Archive of Our Own

For someone who prides himself on willpower, Youngjae finds himself jumping right back to old habits real fucking fast.

From the very moment he’d stepped into the bar, there’d been no room for him to worry over the fact that he’s held out on things like this for nearly a year now. It wasn’t hard for him to fall into his element, turning heads as he’d walked across the floor with his soft smile and pushed back hair, in an outfit he’d pulled from the back of his closet that shows just the right amount of skin. It didn’t take long for someone to take interest; Youngjae was barely through his second sip of a vodka martini when a guy leaned against the bar and asked if he could buy Youngjae a second one, and when their glasses were just halfway empty, Youngjae had asked the guy to dance instead of asking for his name. It’s just the way that these things go—Youngjae doesn’t bother with the formalities when every guy at this place is here for the same, damn thing, himself included—and the drinks and the music and the bright lights are just the prelude to something more. Not always something better, not always something worse—but definitely, always, more.

And Youngjae had almost felt at home on that dance floor, moving his body carelessly to the DJ’s shitty music, passing a beer between himself and a stranger and imagining the things he’d like to do when they inevitably take it someplace else. Youngjae knows that he’s attractive, and it’s nice to feel desired; it feels like second nature to lean into the way that a stranger grabs at his hips over his jeans, hot hands meeting the skin of his thighs where the denim’s ripped, and then traveling up to squeeze at the dips of his waist, the slightness of his torso softening down all one hundred and eighty-one intimidating centimeters of him into something pliable, ruinable. Shame and pleasure had fought one-to-one in the pit of his stomach when the stranger had finally leaned in to kiss him, Youngjae’s lips still shiny from his last sip of beer, and the deciding factor in that internal battle had been the shiver down his spine from the hot, breathy whisper against the shell of his ear: Can I take you home with me, baby?

In the end, Youngjae didn’t end up answering. He’d turned around and walked away, back to the bar with his beer still in hand, the taste turning sour on the back of his tongue and the feeling in the pit of his stomach finally choosing which name it wants to call itself. In the end, Youngjae couldn’t go through with it—which should be a good thing, really, since he’s been trying to kick this habit for the longest time now—but all it makes him feel is pathetic. He hadn’t left the bar with a random stranger, but he’d still gone in here intending to; Youngjae didn’t take his clothes off, but he let himself be touched and kissed and flirted with, regardless. It makes him wonder where he would have drawn the line, in hindsight, because he’s only halfway into relapse but he knows he’s stepped over the boundary of what would make him still feel clean. How far could he have taken it? Should he have stopped at getting bought a drink? Swatted away the hands that grabbed his hips? Swerved away before the kiss? Should he have just never stepped foot into this place at all?

Well, in the end—the stranger had left him alone as he’d asked. Luckily enough, the guy wasn’t some asshole creep, and he’d had the decency to ask Youngjae politely if he’d be okay on his own. Youngjae said he’d be fine, pretending he’d simply gotten a bit more drunk than he was intending to, and that was that; the stranger left, probably to find some other guy or go to some other bar and hope that the next one wouldn’t waste his time. Youngjae was fine with that. He’d ordered another drink at the bar instead.

Youngjae had been lying about being too drunk when the stranger left, but certainly wouldn’t be, now. He’s been drinking the whole night since he’s here anyway, and he isn’t keen on returning to his empty apartment still sober enough to wallow in embarrassment over his stupid, stupid decisions. It’s ironic; Youngjae remembers going to Jihoon’s intimate little birthday party a few weeks ago and accusing Dohoon of having a drinking problem, and now Youngjae understands Dohoon’s flippant reply of, I have a drinking problem tonight. To be fair, Dohoon was spiraling just from trying to impress two people he’s never met before, while Youngjae is spiraling because… because he’s actually a hopeless mess. He came out here to make himself feel something, and now he’s drinking himself into just not feeling anything at all. He’s gotten drunk enough to ward off even the guys walking up to just flirt at the bar. He must be a sight for sore eyes at this point, smudged eyeliner and lip tint stained on his chin and makeup gathering in lines over the dark circles under his eyes.

“Hypocrite,” Youngjae mutters unintelligibly to himself, ear pressed against the bar counter, wrist moving around a whiskey glass as he watches the ball of ice clink against the sides. Clink, clink, clack. His vision is starting to blur at the edges. He’s no longer got a sense of how long he’s even been here. “Coward. Choi Youngjae, you’re…”

He finds his throat is too dry to even bother finishing that utterance, and lifts his head up instead to take another drink. The whiskey burns as it goes down his throat, and his mouth starts to taste like the guy who kissed him again. Youngjae wants to throw up when he realizes he still kind of smells like that guy’s cologne, too.

The last thought that Youngjae has before his head makes a soft thump against the counter again is that he hopes Junghwan never has to see him like this. He kind of hopes Junghwan never has to see him again.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

1.

Youngjae’s downward spiral probably started on the night of Jihoon’s eight-person birthday party—though, in that moment, no one would probably have been able to guess.

It’s not like anything had really happened. Junghwan and Youngjae were all over each other that night, even, and if anyone was acting insane, it was Kim Dohoon. The guy had shown up hours late after insisting for weeks that he wasn’t showing up at all, he was clearly already tipsy, and he’d seemingly deliberately ignored Jihoon the whole night while devoting all of his attention to Jihoon’s other friends. He’d made a spectacle of himself, really. Youngje felt just bad enough for him to step in before it got worse.

Junghwan and Youngjae, on the other hand, were peachy as always. The two of them had shown up together; it seemed the most logical, considering that Youngjae knew Jihoon through Junghwan—and at base level, that was explanation enough—but Youngjae isn’t in denial of the fact that everyone else at that party had probably assumed their own reasons. And it’s fine; people are allowed to think what they think, and Youngjae knows that as far as Jihoon’s friends are concerned, they all just think of Junghwan and Youngjae as something-not-nothing. Jihoon likes to call it a situationship. Junghwan, gentleman that he is, calls it being friends. None of them are wrong, per se—but Youngjae just doesn’t call it anything. They just are. Shin Junghwan and Choi Youngjae—they just are.

And it’s because they just are that they’ve always been able to get away with these more affectionate, intimate displays. There’s a bit of a fragmented dynamic between the two of them, tiptoeing around the edges of things they have or haven’t said to each other, doing the guesswork of which conversations were real and which they’d each imagined in their heads when the other wasn’t around. Youngjae imagines that both of them do quite a lot of imagining, when it comes to each other. Youngjae wonders if, on the night of Jihoon’s birthday party, Junghwan had been expecting Youngjae to cuddle up into his side for as long as he did, or to interlock their fingers over his knee as if they’ve done it a million times before; he’s almost positive that Junghwan has probably at least imagined all of those things, more than just once or twice.

Youngjae has always thought that he’d been given a significant leg up by the fact that when he and Junghwan first met, they’d met on the very basis of Junghwan already having somewhat of a crush. Junghwan likes him, as a person, as a friend—so he says—and it sets him apart from the kind of guys that Youngjae is used to seeking out, who mostly just want him for one night and one thing. It doesn’t leave any room for Youngjae to second-guess the sweet little gestures of affection that Junghwan does for him; it also makes it easier for Youngjae to keep a safe enough distance, to measure out his actions in a way that says: You like me, I know that. The ball is in my court, and I haven’t made a move. I like where we are. I like that we just are.

In which moment exactly had something shifted, Youngjae wonders? Maybe this all started the very moment that Youngjae got carried away, slid his fingers into the gaps between Junghwan’s just to prove some kind of point. The memory of it is a bit hazy now. All he knows is that throughout the rest of that night, as if a new line had been drawn in the sand for Junghwan to cross over as he pleased, Junghwan wouldn’t stop reaching for Youngjae’s hand, claiming it back every time that Youngjae would pull it away. It had started pouring rain outside while Dohoon and Jihoon were out on their impromptu ice cream run; Kyungmin and Hanjin had come in from the balcony, suggesting they wind down with the lights off and a movie on the big TV, and just minutes later they were all settled in with bowls of microwave popcorn that Woonhak and Yujin had burned slightly in the kitchen. The funny, stomach-twisty thing is that Youngjae doesn’t recall ever moving for any of it—but he remembers that once all eight of them were gathered back into the living room, Youngjae was still cuddled up in Junghwan’s arms, a blanket over them as if they were a singular unit on the too-soft couch. One of his hands was trapped in Junghwan’s, while the other held up one of those towering Bbangbbarae ice cream cones that someone had rolled into bits of crushed oreos at his request. They shared that ice cream as if it was something they did all the time, too.

