Archive of Our Own

Jeonghan would call himself a pretty reasonable person. He’s level-headed in arguments, he usually thinks before he speaks, and he good at listening to others. He generally prides himself on being honest and tries his best to be truthful.

However, he’s only human. He slips up every once in a while too. That is what he tells himself as Seungcheol’s hands roam his bare skin, light touches leaving a burning trail of desire in their wake. His fingers eventually come to rest onto Jeonghan’s hips, carefully digging into the soft flesh there.

The stretch of his cock is delicious, filling him up so well that tears form in the corners of his eyes.  He’s quivering pathetically, already overstimulated from his previous orgasm, and trembles even more when Seungcheol starts to move, unable to stop a wanton moan escape.

In contrast to the way he gently handles and worships Jeonghan’s body like moments prior, Seungcheol sets a relentless pace, punishing in a way Jeonghan craves. Desire pulses through him, heady and feverish, scrambling Jeonghan’s last coherent thoughts.

He loves it when Seungcheol takes care of him like this, fucks him so hard it’s almost animalistic. Ever since Seungcheol found out that Jeonghan likes it a bit rough, he hasn’t held back, indulging Jeonghan in every wish and command. His thrusts are so deep Jeonghan jolts up the bed with each movement, and they miss his prostate by a little every time, teasing him.

Jeonghan knows Seungcheol is doing it on purpose. It’s always a game of push and pull with him. Jeonghan gives and Seungcheol takes.

He whines, high in his throat, and rocks back in time as best as he can, trying to meet his powerful thrusts. “So beautiful, baby.” Seungcheol croons, voice gritty from letting Jeonghan fuck his throat moments before. “You look so beautiful speared on my cock.”

Jeonghan preens rather noticeably at his words, hair falling onto the pillow he’s propped up on as he squirms. His back arches delicately with a particularly hard thrust, a choked gasp falling out of his mouth.

He’s struggling to hold himself up now, the knot in his abdomen threatening to snap at any moment. Seungcheol continues to murmur sweet nothings into the air, feathery and comforting, the complete opposite to the way he drives mercilessly into Jeonghan.

In this moment, Jeonghan wishes he could watch Seungcheol. See the look on his face, probably dark and dangerous and marred with desire. The thought of the sweat beading on his forehead, his black hair falling into his eyes and lips bitten and wet makes Jeonghan even hotter all over, sagging further into the dirty sheets. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing laboured and coming out in short hiccups.

The slide of Seungcheol’s cock is wet, making obscene squelching noises. He can feel the drip of the lube down his thigh, mixed with pre-come, and he makes a needy noise, swallowed by the way his breath cuts in a sharp inhale. He reaches behind him, scrabbling for Seungcheol’s hand.

“P- Please,” Jeonghan slurs, brows drawn tightly together in concentration. “Let me come,” he feels Seungcheol take his outstretched hand to interlace their fingers, giving it a tight squeeze. The act is so domestic, something a bit more affectionate for their strained relationship, and leaves Jeonghan aching for a different desire.

“So needy, angel,” Seungcheol grunts, strained. Jeonghan writhes even more in retaliation, muscles twitching and threatening to give in. His next thrust hits his prostate, lighting Jeonghan’s body up like a firework. The pleasure bursts behind his eyelids, coursing white-hot through his veins, and Jeonghan curses brokenly between his gasps.

“If you want to come,” Seungcheol continues to mercilessly abuse that spot, hips snapping harshly. “then come.”

Something about the command, the taunting lilt of it, causes Jeonghan to snap. He comes with a cry of Seungcheol’s name. His entire body pulls taught for a second, before going limp, fully drained.

Seungcheol milks him through the orgasm, barely slowing his pace down. His body aches with the continued overstimulation, rubbed raw from pleasure being wrung out of him. Seungcheol must be close too, because soon his thrusts become sloppier and his grip on Jeonghan’s hips tighten. There’ll probably be marks left there tomorrow, Jeonghan thinks wearily.

Seungcheol gasps. “Fuck,” he makes out through gritted teeth. “I’m going to come.” Jeonghan tugs on Seungcheol’s hand as a response, too blissed out to nod.

Seconds later, he can feel Seungcheol let out a deep groan and his movements shudder to a stop. Jeonghan feels warmth fill the condom and can’t help but want his come to fill him up instead.

Then, the passion in the air fizzles and it’s over.

Jeonghan is so overcome by his drowsy pleasure, limbs feeling like jelly, that he barely registers Seungcheol gently pulling out and probably moving to tie off the condom. He fully succumbs to the exhaustion seeping into his bones, slumping face first into Seungcheol’s mattress.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there for, sprawled in an uncomfortable position and too tired to care. Soon, Seungcheol turns him onto his back, with the most gentle touches, fingertips fleeting on his skin, and kindest smile. He slides into the space next to Jeonghan, propping him up onto his bare chest, and Jeonghan feels himself drift warily into sleep. The warmth of Seungcheol’s skin almost makes Jeonghan forget about his girlfriend, Nayeon.

+

Their story doesn’t start like this, with all the lies and deceit it will inevitably end with.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol go way back. The first time they met was on the first day of school, when Seungcheol had sat next to Jeonghan that very morning, something clutched in his small fingers. He beamed at Jeonghan, and Jeonghan was falling.

Back then, Seungcheol was all ruddy, round cheeks and a bright gummy smile missing a few front baby teeth. He had one prominent dimple in his right cheek and Jeonghan stared at it briefly, charmed by this new boy.

Seungcheol had said, Look, eyes round with awe, I made this paper crane. I want you to have it.

It was made out of purple card and slightly crumpled from being held so tightly in Seungcheol’s fist. The left wing was also slightly bigger than the right, but it was the best present Jeonghan had ever received. He took the crane out of Seungcheol’s outstretched palms and turned it over slowly, blinking in wonder.

I love it, he breathed. Looking up, he met Seungcheol’s curious look with a huge smile of his own. I’m Jeonghan.

Seungcheol didn’t react immediately, but a second later, he fully launched himself at Jeonghan, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. Jeonghan giggled, joy vibrating through his whole body, and hugged him back with the same amount of vigour.

I’m Seungcheol, he said, after pulling away. I just know we’re going to be the best of friends.

After that, Jeonghan and Seungcheol were practically joined at the hip. Jeonghan doesn’t know how to pinpoint when Seungcheol became a part of his life, but they hung out so much that eventually, Seungcheol was just always there.

Sometimes, Jeonghan feels like instead of Seungcheol being in his life, he’s the one hopelessly orbiting Seungcheol, like a piece of space dust caught by the powerful gravity of a burning star. He’ll keep spinning and spinning, no end in sight, until Seungcheol’s infectious light burns out. Then, Jeonghan will just be lost, spiralling through the dark universe with no one to ground him.

They’re a collocation. Jeonghan and Seungcheol. Seungcheol and Jeonghan. They simply just go together, sound right together. Every memory of Jeonghan’s childhood features Seungcheol.

They sit in the back of the bus together and pass notes in class. They share an ice lolly in the crescendo of the summer heat because they can only scrap together enough loose change to buy one between them. They curl up together in Seungcheol’s bed on the coldest winter night, limbs tangled for warmth and whispering random thoughts in the dark.

Childhood morphs into adolescence, and their youth drains into their teenage years. They stop sharing ice lollies and start sharing stolen cigarettes. They stop sharing a bed when they’re cold and only sleep anywhere near each other when they’re both drunk on beer poured into cola cans.

