym, yes?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who benches more?”

Jeno paused. “Officially? Me. But Chenle is more competitive.”

“He always has been,” she said, sipping her tea. “Once bit a kid over a toy car.”

“Mom.”

“He deserved it.”

Jeno’s eyes crinkled. “That tracks.”

Chenle looked like he wanted to slide under the table.

It went better than expected.

Mrs. Zhong didn’t interrogate. She didn’t press. But she watched. Closely.

How Jeno handed Chenle the teacup without looking. How Chenle leaned into his side without realizing. How they both smiled, lopsided and real, when the other made a dumb joke.

She watched it all.

And when the bill came, she reached for it.

Jeno beat her to it. “Let me.”

“You’re a guest.”

“You’re Chenle’s family. I want to.”

Mrs. Zhong hesitated. Then nodded once. “Very well.”

She stood. Straightened her coat. Looked at Jeno again.

“You’re steady,” she said. “That’s good.”

Chenle opened his mouth to deflect. His mom kissed his cheek before he could.

“Call me later,” she said. Then, to Jeno, “Walk him home.”

“Of course,” Jeno said.

She walked off like a queen leaving court.

Chenle exhaled like he’d survived a gauntlet.

Later, as they reached Chenle’s dorm, Jeno nudged his shoulder gently.

“Your mom’s kind of scary.”

“She liked you.”

“She didn’t say that.”

“She paid you a compliment. That’s basically a gold medal.”

Jeno chuckled. “She’s very sharp.”

“She likes people who mean what they say.”

Jeno looked at him. “I do.”

“I know.”

And maybe it wasn’t the moment. Not quite.

But it was close.

Because Chenle felt something settle in his chest, like permission. Like a door unlocking.

He didn’t say it yet.

But soon.

Very soon.

Jeno didn’t want a party.

Not that he ever did. He didn’t like being the center of attention, didn’t care about cake, and had a complicated relationship with birthdays in general. But this year, the group insisted at least on dinner. Nothing dramatic. Just hotpot, too many side dishes, and Haechan attempting to make a toast that turned into an extended roast.

Chenle was quiet the whole night.

Not distant. Not sulking. Just… watching.

Watching the way Jeno smiled at everyone’s teasing. The way he leaned back in his seat with his arm slung lazily across the back of Chenle’s chair. The way he laughed with his whole body when Jisung nearly lit his sleeve on fire trying to light the birthday candles.

Chenle watched it all.

And felt like he was going to combust.

Later, after the noise faded and the group splintered off into dorms and train rides and after-dinner snack plans, Chenle and Jeno ended up back at Jeno’s place.

The lights were low. The air was warm. There was still leftover hotpot smell in Jeno’s hoodie, which Chenle had stolen again. Jeno didn’t bother asking for it back.

They didn’t say much.

Just lay on the bed, side by side, facing the ceiling like it held answers.

“Did you have a good day?” Chenle asked softly.

Jeno nodded. “Yeah. Really good.”

“You’re not lying to make me feel better?”

“No. I mean it.”

Chenle turned his head. “Because you’re really easy to celebrate.”

Jeno smiled. “You make it easy.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

They were quiet again.

Chenle looked back at the ceiling.

Then, before he could stop himself—

“You know I wanted to do something more, right?”

Jeno glanced at him. “You brought me breakfast. You gave me a playlist. You organized dinner. What more is there?”

“I don’t know,” Chenle mumbled. “Something just… mine.”

Jeno tilted his head. “You want me to yourself?”

“No,” Chenle said. “I already have you.”

A pause.

“Just felt like there was something I didn’t give you. That I was supposed to.”

Jeno’s gaze softened. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know.”

Jeno reached over and threaded their fingers together.

“You’re here. That’s enough.”

Chenle stared at their hands. At the way Jeno’s thumb rubbed absent circles on the back of his.

It would be so easy to say it.

Right now. Just say it.

I love you.

But something in him hesitated.

Not out of fear. Not this time.

Just… wanting to say it right.

So instead, Chenle squeezed his hand.

Then leaned over and kissed his cheek. Gentle. Lingering.

And whispered, “Happy birthday.”

They only went to the store to get soda and instant ramen.

That was the whole list. Simple. Innocent.

But no one should have trusted Chenle with a shopping cart or his own thoughts, because somewhere between frozen dumplings and snack aisle nostalgia, he started spiraling again.

Not the bad kind of spiraling.

The my-boyfriend-is-stupidly-attractive-and-possibly-perfect kind of spiraling.

