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Renjun had never done Chenle wrong, and maybe that was part of the problem.
Chenle was, for lack of a better descriptor, unserious -- and whether that came off as charming or annoying was entirely up to the other person. Just like Renjun, he was an only child, growing up doted on and loved and spoiled, and perhaps that should’ve afforded him the space to think and reflect and learn about himself… yet instead, all that attention did for him was make him feel suffocated.
He wasn’t a particularly empathetic person -- not that he was rude or uncaring, more that he fumbled over how to express himself and how to emotionally respond to others. Naturally, he had to compensate for that somehow.
He was funny. He was sarcastic. He was mischievous. He was annoying. He was dramatic, not because he was sensitive, but because he wanted a hyperbolic effect for his audience. He was a performer, and that was perfectly okay, because none of his friends got upset with him for shying away from heavy conversations as long as he was able to make them laugh by cracking a joke.
Renjun was his complement. Renjun was everything Chenle could’ve been if Chenle didn’t find the doting and the loving to be suffocating.
Renjun, was… exceptionally good at reading the room. He instinctively knew the right level of seriousness for any situation, he always had the correct vocabulary on hand for every conversation, and he could predict what others wanted him to say even before they finished their sentence.
Unlike Chenle, he thought before he spoke, because he was analyzing what the other person would be feeling right at that moment. He was sensitive, not in a way that meant he cried easily, but in a way that implied he was always speaking the truth whenever he said, I understand how you feel.
Maybe that’s why he paired so well with Chenle. Together, they were serious and unserious. Emotionally intelligent and emotionally stunted. “Most Likely to Succeed” and “Most Likely to Be Late to Their Own Wedding”. Living as someone like Renjun must’ve been mentally exhausting, and Chenle being Chenle had none of that burden at all, so he didn’t mind Renjun sharing some of it with him even if Chenle himself didn’t know what to do with it in the first place.
In return, Renjun was Chenle’s rock -- something to hold him down and prevent him from spiraling too far into delinquency or ruining good opportunities before they even presented themselves. He was the one that always let Chenle copy from his notes because Chenle’s own were half-assed chicken scratch. He was the one that kicked Chenle’s ass into actually studying that one time Chenle had to do summer school since he’d failed one too many classes during the actual school year. He was the one who told Chenle that no, you can’t just completely forget about Valentine’s Day and then accuse your girlfriend of overreacting when she gets upset about you forgetting Valentine’s Day -- and then he was also the one that drove Chenle to the hospital when Chenle went to said girlfriend’s home to try to win her back, only to have her younger brother nail him in the face and break his nose.
(Renjun was also the one that took the blame when Chenle’s mother asked what happened to her son’s face, as Chenle’s ego was too bruised to admit he got sucker-punched by a skinny fourteen year-old; the excuse Renjun came up with was that they were playing basketball and he accidentally mowed Chenle into the pavement while attempting to dunk. Chenle’s mother remained skeptical, of course, but Renjun had never been known to lie.)
On occasion, Renjun also turned to Chenle for relationship-related help… exclusive of advice of course, as Chenle was absolutely not someone who could be trusted in that department.
The first time it happened was partway into freshman year of university. The seasons were transitioning from fall to winter -- daytime was mild and unassuming, but once the sky became dark, a wet cold sharp enough to frost fingertips blue seeped into the air.
Chenle was preparing to go to sleep. He was shirtless and brushing his teeth, mouth full of minty foam as music that was much too loud for one in the morning played from a Bluetooth speaker.
His intercom buzzed sharply, making him jump in place and nearly gag himself with his toothbrush. He stabbed the pause button for the music with an elbow, and then he stalked to the front door with eyes narrowed.
“Who--” He pressed the intercom button. “Who is it? It’s one in the fucking morning. If you’re here to make trouble, I’m warning you that I’m armed.” (He wasn’t armed, but he could be in about two seconds if he sprinted to the kitchen to grab the one decent butcher knife he owned. However, his threat wasn't that threatening; it came out pretty garbled, what with the toothpaste foam in his mouth beginning to overflow and drip down his chin.)
There was nothing but static over the intercom for a few seconds. Chenle’s eyes narrowed further.
Then, a voice finally came over the line.
“It’s me,” Renjun said, quieter than usual. “Please don’t shank me, I swear I come in peace.” He laughed, but it sounded noticeably forced, too full of air and much louder than his words.
Chenle swung his door open. Renjun silently shuffled in. He was wearing a hoodie and baggy jeans, clearly carelessly thrown on before he left his own apartment. Chenle didn’t say anything at first, instead pausing to notice the redness around Renjun’s eyes and the puffed up skin of his lower lids, making him appear as if he’d been… crying.
Chenle raised an eyebrow. “What, did you just realize that you accidentally hit 'reply all' on an email?”
Renjun’s face contorted, as if he was about to verbally scold Chenle, though the next second it returned to the dull, sullen expression he had before. “No, but thanks for the jump scare. Are you always this rude to people when they’re at rock bottom, or am I just an exception?” he muttered sarcastically.
If he was capable of sarcasm, then that meant he wasn’t too depressed… but he still sniffled the moment after, reaching up a hand to rub at his nose, and Chenle immediately felt panic because perhaps he shouldn’t have opened with that line and now he was fumbling over how to backtrack.
“Can I just-- can I just crash here for tonight?” Renjun asked, interrupting Chenle’s train of thought.
“Yeah--” Chenle immediately began. “Y-Yeah, no worries.”
The next day had them sharing stale cereal poured into a giant mixing bowl. It was actually well past appropriate breakfast time, though Chenle purposely didn’t leave his bedroom until Renjun woke up for fear of disturbing his friend’s sleep.
“So…” he murmured. “Um… what’s… what’s up?”
“I got dumped.” Renjun blankly shoved another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “It’s back to dating apps for me.”
“Oh.” There was a particularly sharp crunch as Chenle bit down on his next mouthful a little too hard. Renjun sounded hollow when he spoke, as if he couldn’t find it in himself to feel sad anymore, though that clearly wasn’t the case since the dark circles under his eyes indicated his sleep was fitful.
“Yeah. Sorry for showing up so suddenly.” He put his spoon down and stared at his lap, fingers fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “I just didn’t want to be home alone, y’know… shit feels too quiet, but inside my head it’s too loud.”
Chenle didn’t reply at first. He just momentarily thought about how Renjun of all people got dumped, someone who was so sincere and mindful and would definitely go out of his way to sweep a person off their feet if he liked them enough -- and he did, at least with this girl, whereas Chenle himself knew deep down that these traits of Renjun’s were traits Chenle’s own exes wished that he had but just unfortunately didn’t.
