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The night air is dense and sleepy and saturated with cicada song. Jongdae’s still buzzed from downing Smirnoff screwdrivers with Minseok, but that’s not what compels him to bump his shoulder lazily into Kyungsoo’s and say, “Hey. I need to tell you something.”
They’ve been leaning against the wood railing on the back porch, looking out at Chanyeol’s homely and unkempt backyard. Sehun was with them moments ago, but lost interest in his own cigarette prematurely, snuffing it out half-finished in the little ceramic ashtray. It’s just Kyungsoo as the lone chimney stack now, with Jongdae sticking around to keep him company. He doesn’t smoke himself, but feels a nostalgic fondness for the warm, familiar smell of it. It reminds him of his childhood, hot summers, long car rides.
“Mm?” Kyungsoo replies, glancing at him sidelong.
It’s still possible to take it back and make a swift, embarrassed retreat, but Jongdae refuses. Heart thrumming frantically and insides cold-hot with panic, he says, “I think I’m gay.”
Kyungsoo turns suddenly, maybe faster than he means to, with a look of unconcealed surprise. He composes himself quickly, though, expression turning guarded, careful. “Yeah?” he says with the tone of someone who wants to say something, but won’t. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Not much to say,” says Jongdae. His fight-or-flight response has triggered, the anxiety building up steadily, like a siren approaching from a distance. He does his best to force it back down. “I thought I still liked girls. Figured out I don’t. Pretty straightforward.” As Kyungsoo starts to speak, Jongdae interrupts, “Before you ask, we already broke up. She was—you know. Nice about it. Even though… yeah.”
“Yeah.” Kyungsoo turns away, looking back at the yard with its dry, ugly grass and unused lawn furniture, and takes a long drag. There’s a thick silence between them as the smoke curls out of his mouth. “Who else knows?”
“No one. My fish,” Jongdae amends. “They didn’t look surprised. Probably knew before I did.”
Kyungsoo half-smiles. He sways to the side, bumping their shoulders together again, but doesn’t move away after. He’s leaning into Jongdae, who feels an anxious, electrifying pulse shoot through him, his whole side tingling where they touch. A dangerous feeling. Jongdae looks away, because they’re too close now for him not to. He isn’t, at least, panicked anymore; just a different flavor of nervous.
“I’m proud of you,” Kyungsoo says, his voice so many kinds of warm. “Telling people can be hard, but you did it.”
If Jongdae were the crying type, he’d get a little weepy at this, probably. But even semi-drunk and vulnerable, he can’t loosen up enough for a few tears, resilient perhaps to a fault. He just says, “Not that hard. Easy if it’s the right person.” And it’s not his first time coming out in some capacity, though it felt easier back then. Exciting. Not frightening like it is now.
“That’s not always the difficult part,” says Kyungsoo, flicking a cylinder of ash into the tray. “Sometimes it’s scary just hearing yourself say it.”
“Yeah? Speaking from experience?” Jongdae guesses.
Kyungsoo hums in the affirmative. “But everything’s fucking terrifying when you’re fifteen. Surprised I didn’t have a heart attack when I told a guy I liked him.”
Jongdae’s never heard this story, or any story about Kyungsoo as what Baekhyun would call a baby gay. The only one in their friend group who was around for that era is Chanyeol, who knows better than to talk about Kyungsoo when he isn’t around. In theory, at least.
“Who was he?” Jongdae asks. He finally musters the courage to look at Kyungsoo again, taking in the soft edges of his profile.
“Friend of a friend. He was the only openly gay kid at our high school. Think I just liked him by default. We didn’t have much in common outside of being theater kids.” He takes one last puff of the cigarette, then crushes it into the ashtray.
“How’d he react?”
“Very politely stepped all over my feelings and never spoke to me again.” In contrast to his words, there’s a little smile on Kyungsoo’s face, one of private amusement. He rests an elbow on the railing and props his head up. “He wasn’t interested in guys who were shorter than him.”
“Yikes,” Jongdae mutters.
