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The rumble in his chest corners him from the bustle of people occupying the booming music moving through the dance floor.
Blue light blazes, spreading the sultriness crawling up his spine, blue at the brim of his hurtful pulse throbbing. Jeno looks up to the foggy ceiling. Can’t find the lines he keeps crossing despite the distancing months as his phone buzzes and lights up with another text, his grip tighter around it.
Everyone’s dancing, drinking liquid bravery, drowning the same icy feeling refreshing their throats to have fun, to forget; stop thinking lucidly for an instant. He’s just a common person, one of the others, meandering along crowds where no one would give him a second look. Jeno isn’t keen on looking familiar, growing restless from those blurry pictures of them and the memories one cursed night left him to have a single regret.
Getting off his car, dragging angered steps far away from him. Far enough Jeno can finally defend himself from the trust he never had back then and doesn’t have tonight, neither tomorrow when he’ll wake up.
How frustrating that he fishes his phone out anyway against his own rules, preferring to believe it’s the uncomfortable bright light of the screen turning his eyes welled up with tears. And yet a bitter smirk opens his lips as his hands shake, typing an answer.
From: jaemin
i know you saw those
i’m sorry jeno
i should have been more careful
dream club tonight?
i can get there
To: jaemin
someone else seeing us together
is the last thing i need
those pictures are nothing
so we are jaemin
goodnight
five months later
Being quiet was his favorite thing. Careful to not disrupt the invisible twine of peace, of soundless grains of dust settling on top of the apartment furniture, the mildest rub of blankets reassuring that morning light bathes his skin as he stirs in bed.
Lately it got suffocating, continuing its long route of nothingness. His ears are hopelessly perked up by memories of the cluttered mess happening sometime soon at the other end of the bedroom, his side divided by a thin curtain. It reminds Jeno their closure is as thin and fragile as the curtain facing the now empty bed.
Watching that inflating piece of fabric along the wind, tickling the unstable structure, he drags his weight to sit at the mattress end, knees bent under his chin while he shifts a tad closer, until his spine is met with the headstand. Exhaling feels like losing the consistency of his entire body, flattening against the unreliable surface.
A pack of cigarettes is on the nightstand, at close reach. Jaemin didn’t forget it, it’s a new one Jeno bought and placed back there for the sake of lying to himself it’s still Jaemin’s.
Shamefully, Jeno has been spending a major amount of time on the man’s old bed, more than he’d like to admit. He clings to his memories, to the way the room looked before Jaemin stole all its brightness. He packed any vivid color in a suitcase he dragged out of their home and the entire apartment block, so selfishly he didn’t spare a tatter of gleam for those remaining.
Sometimes people ask. The ones who don’t watch tv or stay on social media as much, like the kind old lady living next to him. Wondering where the smiley boy with a tripod locked under his arm and a heavy camera caught in the other hand had gone. Jeno wonders as well. Where the loop of music and tunes that never made it to his albums have gone, why the low voice stopped humming melodies and spreading around their floor. Jaemin’s voice still sings; in bigger places, more ambitious crowds, not at all like their pleasant neighbours — Jeno's neighbours. He has to recall, nothing belongs to an ‘us’ anymore.
Sometimes he’s sure it never happened. Jaemin was his roommate, a friend, the chaotic youtuber with big dreams and bigger grins sipping deathly bitter coffee in the morning. And other times, he is sure he’s the bigger fool for hoping black adidas pants, white simple tees and disheveled brown hair are stepping inside the apartment when it’s late at night, apologising for the noise when Jeno is half asleep and Jaemin used to be clumsy the moment he closed the door.
Months before their departure it was due to a night with famous youtubers throwing events here and there, an award show he got invited to, an impromptu recording session at the claustrophobic studio hidden between frighteningly tall skyscrapers. The reasons were many to come home distraught over midnight while Jeno’s eyes were giving up to sleep.
In the evenings Jaemin was home, he flashed a gleeful smile, pressing the button of his camera to record a video. He did it nearly everyday, back to the start of the incredible journey Jeno would be crazy to wish it never happened. Forgetting the terrible tumble down of hurt coming with it, Jeno is able to find the good bits to miss; sometimes they get to him in such strong waves of yearning he’s helpless. The safety of their apartment, sitting on the floor shaping his sore back against the grainy walls staring up at Jaemin sporting an easy smile — awfully fond of him already.