“Try keeping the TV on,” he found himself saying. “It helps drown out the thoughts. And scares away demons. And exes. Especially if it’s playing season eight of Game of Thrones.” He laughed awkwardly and coughed.
Renjun’s response was a faint smile.
Another time, Renjun had just gotten out of a longer relationship. It lasted a year. Or a year and a half. Or nine months. Chenle didn’t care to take notes.
Rain was needling the window like it wanted to get in. Once more, the seasons were transitioning into winter. People always talked about wanting to settle into a relationship before winter so they could ward off the cold and loneliness that came with it, but Renjun was beginning to form a habit of getting dumped in spite of that.
Chenle didn’t ask about specifics -- not this time, nor last time. Despite his silence, he was latently curious as to exactly what Renjun’s partners found wrong with him, something that Chenle himself couldn’t even begin to fathom. It’s not that he thought Renjun was perfect, but disregarding his friend's stubbornness and occasional bouts of drama, he was probably as close to perfect as a human being could be. Chenle liked him for his reliability, wit, and responsibility, which were all things Chenle himself lacked (except for the wit)... and were therefore things he would’ve wanted in his own partner.
Renjun always had such a strong sense of direction too (which graciously saved Chenle’s ass multiple times in the past). Naturally, that strong sense of direction led him to Chenle’s place once again.
Dinner was Chinese takeout. The carpet was prickly under Chenle’s bare thighs. Renjun wore threadbare pajama pants and an old hoodie with their high school’s logo on it -- a hoodie that may or may not have originally been Chenle’s. His sock had a hole in the heel, and Chenle poked at it earlier (or more like attempted to shove his finger inside…), which made Renjun scowl despite his depression and threaten to kick Chenle in the face.
Chenle tossed him a fortune cookie. It hit him in the chest and bounced off into his lap. He didn’t flinch.
“You ever notice,” he began, a crinkling noise coming from his direction as he unwrapped the fortune cookie, “that none of these ever say what you actually need to hear?” There was a crack as he split it open. “Like, 'someone much better is in your future so forget about your ex'? Or 'don't date men, they're meaner than women'?” He then wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah… that’d be nice.”
“Or, ‘for good luck, stop crying and finish your goddamn food’?” Chenle offered.
Renjun huffed out a laugh that was too forced and ended up being more of a snort. The sound immediately caught in his throat and all that snot clogging up his sinuses from crying threatened to go down his windpipe, so his shoulders jerked and he began to cough violently.
Chenle, concerned, put down his own box of rice and scooted over to repeatedly slap his friend on the back.
“Shit--” Renjun muttered, all gargled as his respiratory system attempted to sort itself out. “Why am I-- fuck, dude. Fuck. Did he even like me that much at all?”
Chenle reached for one of the cartons between them, trying to grab a dumpling with his chopsticks and hopefully put it in Renjun’s mouth. Not that he was uncomfortable with Renjun talking and wanted to shut him up, but he’d taken note that his friend had done nothing but sullenly pick at his food for the past fifteen minutes despite the fact he must’ve been hungry… and so maybe he’d be less prone to crying with a full stomach.
Unfortunately, the dumpling fell onto the carpet somewhere between the carton and Chenle’s body.
Chenle sighed, momentarily stabbing his chopsticks into his rice so he could lean over and pick up the dumpling with his bare hands.
“You asked that the last couple times too, you know,” he muttered, then removed some fuzz off the surface of the dumpling before dropping it in his own mouth.
“What?” Renjun replied, peeking up from his hands covering his face.
“W-Well, I mean, just--” Chenle shrugged, then looked away. He couldn’t meet Renjun’s eyes at that moment, a strange fluttering deep in his stomach. Was the situation making him… nervous? Annoyed? Tired? He didn’t quite know how to describe it, but at that moment, he just felt… uncomfortable.
“You pick people who dump you immediately when anything goes wrong. Every time. Like it’s your type or something.”
There was a pause of heavy silence. Renjun narrowed his eyes.
“So now it’s my fault,” he stated, voice flat. In any other context, there would’ve been anger pushing into his voice, but today he was too tired to be angry.
Chenle held up both hands in a play of innocence. “I’m just saying,” he replied. “Maybe next time, date someone who not only actually really likes you, but also wouldn't dump you at the first sign of trouble."
There was another pause of silence, though this one wasn’t as heavy. Renjun stared at Chenle for a couple of seconds, looked down at the carpet, and then he snorted a little as he began to laugh.
“Easier said than done.” He sniffled, rubbing his nose once again with the back of a sleeve. “At this point in my life, the only person who consistently chooses to stay with me through all the bad shit is you.”
Chenle froze. He pursed his lips. There was that fluttering again. Renjun had done nothing but state a very obvious truth that the both of them knew, and yet Chenle felt the words reverberate deep in him. Yes, he was the one constant thing in Renjun’s life--just as Renjun was the one constant thing in Chenle’s life, too--a pact they’d both made to each other ages ago but never actually verbalized. For one, Renjun was sweet and occasionally sensitive and those traits combined with him being an only child meant that his parents were extremely nervous about sending their precious son to school on the other side of the country, but they were mostly only accepting of it because Chenle was going with him -- Chenle, a boy they viewed as carefree and unbothered and the perfect dose of balance to their son’s earnestness.
Likewise, Chenle’s parents had a similar opinion on his relationship with Renjun, though for inverse reasons.
“That boy is the only reason you’re even graduating in the first place,” Chenle’s mother had said. “You should be grateful to him for tutoring you through summer school. And I ought to thank his parents for creating him.”
As it was, that didn't mean that any time in the past couple years, Chenle couldn't have left their friendship. He absolutely could've. They were in their 20s now. Renjun was smart, and he definitely would’ve figured things out if the both of them just naturally drifted apart into their own separate lives.
Though, as life had it, that didn’t happen.
“But you wouldn’t want me as a boyfriend,” Renjun continued. His words were quiet. He chuckled a little. He spoke like that was a fact. It wasn’t a challenge he was staking, and nor was he fishing for Chenle’s pity.
To him, he was just stating things as he saw them.
And god, Chenle had ten jokes lined up. A thousand deflections. Shit like, Bold of you to think I have standards, or I’d ruin our relationship within a week. I always ruin things. You know it’s kind of my brand, or Why are we talking about me? You’re the one with terrible taste.