Kyungsoo gives an unperturbed shrug. He continues, “Then I went through the phase practically every miserable gay millennial has where they get crushes on straight people and cry about it while listening to Tegan and Sara.”
“I never got to have that phase,” says Jongdae. “Feel like I missed out on a rite of passage.”
“I’d say you’re lucky, but The Con was a really transformative album.”
“Noted,” says Jongdae. “What happened after that?”
After a beat, Kyungsoo says, “College.”
Self-explanatory. Jongdae was there for that part. He still has a too-vivid memory of seeing Kyungsoo making out with his then-boyfriend at some stupid party late in their freshman year. He’d stared, flustered and dumbfounded, mesmerized by their hands and mouths. Naively, Jongdae had scolded himself for what he thought was disgust churning inside him.
“What about you?” Kyungsoo asks.
“Me?”
“Do you have an embarrassing history of angst, turmoil, and stupid crushes to look back on, too?”
“Oh. Um.” Jongdae feels himself flush, and is suddenly grateful for the dim yellow porch light. “Don’t laugh,” he says, “but winter break sophomore year.”
“Yeah?” says Kyungsoo, followed by, “Oh.” His lips twitch, visibly hiding a grin.
“Yeah.”
“The mistletoe,” he says, even though it doesn’t, frankly, need to be said.
Jongdae sighs. “Yep.”
“I’m sorry you had your gay awakening with Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo doesn’t sound sorry at all. His voice softens now, though. “That was when you realized?”
“Even though I didn’t like him, it was still—it felt better than kissing girls,” Jongdae confesses. “I always thought kissing was nice anyway, but it—it was different.”
“It felt right,” Kyungsoo fills in.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Took me a long time to figure out what that meant.” Jongdae presses his mouth into a line. “Don’t ever tell him about this, or he’ll think I’m in love with him, or he turned me gay with his stupid mouth or something.”
Now Kyungsoo laughs outright. “Better make up a believable story for when he asks, then.”
“Yeah,” says not-quite-drunk-but-almost Jongdae, “I’ll tell him you were the one who turned me gay, way before he slobbered all over my face.”
(Wandering, groping, clumsy hands; fervid mouths; Kyungsoo’s smile, adoring and bashful, his lips so red. Jongdae’s chest all full of heat and static, a shudder quaking through him. A coil of pressure low in him that he didn’t, couldn’t acknowledge. Memory of Kyungsoo’s hands on someone else turning to fantasies of—of—)
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “He’d just give you a hard time about that instead. You’d have to pick someone he didn’t know or doesn’t remember.” He gives a wry smile. “But he hates it when I beat him at anything, so there’s that.”
The chuckle Jongdae lets out is cut off when Kyungsoo snakes an arm around his waist. It isn’t an exaggeration, he realizes with horror, when people talk about their heart fluttering.
“Anyway, thank you for trusting me,” says Kyungsoo. He squeezes Jongdae’s waist, then retracts his arm. “And if you end up changing your mind, I’ll still be proud of you.”
“I probably won’t,” says Jongdae, “but thanks, Kyungsoo.”
They head back inside, where Chanyeol is loudly insisting he won’t play against Sehun in some game because Sehun cheats. Jongdae does not think about Kyungsoo’s lips, does not ask himself if he would mind the taste of cigarettes, does not revisit the subject of Kyungsoo’s hands and the things he’s seen them do. Or he does, but later, in his own private frustration and guilt.
Google search: how to come to terms with having a gay crush on one of your best friends who is also gay
Amended Google search: guide to making a grindr profile
Jongdae quickly learns he isn’t one for hook-up apps, especially ones where the culture mostly revolves around trading dick pics. He ends up deleting it again after a day, then re-downloading it the next, then deleting again with a huff after just a few hours.
Maybe he should just be an adult, he thinks, and confront his feelings.
…Alternatively, he could just find someone to commiserate with. Misery loves company, right?
He invites Baekhyun over, saying he needs to talk to him about something, which Baekhyun rightly says is “fucking ominous and weird, but ok.” Then he gets there and Jongdae comes out to him almost immediately. Without waiting for a beat, Baekhyun gives him a bone-crushing hug, then cries a little while pretending not to be. Blubbers something about how Jongdae’s valid and great, and Baekhyun loves him, et cetera.
