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Chan should have been suspicious of the whole matchmaking thing from the beginning.
First of all—how could Felix, of all people, know Choi Yena?
They didn’t share any classes. Yena was a fashion design major, for goodness’ sake, and the cutest, sweetest, most popular girl in uni. They didn’t even share mutual friends, as far as Chan knew. They weren’t in the same faculty, so it didn’t make any sense. Felix knew people, sure, but not like that. He was a ray of sunshine, a very outgoing guy, but not to casually “set someone up.”
Chan knew that.
He just… chose not to think about it too hard, because it was easier to believe Felix knew everyone than to admit he had no idea how to approach someone like Yena on his own.
So when Chan, already tense and overthinking, finally admitted to himself that he wanted to ask Yena out… it felt natural to go to Felix. Felix, with his lovely and understanding soul, who listened without laughing. Felix, who didn’t turn everything into a joke like the guys from his swimming team.
Felix, who instantly softened instead of smirking upon hearing Chan’s confession, and just said, “But hyung, I can just set you up!”
Chan hesitated.
He really did! For a second, maybe two. Long enough for something in his chest to pull tight, for a thought to surface—That’s too easy. That doesn’t sound right.
But Felix looked so sure, and Chan was tired of second-guessing himself all the time. He could be adventurous. He could! And that’s exactly why he just nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, like it made sense. “Yeah, okay.”
Don’t question it. Just accept, before it disappears.
And look where that got him.
There is no Choi Yena in sight.
Instead, there’s a boy.
A sophomore, if Chan remembers correctly. One of Felix’s dance team mates. Standing there, shifting his weight, hands tucked awkwardly into the sleeves of his hoodie, eyes flickering up and away like he doesn’t quite know where to look. Taller than Chan, which is already making him self-conscious, but looking so—small.
Chan’s stomach drops.
This. This is wrong.
This is very wrong.
Still, he somehow can’t make his legs move. He stands there, and he’s growing roots into the ground that consist of shame and guilt, and oh no, is that a grain of sympathy? That can’t possibly be happening. Chan clears his throat, and the boy startles. Freaking hell.
“So,” Chan says, because what else is he supposed to do? “What’s your name?”
The boy blinks, then lets out a small, nervous laugh.
“I thought it’s you who asked Lix to set us up, hah…”
There’s something unintentionally sharp about the way he says it, like he doesn’t realize how it lands. Chan feels it anyway.
“Um—Jeongin. Yang Jeongin. But friends usually call me I.N. It’s kind of my stage name.”
And then it clicks.
Yena. Ye-na. Ee-yen-ah.
Chan closes his eyes, just for a second. Of course Felix misheard. Damn you, Australian accent, Chan thinks bitterly. Now it makes a bit more sense. But that doesn’t explain—
Chan looks at Jeongin again. Really looks, this time.
He’s fidgeting, and keeps stealing glances at Chan like he’s both nervous and… hopeful.
Why would Felix think—
“…Why did Felix think I’d be interested in a guy?” Chan blurts before he can stop himself.
Jeongin freezes.
And then, slowly, his ears start to turn red.
“Oh—” he says, stumbling over the word. “I—I mean… you told him you liked, um, me and—he said—” A breath, a shaky one. “He said you were… you know.”
No, Chan does not know.
But Jeongin presses on anyway, words spilling now that they’ve started.
“I just—I thought it was really nice,” he says, voice getting smaller but somehow more earnest. “I mean, I only just… came out. Recently. And I was kind of scared to, like—actually date men, you know? But Felix said you were—”
Chan feels his eyes getting so big he’s almost scared they will fall out their sockets, but Jeongin’s not looking at him, at all. He’s stubbornly kept his gaze on the floor the whole time, as if Chan’s a very annoying strobe light that would blind Jeongin at the smallest eye contact, and he continues,
“—still kinda in the closet. That he didn’t know for sure until you confessed liking me. And I… I really get that, y’know?” Another breath. “I come from a religious family, so it’s not exactly… easy to come out in. Kind of like sports, very, um, masculine or—or a fraternity? Or a swim team?” He finally glances up. “Not the same, of course! Jus’—similar, I guess.”
The boy has a lisp. It slips out more when he’s nervous.
Chan finds it dangerously adorable.
“Well, um. As you said, this is a… new experience for me,” Chan starts unsurely.
Jeongin’s gaze drops again immediately, like he’s bracing himself for rejection.
And for some reason, that makes Chan want to pull him into a hug.
This is not good. Not good at all.
“So you’ll need to be patient,” Chan adds quickly. “With me.”
Jeongin’s eyes soften instantly. It makes something twist in Chan’s chest, multiple times. Not good at all.