Throughout the whole night, Junghwan continued to reach for Youngjae’s hand—and Youngjae continued to give it to him, because the two of them communicate through crossing those lines from imagination into reality, and Youngjae could sense the veiled fascination, the well-tempered giddiness in Junghwan’s actions after every new thing that Youngjae had let him get away with. Before he knew it, Youngjae had made a haven for himself, enveloped in warmth and Junghwan’s arms; Junghwan’s hand curled around his fingers and knuckles—present, straining. Their knuckles pressed against each other, and for a moment, the notion of fitting like puzzle pieces could never compare. Good work is invisible, people say, but Youngjae’s pretty sure it felt nicer to know, to feel all the seams of the space between them—the soreness of his clasped hand in the aftermath that proved that he’d been touched. They shared Youngjae’s ice cream and had the same flavor in their mouths, if only for the briefest moment.

It was all so… safe. Things always feel safe with Junghwan, when it all boils down—but the thing with Youngjae is that he tends to get these things backwards sometimes, tends to get in his head about things like the comfort and tenderness that someone like Shin Junghwan has brought into his life. Youngjae has always hesitated to reciprocate Junghwan’s feelings because there is this cloying, deep-seated instinct in him that flinches away at the mere suggestion of being considered without being desired—and it seems that for Junghwan, the former of the two has always been more important. Youngjae can’t fathom it; it’s a different story if he believes it, but it’s not what he’s used to, at the very least. It occurs to him that he has Junghwan’s heart in his hands, still, while Junghwan has nothing of his—not really. Youngjae hasn’t given him all that much in the year that they’ve known each other, and yet Junghwan stays.

And it kills him, because Youngjae knows that Junghwan is a smart guy—and yet he’s acting like a fool for someone like Youngjae. Someone who gives him nothing. It’s one thing to drink up care and devotion, but it’s another to be worthy of it, and Youngjae knows that he’s only one of those things. It’s a shame he’d only realized it in the middle of the movie they were watching, when he was already cozy and warm, burrowed into Junghwan’s side. He’d known by then to fully savor it, at least. And then Youngjae decided that it would be the last time.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Dohoon is in the middle of rooting through his wallet for something bigger than a ₩1,000 bill when he contemplates if he should actually help Jihoon try to carry Youngjae’s limp body off the barstool, but the thought is snuffed out in an instant when he realizes he would probably just make it worse. Anyway, he finds enough money in his wallet to slap a ₩20,000 tip on the counter for the bartender before they leave, with Youngjae precariously draped over Jihoon’s back.

“Thanks,” Dohoon says with a resigned look on his face, hoping the guy can deduce all the specific apologies from his tone.

“No problem, man,” the bartender says, taking the bills off the table, “hope you get him home safe.”

That’s that. Dohoon runs off to follow Jihoon after, past the people on the dance floor, right out of the door they’d just come into. 

“Dohoon-hyung, can you hurry and get a cab? Please?”

Jihoon whines the question, not really irritated, but clearly uncomfortable from the weight of a very, very drunk Youngjae on his back. Dohoon doesn’t argue because they’re both caught in this same predicament, and he runs out onto the street to raise his hand for a taxi instead, trying and trying until an empty one actually slows down and stops by.

“He’s heavy, huh?” Dohoon jokes, trying to lighten at least the atmosphere.

“He’s so much heavier when he’s unconscious,” Jihoon complains, breaths ragged.

“Hey, you were the one who insisted you wanted to come along.” Dohoon manages to flag down a cab, and gets ready to open the door for Jihoon when it stops for them. “It’s almost here, just wait a bit more.”

“You should be thanking me, you know,” Jihoon laughs, weary, “you wouldn’t have been able to do this yourself, clearly.”

“I’d have slapped him awake and made him walk,” Dohoon rolls his eyes. The cab arrives at their stretch of sidewalk, and Dohoon opens the door to the backseat. “Can you even get him in there?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Mmpfh… Who… What is… Who…”

Dohoon can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight of Youngjae, eyes blinking open slightly as he’s deposited into the backseat of the cab. “It’s Dohoon and Jihoon, smart guy. We’re here to pick you up.”

Youngjae slurs, “Hmm…? Oh… what? Jihoon…”

“If we’re being exact, the bartender called me,” Dohoon scoffs, shakes his head. Jihoon waves a hand at him, mildly admonishing. Dohoon gets the message and slams the car door shut with Youngjae and Jihoon settled in the backseat, but he goes right back to going off on Youngjae the moment he’s settled in the passenger seat. “Yah, Choi Youngjae, don’t you have friends who could pick you up? Don’t you have friends that could have gone with you?”

There’s a beat of silence for a bit in the back, until Youngjae mutters, “You… you guys are my… friends…”

Dohoon sighs. “...You need better friends.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Jihoon interjects, swatting at Dohoon’s shoulder from behind. “Sorry, Mr. Driver, we’ll give you a really good tip, I promise.”

“It’s your turn to tip this time, Jihoon-ah. Or better yet, go and check if sleep-talking beauty over there has some cash on him.”

Jihoon clicks his tongue. The driver asks where they’re supposed to actually go.

“Don’t you know where he lives?” Dohoon asks Jihoon, who just holds both hands up with a shrug. “Well, you know we can’t take him to my dorm!”

“I can’t take him to my house, either!” Jihoon answers, slightly panicked. 

“I… I’m… Hyung—”

Dohoon pinches his brow. He takes another look at Youngjae sprawled out on the left side of the backseat, and he is concerned, underneath it all—but on the surface, he can’t help but be just a little bit pissed off. He and JIhoon had been hanging out at Jihoon’s house when Dohoon got the call from Youngjae’s phone, and he’d been a  bit snippy on the phone with the bartender who’d told him with a worried voice that Youngjae needed picking up, and since there was no one on his emergency contacts list, he’d opted to call the last person that Youngjae had texted instead. It was just Dohoon’s luck that Youngjae had texted him earlier in the afternoon, I think I kinda wanna go out and drink alone tonight lol, and Dohoon had texted him back much later in the evening, ironically, Don’t do anything stupid, just stay home if you’re gonna get drunk on your own. Idiot. And now here Dohoon is, ripped away from finally having Jihoon’s full, undivided attention after their busy schedules and different universities have taken a toll on their friendship for the past few months. He supposes this is some kind of fucked-up bonding activity in itself, though. It was nice that Jihoon had immediately offered to go with him when he saw how frustrated Dohoon looked after dropping the call, if anything.

“So, what? Do we just leave him on the street?”

“Dohoon-hyung!”

“Well, there’s only so many places in the world!” Dohoon argues, eyes wide, looking to the driver beside him for support. He’s a man of few words, and luckily, doesn’t seem too opposed to their antics. Dohoon swears to god he’s going to give the saint every ₩50,000 bill he finds in Youngjae’s wallet. “What? How about Hanjin’s apartment?”

Jihoon sighs. “I don’t think Hanjin’s home.”

“Well, shit.” Dohoon looks back at them both in the backseat, still lamenting over the fact that he and Jihoon could still be in Jihoon’s bedroom right now, spending their well-deserved quality time. It’s a fucking shame, because Youngjae did kind of play a part in getting Dohoon to get his shit together around Jihoon, and now he’s the one ruining it. Dohoon does owe him this favor, but it’s way too much to consider them even. Youngjae will have hell to pay, because Dohoon could have worked up the courage to ask Jihoon to make out with him by now if they weren’t in a taxi fussing over where to even take him. Well, it seems moot now. Guess they’ll never know.

After a beat of silence, their driver says timidly, “...So, I’m going to have to stop idling here soon. Maybe you have an… idea? Of the general area of where your friend lives?”

Dohoon purses his lips. He has no idea, because they’re not exactly fucking close, and all he knows is that Youngjae moved out of his campus dorm in the middle of their sophomore year. In the back, he hears Youngjae trying to shake Youngjae awake gently, tapping at his flushed cheeks and hoping he’ll say something intelligible before the cab driver kicks them to the curb. Literally.