Predictably, Seungcheol takes many of Jeonghan’s firsts. First hug (all those years back), first time holding hands, first kiss even. It happened one spring morning, when Jeonghan brings a bag of his mom’s homemade soboro bread to Seungcheol’s doorstep. Seungcheol grins so bright that Jeonghan is momentarily blinded, before he surges forward and plants a wobbly kiss on Jeonghan’s lips.

It’s short and chaste, just a light peck of affection. It still makes Jeonghan dizzy for a moment, losing his footing for a moment, but he quickly recovers to thrust the bag into Seungcheol’s hands and flees, heart pounding in his ears.

Seungcheol takes his first time, too. They’re both awkward, new to it, and there’s more clumsy fumbling than actual pleasure. They manage to get each other off eventually, and even with the embarrassing smiles exchanged as they clean up, Jeonghan can’t feel anything but giddy as he lies next to Seungcheol afterwards.

After that, when he starts university, Jeonghan comes out and dates around a bit. He has a pretty good run, landing some pretty handsome men who are far better at sex than his first time with Seungcheol. None of them make him feel like Seungcheol makes him feel, so none of those relationships last long enough to be serious.

He breaks up with one particularly negligent boyfriend, and that’s around when the casual hookups start.

Jeonghan’s never had a problem with commitment, but somehow he finds himself back into the arms of Seungcheol more often than not. Whenever Seungcheol calls, he’ll come.

Then, Seungcheol gets a girlfriend. Nayeon. It makes things weird and complicated, Jeonghan thinks. He was there when he first asked her on a date, watching him nervously fidget as he worked up the courage to look her in the eye and ask.

He had turned a rosy shade of pink that made Jeonghan’s toes curl with a flickering desire. It had rooted itself firmly in his heart, and since then, it hasn’t really left. Jeonghan had ignored how it twisted and clutched at him painfully when he welcomed Seungcheol back from his third date with her. He had dutifully pretended not to see the smudge of her pink lipstick on his lips.

No relationship is perfect, and sometimes Seungcheol and Nayeon fight. Recently, more often than not. Funny thing is, every time they go through a rough patch, Seungcheol’s got him on speed dial, asking him to come over. He’s demeaning and rough when they fuck, clearly blowing off steam, and he pretends like it doesn’t happen afterwards.

It’s not cheating, Jeonghan tells himself. He doesn’t want to think about how sad it is, having to use this pathetic excuse of attention to fill the longing in his heart.

+

The next time he sees Seungcheol after that night, Jeonghan finds himself sitting on his bed again for a completely different reason. Joshua is also there, sitting with his legs crossed in the armchair in the corner. He’s flipping through some old magazine and Jeonghan takes a moment to contemplate what he’s doing there.

The answer to his question, Seungcheol, is standing in front of his wardrobe, flipping through his clothes urgently. Jeonghan knows that he and Nayeon had a date tonight, and he’s been roped into pretending like he cares about their relationship enough to help Seungcheol choose an outfit.

Seungcheol’s currently holding up two dress shirts. From what Jeonghan can see, they’re identical, and neither what he would pick out. He stays quiet, watching Joshua tilt his magazine down.

“Where are you taking her?”

Seungcheol smiles. Jeonghan can see the faintest trace of his dimples, and it completes faraway, dreamy expression he wears. Jeonghan wants to be sick. Has he ever looked at me like that, his brain helpfully asks himself.

“It’s some place downtown. She said she wanted me to take her to the fanciest place I know, so I have to put some effort in.” Seungcheol places both shirts back and Joshua scoffs.

“Is that not a bit high maintenance? It’s not even your anniversary and she’s demanding you to spend that much money on her.” Jeonghan catches Joshua’s eye and tips his head in agreement. Sometimes Joshua, that angel, just gets it.

He’s teasing when he mouths, gold digger, to Joshua behind Seungcheol’s back, and they share a small laugh. He can’t help but feel sick at the heavy feeling settling in his stomach.

Jeonghan slides into the conversation. “She’s the type to get you to pay, isn’t she? Chivalry really isn’t dead,” he sighs, leaning to slouch against Seungcheol’s memory foam pillows. A noise of agreement comes from Joshua, so Jeonghan shoots Seungcheol a victorious look. Two against one isn’t easy, especially when it’s Jeonghan and Joshua and when Seungcheol is so clearly fighting a lost cause.

“She thought it would be romantic.” He grumbles, not meeting their judgmental gazes. He doesn’t confirm or deny their accusations, so Jeonghan sends Joshua an air-high-five. “You guys are mean.”

They shrug in unison. “We call it like we see it. Sorry, Cheol, but I’m not sure if burning a hole in your pocket counts as romantic.” Jeonghan says. “Not like you can’t afford it.” He adds as an afterthought.

Seungcheol holds a yellow dress shirt up, and Jeonghan quickly shakes his head.

“The black blazer with the purple dress shirt.” He says whilst scrolling on his phone. “Why are we even here if it’s that easy?”

Seungcheol pauses to think. “Do I need a tie?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Joshua laughs kindly. “You’re going on a date, not running in an election.” He gets a scowl in return. Jeonghan laughs too, suddenly feeling lighter. It’s like everything went back to before, them teasing Seungcheol and joking around together with no weird complications.

“Unbutton the top button and wear that necklace she gave you.” Joshua directs, pointing to the piece of silver jewellery sitting on Seungcheol’s nightstand. Jeonghan doesn’t remember Seungcheol wearing it a few nights ago in bed, and the sight of Seungcheol clasping it around his neck makes something in him tighten painfully. It’s embarrassing, really.

“You’re good to go, man,” he manages, smile brittle. If Seungcheol notices, he doesn’t show it. Joshua stands up, walking over to Seungcheol and patting him on the back.

“Do I need to find somewhere else to stay tonight?” He asks, half-jokingly. Seungcheol takes the bait and grins.

“Feel free to clear out if you don’t want to be kept up all night,” he says, winking at them. Jeonghan coughs into his fist.

+

Jeonghan goes out and does what he does best. He dresses up like a thirst trap, jeans too tight and shirt pooling around his waist in the most flattering way. He takes himself out to one of the trendier night clubs, and he dances to forget. His favourite coping mechanism.

This time, he doesn’t touch any alcohol. There’s something cynical, self-destructive in his brain that doesn’t want him to be able to forget the night. He wants to remember; he wants to suffer and allow the bitterness and shame to sear through him.

He’s spurred on by his jealousy, throbbing deliciously through his veins, so he gathers enough confidence to slide next to a particularly good-looking guy sat at the bar.

Jeonghan has played this game many times before, done the dance and has always come out victorious, prey firmly grasped in his fangs. He likes the challenge, the ego boost that comes with being able to get any man stumbling over his words with poorly concealed desire.

He’s gotten good at spotting when his target for the night is dizzy with hunger for him, and he loves the power it gives him. Makes him feel wanted.

Tonight’s victim is unassuming, as usual, and modest in the exact way Jeonghan likes it. He has an Old Fashioned nestled in his hand, predictable. Jeonghan turns on just enough charm to dazzle the guy without scaring him off, batting his eyelashes.

He makes small talk – the guy is just as plain as usual, Jeonghan thinks as he learns mindlessly about his job in accounting and two sisters and love for football. It’s not that Jeonghan can’t get harder guys, it’s just that this pretentious type is the easiest and makes him feel the best with the way they worship him.

Jeonghan pushes the exact right buttons, and half an hour later he finds himself in an alleyway, propped up against the wall and clutching at this guy’s shoulders as he kisses him hungrily.

The guy is a good kisser, Jeonghan admits. He knows how to get Jeonghan in the mood, nipping at his bottom lip and crowding over Jeonghan with his bulkier frame. His hands are large, grasping Jeonghan’s thigh tightly, and his lips are plush enough to leave Jeonghan disorientated.