“Sorry I took your first boy-kiss,” says Baekhyun, stuck to Jongdae’s side like some kind of barnacle, his chin on Jongdae’s shoulder. “If I knew it was gonna change your entire life I would’ve made it better.”
“Who says you changed my life?” Jongdae elbows him lightly in the side. “I knew before that. Kind of.”
“Sure you did,” Baekhyun coos. “So yeah, how’s this gonna go? Do I pretend I don’t know you’re into Kyungsoo?”
“Uh.”
“Your eyes get all big and sad and shiny when you look at him,” says Baekhyun. There’s a grin in his voice. “Like a baby cow.”
Jongdae elbows him again. “Fuck off.”
“Am I wrong, though?”
“No,” Jongdae admits, “but you should still fuck off.”
“You know he wouldn’t be a dick about it, Jongdae.” Baekhyun snuggles closer, and he starts speaking gently as he clings to the offending arm. “Even if he doesn’t like you, he’d make sure you didn’t feel bad.”
“I don’t need to be babied,” says Jongdae. “I can handle rejection.”
“How many guys have rejected you, though?”
He hesitates. “None, but I—”
“It’s different when it matters,” says Baekhyun. “Or could matter.”
He’s right, but Jongdae isn’t about to admit it. Knowing what he knows now about himself, the thought of sharing feelings that tender and private and fragile and having them shot down is terrifying. Teenage Kyungsoo survived it, though—can laugh about it, even. But he’s good at putting things behind him and moving on. Jongdae? Less so.
“The thing is,” Baekhyun continues, “when you’ve got a friend group like ours, where everyone’s a big queer mess, feelings happen sometimes, yeah? It’s just normal. You start to feel safe with people, and you know they’re like you, and you start getting attached to them even though you know it’s probably a bad idea. And it really sucks sometimes. And it makes it hard to go back to being friends when they, like, stab you repeatedly in the heart with a blunt knife and leave you for dead.”
“Lot to unpack there,” says Jongdae. With his unconstricted arm, he reaches over and takes Baekhyun’s hand. Their fingers lace together automatically. “You okay?”
Baekhyun laughs. “Fuck, am I ever?” He heaves out a heavy breath. “But nah, it’s fine. Just, I wouldn’t have minded being babied. Let down easy. But it’s better than wasting time, just sitting there wondering.” His fingers tickle the back of Jongdae’s hand. “Don’t let yourself fantasize about weddings and shit when you don’t even know.”
“Okay,” Jongdae says, “so I should prepare myself for heartbreak, is what you’re saying.”
“What I’m saying’s that Kyungsoo’s nice and if he doesn’t like you he won’t make you feel shitty. And if you live happily ever after, I want credit for helping you get together.”
“Sure, fine.” Jongdae lets his head loll against Baekhyun’s. His hair smells like minty shampoo. “Kissing you wasn’t bad, you know.”
“Messy,” Baekhyun mumbles into Jongdae’s shoulder. “Saliva everywhere.”
“That’s just what all first kisses are like,” says Jongdae. “So. Thanks for being mine.”
They stay like that for some time, and it’s the longest period the two of them have ever gone without saying anything while in a room together, which feels strange and a little wrong, but also sweet. Eventually, in the midst of their sad cuddle, Baekhyun says a name—quietly, like a secret, because maybe it is one—and Jongdae understands. He pulls Baekhyun in closer and gives him a taste of his own medicine with a tight hug that he pours as much of his heart into as he can. After a long moment, Baekhyun squirms out of his grasp, punches Jongdae in the arm, accuses him of trying to make him cry more.
“Anyway, happy birthgay,” Baekhyun says, then kisses him on the mouth, too quickly for Jongdae to react. He grins and pats Jongdae on the cheek.
And listen, Jongdae would never admit it, but on some level he needed that. Would have liked the validation to come from somewhere other than Baekhyun’s mouth this time, but appreciated it nevertheless.