“Hyung,” Jihoon mutters, quiet but urgent. “Youngjae-hyung, do you have your address written somewh— Hyung, look at me—”

They’re interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Dohoon turns his head to look back, points at the pocket of Youngjae’s jeans. “JIhoon-ah! It’s his phone, go check who it is.”

“Hyung… Junghwan-hyung…”

Dohoon clicks his tongue, realization dawning on him. He almost doesn’t catch it; the name only sounds familiar because it comes off Youngjae’s lips, and it starts to click into place. There’s only so many reasons that Dohoon would expect to find Youngjae, of all people, nearly blackout drunk.

In the backseat, Jihoon answers Youngjae’s phone. “Hello?”

The driver puts the taxi into gear, and they start to move. Dohoon asks the driver if they can open the windows. He’s not a complete monster. He tries not to get too sulky about the fact that Jihoon is petting Youngjae’s hair.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

2.

The first time that Dohoon met Choi Youngjae was in their freshman year of university, at a fully-packed bar on a Saturday night, right at the end of exam season when everyone was eager to shed off all the residual stress and remember what it was like to actually feel alive.

Dohoon had been accompanied by a few friends back then, though he was at the bar with the express purpose of finding someone—to date, or to hook up with, or to just befriend. Whatever. He’d made a resolution when he graduated high school that he wouldn’t resort to the apps and shit—that he’d actually go and get a good time out of his college experience while he was there anyway, and not just a good fuck. And anyway, even when he’d strike out on the latter, he could always fall back on the fact that he’d still be in a bar with alcohol and friends and dancing, and not simply wallowing at home after fifty swipes left. Dohoon went to places like this to have fun, to see what the universe would drop into his lap, and follow it wherever it would take him.

Youngjae had been sitting at the bar when Dohoon first caught sight of him, sipping on a cocktail in a fancy, tall glass, his palm covering the rim of it, the straw sticking out from in between his middle and forefinger, right up to his lips. He’d had this air of soft confidence about him, alone and unbothered but his body language holding a secret, silent message: I won’t be alone for long. It pulled Dohoon in, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud in the present. Youngjae seemed to know that people gravitated towards him, and Dohoon had no problem with falling into his orbit. It didn’t matter to him if it would be more aptly named a trap than an invitation. Dohoon had sat down next to Youngjae anyway, and asked the bartender for the same thing he was having. Their fates were sealed when Youngjae looked at him and smiled.

“Looking to go home with someone tonight?” Dohoon asked, playful but straightforward. Things fell into place from there. Dohoon knew how to hand out invitations, too.

Youngjae had looked him up and down, once or twice. Dohoon liked how pleased Youngjae seemed to be in the moments after. “Depends on the ‘someone.’”

It became crystal clear to Dohoon right then that Youngjae, unlike himself, wasn’t the type to think about the kinds of things that Dohoon did when he came to these kinds of places. He wasn’t here to enjoy the drinks or the loud music; sitting at the bar and looking all pretty and inviting and mysterious was simply the means, toward the end that he probably always got. Youngjae was the type of guy who never had to try all that hard to get men to flock to him, and he probably came to these bars hoping, knowing that he’d be able to leave soon enough—often with someone on his arm. He didn’t look out of place, exactly; Youngjae just made it so tempting to want to take him to a different place, somewhere away from here. Somewhere quieter, where he didn’t need his palm to shield the top of his drinking glass.

“Well,” Dohoon had asked Youngjae then, eager to know what he thought of him—how similar or different he must be from all the other guys who’ve tried this with him before, “what is it that you’re looking for?”

“I was hoping to find someone who was a good kisser, this time,” Youngjae had answered, half-joking, and then wrapping his lips around the straw between his fingers. “Boys from around here fuck just fine—but none of them kiss quite right.” He’d looked Dohoon up and down one more time, sizing him up, before landing his eyes clearly, calculatedly, on his lips. Then, with a smirk, he’d remarked, “Not yet, at least.”

Dohoon had laughed. Youngjae was good at this, already had him in the palm of his hand. Dohoon was thinking about it, now. Kissing him. “I’m KIm Dohoon, by the way.”

Youngjae had turned his barstool to face forward again, tilting his head as if contemplating his decision, before turning to look at Dohoon through his eyelashes with an incredulous huff. It was nearly inaudible over the music when he’d muttered, “Choi Youngjae.”

They went home together that night—or to a cheap hotel, more like. Dohoon thinks he’d more than proved he was a good kisser, and since then, Youngjae has confirmed that it wasn’t just some line that he threw out to every guy he’d seen. Dohoon can’t help but cringe a bit when he thinks about it now, because he couldn’t have known back then that they’d ever meet again after that—that they would even become something like friends, at Jihoon’s behest. Sometimes Dohoon wonders if he would have gone through with hooking up with him if he’d had a glimpse into the future, though he supposes that he and Youngjae would have never actually crossed the line into friendship, had it not been for that one night. 

Perhaps the universe had purposely set it up that way for the two of them. Dohoon and Youngjae would never be as comfortable as they are now, calling each other on their bullshit, if they’d never met at that shitty bar and hooked up in that shitty hotel. Dohoon would find out later that he was the first guy Youngjae had slept who even bothered to tell him his name, and eventually Dohoon told Youngjae that he had terrible taste in men, and eventually Youngjae would tell Dohoon that he had terrible taste in general and also a drinking problem and also a Jihoon problem—and things have usually gone like that with them, up to now. They’re both past the point of pretending that they’re above each other when Dohoon knows all the sorts of names that Youngjae likes to be called in bed and Youngjae was keen enough to immediately clock that Dohoon was thinking about someone else while they fucked—and it’s all kind of funny, really. Dohoon supposes that Youngjae was the best case scenario by far, if he had to end up being friends with a one-night stand. They’re both a fucking mess, and they both know it. It’s the reason that they tend to get so irritated with each other, after all. No matter how stupid either of them is acting, the other can never pretend that they don’t understand.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

They seem to be driving over a bridge when Youngjae stirs awake in the back of a car he doesn’t remember getting into. The windows are down, there’s idle chatting from the other passengers, and Youngjae has a sinking, panicky feeling in his stomach when he realizes that he doesn’t really know where he is.

“...should’ve just taken him on the subway.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you didn’t have to carry him.”

“Right. If I carried him, his ankles would get caught in the doors before I could drag him out.”

“You’re so mean to him!”

The two people conversing fall into quiet laughter, and Youngjae’s heart settles a bit when the sounds start to sound familiar in his clouded ears. He’s in a car—taxi, probably—with Dohoon and Jihoon, and there’s a hand in Youngjae’s hair that’s warm and a little heavy. Jihoon’s hand. Youngjae can’t remember calling them, doesn’t know why he would—but now that he thinks about it, he kind of doesn’t remember anything. He remembers sitting at the bar with a drink, like he always does. Did Dohoon and Jihoon just happen to be there, too? He’s never known Jihoon to go to bars and clubs, though. So maybe not.

“Ji—” Youngjae mutters, his throat dry, as he tries to sit up. The hand in his hair falls away. “What… Jihoon-ah?”

“Oh, hey, you’re awake!” Jihoon exclaims in a whisper, as if any louder sound might cause Youngjae to break. 

From the front seat, Youngjae vaguely registers Dohoon turning around to look at him, for all of two seconds. “Oh, thank god, you’re not dead.”

Youngjae doesn’t have the energy to retort. Instead, he asks no one in particular, “Where are… Are we going home?”

No one answers him for a bit. Youngjae tries to look out the open window, and sees that they’re driving over the Han River, though he can’t place at the moment if it’s the right way back to his apartment. Or maybe one of theirs? Youngjae can’t remember if either of them knows where he lives anyway.

“Jihoon-ah… Are you sure this is the way home?”

“Uh… Well—”

“We’re taking you to Junghwan-hyung’s apartment, dumbass,” Dohoon answers for him. “Just sit tight.”

Youngjae wants to throw up.

“No, no, stop the car. Turn around, I’m not going—”

Dohoon speaks over him, “Mr. Driver, please don’t listen to him, he’s drunk. Don’t listen to him.”