He moves down, lips brushing underneath his jaw, and Jeonghan jerks ever so slightly, the movement far too familiar.

Unluckily for him, the guy feels his movement and pulls away. “Everything alright?” he says, voice now heavy with lust suddenly laced with the slightest hint of a Daegu accent.

Jeonghan blinks owlishly at the guy, and is about to tell him to keep going, when everything falls in place. It’s all too familiar. The way this guy kisses him, holds him, cares for him. Jeonghan can feel his throat tightening.

Studying his face, Jeonghan feels terribly out of place. The guy is now peering at him worriedly, eyes large and doe-shaped, and is cautiously waiting for Jeonghan to give a verbal agreement, and it hits Jeonghan so forcefully he feels the breath leave his lungs.

He’s too much like Seungcheol.

They look nothing alike, Jeonghan made sure of that, but all his mannerisms and habits, they’re all too similar. It’s jarring, this feeling of the exact emotions Jeonghan’s been running away from catching up to him. He pulls away more.

“Shit. Sorry. I- “Jeonghan flounders, gasping for air in his panic. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” He says, untangling himself hurriedly and fleeing. He doesn’t look back.

At first, Jeonghan really bolts. It’s dark out, probably close to midnight, and the streetlamps flicker spasmodically. He runs and runs and runs. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just needs to get out of there. As far away as possible.

Soon after, his lungs start to burn. Whether it’s from the running or his previous panic morphing into hyperventilation, he’s not sure. He’s covered a considerable distance by now, the club nowhere in sight anymore. The acrid feeling subdues, leaving Jeonghan with a clearer mind.

He slows down to catch his breath but doesn’t stop. He continues to walk. This part of Seoul is bathed in darkness, only illuminated by the periodic car headlights. He just walks and thinks. In the dead of the night, his thoughts can roam free, feelings and emotions emptied into the open. No one can see him, lost in his own head.

Eventually, after losing track of time walking, he reaches a crossroad and stops. Jeonghan just stares at both streets, mind chattering too loudly to let him think straight. What am I doing? , he contemplates. Is this what I want?

+

Jeonghan stops at a 24-hour convenience store. The fluorescent store lights are almost blue when he enters, eyes unable to adjust. It’s quiet, save for the cashier playing a game on her phone, and Jeonghan lets himself wander through the aisles of brightly coloured snacks, reaching out to faintly brush his fingertips over the plastic packaging.

That trail leads him to the fridge cabinet, differently shaped beverages staring back at him. The glass is frosted as one door isn’t closed properly, so Jeonghan reaches up to slide it closed. As he moves it, he notices a carton of strawberry milk, tucked behind the energy drinks.

Impulsively, he reaches for it. It’s a familiar brand, the one he used to buy every lunch when he was 15, so he brings it to the till. The cashier gives him a strange look as she rings it up, game left paused, the cheery music filling the awkward silence between them. He pays and thanks her, leaving the store with the carton in his hand and receipt crumpled in his pocket.

Jeonghan doesn’t have anywhere to go, and once he checks that the cashier is fully invested into her game again, he sits on the curb in front of the small shop and rips open his drink. The artificial strawberry taste is cloyingly sweet on his tongue, the milk thinner than he remembered. It’s still sentimental, though, so Jeonghan drinks the whole carton, crushing it in his hands afterwards.

He sits on the street for a bit longer. No cars come past, so he stretches his legs out and gazes into the dark. After a while, the cold begins to creep up on his, and he starts to shiver.

At this, he pulls out his phone. It flashes 02:47 at him, along with his notifications. They consist of mostly missed calls from Joshua, but he ignores them to open up the phone app.

Jeonghan doesn’t make hasty decision often, but he can make an exception just this time. He dials Seungcheol’s number, the digits he knows shamefully by heart. His phone is held loosely in his hand, put on speakerphone. It’s close to 3am and this feels like something he’ll regret tomorrow.

Five rings later, Jeonghan knows he’s not going to pick up. Seungcheol’s probably asleep by now. However, on the sixth ring, the phone clicks and line goes silent. It’s gone through.

Hopefully Seungcheol can’t hear the way Jeonghan’s breathing hiccups. He didn’t expect Seungcheol to pick up. “Hello?” The voice trickles through, low and slightly gruff. It sounds like Seungcheol was definitely woken up by his call.

He leaves the line silent for a while. After a deep, shuddering breath, he exhales his reply. “Please can you come get me.” Jeonghan shuts his eyes, like Seungcheol is right in front of him. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, racing like it’ll explode out of his chest at any moment.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything for a while and Jeonghan’s embarrassed enough to consider hanging up. This was a mistake.

He responds finally. “Send me your address. I’ll be there.” He hangs up.

+

Seungcheol is many things, but ironically, disloyal usually isn’t one of them. He always sticks to his word, no matter the repercussions. That’s why Jeonghan knows that when Seungcheol says he’ll be there, he’ll be there.

He arrives in record time, and Jeonghan climbs into the front seat of his car, strapping himself in and avoiding his gaze. The seats are smooth and clean and Jeonghan wants to sink into them.

Although he’s dazed and reeling from his night, his head is plagued with two thoughts.

First: this is exactly where Nayeon was sitting, hours ago, probably dolled up in an expensive dress and dainty jewellery and makeup. Jeonghan, now, is sitting in a crumpled shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones shamelessly and scuffed shoes from his running earlier. Hardly the picture-perfect arm candy to bring home to your parents.

Second: this is also exactly where Jeonghan rode Seungcheol three weeks ago. If he closes his eyes tight enough, he can still feel the way Seungcheol held him, arms draped tenderly around his waist, and the way he mouthed at his neck, wet heat calming as he nipped at the base of his throat. Jeonghan had groaned Seungcheol’s name as he came apart, whimpering helplessly into his neck, causing to Seungcheol’s thrusts upwards to stutter, spilling into the condom.

They had lazed in the post-orgasm glow, Seungcheol’s head tucked under Jeonghan’s neck, fingers dancing over his thigh. They were both sweaty and sticky, too absorbed in the feeling of skin on skin that no one had said anything. Call Jeonghan stupid, but he cherished that small moment.

Both thoughts equally unhelpful, clearly.

As he drifts back to the present, he notices that Seungcheol has already started driving and the gentle hum of the engine feebly fills the aching tension between them two.

It’s moments like this when Jeonghan has just had enough. The atmosphere is stiflingly awkward, and he wants things to go back like they were before. He feels drowsy, safe and warm in Seungcheol’s car, brain unable to stop what falls out of his mouth next.

“Why are we doing this?” He mumurs, gaze cast down. “Why do we hook up and then you’re taking her out, pretending it never happened?” He tries not to let how upset he feels bleed into his words and turns to face the window.

It’s obvious he’s sulking, and he knows Seungcheol can tell. He doesn’t usually like being whiny but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. Seungcheol doesn’t reply, but out of the corner of Jeonghan’s eye, he sees him grip the wheel tighter, knuckles paling.

Jeonghan plays with his sleeve, feeling a surge of confidence. “You make me feel sad,” he admits, continuing. He doesn’t want to see Seungcheol’s reaction anymore. “I feel small when I see you with her. I don’t like it, Seungcheol. You make me feel worthless and weak and it sounds foolish but it’s true.”

It’s like he’s cut open his chest, pulled out his heart and laid it bare for Seungcheol. He feels exposed, powerless but surprisingly free. Years and years of squirrelling away his secret, hiding it and shying away in self-defence. He might be bleeding out helplessly, heart spluttering and spurting messily, but he loves the thrill it’s giving him.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. It’s like Jeonghan’s on top now, the one with Seungcheol on the back burn. No one says anything.