On the other side of the camera, most times Jeno's laugh made it to the final cut, leaving Jaemin’s small subscribers number wondering who it was. Jeno became a frequent name in Jaemin's stories, or not quite, being addressed only as the roommate. Jaemin had a talent to make his days sound so eventful, to make Jeno seem an essential part of those.
Sharing an apartment with a wannabe youtuber was Jeno’s most entertaining and curious experience. Watching him leave, becoming an established singer who touches people’s hearts through his voice and has burnt Jeno in each strip of his skin his lips touched sounds out of a world he didn’t quite have been part of.
Jeno inhales the burnt smell of his cigarette put out on Jaemin’s bed sheets, usually untouched if not for his own sitting body crumpling them. He shouldn't care about him the same way he doesn't when he ruins the fabric of the linens, not giving it a single flinch. A finger pokes the freshly burnt hole, greyish at the edges, and it's not so different from the way his empty chest feels lately.
Na Jaemin was the unfortunate wasted chance of his life, coming at full force at him when he just happened to be the best roommate candidate. Jeno was twenty three when they first met, rushing to Seoul and struggling to get an apartment that wasn't too expensive. The day he received a work call on a plain Friday telling him he could have moved to the company offices on the upcoming Monday, Jeno didn’t hesitate to find a permanent stay.
Anything, even the worst accommodation, was a lot of money for a guy fresh out of university. He couldn’t ask his parents for a bigger loan without guilt gobbling him up. The easiest solution was accepting the first pleasant stranger willing to live together, which happened to be kind and pretty Jaemin, bringing boxes full of “useless junk i could need in the future”, moving in with the premise to try and make it a good experience for both. Jeno can make a long list of things he hates about the apartment and the entire building, yet he can’t deny it was their growing point.
Somewhere between the image of bubbly Jaemin and his brimming drawers and boxes on his side of the room, he remembers how items started to disappear from the shelves, the old familiar disarrange turning to a bare skeleton. He could anticipate he was going to eventually move out during those times Jaemin started decluttering his mess, but Jeno simply decided to ignore the signs, kissing him another time to avoid those words coming loud and clear from Jaemin’s mouth.
Liking Jaemin came stupidly easy when he first moved. He could cook, fix house chores where Jeno was clueless, living the entirety of his university years at home in the privilege of his parents’ comfort. Jaemin was smiley and talkative first thing in the morning, had no problem sharing anything, was genuinely interested in Jeno’s day. It was inevitable missing him whenever he had long night shifts at a bleak convenience store nearby.
Jaemin had big dreams, high expectations. His only warning was having a camera, a tripod and a loud voice while filming videos at any hour of the day for his youtube channel, counting a little more than fifty subscribers. Jeno is perhaps a bit bitter Jaemin forgot to mention that starting from the first gleaming smile they shared, each time he said goodbye meant his heart was due to break to a slightly deeper crack.
Jaemin was accepting; of him, his identity, so much Jeno started to spot they were reflecting and holding back the same fears. Some were too deep to share between lighthearted smiles, stretching on a chair or the edge of his bed for the camera, though Jaemin was fearless when singing. His voice trembled free when he published his song covers, when during pride month of the last year they lived together he was actively posting and sharing his mind.
Jeno might sound self centered, but he believes Jaemin was more inclined to share because of them and all the cuts that never made to his videos showed them lean into each other's space to press a simple kiss in between recording.
Stupidly easy to adore, Jeno never questioned how fast Jaemin's audience grew. Numbers rising up — one hundred, thousands, a million. Jaemin each time gave heartfelt speeches at the start of a video thanking his fans. Videos he spent hours editing and putting effort to have them look good and detailed. Hitting loudly the pad of his fingers on the colour coded keyboard, his face absorbing the computer screen lights, flashing a grateful smile when Jeno dropped by his desk a snack or a glass of juice implicitly suggesting he took a break.