Youngjae looks over at Jihoon, who looks back with an apologetic expression on his face, and pleads with him, “Jihoon-ah, why would you take me there? Why— I can’t— Don’t let him see me like this, what the fuck—”

“Hyung, he’s worried about you, mm?” Jihoon answers, the concern clear in his tone. “He called your phone, said that you called him, earlier tonight. He couldn’t pick up ‘cause of a work thing.”

Youngjae shakes his head, confused. “I didn’t call him.”

Dohoon scoffs. “Your call history says you called him, like, three times.”

“I did not. When?!”

“After the bartender called me to come get you,” Dohoon huffs, irritated. “He just called the last person who texted you, and now there goes our Friday night. Didn’t I tell you not to go out drinking alone? Who has a drinking problem now?”

They pass the bridge. Youngjae wants to throw up again. “Kim Dohoon, I’m going to jump out of this car.”

“Okay, okay, Youngjae-hyung, it’s fine,” Jihoon interjects, placating. He moves from his side of the car into the middle of the backseat, lays his palm flat over Youngjae’s shoulder, and then turns to glare at Dohoon in the passenger seat. “Will you please stop provoking him?”

“He’s wasted out of his mind, it’s not like he can do anything to me.”

“Well, I’m the one in the backseat with him!” Jihoon says, pouting, and then reaching up to brush Youngjae’s sweaty hair out of his face. “I mean… what’s gotten into you, Youngjae-hyung? I thought you haven’t been out clubbing in ages…”

“Yah, something happened between you and Shin Junghwan, didn’t it?” Dohoon interjects again, his tone a mix of sullen and teasing. “Couldn’t stop muttering his name, and everything. I swear to god. Even our driver wants to know who Junghwan-hyung is and what the hell he did to you.”

Youngjae leans against the open window, mortified. He doesn’t remember doing all of that. He came out tonight to forget all of that. The cool air hits his face and they’re in a neighborhood Youngjae isn’t all that familiar with. He closes his eyes for a bit, and the scent of alcohol and perfume mixes in with the clean air. “He didn’t do anything… It’s my fault…”

There’s that hand on his shoulder again—Jihoon’s—though he doesn’t say anything.

It’s Dohoon who sighs, and says, “Well, at least you know.”

Jihoon clicks his tongue at that, but Youngjae simply accepts it. He knows he’d be talking to Dohoon exactly like that if their roles were reversed. 

Youngjae looks back into the car after a bit. The space has gone silent as they start to make more turns off the main road, and Jihoon is still situated beside him, watching him intently. Youngjae’s eyelids start to feel heavy, and he finds himself settling his head onto JIhoon’s shoulder, though he keeps his arms stubbornly to himself. 

“Does he hate me…?”

Youngjae doesn’t even know if he’d muttered the question out loud. There’s a sigh from the front seat, and Jihoon brushes the hair out of Youngjae’s face again. He thinks he hears Jihoon giving him an answer, but he falls back asleep before he can hear what it actually was.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

3.

Youngjae had first met Junghwan around this same season, one year ago. It was mostly thanks to Han Jihoon, which is why Youngjae tries not to say anything whenever Jihoon still pesters them about their ‘relationship’ to this day.

Even back then, Junghwan was… well, conservative isn’t the right word, but old-fashioned makes him sound like some kind of middle-aged creep, when really, he and Youngjae only have two years of age between them. Youngjae had picked up a part-time job at a coffee shop near his new studio apartment, hoping to scrape up enough extra cash to not have to worry his parents and older brother with paying the excess of the rent. He’d moved out of the on-campus dorm after a nasty falling-out with his old roommate, and that made it easy enough for Youngjae to suck it up and take the studio without ever looking back—nevermind the higher rent, the longer distance from his campus, the cramped space. Youngjae was able to breathe easier when he’d finally gotten a place that was just his.

He’d learned quickly enough, even after just a few months of working there, that his natural charm didn’t only hold up under the noise of DJ music and the dim lights of an underground bar. Still, meeting people at the café was a bit different—people were less direct, more shy, and certainly more polite—and Youngjae had gotten a lot of phone numbers jotted down on receipts, late-night customers who’d linger for a little bit longer than they needed to at the counter, people who would ask if they could buy Youngjae a coffee or a pastry, whether or not it’s meant as a prelude to anything more. Youngjae had had a thought early on that the people who flirted at coffee shops somehow managed to make that last question sound so different from the pick-up artists at the bars, even if they’ve simply replaced the prospect of a vodka soda with the possibility of something espresso-based. At the bars, people tend to tell the bartender that he’ll have another of the same thing, but when he’s working at the café, it’s fun to watch them try and take a guess. Can I buy you a coffee? A latte? A mocha? A cold brew, so you can dress it up how you like?

Even so—Junghwan was still one of the conservative ones. Shy, maybe, he’d say to defend himself, but Youngjae would never have guessed that he was even remotely interested if Jihoon hadn’t made the first move. The two of them came by the café a lot, seemed to be regulars even before Youngjae had started working there. They went to the university nearby, Youngjae would find out later, and liked to study together, a freshman and a senior, for some general education class that they shared. They always sat at the same table, kept mostly to themselves unless Jihoon had some big story that he wanted to shout about. Junghwan always ordered a strawberry latte, and Jihoon went for something different every time, and their table was a good distance away from the counter where Youngjae worked, but Youngjae had always been in their line of sight.

Thing is—those were all things that Youngjae would only realize later. Truth be told, he hadn’t even paid too much attention to the two of them, would have never taken notice of smaller details if Jihoon had never come up to the counter on that fateful night to talk. Junghwan has found this out since then, too, but Youngjae really wouldn’t have ever picked up on the fact that Junghwan was interested from his stolen glances alone. Guess that means you succeeded with the ‘stealing’ part, then, Youngjae would joke. Youngjae had never noticed the way that Junghwan was apparently eyeing him, even on the nights when he’d been the one to come up to counter to order for himself and Jihoon. Eventually, Youngjae had realized that Junghwan was the one who always said strawberry latte, even when it was called something cheesy like Love Shot Latte on the chalkboard menu. It always put a smirk on Youngjae’s face, even before he knew who Junghwan was.

The way it happened was simple enough. Three months into working there, Jihoon had abandoned Junghwan at their table to walk back up to the counter with determined, purposeful steps. Youngjae was already preparing to ring him up for a second coffee or something; he’d been genuinely surprised at what Jihoon actually ended up saying right to his face.

“I’ll have another latte, please,” Jihoon said, leaning forward onto the counter, dangerously close, “and also, that hyung over there has had a crush on you for months, Youngjae-ssi, do you think you’d maybe wanna go on a date with him sometime? ‘Cause it’s driving me insane. He’s a good-looking guy, isn’t he?”

Youngjae’s eyes were wide as he punched in Jihoon’s new order, and all that he could really do in the moment was let out a surprised laugh. He’d leaned over the counter, too, in the direction that Jihoon was pointing, to get a glimpse of this good-looking guy. To Junghwan’s credit, he was. “Shouldn’t he be asking me that himself, then?”

Jihoon sighed, “He’s always got an excuse. He says he doesn’t want to hit on you at your place of work—but, I mean, how else is he gonna approach someone he likes?”

“Well, that’s very…” Youngjae had responded, with the same smirk on his face that he gets every time Junghwan refuses to call the Love Shot Latte by its name, “...respectful.”

Respectful. That was the right word for him, maybe. Junghwan had been respectful, a gentleman, ever since then. He’d rushed to the counter right after Jihoon went back to their table with his new latte, eyes wide in apology after apparently being filled in on what happened during Jihoon and Youngjae’s brief exchange. 

“I’m sorry, he shouldn’t have done that,” Junghwan had said, lips pressed into a thin line in apology. “I hope you don’t feel pressured to do anything. I really didn’t ask him to, I swear.”

“But you did want to ask me out,” Youngjae had said, amused by his flustered display, “yeah?”