They reach the apartment, and Seungcheol manoeuvres into a free spot, stopping the engine with a resolute screech that seems to linger in the air for a few seconds afterwards. He reaches down wordlessly to unbuckle his seatbelt, and then leans over to click open Jeonghan’s for him.

Jeonghan doesn’t look at Seungcheol for a while.

When he finally lifts his eyes, he finds Seungcheol giving him a sad look, eyes round with emotion and eyelashes ever-so-slightly wet.

Their eyes meet. It’s intense, the turmoil swirling in Seungcheol’s pupils, unable to be described. Jeonghan forces himself to hold the stare, unwilling to back down.

He hears Seungcheol clear his throat and sees him reach forward. Suddenly, he’s slid his hand onto Jeonghan’s cheek, cupping it with such fervour and admiration. His touch is mellow and soft, enough to fool Jeonghan again, and he leans in ever so slightly to initiate a kiss.

However, Jeonghan’s eyes flutter shut for a different reason. He startles lightly at the touch, twisting himself out of his hold. “Stop.” He says firmly, returning to their stalemate gaze. Jeonghan’s done being the fool. This time, it’s Seungcheol’s turn instead.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.” He whispers, voice trembling. With that, he pulls the handle on the door and swings his legs out, leaving Seungcheol in the dust. For once.

+

It’s a Thursday when Jeonghan gets the news. He’s standing in a café, listlessly staring out the window as the barista makes his order. The weather is bad again. It’s unusually cloudy and grey so Jeonghan briefly wonders if it’ll rain later. That would be bad, because today he forgot to bring an umbrella. He’s definitely not about to walk home in the rain. Maybe he could get a ride somehow if that happened.

Today’s caffeine fix is later than usual, Jeonghan mulls. This part of his daily routine, the 5 minutes between paying and leaving the shop near campus, is performed closer to 8am then today’s 8pm. He supposes his essays aren’t going to write themselves tonight though. His phone buzzes.

It flashes, glaringly bright, and he peers at the notification.

Shua: They broke up. Come over ASAP

As soon as possible is a bit dramatic, Jeonghan thinks blearily, especially in all capitals. He rubs his eyes and glances up. The barista’s adding his extra shot of espresso.

Joshua always tends to be a bit dramatic when he’s worried. His coffee’s not done yet so, somewhat spitefully, he decides he might as well wait for it.

+

He arrives a little closer to fifteen minutes than ‘ASAP’ after leaving Joshua on read. The walk is cold, wind beating endlessly at the trees and making Jeonghan pull his coat a little tighter.

It would have been faster if he took a cab. After pitifully examining his wallet, he blames that for his delay. There’s no proof he walked a little slower than his legs could take him.

Joshua spares him a wary glance as he lets himself in. He carefully ignores it, toeing off his shoes in the hallway. Settling his keys on the counter, he takes his time to shrug his coat off gently and hang it. Joshua’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Is this really as fast as you could get here?” Joshua says, something undercutting his words. Joshua’s always been able to see through Jeonghan and his petty actions, and although he doesn’t know anything about him and Seungcheol, he can’t help but bristle.

Jeonghan doesn’t look up or reply as he walks to sit next to Joshua on the sofa. He sees Seungcheol sitting opposite, head in his hands and hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Jeonghan might feel a bit guilty for taking his time.

Instead, he backpedals into his best coping mechanism: self-defence. “Coffee, Joshua.” He takes a sip to help punctuate his point. “Seungcheol will have many broken relationships and I don’t think you can ask me to leave the caffeine I’ve already paid for to blow his nose and coddle him until he feels better.” He pauses, letting the words settle. “Plus, you’re already here to do that.”

Judging by the tension in the room, he knows his words are on the hurtful side of harsh. Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. Luckily, Jeonghan is so finely tuned to his body language that he catches his flinch. Bingo. It’s brief, the movement passing in milliseconds and blind to the untrained eye, but now Jeonghan knows he’s hit bullseye. Joshua sighs.

Like Jeonghan, it seems Joshua is also a professional at archery, ready to hit where it hurts. “What’s got your panties in a twist this morning? You’re being more of a bitch than usual,” he bites back, words stirring something ugly in Jeonghan. Joshua sounds tired, but that doesn’t stop Jeonghan from taking the insult personally. He opens his mouth to defend himself, because if Joshua wants a fight, he’ll get a damn good one, but he’s cut off.

Seungcheol raises his head from his hands and glares at both of them. His eye bags are bigger than usual, Jeonghan notes, and his eyes are slightly bloodshot. Surprisingly enough, it looks like he was crying. Seungcheol doesn’t really cry.

“Why do you two fight at the weirdest times? It’s giving me a headache, not everything is about you.” Jeonghan swallows, holding back his counterattack (because not everything is about Choi Seungcheol either). To his right, Joshua sags a little in defeat.

This happens often, he’d say. When they both get tired and impatient, they snap and they bicker and they squabble over the smallest things. It’s well timed quips, small jabs at insecurities they’ve learnt about each other from over ten years of friendship. There’s no rhyme or reason, one minute they’re allies and the next they’re enemies.

Without failure, however, they makeup afterwards. The fights aren’t personal, they just clash sometimes, and they’re close enough and mature enough to work past it. With a jolt of surprise, Jeonghan realises that somehow when it happens, Seungcheol is caught in the middle, forced to put up with their pettiness.

No one says anything for a while. Moments later, Seungcheol starts again, previous friction forgotten.

“I didn’t deserve her, she was so good to me and positively devastated when I told her I wanted to end it, I feel terrible. I think she really loved me.” Seungcheol drops his gaze onto the rug under the coffee table. It’s grey, stained in the corner and looks wonky. “It just didn’t feel right, you know?”

Jeonghan doesn’t know what’s so important in the damn rug. He finds what Seungcheol just said much more interesting, playing it over in his mind. Maybe it didn’t feel right because you were sucking my dick on the side, he thinks bitterly. He’s a good friend before anything else though, so he schools his expression into something he hopes looks like sympathy.

It’s taken time, but he knows Seungcheol better than himself, has memorised all of his quirks and characteristics like the back of his hand. There’s a sour taste in his mouth when he realises that Seungcheol is not only telling the truth, but actually feeling sad about his breakup.

If he’s this upset over his damn relationship, Jeonghan thinks, I wonder how sad he’ll be when whatever we have crashes and burns eventually.

“This sucks at the beginning, I know, but it’s for the best. Don’t feel too bad,” he hears Joshua say distantly. Poor Joshua, caught up in this.

Body moving on autopilot, he finds himself speaking up. “Try not to mope too much, yeah? You might have just let the best thing that happened to you go, but there’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

He pauses, feeling the lump in his throat get bigger. He’s done so well at hiding it, he’s not about to get caught now. “Sorry, buddy. Do you want to get wasted?”

Seungcheol had been doing a pretty good job at moping, but at this, he glances up and looks Jeonghan straight in the eye. There’s a twinkle there, which for once Jeonghan can’t decipher in time, and it fades into a smile almost immediately, sloping the corners of his mouth up into a look that sends a quiet thank you to Jeonghan.

All three of them know the answer already. This happens often enough, solving problems with alcohol, so no one bothers to say it out loud anymore. Joshua stands up. “I have a lecture in an hour and I’m not about to get smashed. I’ll crash with Seokmin, yeah? Have fun,” he declares.

Jeonghan pouts, reaching out to grab Joshua’s arm. “Stay? An hour is plenty for you to get tipsy and then sober back up,” he blinks up at him, purposely furrowing his brows in a way he knows is cute.