Jongdae gives Grindr another shot, with no success.
In a moment of desperation, he actually texts Kyungsoo, though not to address the thing he really needs to. Just sends, How does a guy meet other guys without having to see a bunch of pics of their dongs first
Kyungsoo replies, You could go to a club and deal with people rubbing up on you with their actual dicks, if that’s more your speed.
Any other options? Jongdae asks.
Umm. Have friends set you up with people?
Jongdae makes a face at his screen. Remember when Jongin set you up with a dude??
I didn’t say it was a good option. Just that it’s one available to you.
You could help tho, Jongdae finds himself replying. You’re single too, right? We could help each other out
It’s only when Kyungsoo responds with Uh? that Jongdae realizes how that must have come off. He clarifies, Like play wingman for each other?
After a pause, Kyungsoo texts back, I’m the world’s worst wingman. Chanyeol can verify.
That’s probably true. Jongdae doesn’t know what he expected.
I’ll just suffer then, he tells him. All on my own. Fresh out of the closet and completely helpless.
You’ve been spending too much time with Baekhyun is all Kyungsoo has to say in response.
“Whatever,” Jongdae mutters obstinately. His thumb hovers over the Grindr icon. Instead of opening it, though, he drags it into the trash once again. “Don’t help me with my unhealthy coping mechanisms for being in love with you, then.”
A wave of shock runs through him as he says that. It was just a joke, sort of, a stupid exaggeration, but actually saying it aloud makes it feel real, or adjacent to it. He panics, heart pounding and air all leaving his lungs at once. Fuck. Fuck. He can’t even tell if he’s about to be sick or experiencing a rush of euphoria, or if the idea makes him so excited he’s going to throw up.
He doesn’t think he’s in love, but he feels a very big something for Kyungsoo, and that—that’s new.
When he was seventeen, he had a girlfriend he thought he was in love with. He didn’t know at the time that he just liked having someone to pour his affection into, and that the phenomenon of being liked by someone in a special way, exclusively, just felt nice. And it was normal to feel a little gross after kissing someone, he thought, because kissing is fun while it’s happening but awful when you think about it afterward, when their spit’s mingled with your spit and all. He also thought he was in love with his second girlfriend, even though he froze up the first time they had sex and had to carefully hide away an anxiety attack.
He thought he was in love with his last girlfriend, too, because she was pretty and they got on well and she made him feel good about himself, like he was wonderful somehow, like he deserved to be cared for by her. He didn’t actively think about how gross the aftermath of kissing was anymore, but it was in the back of his head, like an itch. And he didn’t panic when they fucked, but he felt unclean still, bad, wrong. When he told her he doesn’t think he likes women after all, she understood, looking as though she’d seen it coming but maybe hoped it wouldn’t really happen.
Jongdae doesn’t think he’s in love with Kyungsoo, because honestly, he doesn’t know what being in love is like. But he could be. Someday, if the circumstances are right, or if he ignores Baekhyun’s advice and lets his imagination get away from him. Jongdae has the potential to be in love with him, which is a part of himself he’s never had access to before.
He opens up his conversation with Kyungsoo again to say, Yeah maybe. Btw are you free to hang out sometime this week?
Sure, why?
Just got a thing I’ve been thinking about.
It’s better than not knowing, he reminds himself, hands shaking as they finalize plans. Whatever happens, it’s better to get this out of the way. If only so Baekhyun won’t scold him for making his same mistakes.
It wasn’t really the kiss between Kyungsoo and some ultimately unimportant guy in college that started all this. If Jongdae’s being honest with himself—and he rarely is when it matters—the only thing that happened there was a sudden sexual awakening. Not insignificant, but not the beginning of his interest in Kyungsoo.
It started with Chanyeol puking on Jongdae’s shirt.
It was Jongdae’s first college party. He and Chanyeol had been roommates for less than a month at the time. And while they were fast friends, close enough that Jongdae wasn’t going to completely blacklist him for a little vomit, it still sucked. Royally. Kyungsoo, known to Jongdae then as Chanyeol’s Very Short Childhood Friend (and god, Chanyeol still tells the story of being the only one willing to befriend Kyungsoo when they were kids because of the way he glared at everyone—“because of his astigmatism”—even though absolutely everyone knows it already), apologized profusely on his idiot friend’s behalf.