“O—of course! That’s… actually really nice.” A shy smile. “To be honest, I’ve always admired you, so for you to reach out was, um… kind of like a dream come true.” He fidgets with his sleeves. “We both lack in some departments but… we could even be each other’s firsts.”
Chan had not considered that.
The boy is newly out—what did Chan expect? That he wouldn’t want closeness? Kisses? Something more?
A wave of nausea hits him.
What exactly is his plan here? Lead Jeongin on for an unspecified amount of time, and then admit he’s not attracted to him? Haven’t been attracted to him from the start? Not to him, not to any man?
It sounds cruel. It is cruel.
Chan needs to fix this. Now.
He looks at Jeongin again.
Now, the boy looks like sunlight made human. A small smile resting on his lips, dimples faintly blooming in his cheeks. For the first time since this whole conversation started, he looks genuinely happy, and so confident—not like a bundle of nerves.
Chan can’t tell him.
Can’t break his heart in a moment like this.
Not—not yet.
Chan is now entirely sure he must have committed some grave sins in his last life on Earth and now he’s being punished for it.
It’s his and Jeongin’s third date.
Now Chan knows about Jeongin’s family, his childhood pets and his love for dancing and singing. They share a passion for musical theatre that Chan has been meticulously hiding from everyone, especially the guys from the swim team. Everyone, except Jeongin. It feels… refreshing, not having to hide a part of your true self from someone. It’s new, and it’s nice.
Their dates are also nice, and so is seeing Jeongin in the Music Faculty’s building, shooting Chan a smile and a tiny wave when their eyes meet during breaks in the hallways. Jeongin’s eyes curve into tiny crescents, and his dimples are full on display whenever he sees Chan. It’s almost like Jeongin wants to acknowledge their shared secrets, their time together, and fit them into the fondest expression during these seconds-long encounters.
With every passing day, though, Chan’s guilt grows heavier. He hasn’t set an exact date for when to tell Jeongin the truth. He did, however, analyze a thousand different ways to enunciate the ‘it’s not you, it’s me, you’re such a lovely kid, you will find someone worthy for sure.’
Someone who isn’t Chan.
Truthfully, Chan doesn’t even think he deserves to exist in the proximity of someone like Yang Jeongin. The boy is brilliant, his voice like nectar to a starved soul of a wanderer, showing Chan everything what he’s been missing out on. A lovely, lovely voice. Chan would love to ask Jeongin to record something together, maybe a ballad, though Chan didn’t dare to propose something like that to any of his Music Production professors so far. Maybe something inspired by The Greatest Showman ballads—
“Hyung, it’s your turn now,” Jeongin reminds him gently.
They’re playing Donkey Kong at an arcade. The game keeps lagging and crashing at the worst possible moments, and it’s driving Chan insane. Jeongin, however, had asked—with those bright, hopeful eyes—to see this part of him. Some of his childhood, what he played with his sister, what were his likes and dislikes. So here they are.
Chan grabs the controls, and immediately gets hit by a rolling barrel. Jeongin snorts.
Chan should find that unattractive. Or at least annoying. Instead, it makes him smile very wide. He’s so confused.
“Is your brain starting to crumble because of your age, hyung?” Jeongin teases, tugging at his sleeve.
“Yah, Jeongin-ah! Be nice to your hyung. I’m buying dinner today and it’s not too late to change my mind!”
Jeongin mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I sure hope the guy I’m dating buys me dinner,” but Chan can’t be sure. The arcade is noisy, and a group of girls next to them burst out in giggles at the same moment.
Only a few more meetings, Chan tells himself. They’re not even dates, really. Just a few more of these, and then Jeongin can find something real, with someone who actually wants him.
Jeongin slides into Chan’s newfound friend group easily, like he has always belonged here. He doesn’t mean the swim boys, of course—he doesn’t even want to imagine what they would think about a boy so artsy and fragile like Jeongin.
It all started with Felix, really. He kept demanding updates from Chan, going as far as visiting his dorm room when promptly ignored for 2 days. “There is no quitting Felix, hyung,” he said with that weird glint in his eyes, so Chan went meek and started answering.
Then it turned out that Hyunjin is actually updated on the whole situation, because all of them are in the same dance team. Which—fair enough, but Chan really hoped this relationship, if you can even call it that, could fly under the radar.
Then materialize Changbin and Jisung, who turn out to be Chan’s music production major dongsaengs, which—lovely, great to meet them—but they immediately start demanding to be introduced to Felix and Hyunjin, respectively. And that’s great! Chan wishes them luck on their escapades, or whatever. But he is not a matchmaking service, and most of all, he is not a part of the LGBTQ community, and being in proximity to so many gay people is—well, very confusing and stressful.