It’s a lie, obvious and transparent. He just doesn’t really feel like being alone with Seungcheol right now with no one to soak up the tension. Jeonghan knows the look he’s sending Joshua is irresistible and could make anybody cave, but the attempt to get him to stay is feeble and pretty much in vain.

Joshua isn’t easy though, so he brushes it off easily, chuckling as he tugs his arm out of Jeonghan’s grasp. Seungcheol’s mostly seen through it too, already standing up to see him out. With a flurry of complaints, Jeonghan follows, grumbling quietly.

The door shuts after Joshua grabs his things, and it feels anticlimactic somehow. Jeonghan could swear it feels like everything’s moving on too fast, and he trying to delay the inevitable, stagnant conversation with Seungcheol.

Luckily, he’s the one to turn to Jeonghan. “We can have just as much fun without him, can’t we?” he grins. Jeonghan hopes the way his insides splutter isn’t too obvious. There’s something behind Seungcheol’s smile that Jeonghan can’t begin to unpick. It drives him slightly crazy.

He takes a deep breath quietly and exhales it, counting several beats. “Lead me to your vodka.”

“You know where it is.” Seungcheol’s already turned to get glasses.

+

It’s a few hours after Joshua left. Jeonghan is, true to his word, completely smashed. The two of them have gone through most of their supply already, downing shot after shot until eventually just passing the bottle between them.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol is still going. He’s the biggest heavyweight Jeonghan knows. The vodka is so cheap it burns in a bad way, so the rate he’s downing the shots tells Jeonghan he’s really on a mission to forget.

They’re nestled together on the couch in a way Jeonghan tells himself is completely platonic. He’s leaning on Seungcheol’s chest and one of Seungcheol’s arms is wrapped around his waist, warm and comforting.

The other hand is resting on his thigh, fingers lightly grasping it. It’s large enough that with his fingers spread, Seungcheol can pretty much cover the width of his thigh. It really shouldn’t bother Jeonghan as much as it does. The more wasted he gets, the more he seems to notice its presence.

A while ago, they put a movie on, scenes playing out gradually. Its plot is cliché and to be honest, he’s too far out of it to pay much attention. Seungcheol seems like he’s enjoying it, eyes trained on the screen.

Jeonghan can’t really concentrate on anything anymore but the musky scent of the cologne Seungcheol wears. It never used to affect him this much when sober.

He tilts his head up, mind swimming, to stare at Seungcheol. He traces the curved slant of his jaw slowly, drinking in the sharp angle where it stops. His eyes wander past his large, doe-shaped eyes, filled with warmth like a guiding beacon of light, and past the gentle slope of his nose.

Usually, he doesn’t let himself stare for too long like this. He’s busy admiring how lush his lips look and wondering how much better they’d feel against his when Seungcheol shifts slightly on the couch. Jeonghan holds his breath but doesn’t look away. Seungcheol notices easily, turning again to face him properly.

They lock eyes. For a second, Jeonghan’s heartbeat sputters helplessly under the intensity of his gaze. “Like what you see?” Seungcheol says, tone teasing with a small smirk.

The cockiness is so typical of him, so familiar to Jeonghan. Still, he can’t help the flare of desire that ignites deep in his gut. Jeonghan maintains a still expression, trying to stop his cheeks from colouring.

“So what if I do?” Jeonghan retaliates, but they both know his comeback is weak. It’s him trying to tease, goad, dance around Seungcheol. Jeonghan’s better at it when he’s sober. He wants Seungcheol to take control like he usually does. Now, something has changed in the air.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else, however. He just leans in, far enough until Jeonghan could count every single one of his eyelashes if he wanted to. Their noses are almost touching and Seungcheol is definitely staring at his lips. Jeonghan’s so distracted that it takes his inebriated mind a few seconds to realise he’s asking for permission.

Jeonghan’s pretty sure he won’t remember the way his stomach swoops with the unexpected display of responsibility, so he takes the bait, surging forward to press their lips together firmly.

It’s surprisingly innocent, at first. Just a chaste, mellow kiss that makes Jeonghan feel boneless. It’s comforting and feels like home, he thinks sluggishly. In this moment, time feels like it slows down.

Seungcheol’s kisses are unravelling, like he’s taking Jeonghan apart gently piece by piece. He feels like he’s been laid bare, vulnerable and raw, with his emotions displayed for Seungcheol to see. His fingers leave blazing trails in their wake as they linger in Jeonghan’s hair, curling with a grip that Jeonghan knows means he’s feeling possessive.

Jeonghan might as well be floating in bliss, senses overwhelmed with Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Seungcheol. He clutches at Seungcheol’s broad shoulders, scrambling to ground himself. He loves it when Seungcheol kisses him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and he can feel his desire flaring in every touch. Jeonghan can delude himself into thinking it means something it’s not.

Predictably, it’s not long before they’re yearning for more. The demure touches only last so long, and the fire that lights Jeonghan up from within is getting hotter. He lets Seungcheol push him down onto the sofa, pressing up against him as much as possible. Jeonghan drapes his arms around Seungcheol’s neck and gasps slightly when Seungcheol lightly skims his teeth over his bottom lip.

Seungcheol mouths at his neck, leaving kisses here and there. Jeonghan’s about to sigh in satisfaction when he feels Seungcheol lick a hot, wet stripe from his collarbone all the way to his jaw. It’s dirty and kind of primal and most infuriatingly, absolutely delicious. Seungcheol knows Jeonghan loves it. He’s unable to stop the small pleased moan that falls from his lips, brain short-circuiting briefly.

He can feel Seungcheol’s smirk against his skin and Jeonghan wants to shove him for being so smug. Instead, he pulls him back up and smashes their lips together, hard enough for Seungcheol to groan quietly. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like they’re trying to devour each other, because they’re similar in ways they won’t admit. Both full of pride, vying for the upper hand and not willing to submit. Now, those parts of them are colliding desperately in lust. Jeonghan’s so overwhelmed he can’t help but grind upwards impatiently, gasping a curse on Seungcheol’s lips.

He can feel that Seungcheol’s hard. He’s currently gripping the backs of Jeonghan’s thighs pretty tightly, an indication of self-restraint. Maybe Jeonghan doesn’t want him to hold back anymore.

It causes Jeonghan to pull away and he shoots Seungcheol a incredulous look as if to say, this is really happening. He allows himself to admire how dishevelled Seungcheol looks, lips cherry red and chest heaving slightly. Seungcheol raises an eyebrow like he’s replying, what did you expect. He looks devastatingly handsome.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Jeonghan wraps his legs around Seungcheol’s waist and allows him to lift Jeonghan up, easily manhandling him until Seungcheol’s standing. It’s not the first time but it’s just as hot every time he does it.

In some rational part of his brain, he knows where there is going, how this is going to end and how wrong this is. However, Seungcheol tastes dizzyingly addictive. His touches are thrilling, and they help to kindle the fire that consumes Jeonghan when he eventually gives in. Tonight, he gives in.

+

The next morning, sitting up with a pounding headache, Jeonghan notices that the sun is streaming into the room is not from his own curtains. And that he is not currently in his own bed.

It takes him a minute to recognise that those curtains belong to Seungcheol and that he’s in Seungcheol’s bed, familiar blue sheets pooled at his waist. His naked waist. Twisting around, he spots Seungcheol’s mop of black hair on the pillow next to him.

Shit, is the first thought that rushes into Jeonghan’s head. Shit, because this was not supposed to be the outcome of last night. He was meant to just be there for Seungcheol, who had just gone through a breakup no less, and probably fall asleep on their couch, clothes on. This alternative complicates things a lot more.

If Joshua had stayed, none of this would have happened, Jeonghan realises a beat too late.