Jeno was ahead of him, hoodie sleeves pushed up, casually scanning shelves like he wasn’t physically illegal. He reached for a box on the top shelf, full stretch, forearm flex, soft grunt.

Chenle was behind him. Watching. Brain short-circuiting.

And just like that, it happened.

Right there, mid-aisle, next to the sour candies and discount seaweed.

“God, I love you. You and your stupid reach.”

Silence.

Pure, unfiltered, grocery store silence.

Jeno turned around slowly.

Chenle’s eyes widened.

“I mean—” he started.

Jeno blinked. “What did you just say?”

Chenle abandoned the cart.

“Nope. No. Nothing. I said you have a stupid peach. Which is worse, honestly.”

“You said reach.”

Chenle pointed at the nearest snack. “Grab the Pocky.”

Jeno didn’t move. “Did you just confess your love to me in front of the Pocky display again?”

“Technically this is a different Pocky display.”

Jeno took a slow step forward.

Chenle took one back. “This is a trap.”

“You said it.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Do you want to take it back?”

Chenle paused. Chest rising and falling like he’d just run a full sprint through a maze of his own feelings.

“…No.”

Jeno’s expression softened. “Then say it again.”

“I already said it. You heard it.”

“I want to hear it when you’re not panicking.”

Chenle groaned. “You don’t get to be calm about this.”

“I do. Because I knew you loved me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I just needed you to say it.”

Chenle looked at him for a long moment. Then exhaled like something inside him finally, finally let go.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I love you.”

Jeno smiled.

“I love you when you’re being annoying, and when you steal all the blankets, and when you send me six TikToks in a row with no context—”

Jeno stepped closer.

“—and when you’re being patient, and steady, and unreasonably hot while reaching for cereal.”

Jeno kissed him.

Not deeply. Not dramatically.

Just soft. Sure.

Chenle kissed him back like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since the first time Jeno stole his smoothie and called it sharing.

They pulled back only when a middle-aged woman turned the corner and nearly ran her cart into a can display.

Jeno coughed. “We should move.”

Chenle cleared his throat. “Right. Yeah. Before I confess to you again in front of the Pocky.”

Jeno grabbed a box, tossed it into the cart, and laced their fingers together like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Too late,” he said. “This aisle already has lore.”

It was a Sunday.

Late morning. Early afternoon. One of those liminal hours that existed mostly for stretching, yawning, and pretending the world didn’t need anything urgent.

The window was cracked open. A soft breeze stirred the edges of a hoodie on the back of a chair. The playlist was low, something mellow, something with guitars and lazy harmonies. The room smelled faintly of clean laundry and leftover cinnamon rolls.

Chenle was still in bed.

Not because he was asleep. Just because Jeno was there, arms wrapped around him, chest warm against his back, breath slow and steady in that way that made it impossible to leave.

“You’re awake,” Jeno murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“No,” Chenle lied, eyes closed.

“Liar.”

“Shut up.”

Jeno chuckled. He pressed a kiss to the back of Chenle’s neck. “Hungry?”

“No. I’m thriving on love and proximity.”

Another kiss. This time behind his ear.

“Do you want coffee?”

“Not if I have to move.”

Jeno shifted, arm tightening around him. “Then we stay here.”

They did.

For a long time.

Just stayed. Legs tangled under the blankets, noses tucked into collarbones, words whispered without needing to mean anything except I’m here and so are you.

Eventually, Chenle rolled over to face him.

Jeno blinked sleepily. “Hi.”

Chenle smiled. “You look like a pillow commercial.”

“Do I?”

“All calm and soft and disgustingly handsome.”

Jeno grinned. “You love it.”

“I do,” Chenle said, so easily now it didn’t even startle him.

Then, quieter, “I really do.”

Jeno brushed a strand of hair from his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. A stupid, ridiculous, unfair amount.”

Jeno leaned in. Kissed him slow.

“You know what’s even worse?” Chenle murmured against his mouth. “It’s still not enough.”

Jeno kissed him again, hand sliding to the back of his neck. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Later, when they did leave the apartment, messy-haired, fingers intertwined, Chenle still in Jeno’s hoodie, they ran into Jaemin outside the café.

Jaemin stared.

“You guys are glowing.”

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I feel like I’ve been hit with a heart-shaped frying pan.”

Jeno just shrugged. “That’s love.”

Jaemin turned away dramatically. “Too early for this. I need coffee and a lie-down.”

But he was smiling.

Everyone smiled now.

Because it was obvious.

Undeniable.

They were in love.

And this time, no one was pretending otherwise.