They also have these two pup play acquaintances, who apparently host pup play nights and very enthusiastically invite Chan and Jeongin to join before even learning their names. His homosexual and bisexual new friends seem to be very open-minded, and Chan should have figured as much—but again, he is not a part of the community. He doesn’t need to be included.
Nevertheless, navigating this new clique takes up a significant amount of Chan’s time, and as a consequence, he doesn’t spend as much time with the swim boys. He is still getting hounded for updates on his relationship with Jeongin by Felix and Hyunjin, because apparently, “Innie just gets so shy and awkward and doesn’t tell us anything!”, which would sound adorable if Chan didn’t know the truth, which is—
Jeongin has nothing to tell them.
In the last few weeks, Chan has been subtly trying to shift the attention away from himself. Jeongin has gotten to know such lovely queer people, so he should be free to explore his options. The puppy (and kitty, Chan learned a while later) couple, Seungmin and Minho, seemed very keen on including Jeongin in some way. That’s why Chan has been shifting their one-on-one dates into group hangouts. Someone from their newfound circle would probably gladly be Jeongin’s first.
“So, I’ve heard you hung out with Minho and Seungmin yesterday,” says Chan. What he expects is maybe a story of their outing, or maybe a confession on Jeongin’s part, not a hollow stare and pursed lips.
“Can we—talk about something else, please?”
Chan furrows his brows. It was supposed to be going well, this matchmaking he did. At least, contrary to Felix, he matched people who share attraction to the same gender! And he was pretty sure gay guys were open to threesomes anyway. He can’t really understand what exactly went wrong, but since befriending queer folks, he found out that he actually doesn’t understand a lot of things.
“Of course, Innie. I’m here for you. Remember that.”
Jeongin’s hand is laying on the cafeteria table, and it looks like he could use some calmness. So Chan decides to put his own hand on Jeongin’s, caressing it oh so delicately. It works on girls, usually, so maybe it’s the same in Jeongin’s case.
“Wanna tell me about your day, blossom?”
Jeongin’s cheeks get a few shades redder immediately. He’s frozen for a moment, and Chan sneaks in a few strokes of his long fingers in the meantime. Should a boy’s hands be this soft? Should a boy have fingers this long, looking this pretty? What does he need them for? At last, Jeongin lets out a long sigh.
“Yeah, hyung. I will tell you about my day,” he mumbles.
When Chan stops stroking his fingers when Jeongin’s talking, Jeongin turns to him with these pleading eyes and a cute frown.
Chan doesn’t stop a second time.
Chan really, truly means it this time.
This is the last one. It has to be.
Five dates is already too many—five chances to fix it, five chances to come clean, five times he opened his mouth and then just… didn’t say anything. It’s getting ridiculous at this point. Embarrassing, if he’s being completely honest with himself. If there was a moral scoreboard somewhere, Chan is pretty sure he’s losing by a landslide.
On the way to the museum, then the line for tickets. Then while Jeongin stood next to him, talking softly about the exhibit. He’d been wanting to see for weeks, eyes bright in that way that makes Chan feel like he’s being let in on something special. Maybe he is.
It’s not you, it’s me. You’re lovely, really, you are. You deserve someone better. Someone who actually wants you.
Someone who isn’t—
Chan exhales slowly. He can do it.
Someone who isn’t me.
Jeongin is also quiet.
Not in the shy, fidgety, slightly overwhelmed way that Chan has already learned how to read. It feels different. Tighter, maybe. Like something is sitting wrong inside him and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
His smiles come a second too late, and don’t stay as long. His fingers keep tugging at the edge of his sleeve.
They end up sitting on a bench in one of the quieter halls, a massive painting stretching across the wall in front of them—something abstract, harsh lines and soft colors bleeding into each other. Jeongin probably has something more insightful to say about it. Yet he doesn’t.
Instead, Jeongin’s hand is resting on the bench between them. His gaze is vacant, running around the artwork mindlessly.
Chan stares at Jeongin’s hand for a moment.
Then reaches over, carefully.
He turns Jeongin’s palm upward, and starts brushing slow, absent circles into his skin.
It has become normal, all the hand holding, which is—already a problem of its own.
“Something’s wrong,” Chan says, softer than he intended. “You can tell me.”
Jeongin doesn’t answer.
Chan keeps going anyway, because that’s what he does. Fills the silence. Fixes things when they’re broken.
“We’re in this together, yeah?” Another small stroke of his thumb. “I’m here for you.”
And he is.
He’s been doing everything right, hasn’t he?