As if Seungcheol can hear the panic building in Jeonghan’s mind, he begins to stir. Jeonghan jolts, almost falling out of the bed, as Seungcheol props himself on one arm and rubs his eyes sleepily, blinking to clear his vision.

His gaze lands on Jeonghan. Jeonghan stares right back, trying not to think about the visible dark bruises left behind on Seungcheol’s collarbones from the last night, and takes a long breath to stop his blood pressure from skyrocketing. “Oh,” Seungcheol murmurs, shoulders sagging, “that’s what happened last night.”

Jeonghan blinks, and in a flash, he’s up, even in his grogginess. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” He hisses, feeling something dangerous bubble inside of him. It’s similar to what he felt in the car a while back, but this time more vicious and demanding to explode. He can’t hold it back anymore.

Seungcheol is clearly very hungover, disorientated and tired. Instead of replying, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and exhales in one long breath. Jeonghan can tell he’s fighting off a pretty bad headache, but he carries on.

“This was a mistake. I’m not doing this anymore, Seungcheol.” He watches as Seungcheol looks up, confused. “I’m done.”

“What do you mean?”

Jeonghan huffs forcefully, tugging on his jeans. “You know exactly what I mean. I’m done being your fucking sidepiece, Choi Seungcheol. I’m tired, alright? Tired of this. Of us.”

Every word is visibly hurting Seungcheol, who flinches on every one of his words slightly. Somehow, that only makes him feel marginally better. He might have pulled this all on Seungcheol at an unfair time, but it doesn’t stop him from putting up a good fight.

That’s the Seungcheol he knows. Headstrong and arrogant and easily provoked. Not boyfriend material, Jeonghan would resentfully think.

“Us? Don’t be childish, Jeonghan. You’re just saying that,” he retorts. They both know there’s a grain of truth in that, but Jeonghan is determined to stand his ground. He can’t let him win anymore.

He pulls on his shirt, looking Seungcheol straight in the eye. “I’m serious. I’m tired of you using me as a rebound. Either grow up and sort your problems out or find someone else to pity fuck because I’m not doing it anymore.”

“You love me.”

That statement is too honest, and it falls too easily from Seungcheol’s lips. It’s definitely enough for Jeonghan’s pulse to leap in fear. His face doesn’t betray anything, knowing that would be a dead giveaway. He’s not really sure what he’s hiding anymore because they both know what Seungcheol said is true.

Studying his expression, Jeonghan comes to the startling realisation that Seungcheol, sweet, dense Seungcheol, doesn’t actually know how accurate the statement is. He’s hoping that by laying that statement out in front of them will reel Jeonghan back to him.

There’s a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes, a shadow of doubt at his stab in the dark. It’s somewhat of an old trick, a trump card and Jeonghan’s just seen right through it. He’s done falling for Seungcheol’s games anymore.

He chuckles. “Come find me when you’re ready to have an adult conversation about this.” With that, he leaves. He doesn’t look behind him at what he’s left behind.

+

Jeonghan returns to his own apartment hours later. He didn’t want to have to take the walk of shame just yet, so he wandered around the city for a while, trying to clear his head. The leaves on the trees are browning, red and golden hues blossoming from the previous green. They drift sentimentally, fluttering to the ground and crunching under Jeonghan’s feet. The air is feeling thinner and crisper, the unmistakeable signal of the colder months in Korea. Fall is steadily approaching and Jeonghan welcomes the change.

The seasons will always change, he thinks. His world shifted on its axis recently, leaving Jeonghan disorientated, the cards in his hand in disarray. Although now he’s been unanchored, a constant in his voyage is the ceaseless movement of the seasons between one other, marring maturity and experience into his bones.

Beelining to more familiar roads, he washes his hands when he gets home, scrubbing vigorously. The water in the sink swirls, gently murky, taunting, reminding him of Seungcheol’s infidelity. He drains the water and washes his hands again, taking care to clean every groove and bump in between his fingers, like the lemon scented handwash could cleanse him of the traces of Seungcheol on his skin.

As anti-climactic as it sounds, time breezes forward as usual. Jeonghan studies, shops for groceries and cleans his shared apartment weekly (including Seokmin’s room too). It’s calming to him now, the rigidity of the routine he’s set himself. If Seokmin notices a change, he doesn’t say anything. His phone lies on his bedside table most of the time, Seungcheol’s contact on ringer. He doesn’t text.

More often than not, Jeonghan spends his nights lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He can’t sleep, can’t seem to close his eyes. His mind whirs in the darkness, busy replaying every conversation, mercilessly filling in gaps with words previously left unsaid.

Sometimes, nights end in tears, years of pent up emotion bleeding out from him. He deflates and buries his face in his duvet, fingers trembling as they curl in heartache. He tries to sob as quietly as possible, muffling his miserable hiccups, in order not to wake Seokmin up from the other room. He cries until there are no tears left, and then cries a bit more.

Hanging out with his friends is the only obviously awkward part of this process, however. Jeonghan and Seungcheol can’t really be in the same room anymore, with them two avoiding each other like similar charges on a magnet. No one knows what happened from start to finish, but kindly, they respect their newfound hostility, taking turns to hang out with them separately. They recognise neither of them want to talk about it too, so Jeonghan pastes on a happier version of himself for them. They’re trying, at least, and he’s thankful.

Autumn dissolves into winter, and Jeonghan lives like a hollowed-out shell for weeks on end. Seungcheol doesn’t call. Soon, however, the monotony ends up suffocating him and he escapes from the ever-stale air in his apartment and returns home to his parents to spend the holidays there.

It’s sweet and sentimental, having the whole family gathered under one roof like before. The last time he spent so much time with his parents was when he was still a teenager, and he comes to realise how grateful he is for them.

He gets to listen to his younger sister’s stories of working with the toddlers in the nursery she helps out at and shares his own aspirations and dreams with her, confiding through whispers like when they were still children. He swoons with her over her current boyfriend, who is kind and caring and has a really nice smile. He gets on with Jeonghan amazingly well too, teasing in a respectful manner, and Jeonghan thinks he would make a great brother-in-law.

He curls up on his parents’ couch, toes digging in between the polyester cushions like how his father used to tell him not to. He eats his mother’s homemade cooking until he can’t remember what instant ramen and day-old takeout tasted like in the dim of his apartment. It’s domestic, and Jeonghan feels warm from the inside.

In the deepest winter, it snows, squeaky white flakes sparkling and glisten atop the urban landscape. He spends hours simply watching the freckles of pale dust fall, losing himself in the serenity. It’s easy to forget, about his problems. About Seungcheol.

With regret, he returns to his apartment, promises hanging onto his lips to return soon. The holiday was nice, healing to be surrounded by so much comfort and love as he recuperates. He took this time to mend the cracks and, brick by brick, build himself back to a better version of himself.

The routine carries on upon his return. He restocks the fridge when he gets back, including pickled yellow radish for Seokmin, snacks and instant ramen to fill the cupboards again and a carton of strawberry milk to contemplate with.

The weight on his shoulders is gone. He only cries once every fortnight, if less. No messages from Seungcheol. The unbearable ache in his chest has dulled and he’s able to swallow without a lump sitting in his throat. Time does heal all wounds, big or small, Jeonghan thinks.

Of course, luckily for him, he’s thrown a curveball a few weeks later. Jeonghan is pretty good at dodging, slipping away like sand through your fingers, but this one smacks him square in the face.

+

One day, after picking up groceries and returning to his apartment, he finds the place empty. No sight of Seokmin. Probably went out with some friends, he reasons.