Junghwan had paused for a whole, three seconds—and then he nodded. He’d swallowed hard. “Well, that’s true…”

Youngjae wouldn’t be able to say now what made him say yes, at the time—whether that was to Jihoon, when he’d asked Youngjae if he’d hear Junghwan out, or to Junghwan himself, when he’d finally picked up the courage to go for what he wanted. Youngjae didn’t think back then that there was anything really special about Junghwan, at least compared to any of the other guys—otherwise, Youngjae should have noticed him before—so he doesn’t know why his response had been different. Another thing about being flirted with at the coffee shop was that unlike the bars, it never led anywhere. Youngjae never let it—not until Junghwan (or Jihoon, first) had come stumbling into his orbit, asking him for a chance. Maybe Youngjae was morbidly curious about what had to be hiding, inevitably, behind that gentlemanly façade. Maybe he’d sensed Jihoon’s want to befriend him, and thought it would be kind to let him feel the satisfaction of successfully setting them up, regardless of how that would turn out in the end. It wouldn’t be anything, Youngjae had already thought, way back then. He’s never lasted very long with guys who’d taken an interest in him because of his looks, anyway. Youngjae thought that he and Junghwan would go on a few dates, decide it wasn’t going to work long before anything could get messy, and then stay friends, or at least not ignore each other at the café anymore after. No harm, no foul.

Clearly not. Clearly, Junghwan was different—and Youngjae was wrong.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Junghwan scratches his head when he lets Dohoon and Jihoon into his apartment, the latter carrying a passed-out Youngjae on his back.

“Where should I put him, hyung?” Jihoon asks as he struggles to hold Youngjae up, his limp arms hanging like a ragdoll off of his shoulders.

In lieu of answer, Junghwan closes the door behind Dohoon and scrambles to lead them toward the bedroom, nevermind the fact that they still have their shoes on. 

“Oh, thank—” Jihoon grunts when they get there, cutting himself off to finally, gingerly put Youngjae down onto Junghwan’s bed, before finishing his utterance with a relieved, “—god.”

Jihoon’s chest is heaving when he’s finally free of the weight on his shoulders, and when Junghwan looks toward his bed at Youngjae—out cold, limbs contorted in a mess against rumpled bedsheets, his head just barely missing the pillows—he finds he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s inclined to pull the blanket over Youngjae, or slide the pillow down until it’s under his neck, but he’s hyperaware of Jihoon and Dohoon still in the room, watching him, almost waiting on his next move. Instead, Junghwan just sighs in defeat.

How did it even get to this point, anyway?

Junghwan ushers Dohoon and Jihoon out of his bedroom, back into the brighter light. Youngjae hasn’t been talking to him all that much since Jihoon’s little birthday soiree a couple of weeks ago, and Junghwan hadn’t really thought much of it, because that’s just how Youngjae is. He disappears sometimes, has his own life to attend to—and so Junghwan was surprised when he’d left his company dinner, seen Youngjae’s three missed calls, and then called him back, only to hear Jihoon’s voice on the phone. We’re in a taxi, Youngjae-hyung is blackout drunk, he’d said, and he keeps saying your name. Did you two have a fight or something?

“Thanks for picking him up,” Junghwan addresses them both when they make it to his living room, a sigh of relief escaping him—and he realizes that it was the smell of alcohol and perfume on Youngjae’s clothes that had been making him dizzy, stirring an ugly feeling in his gut. Junghwan thinks he’s about to start shaking, trembling with the helplessness of not knowing. Did they have a fight, or something? He doesn’t think so. He doesn’t know. “How much was the cab?”

Jihoon waves him off. “It’s fine, hyung, don’t worry about—”

“₩40,000 including the tip. ₩20,000 for the bartender who called me, and Jihoon paid the bill for his drinks, too.”

“Yah, are you crazy?” Jihoon scolds him in a screamed whisper, swatting at Dohoon’s arm.

Junghwan just nods, resigned. He walks over to grab his wallet from the work bag he’d dropped on the couch earlier, in his rush to clean up his room when he’d gotten the call that Dohoon and Jihoon would be bringing Youngjae over. He takes an indiscriminate amount of yellow bills, definitely more than they need, and puts it into Jihoon’s hands for their troubles, while giving Dohoon an acknowledging nod. “Thank you. Just get a taxi back home, too. It’s late.”

Jihoon opens his mouth right then, probably to argue, but eventually decides against it. 

Dohoon puts a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder, surprisingly much gentler than the swat he’d just received seconds ago, and says, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Dohoon starts walking them back immediately to the front door. Jihoon looks back at Junghwan every once in a while, hesitating a bit, but he follows Dohoon anyway. Junghwan lets them go, too lost in his own thoughts to worry about what either of them have to say to him about the situation they’re in, too occupied with trying not to clench his jaw too hard at the thought of going back into his bedroom and seeing Youngjae so messed up, but not being able to do anything about it besides sit back and watch. Take care of him in the aftermath.

“Will you be fine?” Jihoon asks at the last second, right when Dohoon already has his hand on the door.

Junghwan nods. What the fuck else is he supposed to say. “I’ll take care of him.”

Jihoon nods back, sufficiently reassured. He’s always seemed to have this belief that Junghwan was the one who had his shit together, that Junghwan always knew what he was doing. It makes Junghwan shudder with fear.

Before they leave, though—when they’re already a few meters down the hall, even—Junghwan sees Dohoon walking back toward his door, leaving Jihoon confused where he stands.

“Shin Junghwan,” Dohoon says in a low whisper when he reaches Junghwan’s still-open door, and Junghwan raises an eyebrow at the blatant, challenging tone. “He’s drunk. You better not try anything.”

Junghwan has to literally, physically bite his tongue to hold back from defending himself. It bothers him a bit that Dohoon would even consider that thought, even if he knows that he means well. He’s glad that someone else is thinking about Youngjae, even. Dohoon’s always huffy and puffy around Youngjae, but he cares. “Get out of my house, Dohoon-ah.”

Dohoon hums in reply, and it seems they’ve come to enough of an understanding. Junghwan simply watches as Dohoon goes back to catch up to Jihoon in the hall, swinging an arm around his shoulders and keeping it there until they disappear around the corner to the elevators, out of Junghwan’s sight. It’s only then that Junghwan closes his door, and then leans back against it with a long, long exhale.

He should probably go and check on Youngjae now, put the blankets and the pillows in their place. Junghwan should go and grab some painkillers, put a glass of water on the nightstand. He should take care of him, just as he’d promised.

But that strong, dizzying scent still lingers in the air of Junghwan’s bedroom when he walks in, and sees Youngjae still sprawled out haphazardly on his bed. He has no idea how, or why Youngjae had even gotten to this point, but Junghwan can’t help but wince at the thought that it has something to do with them not having spoken in weeks. Junghwan should be fine with this, really; he and Youngjae are friends—regardless of what everyone around them likes to speculate—and yet there’s an all-consuming feeling inside of him that he doesn’t have a name for, fueled by the deep-seated hurt of the not-knowing.

Junghwan tries to be patient. He always does, when it comes to Youngjae. They aren’t together. They go out for meals or coffee together, just the two of them—but those aren’t dates. They hold hands and cuddle and text into the late hours of the morning—but they don’t kiss, or have sex, or stop each other from kissing or having sex with anyone else—and even if Junghwan did want all of that, it isn’t what they are. Even if Youngjae never stops him from wanting all of that—it isn’t what they are.

Junghwan knows that it’s partially his own fault, too. Even with what everyone around them assumes, Junghwan is the only person who knows that for the past year, he’s been okay with being Youngjae’s, even if Youngjae was never his. Perhaps Youngjae is the only other person who knows that; Junghwan is fine with that, too. The thing is, right now, it’s hard to reconcile that veil of guarded chivalry when Youngjae is here, lying in Junghwan’s bed, and there’s a wave of fierce, biting protectiveness that washes over him when Junghwan realizes he smells like somewhere else, someone else. Junghwan isn’t owed an explanation for whatever Youngjae was or wasn’t doing at that bar to get this wasted, and yet it claws at his insides—the fear, the hurt.

But it’s fine. It has to be fine, because all that matters now is that Youngjae is here, and he’s safe, and he’d called Junghwan anyway when he needed someone, whether he’d meant to or not. That’s all that Junghwan can ask for, really, because he knows perfectly well of all the baggage that Youngjae carries with him, the habits that he can’t quite seem to let go. Because somewhere along the way of getting to know him, Junghwan had figured soon enough that—whatever spark was, or wasn’t, between them—maybe Youngjae just wasn’t ready for a real relationship just yet, and Junghwan had to take that as it was. It wasn’t a judgment on Junghwan’s character, nor a stain on Youngjae’s. It just was.