He didn’t just leave Jeongin to figure things out alone. He introduced him to people, made sure he had options, made sure he could explore this whole thing with people who actually understand it. People like Minho and Seungmin, who are nice, and open, and clearly interested—
It should have worked.
It should have worked by now.
Jeongin lets out a breath.
“I don’t want your help, hyung.”
“…What?”
Jeongin’s ears are turning red again, faster this time. He’s staring straight ahead, then down, then anywhere that isn’t Chan. At the painting, then at his own hands that are glistening with sweat.
“I don’t want help,” he repeats, quieter, but firmer. “I want—”
He cuts himself off. Chan’s thumb stills against his palm.
There’s a pause, a long one. Jeongin swallows.
“A kiss.”
Chan’s brain… stops.
Because—no, that doesn’t make sense. That’s not where this was supposed to go. That’s not what this is. He’s helping. He’s been helping. He’s been—
His gaze drops to their hands.
His fingers are still wrapped around Jeongin’s. Jeongin still hasn’t pulled away.
He never pulls away.
Something in Chan’s chest shifts.
Oh.
Oh, no.
This isn’t—
This isn’t Chan being nice. This isn’t him being a good person, or a good hyung, or whatever excuse he’s been feeding himself to sleep at night. This is not charity. This is not guilt.
This is—
Jeongin shifts closer. And closer.
Carefully, quietly. Like he’s approaching a deer, a prey that might run away if he moves too fast. His eyes flicker up, just for a second.
He’s searching.
And that look, fuck, that look. It’s almost like he’s waiting for Chan to stop him, to laugh, to pull away and say no, you misunderstood, this isn’t—
But Chan doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even manage to breathe properly, he thinks.
And somehow, that’s enough. Because that’s not a no. Jeongin leans in.
Slowly. So slowly Chan has time to think about it, to panic, to stop this before it turns into something real, something irreversible, something that will definitely, absolutely ruin everything, and yet—
It’s Chan who closes the distance.
Just the last bit, the last few centimeters.
He can’t not.
His first thought is: it’s not actually that different to kissing girls. At least, it shouldn’t be.
But suddenly, after a while, it feels different.
Jeongin is so warm; softer than he has any right to be.
He melts into Chan’s touch and movement almost immediately, like he’s been holding himself back this whole time and finally doesn’t have to anymore, and there’s this small, quiet sound that slips out of him—barely there, but Chan feels it like it’s been carved directly into him.
His grip tightens without him meaning to.
Now he’s not thinking about what this means, or what happens after, or how badly he’s messed everything up.
Chan’s just right now, right here.
Kissing a boy.
Kissing the boy he likes.
Jeongin leans closer, pliant, trusting, like he’s letting Chan decide everything, and Chan, fuck—Chan wants to take his time. Wants to understand this, wants to stay right here in this exact second where nothing else exists except this.
Jeongin makes another soft sound. Chan sips it right from his pouty lips. It’s so unbelievably perfect.
Someone coughs in the distance. Jeongin startles and scurries away.
“I thought you would never do that, hyungie.” His quiet voice feels loud in the empty hall, like it’s being played exactly by Chan’s ear, even though Jeongin startled away so much that there’s room for two Jesuses on the bench between them.
“Um. Yeah, haha. Nice.” Chan studies to write lyrics, for fucks’ sake. He wants to be a writer for a living. Can’t his brain think of other words than nice?
“Did you… not want to?”
“No, Jeonginnie, of course I did! I just. Wasn’t sure if you were, um—” If Jeongin was what? Interested? Of course he was, that’s why they came here in the first place. “—ready?”
The last word comes out as a question. It sounds stupid. Chan’s stupid. And bisexual, apparently.
“Hyung. I have literally been looking at your lips half the time we were spending in each other’s company.”
Chan smiles coyly. He started noticing. It was hard not to.
“We can go eat something now, yeah? There were a lot of things to take in today.”
“Yeah, hyung. We can go.”
“I think we should talk. About, um. What happened in the museum.”
Jeongin stills. The beautiful slight blush that was covering his cheeks gets paler and paler, and then his face is completely motionless and colorless. His shoulders tense, his fingers curl slightly into his sleeves. Then it spreads further, quiet and quick, like ink in water.
“Oh.”
Chan immediately hates the way he said that. Too understanding, like he already knows where this is going. Like he expected it would be the end.
“No, I—” Chan starts, but Jeongin is already shaking his head.
“No, hyung, it’s okay,” he says quickly. “I kind of figured. I mean, it was—um. It was my fault, right? I shouldn’t have—asked for that, or done that.”
Chan’s chest tightens.