Some of the content was less pretentious, posting chit-chat vlogs about his life. Aside Jaemin’s voice and talent when singing, his winning point remains his personality. He’s likeable, entertaining, doesn't need more than himself and a long blabbering of his days to have everyone attached to their phone screens. Tales of daily futilities narrated so comically Jeno’s laugh was caught often on camera, during his free days off work helping him record, or else Jaemin would directly interact with him filming entire and short conversations between them; as long as his face wasn’t on screen, Jeno felt comfortable. Falling in a couple of funny banters, forgetting at times many people were going to watch.
Jaemin’s growing number of viewers got curious. They wanted to know what Jeno looked like, were praising him for no reason, and if he’s honest they did have a valid point. Jeno blushed, recognizing the amount of people repeating under the comments that he was the only person able to make Jaemin smile the lovely way he did when they talked.
Questioning what kind of feelings he had for Jaemin became natural, reading about the harmless and fun ship names they had for them, collections of clips of them interacting, only his voice present. They were obviously more than friendly, yet it wasn’t enough to deem anything. Gossiping the youtuber’s sexuality was a hot topic as he never addressed a specific gender when talking about past relationships or crushes, and his relationship with Jeno was often an object of speculation.
Many times Jaemin gave apologetic smiles, especially when he started going on live several hours of the week to keep in touch and talk more to his fans. He had quit his convenience store job, gaining money from ads and various collaborations. Jeno would pass by the living room, fans catching glimpses of his body, never exposing his face.
It was still manageable. No one knew where Jaemin lived, nor tried to find out, his public was respectful and understanding of their situation. At the end of the day a simple youtuber, as big as he was, wasn’t of great interest compared to the many actors and idols going around the city for cameras to snap pics at.
They both should have known better, Jaemin was destined for bigger things — bigger than their dysfunctional apartment. Floor tiles ruined, broken fridge, old white walls to paint for a time long procrastinated, a table looking about to crumble on the ground at any second. Better than the simple and quiet life Jeno was aiming for and doesn’t give up to this day.
Whenever he consciously counts three years they spent confined in the same apartment, Jeno finds it odd. The space is a long joke starting to tire him out, attaching memories to every piece and corner surrounding him daily. He remembers vividly his first kiss with Jaemin inside those walls, how unexpected it was. Glad Jaemin’s keyboard is one item out of the way to haunt him in memories he ends up welcoming, completely taking over his head.
It happened one evening Jeno wasn’t busy slumping on his office desk, calmly perched on the kitchen table listening to Jaemin singing for hours. Changing tunes, key chords, scribbling on his notebook words he preciously and avidly kept hidden from Jeno. Same as he did with his heart, while Jeno shoved it violently pounding against Jaemin’s chest when he held him close and kissed him with the camera still recording a short preview to release for his channel, right after his first ep announcement. Their first kiss is on tape, the physical memory is Jaemin's. He can have it.
Jeno remembers the sweet taste of toothpaste at the tip of his tongue, Jaemin tugging gently at his messy morning hair he hadn't bother to comb all day. He remembers the rainy days filled with their moans, the comforting weight of Jaemin's body on his, holding his head on his chest as they catched their breaths, watching droplets on rain at the foggy windows.
Five months into their break up and Jaemin is still this long gone presence murmuring his name, hushed and pressed to the shell of his ear. Squeezing his eyes shut to cast him out of his thoughts, harder when his thumb slides on any social media and Jaemin’s face somehow shows up.
Three years of living together, two of dating, and if Jeno truly ponders, it felt almost as if they never have been in a relationship. He could reduce it to a couple of peaceful weeks. The rest pales against Jaemin’s absence, their fights, believing they could only love each other when they stripped off their clothes, aware that's a big lie he tells himself to ease the pain. Jaemin was an incredible friend, albeit his biggest source of doubts as his lover.
If his ex is the moment’s singer promoting a successful album about how messed up their relationship was, it isn’t so great to see his name anywhere. Adding to the fuel after coming out as gay, Jaemin told the world he fell in love with his roommate and the album isn’t just a mild inspiration, it is about their story — and making it public was a clear mistake Jaemin recognised after the brief surge of bravery leading to it.