“I live down the hall, if you need to borrow a shirt,” Kyungsoo had said.
And Jongdae had replied, “That’d be great, thanks man,” and followed behind Kyungsoo, who was dragging Chanyeol along and berating him for being stupid and making bad choices. The word embarrassment was said more than once.
Kyungsoo’s own roommate wasn’t around much. Went home on the weekends, Kyungsoo said when Jongdae asked once. So they were greeted by an empty dorm, quiet and clean. Even now, Jongdae remembers feeling a surge of envy. Living with Chanyeol made tidiness woefully impossible.
After hauling Chanyeol to the bathroom and quickly shutting the door, Kyungsoo had rummaged through his drawers and produced a shirt for Jongdae to change into. It was black, same as nearly everything Kyungsoo seemed to wear. Then—maybe to give Jongdae privacy, for some reason, or just to be a good friend, Kyungsoo went back into the little bathroom to tend to Chanyeol, who was groaning miserably.
“Need any help?” Jongdae had asked after he changed shirts, peeking into the bathroom to find Kyungsoo holding a damp cloth to Chanyeol’s forehead.
“Could you get a glass of water?” asked Kyungsoo. When Chanyeol mumbled something about dying, Kyungsoo just shushed him gently, saying, “Don’t be a baby.”
Jongdae fetched some water from the kitchenette. He watched Kyungsoo smooth a hand over Chanyeol’s back, sighing and muttering but looking concerned through it all. Kyungsoo had met Jongdae’s eye, frowning, and said Chanyeol could just stay over.
“I could walk him back,” Jongdae had said.
Chanyeol protested loudly, incoherently, shaking his head and groaning. The only word he could get out was a slurred and miserable “No.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Kyungsoo had promised.
They both left the bathroom. They put their numbers in each other’s phones, with Kyungsoo asking Jongdae to text him when he got home safe. It was a sweet sentiment, if a little odd. But Kyungsoo seemed to like taking care of people. Nothing wrong with that. Jongdae took his balled-up shirt with him and headed back to his own empty dorm, where he sent Kyungsoo a quick, Home safe and sound, Mom.
Kyungsoo hadn’t even commented on Jongdae’s snark. He just replied, Good, then added, Don’t worry about the shirt. I wouldn’t miss it.
A week later, Kyungsoo had looked surprised when Jongdae returned the shirt to him, freshly laundered. Jongdae wasn’t in the habit of keeping things that didn’t belong to him unless they were explicit gifts, and this was no different.
“Thanks again,” he said.
After a beat, Kyungsoo’s mouth spread into a smile that made Jongdae’s bones turn hot and gooey inside him. “No problem,” he’d said.
Now Jongdae’s looking at Kyungsoo and thinking about that shirt, black and soft and well-worn, with a logo for some band on it that he later found out Kyungsoo really liked. He wonders how things might have been different if he’d realized way back then what it meant to go all fuzzy over a boy’s smile.
He says, “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.” Which is silly, because Kyungsoo’s barely walked in the door, but it just sort of bubbled up out of him, like the words couldn’t wait to get out.
“I know,” says Kyungsoo.
Jongdae stares. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Those distant sirens of panic are back, blaring inside of him.
“You’re not subtle,” says Kyungsoo.
“Oh,” says Jongdae. “Yeah. I’d believe it.”
“I thought you’d say something sooner, though. When you told me you were gay, I thought you—it seemed pointed,” says Kyungsoo.
“Listen,” Jongdae starts.
“And when you said you hadn’t told anyone else—”
“Listen,” Jongdae repeats, heat washing over his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. Or maybe I did, but it wasn’t on purpose. You were just… an easy person to tell. Wouldn’t make it into a big thing.”
“I try not to do that with anything,” says Kyungsoo.