“That’s not—”
“I got ahead of myself,” Jeongin continues, words tripping over each other now, like if he stops talking the silence will crush him. “Felix said you were still figuring things out, and I didn’t mean to rush you or make it weird or anything, I just thought—” He laughs, small and breathless. “I thought you wanted to, too, but that was probably just me reading into things again.”
He finally looks at Chan, just for a second.
There’s something fragile there. Already pulling back.
“We can just go back,” Jeongin adds, quieter now. “To how it was before. Strangers. Friends, maybe. It’s fine, hyung. Really.”
“Jeongin-ah. I wasn’t supposed to be here with you.”
Chan exhales, running a hand through his hair, suddenly unable to sit still, to think straight, to do anything except keep talking, because if he stops now he won’t say it at all.
“I thought Felix was setting me up with someone else,” he says, the words tumbling out in uneven pieces. “I didn’t even know— I didn’t know it was going to be you.”
Jeongin’s hand slips out from under Chan’s like it burns.
“Oh.”
There it is.
But this time it’s—smaller.
Chan feels it land somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and wrong.
“That’s not—” he tries again, but nothing sounds right in his head anymore. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Jeongin nods.
He doesn’t look at him.
“No, I get it,” he says, voice careful, controlled in that way that makes it obvious he’s trying very hard not to let it shake. “You didn’t sign up for this. For me.”
That’s not—
That’s not what Chan meant.
“That’s not what this is,” he says quickly, leaning forward, like he can physically stop Jeongin from drifting any further away. “It’s not—just that.”
Jeongin lets out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed somewhere on the floor.
“Then what is it?”
Chan waits for something to come out from his mouth. tries to cling to any thought, any word. Instead, nothing comes out, because for once, he doesn’t have something ready. No practiced line, no easy reassurance, no way to twist this into something manageable.
“I should’ve told you,” he says instead, slower now. “From the start. When I realized.”
Realized what?
He doesn’t even know how to phrase it.
“I just—kept not saying anything.”
That sounds worse. It is worse.
Chan huffs out a frustrated breath, pressing his palms against his knees.
“I didn’t know I could—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “I didn’t think I was into guys. At all. And then this just—happened, and I thought if I just gave it time, I’d figure it out and then tell you properly, but it kept—”
“It kept what? Slipping away? Hyung, if you were straight, you should’ve told me from the start!”
It was Jeongin’s voice that was shivering, yet Chan felt tears pooling in his own eyes. No, no, no—
“I just didn’t want to mess it up!” he finishes, and he sounds miserable.
That finally makes Jeongin look up.
His eyes flicker over Chan’s face, searching.
“…Mess what up?” he asks.
Chan swallows.
This is it. The part where he has to actually say it. Not hide behind intentions, or excuses, or half-truths that sound better in his head.
“You,” he says.
It comes out rough.
“I didn’t want to mess up… this. Whatever this is. Between us.”
Jeongin’s brows pull together, just slightly.
“You mean the part where you had a crush on someone else?”
Chan winces.
“Okay, yeah, that—sounds bad when you say it like that.”
“It is bad, hyung.”
“I know.”
Silence settles again, but it’s different now. Still tense, but… open.
Chan exhales slowly.
“I’m still figuring it out,” he admits. “All of it. But that kiss—”
He stops, that dizzy feeling encircling his brain again.
Jeongin’s attention sharpens instantly.
Chan glances at him, then away again, like even that is too much right now.
“I didn’t, um. I didn’t not want that,” he says.
Understatement of the century.
Jeongin’s ears start turning red again.
“…You didn’t?” he asks, very quietly.
Chan huffs out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
“No, Jeongin. I really didn’t.”
That earns him a tiny, hesitant pause.
“…Oh.”
There’s that word again.
And maybe it’s true that third time’s a charm, because Jeongin’s voice finally doesn’t sound like something is breaking.
Chan risks looking at him properly.
Jeongin still looks unsure. Still hurt, a little. But there’s something else creeping back in, too—something softer. Hopeful, even if he’s trying to hide it.
Chan leans back slightly, giving him space.
“I just… should’ve told you sooner,” he says. “I wish I did. Before it got—complicated.”
Jeongin fidgets with his sleeves again.
“…It was already complicated,” he mumbles.
Chan lets out a quiet breath.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess it was.”
“…So,” Jeongin starts, glancing at him, then away. “What happens now?”
Chan’s chest does that thing again. That tight, twisting thing he still doesn’t have a name for.
“…I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’d like to figure it out.”
Jeongin’s fingers twitch slightly.
“Together?” he asks.
“…Yeah. Together, Jeonginnie.”