And with how much Junghwan had already grown to like Youngjae, back then, he’d surprised himself with how easily acceptance came to him. Ever since they met, Junghwan has always been ready to accept Youngjae as a whole person, as much as he could without holding onto him too tight. Just being with him has always been enough. He’s told Youngjae that same thing, over and over again, in so many ways. From the very start—no matter how many times, or in how many ways Youngjae would push him away—Junghwan always told Youngjae that he’d stay. And he always has.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

4.

It was something like their third or fourth date by then, when Youngjae had drawn the first line in the sand between them.

“Junghwan-ssi,” Youngjae had said, getting straight to the point after Junghwan sat down with their cups of coffee, “do you think it’s about time we call off the whole ‘dating’ thing now? Should we just tell Jihoon it didn’t work out?”

Junghwan had been surprised—understandably, he thinks. He’d been quite enjoying the small, mundane dates that he and Youngjae had gone on, sharing drinks and idle conversation in cozy cafés just like this one. Junghwan hadn’t a single clue back then of what was going through Youngjae’s mind that would have led him to that conclusion—and because Junghwan was less careful back then, less scared, he didn’t give in to it so easily. He’d pushed for an answer, a reason—not with force, but with simple curiosity, and maybe a dash of hope.

“I didn’t get the impression that it wasn’t working out,” he’d said, a small pout on his lips. “Did I do something? Or… are you just not feeling anything? I mean, that’s fine, either way. But I do want to know why.”

All of it was honest, when Junghwan said it. Even on their first few dates, they’d set that precedent without even having to lay it down like the law, and it was refreshing. On Junghwan’s end, that was already sort of established for him, given how Jihoon had stubbornly blabbed to Youngjae about Junghwan’s ‘crush’ that he’d ‘had on him for months’; on Youngjae’s end, surprisingly, he’d been quite upfront about his own life, too. Youngjae had told him right off the bat on their first date that he’s preferred one-night stands to drawn-out dates ever since his last, failed attempt at something that resembled a relationship; he’d been honest with him that if Junghwan was looking to date the mild-mannered barista at his favorite coffee shop, it would be disingenuous of Youngjae to let Junghwan think that that was the perfect picture of who he was. Fair enough, was Junghwan’s first thought. He didn’t think that there was any reason that that should matter, since it didn’t make Junghwan like Youngjae any less.

“I just don’t think I’ve lived up to your expectations,” is what Youngjae ends up saying in response to Junghwan’s push for an explanation. “Talking to you has been nice, but… I just have a feeling you don’t really like me as much as you thought you would.”

It was puzzling to hear, back then. Junghwan has had his fair share of dating life fails, but he’s never had someone break it off with him on the third or fourth date for a reason that he didn’t agree with at least a little bit, or at the very least, a reason that he could understand wasn’t plucked from seemingly nowhere. Junghwan would learn going forward that it was just a habit of Youngjae’s to say things like that—a shield for his own insecurities, to put the onus onto someone else. Junghwan doesn’t think that it’s deliberate, but it became easier not to let it faze him once he realized that it was there.

“What makes you think that?” Junghwan had asked. Youngjae’s eyes were fixated on the steam rising from his coffee, and his bare shoulder was bathed in morning sun. It was a Saturday morning, then. Junghwan remembers. “I think I’d know better than you, about how I feel. I mean, what does that usually look like, to you? Someone liking you?”

Youngjae’s eyes had gone wide at the question; he clearly hadn’t been expecting Junghwan to push back so determinedly. With the way he’d been fidgeting with his hands in his lap, it seems he was hoping to sit down, break this off quickly, and leave. Instead, Junghwan had made him smile sheepishly, scrunch his nose, and retreat a little bit into himself. Instead, Youngjae had found himself admitting, in a small voice, “I don’t know. I’d have to think about that.”

Junghwan had already liked Youngjae a lot, by then. It still felt somewhat like infatuation—the butterflies from a warm smile or a stolen glance his way—but getting to know him only made Junghwan fall into it even more. Youngjae always makes these scathing, self-deprecating jabs about how he isn’t as innocent as he looks, how he’s always prettier from afar than up close, how he’s a handful on a good day and his good days are few and far in between—but Junghwan had never once thought that any of that took away from the rest of him. Junghwan liked Youngjae, most of all, because he was kind; even if the good days were few and far between like he’d said, he always managed his bright, sweet smile. Even if he’d made Jungwhan go through the effort of planning every date they’ve gone on so far, he always showed up anyway; he’d bring a pastry from the café that he works at, ask Junghwan questions about his day, his life, his dreams. Junghwan liked Youngjae because of the punchy wit that bled through in all of their conversations, the candid way that Youngjae would speak about the big and little things of his day to day. Junghwan liked Youngjae because, before he knew it, Youngjae really wasn’t just the cute barista that Junghwan had fawned over for months, anymore—soon enough, he was just Youngjae, Choi Youngjae, a real person with real feelings who’d shared himself so easily, as if saying: Look. This is who I am. Take it or leave it, now that you know.

“I don’t… I don’t meet people, in the way that I met you,” Youngjae eventually answered after a beat of silence, right as Junghwan took the first sip of his coffee, now lukewarm. “I’ve said this before, you know. It’s always just the guys at bars. We flirt, we sleep together, leave the next morning. Boom, done.” Youngjae laughs. “I haven’t ever lasted that long, dating anyone. I haven’t dated anyone in a while.”

“But now you want to break it off?”

“I’m saying, I’ve never exactly been a magnet for good guys,” Youngjae scrunches his nose, chuckling like it’s just another thing he expects Junghwan to accept as it is, “so you must have gotten something wrong.”

It was maybe at that exact moment, when Junghwan saw Youngjae’s actions for what they really were. It was probably right then that Junghwan had realized that something serious and long-term wasn’t something he was ready for quite yet. Junghwan had taken it in stride—he still tries to, to this very day—but back then and up to now, he wasn’t ready to just let Youngjae go, either.

And even if Junghwan wasn’t typically the type to want to argue his own opinion to the ends of the earth—he couldn’t help but want to prove that when it came to Youngjae, Junghwan hadn’t gotten anything wrong at all. Junghwan has always wholeheartedly believed that he’s liked Youngjae for all the right reasons, all this time. Youngjae just wasn’t used to it. Junghwan surprises himself to this day with how much he doesn’t mind.

“You know,” Junghwan had said while looking into Youngjae’s eyes on that sunny, Saturday morning, “love doesn’t have to be wild and loud like that all the time.”

And Youngjae had raised an eyebrow, asking in this playful, almost disbelieving tone, “Yeah? So is that what you think this is? Love?”

Junghwan’s own confidence seemed to have caught them both off-guard when he’d answered, quiet but sure, “No. Not yet, at least. I don’t think things like love ever happen overnight.”

Surprisingly enough, Youngjae had just agreed. He’d smiled, sipped his coffee, and finally settled into the chair he was sitting in—as if he’d known right in that moment that Junghwan had ruined all of his plans, replaced them with something even better. Something worth staying for.

“We don’t have to keep dating if you don’t want to,” Junghwan had assured him, though he was pretty sure at that time that he’d never liked Youngjae more. “But I’d like to keep seeing you, if that’s fine. Just like this.”

And that was the last date they’d ever gone on—at least in name. The rest is written in the history of whatever it is they’ve been doing for the past year, and the implication has never been lost on them, even if they always find themselves tiptoeing around ever saying it out loud. Junghwan used to be bolder, back then—less afraid of scaring Youngjae off. He thinks that Youngjae still knows, still remembers what Junghwan said: things like love don’t happen overnight. He wonders if Youngjae had figured out somewhere along the way that it had turned from prose into promise. He wonders if Youngjae knows that Junghwan has kept that promise, all this time.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Youngjae regains consciousness in a room he’s never been in before—but he panics when he realizes that the pillow under his head smells like the fabric softener that always clings to Junghwan’s clothes.