“Exactly! Like right now, you’re being all—all casual about this. Which—to me, it’s a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Kyungsoo agrees. “Jongdae.” He takes one of Jongdae’s hands in both of his own. His eyes are sweet and shining. “I had a crush on you the day I met you.”
“Why,” says Jongdae, “the fuck didn’t you say something?”
Kyungsoo doesn’t even flinch. “When would I have? When I thought you were straight? When you had a girlfriend for three years? When you were getting over her breaking up with you? When you said you might be bi but weren’t sure about actually dating guys?” Kyungsoo laughs. “When you had another girlfriend? When you told me you’re gay and you looked absolutely terrified? Or when you asked for my help picking up other guys?” He gives him a dry look, and rightfully so.
“I didn’t know,” says Jongdae. He doesn’t know if he’s talking about Kyungsoo’s feelings or his own. Probably both. “I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t be. It’s not like I was sitting around pining for you the whole time.” Kyungsoo looks down at their hands. He has one of those little adoring smiles Jongdae’s seen before. “I wouldn’t have died of a broken heart without you, Jongdae,” he says. “But I’m glad you—”
“Rude,” Jongdae interrupts. “You’re supposed to say you couldn’t’ve gone on without me. Is romance dead?”
Kyungsoo looks at Jongdae with raised eyebrows. “Way too much time with Baekhyun,” he says.
“Baekhyun’s the one who told me to spill my guts to you,” says Jongdae. “You should probably be thanking him, not casting aspersions on his character.”
“Oh?” A breathless little laugh as Kyungsoo lets go of Jongdae’s hand and moves in close, holding Jongdae’s waist in a soft and tentative way, as though asking for some sort of permission. “He told me the same thing,” he says. “Two years ago.”
And even though Kyungsoo’s mouth is just millimeters away, all Jongdae can think to say is, “That little shit,” because Baekhyun spent all that time warning Jongdae about heartbreak and friendships never being the same, assuring him that Kyungsoo would let him down easy, and—
Kyungsoo’s lips are firm and hot, and he doesn’t kiss like it’s a joke, not like Baekhyun. But he grins and laughs into it, and Jongdae presses back, trying to steal away the sound and keep it inside him. And this is what kissing feels like when it matters, he realizes. He wishes he’d known. He feels like he wasted so much time before now, just being in denial of something that should have been so obvious.
When they part, both laughing a little, Jongdae feels dazed. He says, “You don’t know how long I wanted to do that.”
“I might,” says Kyungsoo. “Like I said, you weren’t subtle.”
Jongdae can’t help but frown. “How was I not subtle? What gave me away?”
“Well.” Kyungsoo licks his lips, something Jongdae is now realizing he can’t entirely handle watching. Not from this close. “You get this look sometimes when we’re talking that you don’t get with other people. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s—”
“Sad baby cow eyes,” says Jongdae. “Jesus.”
“Baekhyun is a little shit,” says Kyungsoo. “Sorry.”
“We still have to give him credit for us getting together, though. I think I promised. And he did kind of help,” Jongdae adds, “even if it was in a shitty and misleading way.”
“He gets credit for exactly nothing,” says Kyungsoo.
“Yeah, alright. I mean, he can’t claim he made me gay by giving me a shirt.”
There’s a look of confusion in Kyungsoo’s eyes at first. Then he says, “Ah. Glad my strategy worked.” He brushes their lips together again in a feather-light kiss that makes Jongdae’s head buzz. “Thanks, by the way, for breaking my heart by giving it back.”
“I didn’t know,” Jongdae whines. “No one ever told me that when a quiet guy lets you borrow his shirt, it’s some kind of secret mating ritual.”
“Lets you borrow his favorite shirt and tells you to keep it, asks for your number, talks to you every day for a week after that?” Kyungsoo laughs again and says chidingly, “Jongdae.”
“Shut up,” says Jongdae. He doesn’t think he’s ever blushed this hard before. He’ll burn alive at this rate. “I just thought you were being friendly.”
The next time their mouths meet, it’s not a gentle brush by any means. Kyungsoo murmurs, “Come on, I’ll show you how friendly I can be,” and that’s that.