But, none of that moved past his tongue. The room suddenly felt too warm despite him wearing shorts in early winter. His shirt clung weird at the back, and the air was pungent with the scents of vinegar and soy and something else -- something sharp and sour and uncomfortable. His pulse had started racing, feeling like it was tapping slightly off-beat.
Awkwardly, he opened his mouth, then closed it. Silence held between them for a couple of seconds.
Eventually, he managed to utter, “That’s rude of you to assume. I’m-- I’m generous. I might settle--” he paused slightly, inwardly wincing. The word “settle” sounded awful the moment he said it. He immediately wanted to take it back -- but why? This was no worse than any of the other insults he and Renjun have thrown at each other over the years. And yet, this one felt… bad. Awkward. Insincere. A bit like he was doing a disservice to himself.
“--settle for you.”
Renjun blinked. Maybe the humor in the insult didn’t miss him the same way it missed Chenle. Chenle bit his lip in anticipation.
Thankfully, Renjun laughed, though he didn’t look at Chenle while doing so. Right after, he cleared his throat and leaned over to pick up a dumpling with his fingers and drop it in Chenle’s hand.
“Stop making fun of my misery,” he protested. “Shut up and eat.”
His fingertips brushed Chenle’s palm, the touch feather-light and momentary. Despite how brief their contact was, Chenle’s hand twitched like Renjun just shocked him with static. Chenle didn’t look up, and he stared at the dumpling.
His voice was easy when he joked--almost like he was simply operating on autopilot instead of actually wanting to make a joke--"How romantic. Why don’t you put it in my mouth for me and feed me like I’m bedridden and dying?”
“You’re an idiot,” Renjun immediately replied.
“Yeah,” Chenle muttered, stuffing the dumpling in his mouth and chewing. “Tell me something new.”
The thing is, Renjun was wrong -- wrong about the whole thing regarding how Chenle wouldn't want him as a boyfriend.
It wasn’t that Chenle had been secretly pining for years, but he had little interest in dating other people, and Renjun was one of his what-ifs -- one of the small handful of things in his life that he gave real serious thought about, not that he’d ever admit it to Renjun’s face.
Renjun was… cute. Kind. Smart. Sarcastic. Knew how to kick Chenle’s ass both verbally and in almost every single video game in existence without hurting Chenle’s feelings too much. At times he seemed like such a perfect fit for Chenle that it was almost sickening, even more so in light of the irony of him seeking out Chenle’s comfort every single time he got dumped.
And Chenle let him do that, not only because they were best friends, but also because he just couldn’t say no, not when he knew that Renjun chose him since he was his “safety” -- strong and everlasting and nonjudgmental (for the most part), even if Chenle himself was dogshit at handholding and comforting words.
There did not exist any single plane of reality where Chenle would’ve said no if Renjun asked him out on a date. Yet, apparently Chenle did such a good job hiding this notion, that Renjun probably had zero idea about it… and maybe that was for the better. After all, their friendship was something Chenle would never forgive himself if he was the one that caused it to fall apart.
He had to analyze the cost versus gains and losses, and the result was that it just never seemed like a good idea to potentially ruin something that was essentially perfect, especially not with a statement like, Hey, I like you, but in a non-platonic way -- a statement that ironically felt so innocent and unassuming at surface-level.
And that’s the reason why Chenle began to struggle -- why a fragment of dread began to settle in him each time Renjun came to him with a broken heart. All Renjun saying “you wouldn’t want me as a boyfriend” did was make Chenle think, But I would, and those words replayed in his head like a broken tape, alongside the what-if scenario of if he had actually replied, But I would instead of cracking a dumb joke that he failed to properly deliver anyway.
It was some time later that he invited Renjun out for dinner, which was soup and sandwiches and whatever else they had at Panera Bread, to be eaten on the rooftop of some company he was interning at. He'd charmed (more like bribed) the custodian into giving him a key to the roof.
Things were nice like this, watching the sun begin to set and the summer air cool down. Chenle had wrapped himself in the towel he brought to sit on, because he’d rather the backs of his thighs be cold than his shoulders. This evening thus far was almost like a date, though he didn’t think too hard about that.
“Do you remember that night you thought you were allergic to pineapple?” Renjun suddenly asked. Chenle had no idea why Renjun thought to bring that up, though it might’ve had something to do with the fact he was currently sipping on a pineapple mango smoothie.
“What do you mean?” Chenle replied. “I was allergic.” He remembered it clearly. He thought his tongue was going to fall off with how much static he felt in it.
“No, you just didn’t know that pineapple is supposed to tingle.” Renjun said it matter-of-factly, because fuck Chenle’s own firsthand experience.
“It felt like my tongue was going to detach!” Chenle protested, indignant. “I made you Google ‘tongue necrosis’.” Yes, he was serious, he really did think his tongue was going to detach.
“Sure, but you’re not exactly the brightest. I once watched you Google ‘can you choke on your own uvula’.” Renjun’s lips were pursed into an awkwardly flat smile, almost as if he was looking at Chenle with exasperation or pity and his next words were going to be “bless your heart”.
Chenle knew that it certainly wasn’t pity. Pitying people wasn’t something Renjun did, especially not to Chenle. If anything, Renjun’s expression might’ve been one of affection -- the type of affection felt when revisiting memories held in decades-old photographs that’ve long been unseen.
“In my defense, that’s a valid concern. It’s just… dangling there.”
Renjun’s smile stretched. “You worry me sometimes, you know. Whatever you have swimming up there in between your eyes, I’m sure it’d make an interesting case study.”
Chenle scoffed. “It’s never let me down before...” he continued to protest. “Well, except in every academic, financial, and romantic decision I’ve ever made…” He trailed off, chuckling and averting his eyes. One wondered how he even landed a summer internship in the first place given his subpar (but passable) grades and resume writing abilities, but apparently something on his file seemed intriguing enough for the company to want to meet him, and then he somehow charmed the shit out of the interviewer by playing into her love of polo even though for half the conversation he thought she was talking about water polo, when in reality she was talking about polo on horseback.
The internship offer came as a shock, especially because Renjun himself got rejected from all his own applications. But, he didn’t care, and he took Chenle’s successes as if they were his own; they split a bottle of cheap wine and some poorly-made fantasy football bets the weekend following Chenle’s congratulations email.
“So… everything,” Renjun said. “That’s basically everything.”
Chenle chuckled again. Yeah, yeah it was, and that was the point.
“You’d be lost without me,” Renjun continued.
“You say that like I haven’t been lost with you.”