He drops his keys in the dish and kicks off his shoes, still listening out for any noises. The floor is silent. It’s not like Seokmin to vanish like this without at least a text to Jeonghan. He’s about to unload his bags but almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a voice.

“You and Seungcheol were fucking, weren’t you.” Joshua phrases his question like a statement from where he’s leaning against the doorframe of Jeonghan’s bedroom. Jeonghan steadies himself on a nearby counter, heart thudding against his ribcage and stomach twisting in surprise.

“Don’t creep up on me like that,” he strains out, trying to even out his breathing. “Warn a guy before you break into his house, yeah?” Joshua ignores him.

“Jeonghan, you’ve not been yourself recently. Weird robotic habits, clearly fake smiles, avoiding Seungcheol like the plague.” Joshua walks over and sits on his couch, crossing his legs confrontationally. “Seungcheol has also been a strange, bitter version of himself. You’re not as sneaky as you think, Yoon. Explain.”

Jeonghan exhales, trying to control his expression as his blood runs cold. He takes a second to think about what he should do and ends up meekly letting his head rest against the fridge with a resounding thud, bags of groceries abandoned on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, voice muffled from where his face is pressed against Seokmin’s magnets.

Joshua only laughs, lightly mocking and far too bright for the words he’s saying next. “Don’t bother denying it. You know the jig is up.” His words are authoritative, and Jeonghan can feel the sickening thread of confrontation percolating into the conversation.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Please leave my house.”

“Don’t kick me out,” Joshua says petulantly. “You don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t think it’s what you’re expecting.” Jeonghan raises his head slightly, enough to look at Joshua properly. He searches his face, intrigued, waiting to let him know that he’s listening,

“Firstly, you’re both dumb as hell. I knew there was always something more between you two, but I did not pin you for the type to think with your dick, Jeonghan.” He lets out a large groan and allows his head to fall back onto the fridge, more violently this time. “It got even more obvious something had happened when you dropped off the grid for Christmas and Seungcheol reclused himself in our apartment for a week straight.”

Joshua doesn’t stop. “You caught feelings, didn’t you? I know you, Jeonghan. You always fall too hard.” Jeonghan looks away, a sudden embarrassed pink rising to his ears. They both know Joshua’s words are true.

“On the other hand, I know Seungcheol just as well. I saw how he looked at you. Honestly, I don’t even know why he liked Nayeon in the first place. He might have dated her, but he only ever had eyes for you.” His words don’t light a hopeful spark in his chest like they would have months ago. He only feels the numbness spread further through his system, and wonders which he would have preferred.

“Still, what the hell were you thinking? How long did it go on for?” Jeonghan has to remind himself that Joshua doesn’t know about any of the before. In his eyes, Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s story begins after Nayeon. It’s easier this way, spinning a lie from the painful truths that have embedded themselves in Jeonghan’s memories.

Cautiously choosing his words, he responds. “I don’t know what I was thinking back then,” he says. This part is true. “It only went on for a bit. It wasn’t serious.” This part is not.

Joshua doesn’t say anything. Jeonghan holds his breath and hopes that this one time, Joshua can’t see through him.

“I spent so long forgetting about what happened, getting over it, Shua. What we had wasn’t good for either of us.” The best way to get away with lying is to blur it with the truth, and words keep tumbling out of his mouth. “It’s dumb, but maybe a small part of me misses him,” he admits. “I kept trying to smother that part of me. Shua, it doesn’t leave.”

Joshua gives him a sad look.

“Of course you can’t erase his existence that quickly, you’ve known him for a really long time.” He says, leaning forwards into the arm rest to stare at Jeonghan. “What happened between you guys was wrong, but that doesn’t mean nothing else can happen.” Joshua pauses. “Does that make sense? You’re not a saint, Jeonghan, you don’t have to repent forever and go celibate.” He says the last words biting his tongue, stopping the smile that threatens to break through. Muscle memory makes Jeonghan roll his eyes.

Joshua raises his voice a little, like he does when he gets passionate about something. “What I’m trying to say, is I think you and Seungcheol are meant to be. Your story went a bit awry in the middle, but I swear you two are endgame.” He says endgame in English, punctuating it with a small nod. His tone is hopeful, eye large and childlike. Jeonghan can almost let himself believe his words.

He knows Joshua is being honest, but something ugly inside Jeonghan is insecure and cynical. Plausible deniability, he calls it. “How is that meant to help? I’m stuck waiting for Seungcheol to sort himself out. It was me who told him I loved him and then left. The cards are in his hand, not mine.” He spits out the words bitterly.

Joshua nods, head bobbing earnestly. “Right, but he needs time, Jeonghan. You can’t push him.” Jeonghan feels his blood begin to boil. It’s getting hard to think straight.

“Time? It’s been months, Joshua. If I give him anymore time, I’ll be growing grey hair.” He means the last part as a joke, of sorts, but he ends up putting more force into his words than intended. Joshua winces and he feels bad for lashing out, but at the same time Joshua deserves to hear it.

“Don’t get angry, Han.”

Jeonghan sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t get angry? I haven’t had any indication from him that he wants to fix things.” He thinks of his phone, turned on silent except for one contact. His KakaoTalk, devoid of a text from the one person he’d been waiting to hear from. “I’ve been running in circles, driving myself almost insane waiting for a message or a call or anything. I think I deserve more than this.”

Joshua looks sad again. “Just.” He begins but stops to think about how to phrase his words carefully. One wrong move and Jeonghan would probably explode. “Give him a little more time, please? He’ll realise what he needs to do soon, I swear.”

Jeonghan says the first thing he thinks of. “Did he send you here to say that?” It’s a logical step, for him, but with the way Joshua’s face falls slightly, he knows his stab was in the dark and was very wrong.

The fight fully drains out of Joshua. He stares up at Jeonghan through tired eyes, something akin to sympathy behind his expression. In Jeonghan’s anger-addled mind, it’s effectively very patronising. “It’s a pity you think so little of me, Jeonghan. I know you’ve heard what I said, now take some time to think about it.” He stands up, pinning Jeonghan with one last disappointed look before heading to the door.

He’s upset Joshua, someone who was so valiant to stand by his side.

Jeonghan watches Joshua’s back as he leaves, taking care to close the door behind him with a gently click, and only lets out the sob he’s been holding back after he’s sure he’s gone.

+

The next few days are tough. Jeonghan doesn’t mope, but inside he feels worse than he even had before. His talk with Joshua has gone ahead and fully laid everything out in the open. There are no more secrets, no more pent up emotions or regrets.

His confession, however indirect he remembers it was, spreads like seawater after a storm surge, messy and destructive in nature. Within a day, it’s reached every single one of their mutual friends. Jeonghan is tempted to tape his phone into a box just to avoid the countless hesitant texts and worried messages.

It’s all too much, all too fast. He thought the past few months were healing enough for him to be at peace when their friends eventually found out. Unfortunately, he’s not able to stop the way his stomach churns bitterly every time he sees a pitiful glance thrown his way.

What he’s unable to foresee is Joshua’s mystical fortune telling powers because in less than a week, he gets a text from Seungcheol. The phone buzzes in the notification sound only for Seungcheol, the chord of wind chimes he hasn’t heard for so long. It’s embarrassing, how quickly Jeonghan drops everything to stride across the living room in three large steps to swoop down and pick up his phone.

It blinks to life, displaying the text brightly. Under Seungcheol’s contact name, the only content in the message is a time. 7pm, it reads. Jeonghan throws his phone exasperatedly onto a nearby surface and sinks to the floor, dumbfounded.

Typical of Seungcheol to be purposefully cryptic. Jeonghan decodes the message in his mind slowly. 7pm means he’ll be at my apartment at 7, Jeonghan reasons, and he’ll probably end up taking me somewhere to talk. It’s knowing Seungcheol like the back of his hand that allows his to placate his panicking self.