He sits up. The room is dimly lit, a single, warm white lampshade on the nightstand next to a glass of water and some pills. Youngjae is tucked under a thick comforter from the waist down; he’s alone, and Dohoon and Jihoon are the last thing he remembers, but it seems like they’re long gone. There’s no clock on the nightstand, and the one on the wall is too far for him to be able to read. He has a bit of a headache, and that sour taste still lingers in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to throw up anymore. Youngjae looks around the room, blinking away the blurriness—and now, he kind of just wants to cry.

It feels wrong, being in Junghwan’s bed like this, knowing all the things he’s done—and maybe not even all of it, because he’s now hyperaware that there’s a chunk of it he doesn’t remember. The guilt and the shame convene into a lump at the base of his throat, and Youngjae gets the sudden urge to remove himself from under these soft covers, this warm bed. He wonders if Junghwan is sleeping outside on his couch—and then he gets this sinking feeling at the thought that this isn’t Junghwan’s place, that Dohoon and Jihoon and the taxi ride were all part of some sick dream, and Youngjae had ended up going home with that nameless guy from the bar, after all. Maybe that would be better, somehow, actually. Maybe he won’t have to face Junghwan, won’t have to face him with the dirty truth of what he’s done.

“Hey— Hey, woah, no, stay in bed. Stay. It’s okay, it’s me. It’s me, I’m here.”

Youngjae nearly bursts into tears right then. Of course, it is Junghwan’s voice that greets him while he’s trying to get out of the bed—and Youngjae is so, so embarrassed. He pushes his way out from under the covers on wobbly, unbalanced feet, and he can’t believe that Junghwan has to see him like this. His body refuses to listen when Junghwan tells him to stay where he is.

“Youngjae. Hey, it’s okay—what are you doing? Don’t—”

Youngjae doesn’t know what comes over him when he sits back down on the bed—level with the zipper of Junghwan’s jacket so he doesn’t have to look in his eyes—and lets his head fall forward into Junghwan’s warmth, arms wrapping around his waist.

“‘M’sorry,” Youngjae muffles into Junghwan’s clothes, voice raspy and dry. “I’m sorry.”

Junghwan doesn’t say anything. His hand does move, however tentatively, to rest atop Youngjae’s messy hair. So much of the night has been a blur, and Youngjae doesn’t know what Junghwan knows, but somehow, he has this sense that Junghwan’s already caught on to all of it; that he can glean—just from the tone of Youngjae’s apologies—everything that he’s done. Junghwan is just holding him silently, not saying another word as he starts to gently pat him on the head—but somehow, Youngjae just knows, deep in his bones, that he’s hurt him. Youngjae is always hurting him these days, and Junghwan is always pretending that it doesn’t matter. Youngjae feels bad for even letting himself indulge in this warm, grounding comfort for too long. It’s too much, and he’s done nothing to deserve it—so Youngjae slowly slinks out of Junghwan’s hold, slides off of his bed. Then, to Junghwan’s surprise, he slinks down onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Junghwan asks, frantic. Youngjae puts his face in his hands, still refusing to look at him. He wishes Junghwan would just leave. “Youngjae-yah, you should at least sit up on the bed, hm? You’ll hurt yourself…”

Youngjae laughs. He feels he might crumble under the weight of how much Junghwan cares. It feels even heavier with the knowledge of just how much hurt he’s pushing down underneath it, worrying about Youngjae’s pain instead. Youngjae doesn’t want to go back and lay in his bed and take up more of his space. All that he can admit into his cupped hands is, “This is so embarrassing, hyung. I’m sorry. I’m really, really embarrassed.”

And he is. Youngjae is so, so ashamed. He can’t bear to open his eyes and see how Junghwan must be looking at him. In the past year that they’ve been something-not-nothing, Junghwan has always shied away from touching him in any way that might come off as too much, too intimate; tonight, it feels like a different thing entirely, because Youngjae realizes that Junghwan wouldn’t be able to touch him even if he wanted to—and he’s right to recoil away, to let Youngjae sink to the floor where he belongs.

Youngjae feels his heart break a little in his chest when he hears movement in front of him, and Junghwan settles beside him without a word. Junghwan’s sleeved shoulder just barely ghosts against Youngjae’s bare skin—someone must have taken his jacket off before putting him under the covers—and Youngjae flinches away from the warmth. He wants to push Junghwan away, tell him he shouldn’t be sinking to Youngjae’s level.

That’s exactly what Youngjae tries to do when he feels Junghwan trying to put his arm around him, pulling him into the promise of a warm, comforting embrace.

But Junghwan resists his attempts, this time around. “Shh,” he soothes, his voice soft and patient, “it’s okay. It’s okay. Let me hold you. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Youngjae starts to cry when he finally gives in to the urge to bury his face into Junghwan’s shoulder, one hand clutching fiercely at his sleeve. Suddenly, every thought he has about wanting Junghwan to leave turns itself into silent, unspoken litanies, don’t leave me, don’t hate me, please forgive me, please. He wishes he could take back everything he did, say all the words he’s never said, undo all of the hurt that he’s caused this wonderful person and take all of it back for himself.

“You’re okay,” Junghwan tells him again, his voice shakier. Youngjae doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself if he looks up and finds that Junghwan is crying, too. All he knows is that he wants to stay here forever, whether he deserves it or not. He’s always been such a selfish person. He can’t believe he’s the one who makes a smart guy like Junghwan act like a fool. “Youngjae-yah, can I… can I give you a kiss?”

Youngjae’s heart skips a beat.

He’s almost relieved, then. For a brief moment, there’s a flash of wild, aching clarity that comes over him, and he thinks, fucking finally. Junghwan is going to take what he really wants, and Youngjae can stop feeling bad because he is just like everyone else. Junghwan was never too good for him. Youngjae never attracts good guys, after all.

So he finally, properly looks at Junghwan. His face is tear-streaked and probably all flushed, but this is a game he knows how to play. All he has to do is say, “Yes.”

But then, when Youngjae closes his eyes—the kiss lands on his forehead. It’s soft, chaste. It’s barely a graze of Junghwan’s lips on the sweaty line where Youngjae’s hair meets his face, and when he takes a look at Junghwan again, he realizes that he has been crying, too.

Junghwan pulls him back into his arms right after, and that’s all that it is. Youngjae is safe again, shielded from the rest of the world by Junghwan’s arms. He feels stupid for thinking that he was ever in danger. Junghwan isn’t like that. He never was. 

“Hyung, I…” Youngjae looks up at him, his gaze flickering down to Junghwan’s lips, “I thought you would…”

“Oh…” Junghwan answers. Youngjae can see the bob of his throat when he swallows hard. “Did you… Did you want to…?”

Youngjae nods. He wants so, so badly to just be close to him, to finally stop shying away from what he knows they both feel. All of this had started from getting scared away after Junghwan so much as held his hand, and Youngjae wants to prove that he’s ready to let go of that fear, now. Youngjae has known for a while now that what they had was never just nothing. The two of them were always special. Something to cherish. Something Youngjae has always hoped he’d never look back on with regret. Youngjae leans in.

Junghwan’s eyes fall shut.

Youngjae surges forward, until he’s just shy of Junghwan’s lips—

And then he’s reminded of the taste in his mouth, and he pulls away.

Youngjae retreats into himself again—and yet Junghwan, always so patient, tells him it’s okay.

“It’s alright,” he tries to soothe, clearly picking up on the frustration on Youngjae’s face, “we don’t have to kiss. We don’t have to do anything. I’ll just stay here with you. Come here.”

Youngjae simply lets a fresh wave of tears run down his face again. He’s got no energy left to push Junghwan away again when he starts to rub his back. He can’t fathom how someone like Junghwan can be this devoted to someone like him. Youngjae had gone out tonight, fully intending to prove to whoever was watching that he didn’t need this, didn’t need him—and he’d ended up in Junghwan’s arms anyway. Junghwan, who’s the only person in the world who could make rock bottom feel like this: soft carpet, a weighted comforter, warm water on the nightstand; Junghwan, who is the very person that Youngjae had gone out tonight to betray; Junghwan, who’s here anyway, who’d let Youngjae sleep in his bed even when he’s smart enough to know that the scent on his skin isn’t his own perfume.

“I was about to go home with someone,” Youngjae confesses into his cupped hands, when the weight of his own wrongdoings only makes it harder and harder for him to breathe.

It only confirms Youngjae’s suspicions that Junghwan had expected this of him when he says, calmly, “Okay.”