Renjun then laughed, the sound of it carrying with the wind swirling around their heads. He punched Chenle’s shoulder playfully, and Chenle swayed a bit, not because Renjun’s punch was particularly forceful, but just because he was at ease enough to simply let his body go with the flow of the environment. He felt that if he leaned backwards too far, his head wouldn’t hit the pavement, and instead the breeze might cushion the back of his skull like a pillow.
However, he didn't lean backwards at that moment. He leaned a little bit to the side -- a little bit into Renjun’s space and the warmth of body heat radiating from him.
“That’s hurtful.” Renjun pouted.
“Truthful,” Chenle corrected, blinking playfully.
Silence fell between them momentarily. Renjun was still looking at Chenle and Chenle was still looking at Renjun. The pause was brief enough that it could’ve been shrugged off as nothing or even go unnoticed, but it was just long enough for Chenle to start feeling his face go warm and realize the mounting pressure in the back of his throat telling him to break eye contact.
“You’re-- You’re lucky I’m adorable,” he chuckled out, stuttering slightly.
“And you’re lucky I have a high tolerance for nonsense,” Renjun replied.
“No you don’t,” Chenle shot back. “You made a small child cry last Halloween because he rang the doorbell one too many times.”
Renjun opened his mouth as if he had a comeback for that, but then he closed it. He pursed his lips, probably recalling the incident, and when he didn’t seem to have anything additional to say, Chenle began to laugh.
Chenle's eyes curled up into crescents and his body swayed as his head thunked against Renjun’s shoulder. His laugh became muffled into Renjun’s shirt, a couple flecks of dampness appearing on it from stray spit. That was gross and Renjun was going to scold Chenle for that, but he was okay with it because it was Chenle.
He didn’t pull Chenle closer, but he didn’t lean away either. He just let Chenle stay there, resting against him, even when the laughter died out and all that was left was sighing as Chenle shifted to stare at the evening sky.
In the back of Chenle’s mind it occurred to him that he wished he could be experiencing this moment in a different context -- that instead of simply letting him be, Renjun would pull him in in an embrace, bury his face into the crook of his neck, and breathe him in. Chenle’s heart thumped against his chest as he imagined that, trying to mentally grasp onto the limited amount of Renjun’s warmth he could feel at the moment and wrap it around himself, as if Renjun truly was embracing him in real life.
Obviously that wasn’t the case. He blinked, and the next breeze that blew past them felt chillier than usual, sending shivers up his spine.
Renjun’s thumb then brushed his cheek, nearly touching the corner of his lips. He jolted slightly, though in the end he forced himself to stay as still as possible.
Renjun’s face took up almost his entire vision as he stared down at Chenle.
“You have some mayo on your face,” he said.
The next time Renjun went to him, he was not as distraught as he was the previous times. He had enough mind in him to show up with an offering--whether that was because he felt guilty about always relying on Chenle to pick him up post-breakup, or as a thank you gift to Chenle for never failing to pick him up post-breakup--which was an expensive bottle of wine and a family pack of Chenle’s favorite candy. It was their senior year of university; they were older and a bit more mature now. Renjun learned to at least hold himself together enough to not become a teary, snotty disaster.
And yet, despite his growth, there always remained a reason for him to seek out Chenle’s comfort.
He gently sat the bottle of wine and the bag of candy on Chenle’s counter. He looked tired, not that that was unusual for either of them in the first place, though he appeared a bit extra tired due to his face being hollower than normal, as if he was dehydrated.
“Before you say anything--” he began, glancing at Chenle knowingly, “--yes, I came crawling back again, but I brought offerings this time. I’m learning.”
Chenle raised an eyebrow as he hung Renjun’s coat up on the stand next to the front door. It slid off shortly after Renjun initially hung it up himself. “Is this a guilt bribe or a friendship tax?” he asked jokingly.
“Little bit of both.” Renjun tapped his fingernail against the glass bottle. “This is the most expensive bottle I’ve ever bought that wasn't party-sized, so please take me seriously.”
“Fancy.” Chenle dog-whistled. He honestly didn’t care; Renjun could’ve brought that cheap shit that comes in a box and Chenle would drink it all the same. But, it was still nice that Renjun at least put some thought into it, even if in the end all that truly mattered to Chenle was that Renjun came to him and not someone else.
That last part actually affected Chenle a lot. The idea of Renjun seeking someone else’s shoulder during a moment of vulnerability made Chenle nauseous, and yet the fact that Renjun was here and probably going to lament over an ex to Chenle’s face made Chenle nauseous, too. The wine and the candy did nothing to help. To be honest, it might’ve even made things worse, because Chenle briefly wondered if Renjun genuinely felt guilty -- and if Renjun felt guilty, that meant there was a chance he’d go to someone besides Chenle in the future.
Chenle couldn't exactly define what he wanted at the moment -- for Renjun to be here, or not to be here. He gritted his teeth and continued to plaster on an unbothered expression.
“Does the fancy wine mean I need to shower and dress up before we drink, or will you still love drunk me marinating in my hoodie of sin?” he joked.
He was wearing that hoodie with their high school’s logo on it, the same one that may or may not have actually been his, the same one that Renjun wrapped himself up in during a different post-breakup visit years ago.
Renjun made a face of disgust. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t washed that since sophomore year,” he muttered. He then glanced Chenle up and down. “Your hair doesn’t look that greasy, so maybe you don’t need to shower right now, but for my sake please wear something else, or I swear I’m going to emerge from this apartment two days from now carrying a bacterial disease that’ll require three rounds of antibiotics and a week-long hospital stay.”
“Rude,” Chenle scoffed. “My hoodie is only seasoned, not contagious, thank you very much.” Renjun then made a show of walking over, sniffing Chenle, and recoiling with his entire face wrinkled. Chenle laughed, and then Renjun laughed, quiet and low as his eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners. For a few seconds he didn’t look nor sound sad, and that made Chenle’s stomach do a little lurch as he was suddenly thrown into the sensation of believing the purpose of Renjun’s visit was simply because he loved Chenle, not because he just broke up with someone he loved.
But, of course that feeling barely lasted. Chenle was rudely woken up from his dream the moment the corners of Renjun’s lips began to inch back down.
Just for his friend's sake, Chenle did change clothes -- and tossed the hoodie of sin into his dirty laundry pile.
“God, I’m real fucking stupid,” Renjun said later that night. They were on the floor (as they always were with these post-breakup visits), wine glasses sitting on the coffee table completely forgotten, passing the bottle back and forth and drinking straight from the neck like how they depict depressed women in romcoms. It was fine that they weren’t using the glasses; the glasses had cloudy hard water spots that Chenle never managed to clean out no matter how many times he washed them, and he was a little suspicious as to what exactly lived on those spots that made them indestructible.