Jeonghan doesn’t know if he’s ready for this. He’s never liked confrontations, and this promises to be one of the most uncomfortable confrontations he’s going to have to endure. In his logical mind, he knows there are two outcomes: either Seungcheol rejects him, which is awkward, or Seungcheol grovels, leaving Jeonghan to decide what to do, which is awkward.

+

By 6:50, Jeonghan is anxiously sat on one of the bar stools in his kitchen. By 6:59, he’s unlocking the front door to reveal Seungcheol standing on his doormat, hands pushed in his pockets and staring fervently at the chipping paint on Jeonghan’s door frame. By 7:03, they’re in Seungcheol’s car, the motion of Jeonghan sliding onto the smooth leather seats as familiar as the patch of neighbourhood he grew up in.

Neither of them says anything, and neither of them make the move to. It’s easier this way, Jeonghan thinks, as he basks in low rumble of the car engine. Pitiful silence has made itself welcome in the new chapter of their relationship, following their interactions around like a phantom limb.

Jeonghan watches Seungcheol drive out of the corner of his eye, tracing how he grips the steering wheel with only one hand and pivots the car effortlessly. His white button-up is rolled up to his elbows, predictably, and Jeonghan can just about make out the traces of muscle lining his forearms. Another wave of familiarity.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, where Seungcheol is taking him, but once they pass an old graffitied road sign, Jeonghan knows exactly where the destination is.

(The story behind the sign is this: one Halloween, Jeonghan got too drunk off his father’s cognac, bought a can of pink spray paint and drew a small angel on the stop sign near the store. It ends with sirens, Jeonghan running whilst tripping over his own feet and Seungcheol cackling quietly whilst they waited in a bush for the police to leave. Seungcheol had laughed until he wheezed, and then cupped Jeonghan’s face and kissed him so deep that Jeonghan could taste the flavour of his cherry gum for days after.)

Seungcheol swerves, jerking the car slightly, before slowing to a stop to park. Jeonghan looks around. His guess was right.

It’s Jeonghan’s favourite spot in Seoul. It’s a small clearing on a particularly hilly area, just large enough for one parked car and a little bench under a street light. It’s not much but it boasts a full view of the city’s landscape, unfolding the bustle of the city centre into a serene and sublime breath.

At night, in particular, this place is stunning as Seoul comes alive, lighting up like a Christmas tree, with all the same wonder and magic. A bonus is it’s tucked away, concealed from the public. Jeonghan’s special spot. The perfect place for the conversation they’re about to have.

Tonight is chilly, but Seungcheol still opens the car door and walks to lean against the hood of his car. Jeonghan scrambles to follow, nearly tumbling out of his seat from the incline of the car.

They stare at the city below them together. The view never changes, still as magnificent and breath-taking as the first time he discovered this place. The usual urban noises, like traffic and chatter, are muted by the sheer distance, painting an almost peaceful depiction Seoul.

All of sudden, Seungcheol starts. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words nearly lost in the force of the wind. Jeonghan turns.

Seungcheol isn’t looking at him, staring at the landscape unmoved. His black hair is being ruffled in the wind, flopping sideways one moment and up the next. His profile is just as handsome as Jeonghan remembers and he aches to reach up and brush his thumb over his cheek tenderly.

Jeonghan lets Seungcheol continue. “I-,” he sighs, a shaky exhale, and runs his fingers through his hair carelessly, pausing for a moment to tug at the ends. “I’m sorry, Jeonghan.”

At this, he turns to face Jeonghan, gaze heavy. His words are deceptively simple, but through the way his eyes are rounder and slightly glassy with unshed tears, Jeonghan understands. There’s an unspoken weight running through them, something so sincere.

And at that moment, the walls Jeonghan built around himself cave in. His nerves feel rubbed raw. He watches Seungcheol struggle with his next words.

“I know that barely covers it. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Seungcheol now scrubs at his face tiredly, glancing away from Jeonghan. “I fucked up so bad.”

Jeonghan stays motionless, relishing in the biting cold night air and listening to the whistling of the wind in his ears.

“I don’t even know how to begin to apologise,” Seungcheol tries again, “and I’m sure whatever I come up with is not good enough.”

Jeonghan waits. “I hate the way I treated you. You deserve so much more, more than what I can give you.”

It’s ironic, because now Seungcheol is the one naked, heart laid bare into Jeonghan’s open hands, still spluttering blood. Jeonghan has all the power, has Seungcheol firmly pinned, nowhere left to escape.

It feels a bit like luring an innocent rabbit into a bear trap, but Jeonghan knows Seungcheol is no innocent rabbit. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so bad.

“I can understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore.” Seungcheol looks so small like this, curved into himself and eyes darting around on the floor. The usual confidence set in his shoulders is nowhere to be seen, and he’s now the most vulnerable Jeonghan’s ever seen.

Despite this, Seungcheol is still able to articulate. “But I just want to say, Jeonghan, it’s always been you.” He says this with so much conviction, like a fact he’s been reciting from a textbook, that Jeonghan recoils on instinct.

“What?” He glances at Seungcheol, lips parted in an exhale of surprise.

Seungcheol continues to stare out at the city. The words he says next are so honest that Jeonghan doesn’t know what hurts more, those or the past few months. “It’s always been just you. It took me so long to realise, but there was never anyone else. You, Jeonghan. I only want you.”

It takes a second for Jeonghan to hear the words, and another to process them, but pretty soon he’s reeling, eyelashes batting in disbelief.

“Seungcheol, don’t you see?” Seungcheol doesn’t say anything.

Jeonghan stares in horror. “We’re fucked up. We’re broken people, spinning in endless circles, lashing out and hurting each other. Our story doesn’t end happily.”

It’s the truth. They both know it. In every timeline, in every alternate universe, they crash like opposing forces in a collision.

Seungcheol looks at him with sad eyes. “Don’t say that. You can’t deny, we’re made for each other.”

This is also true. Seungcheol is the fresh fourth lifeline in a video game, after the given three have run out, and he’s also the song on the first cassette you bought, lyrics memorised to each syllable. Jeonghan doesn’t remember a time without Seungcheol.

Mere-exposure effect, the tiny, vindictive gremlin in Jeonghan whispers. People prefer things just because they are familiar.

“Don’t you feel it?” Seungcheol grasps desperately. He’s gotten pretty good at fighting the gremlin over the years. “We complete each other in ways no one else ever will. We just fit. You know we do, Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol sees that Jeonghan is listening, so he continues. “We can rewrite our own story. Give me a chance, Jeonghan,” Jeonghan’s about to interrupt, Seungcheol is quicker, reading Jeonghan’s mind, “and I know that’s selfish to say because you’ve already given me so many chances, but please.”

Jeonghan mulls it over.

He turns to face Seungcheol, studying his countenance. Seungcheol is looking directly at his too, seemingly doing the same.

“Okay,” he whispers.

The effect on Seungcheol is instantaneous. He straightens up, blinking a quiet mirth.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says a little louder, “but you can’t expect us to take off where we left.”

Seungcheol nods in jerks, like a puppet on a string.

“I don’t think we’re ready for a relationship just yet.” Jeonghan says, ever pragmatic. “I need time to forgive you.” And to heal, is the unspoken second half to that sentence, but if they both know it’s there, does it need to be proclaimed?

“But, in the meantime,” Jeonghan’s voice floats through the night air. “I’ve really missed my best friend.”

The smile Seungcheol gives Jeonghan is the brightest thing that night, far more blinding than all the lights of Seoul combined.