Youngjae can’t help but choke on a sob. It starts to dawn on him that whatever they have is probably over. He’d be getting exactly what he wanted, after all. “He kissed me. We kissed, at the bar.”

Junghwan exhales, long and resigned. “...Okay.”

“I didn’t go through with it,” Youngjae continues explaining himself. He doesn’t know why. Posterity, maybe. He wants Junghwan to know that he’d meant something to him. “I didn’t— I  couldn’t. I’m really sorry. I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it.”

Junghwan turns his head toward him in a sudden motion. Youngjae turns to look, too, and comes face to face with Junghwan’s wide eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Wait, did— Did something happen?” Junghwan asks in a grave whisper, “Did he do something to you?”

“What—” Youngjae shakes his head, the worry on Junghwan’s face driving him mad. “No. No.”

“Fuck, don’t scare me like that.”

Youngjae exhales. He almost can’t stand how fucking concerned Junghwan still is for him, after everything he’d just said, everything that Junghwan now knows he’s done. “Are you angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you,” Junghwan says simply, his jaw still clenched.

“But I hurt you,” Youngjae sighs, updating his choice of words. “You’re hurt.”

That, Junghwan doesn’t seem to have it in him to deny.

“Why are you still acting like you care about me, then?”

“Because I do.”

Youngjae laughs, a pained little sound. Fuck. “Isn’t this demeaning to you?”

Junghwan turns to look at him, face still wrought with that same, pained concern. “What is?”

“This. All of this. All this—this waiting around, being strung along, cleaning up mess. All of this. Me,” Youngjae rants, unable to stop all the words from just tumbling out of his mouth, “Me. I demean you.”

“Youngjae, you don’t demean me.”

“Yes, I do!” Youngjae snaps, squeezing his hands together in his lap until he starts to tremble, “I do, that’s why you never want to touch me—”

Junghwan proves him wrong with a sureness that Youngjae’s never quite seen from him before, firm and assured when he throws his arms around Youngjae’s shaking form, holds him closer to his body than the two of them have ever been before. Youngjae has no choice but to let all of the words he was about to say die on his tongue. Junghwan holds him with the resolve of someone who wants to remind Youngjae exactly where he belongs—and Youngjae has never known Junghwan to be territorial, possessive, but the way that all of his desires come to life makes him wonder just how much Junghwan’s affection for him has grown within the time that it was never given a name. Youngjae wonders if he’d have kept shying away if he’d known that it had gone this deep; he can feel it in how Junghwan’s fingers grip at his flesh, how Junghwan hums into the place where his nose is buried in his hair. It feels more intimate, more vulnerable than anything he’s ever done with anyone, even if just seconds ago, Youngjae couldn’t even go through with a simple kiss.

“If I had the right to stop you from doing all this,” Junghwan says, whispered right against the shell of Youngjae’s ear, “I would.”

Youngjae lets out a long, pained breath, hot against the cotton of Junghwan’s shirt. All he can do is wallow in the knowledge that he’s gone about this so wrong, if Junghwan feels as helpless as he sounds. “What makes you think you don’t?”

Junghwan pulls him in even closer. He sighs into the top of Youngjae’s head again, answers into the air around them like the words were never meant for Youngjae’s ears.

“I just wanted to be there for you in whatever way you needed,” he says, almost guiltily, “whatever way you were ready for.”

Youngjae can’t help but chuckle at that. Is that really how Junghwan has seen him all this time?

“I want to be the first one you call when things like this happen,” Junghwan continues, gently nuzzling his chin against Youngjae’s temple. “I never wanted you to hesitate because you feel like I’ve… like I’ve put some kind of expectation on you. I didn’t want to want anything from you—” he sniffles, “—I just wanted to…”

Junghwan trails off, then. Youngjae feels a deep, sharp pain in his chest when he realizes that it’s easy to fill in the blanks in his own head—especially because he knows that even if Junghwan can’t bring himself to say it, it’s true. Youngjae thinks it’s been true for a long time.

“Why are you so good to me?” is what Youngjae asks instead, slowly coming up and out of his hiding place, finally looking Junghwan in his red-rimmed eyes. “Why?”

Junghwan brings a hand to Youngjae’s cheek, swipes away a tear with his thumb. “What do you mean?” he smiles. “Everyone should be good to you.”

Youngjae shuts his eyes tight, and he can’t stop his tears from falling, catching the tip of Junghwan’s thumb. “You’re too good for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Can you say it?”

Junghwan parts his lips, puzzled. “...What?”

Youngjae turns his cheek, presses his lips to the inside of Junghwan’s palm, whispers against the life line, “Can you please be the one to say it, hyung?”

Junghwan is taken aback for a bit—until he gets it.

“Oh.”

Youngjae keeps looking at him, hopeful and out of control. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this vulnerable with anyone, waiting for something he knows there’s a chance he won’t get. All the trust they’ve built between them hangs in the balance in a single moment, and Youngjae can only hope that he’d chosen the right person to whom to give the power to destroy him in a single move. 

“I love you.”

But of course—of course Junghwan doesn’t do that to him. Instead, Youngjae finally allows himself to fall fully back into the cocoon of Junghwan’s chest. Junghwan, whose heart Youngjae must have broken hundreds of times in just a year, and maybe a hundred more just tonight; Junghwan, who must’ve gotten tired of always being the one pushed away, but always made the effort to pull Youngjae back in; Junghwan, who never wanted to want anything from Youngjae—Junghwan, who just wanted to love him. 

Youngjae crumples his hand into Junghwan’s shirt and says weakly, “I don’t deserve this.”

Junghwan sighs. “Well, you have it,” he tells him, and Youngjae gets the sense that Junghwan might have thought about this moment a lot, even before tonight. “So what are you going to do with it?”

Youngjae holds him tighter. Junghwan’s right. For the first time in a while, Youngjae stops thinking about what’s right or what’s wrong or what he should or shouldn’t let himself have—and he simply focuses on what is. And what he has here right now is Junghwan, safe and warm and real. And Junghwan loves him. And Youngjae tries not to squirm away from the feeling of being loved.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Youngjae sniffles. “I didn’t do this just to hurt you.”

Junghwan hums. “Mm. I didn’t think that you did.”

“I was scared,” Youngjae tells him on his own. He knows Junghwan isn’t going to ask. “I think… if I let myself be with you, I’m going to be scared of you leaving me every single day.”

“I haven’t left, have I?” Junghwan chuckles. He rubs his palm up and down Youngjae’s shoulder, and it makes Youngjae cry some more into his chest. “Do you think I wasn’t scared of you doing the same thing to me?”

Youngjae’s face crumples even more.

“Hey, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Junghwan soothes him immediately, cooing and shushing and kissing his hair. “I really, really love you. I don’t know what I’m saying. I just don’t want you to go.”

“I won’t go,” Youngjae hiccups into his shoulder. He fights back against all the voices in his head that tell him that Junghwan should want more than what Youngjae can offer, shouldn’t be satisfied when staying is all that Youngjae can do. “Please don’t make me.”

Junghwan takes him by the shoulders then, and makes Youngjae look into his eyes when he nods his answer. “Youngjae.”

Youngjae sniffles. “Mm.”

Junghwan’s smile is a little bit sad when he says, “Can I ask you not to do this again?”

Youngjae nods, feeling a little pathetic—but something about the way Junghwan holds him just makes it all stop mattering. “Okay.”

“Good,” Junghwan whispers, purses his lips. It makes something surge under Youngjae’s skin. “Do you feel okay enough to have a shower?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae breathes out, now viscerally reminded of all the grime and sweat and the taste in his mouth. It makes him break away from the way Junghwan holds his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Junghwan says easily. “I know that’s not your perfume. I don’t like it. I want it off of you.”

“Okay,” Youngjae swallows hard, and nods. For some reason, even through all the tears and the shame and the guilt, it makes one corner of his lips quirk up into a knowing smirk. 

Junghwan smiles back, the same way he always did after ordering his strawberry latte, and it makes Youngjae wonder when it happened. Junghwan told him once that love doesn’t happen overnight. He probably should have realized sooner why Junghwan has stayed for this long. There’s something in the way that Junghwan looks at him that tells him that he’s known, long before Youngjae himself, that Youngjae had ended up loving him somewhere down the line, too.