He stayed hunched while Renjun was stretched out and relaxed against the couch. The cork was touching his foot, and he stared at it.
“She was good to me,” Renjun continued. “Much better than any of my previous exes. Seriously. I think I underestimated how rare that is.”
Chenle only hummed and drank more from the bottle.
“She remembered all my weird shit.” Renjun smiled faintly. “Like the fact that I like black tea but can’t stand green tea, or which fabric softeners I’m allergic to.” He then scratched his chin, as if he was sheepish. “She also used to send me good morning voice messages for when I had early classes. Or like, little poems she wrote. Dumb stuff like that. The poems weren’t even good, but the fact that she did that for me was… really nice.”
Chenle tried to smirk, but he somehow managed to choke on his own tongue in the process. For a few seconds, his heartbeat seemed too loud and strong, to the point where it made his head feel too heavy for his shoulders. A sour feeling curled deep in his stomach. He thought that while he’d never done anything sappy like that for Renjun--never even thought of it either--if Renjun wanted him to, he would.
And, he’d rather Renjun want those sappy things from him than anyone else.
But, that was crossing the line. Sure, Chenle had never been a particularly sentimental person in the first place, though even if he was, there was a certain expectation to be maintained between him and Renjun.
They loved each other -- just not like that. They loved each other, but not in a way that would’ve made Chenle leaving Renjun good morning messages and writing him poems acceptable.
“So she was into poetry and still dated your illiterate, book-hating ass. That’s devotion,” was the reply Chenle came up with. He was glad he was hunched so Renjun couldn’t see his face, and therefore couldn’t see the strange, uncomfortable twist of his lips, despite the steadiness of his voice.
The insult either flew right over Renjun’s head, or he ignored it. That was slightly surprising, because if anything, Chenle was the illiterate one out of the two of them. It was just that Renjun was known to never actually read anything, whether that was books for entertainment or assigned material for classes. He instead opted to plug anything and everything into a PDF summarizer or look up shit on SparkNotes, as he believed that to be a more efficient use of his time.
“She liked me. That’s what it was,” he said. “She liked me even when I was being a dick and picked a fight over something stupidly insignificant.”
That sour feeling curled deep in Chenle’s gut again. It then crawled up behind his ribs, slowly twisting and making him clench his jaw in an attempt to will it away. He recognized the feeling now, now that it was stronger -- it was jealousy, creeping in on him like a tiny insect wiggling its way beneath his skin, innocuous and unnoticed until it was burrowed far too deep to do anything about it.
He couldn’t be jealous. Jealous, him, over his best friend? Not that he was denying it -- more that he was scared of it, because he had no idea how to deal with it.
His next drink of wine was too fast and made him cough. Despite whatever he was feeling at the moment, he still had to be a friend. Renjun had no idea what was going on in Chenle’s head, and even if he did, it wasn’t his fault in the first place. Chenle lashing out at him or even just being visibly annoyed would be a mistake. Once again, there was a reason he chose to seek Chenle out over anyone else, and Chenle did want to make sure it stayed that way, even if the consequences were always going to be painful.
So, he kept on performing. That was what he was good at, after all -- performing.
“Yeah, well, everyone is dumb sometimes,” he muttered. “We all make some dumb choices sometimes.”
“You think I was one of hers?” Renjun asked.
Chenle almost said yes, because it was the kind of thing he’d normally say -- the tease, the insult, the punchline. But, that response, while loaded into his brain on default, ended up being caught in his throat. It didn’t taste quite right.
He truly doubted that Renjun was a “dumb decision” to any of his exes, even if their relationship lasted no longer than a couple months, even if they didn't even like Renjun that much in the first place, even if the tables were somehow flipped and Renjun was the one breaking their heart --
Because, after all, to Chenle, Renjun was as close to perfect as a human could possibly be.
“Nah,” Chenle murmured instead, voice quieter than he intended. The heat prickled at his cheeks. “I think she just saw the best parts of you, and when people do that, sometimes that disguises any unhappiness.”
He sounded gentle, as if he was trying to comfort. In reality, his voice was soft like that because he felt bittersweet. It felt like he was talking about himself and not Renjun’s ex-girlfriend.
Renjun was silent. Surprised, maybe.
“That’s not your fault,” Chenle added.
There was another pause of silence. Chenle pursed his lips and turned his head even more away from Renjun’s direction.
Even though he didn’t see it, he felt Renjun’s gaze settle upon him. Renjun blinked a few times, as if he was trying to see clearer and focus in on the image of Chenle across him.
“That’s… unexpectedly intelligent of you to say,” he said, sounding completely serious. Surprise lingered in his tone, though the rest of his voice was steady and neutral.
Chenle forcibly scoffed and smiled. “I’m layered,” he explained, “like an onion. I’m not made of only sarcasm and mashed potatoes for brains -- well, that’s most of it. But, like, I’ve got some depth.”
Renjun laughed. He leaned over, shoulder bumping into Chenle, and then he stayed there, the contact between them small but warm.
“You’re always too good to me, you know that?”
Chenle felt his chest twist into knots. Too good? Hardly. He only wanted Renjun to be happy.
“Like, you always say the exact thing I need to hear.”
Chenle’s eyes flickered over to Renjun and looked at him: at the curve of his mouth as a smile lingered on his lips, at the softened edges of his face as an expression of contentedness fought the urge to fade away, at the brightness in his eyes that appeared and wouldn’t leave because Chenle put it there -- and Chenle briefly, violently wished that Renjun had said things a little differently.
He wished that Renjun had said, You always are the exact thing I need instead. He wished that Renjun needed him, and not just what he did for him.
However, Renjun was already turning away to take another sip.
Chenle scratched at his jaw. He spoke before he could think better of it.
“You ever feel like you just… miss being wanted?” he asked. “M-Maybe not by a particular person, but, like… that feeling of being desired. Being an object of someone’s affection.”
Renjun didn’t answer right away, though he didn’t appear to be surprised by Chenle’s question either.
“Yeah,” he replied eventually. “That’s one of the things that fucks you up the most. You break up and then you go back to knowing that there are only a limited number of people in the world that’ll ever love you like that.”
Neither of them said anything for a while afterwards -- they just passed the bottle back and forth in silence.
In his head, Chenle repeated that it was fine, that simply being Renjun’s best friend and nothing more was all he needed, that friendship was supposed to hurt like this when it was real and deep and truly meant something. He inwardly laughed at himself when he said that last part because it sounded ridiculous and corny, but his laughter was thin and hollow because that statement sounded nothing like a joke.
Later that night, he laid in bed, Renjun next to him. Renjun always took the couch, but they’d spilled some wine on it and Chenle didn’t want him sleeping on a wet patch.
It’d been years since they last shared a bed. Chenle was wide awake, and had been for the past hour. The alcohol did little in making him sleepy. It couldn’t compete against the thudding of his pulse and the hyper-vigilance of his body to Renjun’s presence.
It wasn’t that he was nervous or thinking about weird things or anything--okay, well, maybe he was a little nervous--but Renjun was just… right there, all warm and familiar and smelling like Chenle’s shampoo. Judging by the rhythm of his breathing, he must’ve been either already asleep or toeing the border between slumber and consciousness. It made sense that he could fall asleep easily like that, next to someone he trusted with his whole heart and someone he knew would never intentionally hurt him.
For Chenle though, that knowledge made him sleepless. His body was simultaneously too hot and too cold. Earlier in the night he’d only been too hot--he usually ran hot, and that’s why he was okay going around in shorts in the dead of winter--and then Renjun curled himself into a ball and put his ice-cold feet on Chenle’s thigh, and Chenle near-kneed him in the crotch.
Renjun’s body temperature had since then evened out--and maybe some of the warmth that’d gone into the extremities of his body was from Chenle--but Chenle himself couldn’t reach an equilibrium.
He sighed and rolled over. Maybe he should go sit in the living room a bit and watch TV on low volume -- see if whatever shitty infomercial was airing at three in the morning would eventually lull him to sleep. That certainly felt like a better idea than just laying there in purgatory, and so he began to remove himself from beneath the covers.
Before he managed to fully sit up, a hand grabbed at his shirt.
He startled. Renjun’s fingertips brushed against his bare skin, momentarily catching beneath the hem of his shirt but above the waistband of his boxers.
Turning his head, he was met with the image of his friend, lashes dark and mouth slack, appearing to be fully asleep -- for the most part, at least, with exception of one eye squinted barely enough for him to look at Chenle with it.
“Why’re you getting up?” he whispered.
“I-I’m-- I’m gonna sit for a bit, I think,” Chenle replied, biting his lower lip. “I can’t sleep.”
Renjun’s grip relaxed. “Okay,” he murmured. “Don’t be too long. My feet will be cold without you.”
Chenle huffed out a soft laugh. “I won’t,” he replied.
He didn’t end up going to the living room. He simply sat down on the bedroom carpet and stared into the dark. Only when he was sure Renjun was asleep did he climb back into bed.
It was summer. They were supposed to take a few weeks off to relax before starting their first “adult” jobs. Renjun found himself having just come out of a relationship again, but this time it was one that he broke off himself -- and one that he didn’t care that much about (at least, in comparison to his previous ones).
That didn’t mean it still didn’t suck, though. Having someone who’d been a constant in your life for a while suddenly leave always sucked.
Chenle found himself at Renjun’s apartment, touting beer and takeout, as was expected. Renjun seemed normal for the most part, maybe just a little down, but more so tired, that likely being the remaining exhaustion from the end of the school year rush combined with the emotional weight of ending a relationship.
The most noticeable difference in his behavior was that he was touchy today, in a physical way, as if he wanted to seek energy from the heat of Chenle’s body even if it meant needing to turn the air conditioning up a few degrees. He asked if Chenle could hug him--like, really hug him--and when Chenle did, he laced his fingers together behind Chenle’s back. Obviously, Chenle didn't protest, though he did squirm a bit because he still felt too warm and his own skin was perpetually slightly damp.
They hadn’t hugged like this for a while… had it been a year? Two years? Something like that. Chenle technically didn’t mind--as long as Renjun didn’t mind him potentially starting to sweat--but clearly his heart did, and he hoped Renjun couldn’t hear how fast it was beating.
“Why is your heart racing?” Renjun asked.
Chenle felt his stomach drop. Because we’re hugging, was the obvious answer, though it wasn’t like he was actually going to say that.
“I’m u-um, hot,” he muttered in response. “And nervous…”
“‘Nervous’?” Renjun huffed. “What’re you nervous about?”
Chenle bit his lip. Everything? he thought. He was hugging the person he liked, which also happened to be someone he shouldn’t like.
“Like… uh… what if you… cry?”
That was the best he could come up with on the spot.
Renjun nearly laughed. If not for the fact that circumstances made it difficult for him to laugh, he would’ve laughed with his entire being.
“If I cry, it’ll be like what… the eighth? Time I’ve burst into tears in front of you, and only now that makes you nervous?”
Chenle’s mouth moved into an awkward smile.
“I won’t cry, if that makes you feel better. I don’t think I’m sad enough this time around to cry.”
Chenle nodded. There was a pause of silence. Renjun smelled nice, like a combination of shampoo and that dry, earthy scent concrete gets when it bakes in the scorching sun.
“Yeah, I won’t cry. Especially now that you’re here.”
Chenle’s eyes flickered up to look at Renjun strangely. “Well, I didn’t say that you crying makes me uncomfortable--" he began.
“I know, I meant that I won’t cry not ‘cause it makes you uncomfortable, but ‘cause you make me feel better, you know? Despite your grocery list of flaws.”
Chenle didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, (fake) insulted, or both. Naturally, he erred on the side of caution, and that was to be (fake) insulted.
“‘Grocery list of flaws’? Excuse me, I--”
“You know what’s weird?” Renjun interrupted him, shifting to look him in the eye.
“What?” Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Me? You? Several other things, historically?”
Renjun’s expression flattened moderately in exasperation. “No, I mean seriously,” he said. Maybe Chenle was imagining it, but he felt Renjun’s arms around him tighten briefly. “Every time I break up with someone, even if it was a short relationship, I always think it’s the end of the world for like a day.”
“Yeah, you always cry and literally cover my clothes in snot,” replied Chenle cheekily.
“The snot thing was once,” Renjun corrected.
“Right.”
Renjun chuckled a little. There was a pause, as if he was waiting for Chenle to continue with banter. When Chenle didn’t, he sighed.
“But then I go to you. Or you show up. And we sit around and eat garbage food and you say something stupid, and suddenly it’s not the end of the world anymore. After a while, I remember that life keeps going."
Chenle’s stomach suddenly felt heavy, and his heartbeat quickened ever so slightly. He swallowed, not because he was nervous, but because Renjun’s words were obviously… weighted. Laden with meaning. Renjun was speaking simply and truthfully, as he usually did, though for once he didn’t start off on the topic of his ex or the relationship itself. Today, he started off with how Chenle made him feel, how Chenle always saved him, and that made Chenle feel… complicated.
“I don’t think I used to know how to do that -- for anything, really, not just breakups--” he continued, “--before you.”
Chenle forced a reassuring smile even though Renjun couldn’t see all of it. The worst part of this moment was that Renjun meant every word he said, and it almost sounded like exactly what Chenle wanted to hear, but… it wasn’t. It still wasn’t what Chenle wanted, and that was awful because it was so close to what he wanted.
“...So I’m a coping mechanism,” he joked. “Your choice in coping mechanisms is questionable.”
Renjun pulled away slightly to look at him, head tilted a little to the side as if he was about to lecture Chenle. “Okay, but have you ever considered that maybe I’m smart and so my choice in coping mechanisms is actually good?”
Chenle didn’t answer that.
Renjun continued to study Chenle for a moment, expression thoughtful. “You’re my constant,” he said.
Yeah, Chenle thought, and that was both a blessing and a curse. He couldn’t ever imagine not being Renjun’s constant, yet at the same time, being Renjun’s constant meant that Renjun wouldn’t ever think of him differently.
He remained quiet. Without thinking, he buried his face into Renjun’s shoulder and squeezed him tightly, which had Renjun making a small noise of surprise. Renjun didn’t attempt to move away, though.
“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m the one comforting you now?” he asked, laughing a little.
“Dunno,” Chenle muttered.
Silently, Renjun’s hands slid down to the small of Chenle’s back. They rested there until Chenle shifted positions.
Chenle may be dumb sometimes, but he actually isn’t “stupid” (at least not the textbook definition of it). It doesn’t take him long to consciously realize that he’s full-on in love with Renjun, but coming to terms with that--and figuring out what to do about it--is something he’s still far, far away from.
He catches himself occasionally wishing that he’d done things differently -- that he’d, at some point, said something about how always being the one to help pick up the pieces of Renjun’s broken heart was painful and he didn’t want to do it anymore. Yet, he always then paused and asked: was that truly what he wanted?
And even if that was truly what he wanted, he didn’t know how he’d go about saying that without breaking Renjun’s heart again, just in a different way.
Today, Renjun said he’d cook dinner for him. Apparently Renjun really upped his cooking game in the past few months, or so he claimed. He brought the ingredients and himself, and Chenle brought the physical space, which was his own kitchen.
Renjun flicks a carrot peel into the sink and misses by an embarrassing margin.
“So… you’re apparently how good at cooking now? And still can’t aim?” Chenle comments, a goofy smile playing on his lips.
Renjun grimaces. “I’m improvising,” he mutters, eyeing Chenle accusingly.
“You’re making me spend extra time cleaning the kitchen,” Chenle shoots back. He walks up to hover near Renjun at the sink, the latter who continues to peel carrots and also continues to occasionally land a bit of carrot peel onto the counter.
“You love cleaning the kitchen.” Renjun nudges him playfully with a shoulder.
“No, I love complaining about cleaning the kitchen.”
Renjun then scoffs. The next carrot peel he flicks lands on the stove, and Chenle feels slightly guilty about doing nothing but standing there even though Renjun insisted on doing all the cooking. So, he tries to make himself somewhat useful, like being the Bluetooth speaker DJ and taste-testing all the sauces and giving Renjun an empty bowl or plate when he asks for it.
Things are nice like this. Chenle constantly moves from the dining table to the kitchen counter to hovering above the stove and watching the water in the pot boil as Renjun pours the contents of a bowl into it. He would usually be a nuisance like this, sticking his nose into everything but never quite actually being helpful (Renjun glares at him briefly when he reaches out to help cut some veggies, saying his friend's hands are greasy and unwashed), but Renjun maneuvers around and with him effortlessly.
Clearly, he’s spent enough time orbiting Chenle’s space that he can practically predict how Chenle moves. It’s comfortable, it’s casual, it’s natural, and for Chenle, as he leans over the kitchen counter and stares off into space, he thinks that this is what life might be like if he and Renjun lived together --
As roommates, of course. He can’t be getting too ahead of himself, daydreaming as if they’re a married couple or anything like that.
Renjun’s face suddenly pops into the edge of his vision, right over his shoulder. He’s hovering close enough that Chenle can briefly feel the tickle of breath against his cheek.
Naturally, he startles.
All Renjun is doing is reaching across Chenle to grab the salt, chest bumping into Chenle’s shoulder in the process.
“Y-You know,” Chenle begins, staring very hard at the countertop, “you could just ask me to pass it.” He laughs sheepishly.
“But then I’d miss the chance to invade your personal space,” Renjun replies. He blinks at Chenle all innocent, and Chenle feels something in his stomach flutter. It’s almost like Renjun is flirting -- and this is obviously far from the first time Renjun has jokingly flirted with Chenle, but right now he’s all up in Chenle’s space, wearing Chenle’s apron, cooking for Chenle, and Chenle’s brain is… somehow magically holding himself together.
“You invade it constantly,” Chenle retorts.
“Yeah, I guess I do, don’t I?” replies Renjun, cheekily. He leans in a little more, as if making a point -- or taunting Chenle, or both. To Chenle, that tiny space Renjun closes between them feels like a whole mile gone in the blink of an eye, because suddenly Renjun’s face is so close that it seems as if the tips of their noses could be brushing…
And Chenle, well… Chenle is nervous.
He purses his lips and gulps. His cheeks are reddening; he can feel it.
However, Renjun is nonchalant. “Hold on,” he murmurs. Before Chenle realizes what’s happening, Renjun is reaching out to brush Chenle’s face with his fingertips. “You’ve got sauce.”
At this point, Chenle’s brain is stalled completely. “What?” he mutters blankly.
“I just--” Renjun says, under his breath, and then bites his own lip in concentration as he uses his thumb to wipe a smear of red sauce away from the corner of Chenle’s mouth. He’s not looking directly into Chenle’s eyes; his gaze is following his own hand, and Chenle is momentarily grateful for that, because maybe then Renjun won't notice the color in his friend's face lighting up like a Christmas tree.
There’s a moment where Renjun pauses, still touching Chenle’s face, thumb still resting against the plushness of Chenle’s bottom lip -- no, wait, maybe Chenle is imagining things, but it feels as if Renjun’s fingertip is pushing into the touch like he doesn’t at all intend to leave and actually wants to hold Chenle there…
Once again, maybe Chenle is imagining things.
And yet, Renjun doesn’t move right away. He stays there for several beats, staring at his own hand--staring at Chenle’s lips--still and unblinking.
Finally, a long pause later, when his eyelids suddenly flutter as if he himself is caught off-guard by his own staring, he says, “There. It’s gone,” and wipes his hand on his apron.
Chenle, barely managing to return himself to the present, also blinks several times. He’s vaguely lightheaded, probably because his heart is beating way too fast.
That is the first break in rhythm of the night. Both of them recover from it like nothing happened, even though a recount continuously flashes through Chenle’s mind for the next hour.
Dinner passes by quickly. Renjun makes two different stir frys and a soup. Combined with the rice from the rice cooker, it’s way too much food for two people, but Chenle jokingly gets on his hands and knees and bows down to Renjun because this means he doesn’t have to cook for the next two days.
“Get up,” Renjun says sternly. “It’s ugly when you grovel.”
“But you’re saving me from two whole days of potential oil burns and slicing open my fingers,” Chenle replies. “I gotta be at least a little bit grateful, don’t I?”
Renjun snorts.
Post-dinner means curling up on the couch with bad TV and shitty beer. Chenle will admit that even though they’re watching one of his favorite shows, he’s not quite paying attention. The massive amount of food he ate means he’s a bit sleepy, and coupled with the warmth of Renjun’s arm against his side (Renjun is half-leaning on him to make space for the pile of unfolded laundry shoved into one corner of the couch), he could probably nod off sometime within the next fifteen minutes.
“You ever think--” Renjun suddenly begins. He’s staring straight at the TV, though he’s not actually watching it -- his gaze is unfocused. Apparently he’s not the only one zoning out.
“Bold of you to assume I think,” Chenle mutters.
Renjun briefly smiles and huffs. “Okay, but seriously,” he continues. “You ever think about how long it’s been?”
“How long what’s been?”
“Us.”
Chenle pauses. “Um… maybe a few times,” he says, after a moment. He mentally recounts in his head. “I think we’ve been friends for like… half of the time I’ve been alive.”
Renjun chuckles. “I can’t believe I’ve kept you alive for this long.”
Chenle turns towards him, wrinkling his nose. “‘Kept me alive’? What am I, your pet?” he jokes.
“Well, I literally fed you today, didn’t I?”
Chenle’s mouth opens, then closes. Hmph. Renjun isn’t wrong.
“Anyways, someone has to make sure you’re alive. You’re kind of bad decision-prone. Remember that time you got your ass beat by that scrawny blonde kid in high school? Your ex-girlfriend’s brother? What was he, a freshman? And we were juniors?”
“I get it, no need to remind me,” Chenle mutters crossly. “Blah, blah, I owe you my life, thanks for feeding me today.”
Renjun smiles, and it’s sweet. Soft. He’s smiling at Chenle, looking directly into his eyes. The joke is done -- he can move away, but he isn’t. He’s sentimental, holding Chenle’s face in his vision as if he’s admiring it.
Chenle suddenly becomes aware of how close they are. Technically neither of them have moved closer, but Chenle wasn’t exactly watching in the first place when Renjun made himself comfortable against his friend’s side. And now, now that they’re looking at each other, Chenle realizes that they are close enough for him to see the tiny scar on the tip of Renjun’s chin, the faintest smattering of sun-born freckles across the bridge of Renjun's nose, and each individual little wayward baby hair that lines the edges of Renjun's face.
Chenle always thought Renjun was pretty -- yet somehow Renjun is even prettier up-close like this, and it’s making Chenle’s heart pound deafeningly in his head. They’re proximity has it so that it’s barely another few inches--honestly, Chenle wouldn’t even have to move, just tilt his head--and they could…
They could…
They could kiss.
There’s blood rushing in Chenle’s ears.
Maybe the exact same thought occurs to Renjun as well, because his gaze drops to Chenle’s mouth. Instantly, Chenle feels himself stop breathing, like he’s terrified that even the slightest movement--such as the rise of his chest as he inhales--is going to immediately scare Renjun off.
For several long seconds, neither of them move, the tension in the air so thick but the actual air itself so impossibly thin -- at some point, Chenle has to start breathing again, but he feels like the next breath he takes might suffocate him instead.
And then, finally, Renjun mildly tilts his head, as if he’s trying to figure something out. His arm shifts once, absentmindedly, and his fingertips brush against Chenle’s wrist. It’s a small action, probably one he doesn’t notice himself, but Chenle feels it like a shock of static.
That’s enough to throw him out of his stupor. He inhales sharply through his nose.
No, he can’t be doing this.
No matter how much he wants to, he can’t -- at least not right now. In that moment, he realizes that this entire night would hardly be any different between them if they were lovers and not only best friends. Every small touch, every long glance, every little bit of banter -- it all would’ve been the same regardless if they were dating or not, and that was not only because Chenle is in love with Renjun, but also because Renjun loves Chenle back just as much, perhaps even more than any person he's ever dated in his entire life.
Maybe they are perfect for each other -- like, perfect perfect. Maybe Renjun is in love with Chenle the same way Chenle is in love with Renjun and he just hasn’t realized it yet. Maybe they are destined to be together, at least in some universe --
But in this one, in this current one Chenle is breathing and seeing and living, somewhere along the way, something keeps on interfering. Something continues to try to throw them onto a different track, and so Chenle is never sure if he’s walking down the right one.
He is the first one to turn away, breaking their contact. He runs a hand awkwardly through his hair.
“Forget it,” he says, a little too quickly.
Renjun blinks, as if in alarm. “Forget what?” he murmurs.
Chenle reaches to grab his drink, looking anywhere besides at Renjun. “Nothing. I just--” He shrugs. “I guess I thought you had something on your face.”
Renjun is still looking at him, though. Chenle can feel the heat from Renjun’s gaze bloom over the skin of his face. Renjun just watches Chenle in silence for a moment, body and expression unreadable.
Then, he quietly says, “You’re weird tonight.” It’s a simple statement, one spoken softly and without any sort of accusation or joke. To a third party, he might sound concerned.
“You’re weird too,” Chenle shoots back, forcing a grin.
Instead of returning the smile, Renjun shakes his head. It’s not in disapproval or exasperation. Chenle peeks at his friend's face, and there’s something pensive in Renjun's expression, something heavy and serious and terribly, terribly complex.
It’s as if he is still turning that almost-kiss over and over in his head, unable to leave it be.