It didn't take long for people to figure out who the ex boyfriend was, and by then it was too late for Jaemin to take his words back. Jaemin’s fans clearly remember a guy named Jeno, who laughed and talked in his videos for years. Jaemin's mistake is exactly why Jeno had an unexpected pretext to speak to him again, or to try his best not to scream on the phone walking the busy streets of Seoul.
Certainly, any doubt was cleared when blurry pictures of them taken the night they broke up resurfaced after the album release. Five months ago, Jeno had to take note Jaemin deleted most of his old videos, the ones his voice was a part of. He wishes he could delete as easily the emptiness and chaos banging at the walls of his head, all caused by one bright smile he found at the end of a stained mug of coffee first thing in the morning. The very same smile he finds in an article or a post when he opens any social media he owns.
Tour posters, beeline of people for copy signing events around the city, music shows and fans' excited chatters. Even in his packed office, Jaemin is capable of never giving him a chance to forget him, as a couple of his coworkers got his concert tickets, talking out loud about in a terrible attempt of getting some information out of Jeno. His apartment is the last merciless piece of the picture.
The moment Jaemin was accepted by such a great amount of his audience after coming out, Jeno wasn’t surprised they have been supportive. He doesn't take it for granted, as some fans might have been upset that the fantasy of potentially dating him crumbled the day his interview was published. Everyone adores Jaemin. Jeno didn’t see a wave of hate as big as the one he imagined. When they talked about it, Jaemin was less optimistic than him, and Jeno hates himself for wondering how he must feel at being proven wrong. They fantasized about a world where they could have been free to just be out together, without having Jaemin finding creative ways to prevent Jeno's face from getting exposed.
Small restraints were fine, until they weren't anymore. Being strangers was never going to work out in the long run. It hurts now, it did months ago, and Jeno doesn't blame Jaemin for his honesty when he said they couldn’t last.
Though now, Jeno has given up his privacy, Jaemin possibly his career, every detail of their lives at risk to be of common knowledge. Jaemin knew more than anyone else Jeno wanted to lead a simple, private life. He can't help resenting him each time someone passes him and turns twice to give a once over, whispering to the person next to them. He hates Jaemin for exposing and now he is back in the city for his tour, back to the exact point where Jeno lost him.
Jeno did his best to erase the good, the happy, the sweeter details at times trifling; what’s easier to miss. The wrinkles of his shirt lying at the end of the bed, Jaemin’s hand looking for him in the dim lit room. Jaemin’s stupid grin sitting in front of the door forgetting his keys, Jeno's own sorry smiles messing up his laundry turn. The odd taste they had when his legs were coated with sweat and Jaemin fit perfectly in between their first time, leaving them to figure if a kiss was appropriate the next morning.
They cared for and hurt each other in the deepest ways. Jeno terribly misses him, watching his reflection on the bus window, in cornered seat. He nods to himself reading Minhyung’s texts, not taking long to reach the usual empty bar during the week.
Alcohol never tasted good, he enjoyed drinking solely when he was nineteen and felt exciting. The taste isn’t appealing anymore, gulping down a couple of drinks when he wants to be shameless and have an easy excuse for it. He wasn’t shocked the last time he did it and he woke up in a stranger’s bed. To his luck, Lee Minhyung is the most decent guy he’s ever come across lately.
He hasn't talked about his past relationships, and Minhyung is no exception. He is nice, sleeping together on and off, enjoying the no labels bullshit he hated before anything ever happened to him. Ironically, what they have at least has a name and terms the way his entire relationship with Jaemin lacked. Mark - that’s the way his friends call him - after several shots of bitters and three times he fell asleep next to him stripped off clothes, at least decided they could be friends. He knows Jeno can’t manage anything serious, knows he is hurt and attentively tries to understand what’s troubling him.
Talking about it isn’t an option he’s willing to go for, so Mark patiently waits, being the kind soul he is. Jeno can barely be honest with himself, censoring every bit that could possibly upset him; if he can’t be truthful when no one is out there to judge his past actions, Jeno doubts there is space for anyone to share a piece of his pain.
After a few tough drinks Jeno is dizzy, satisfied with his numb legs as he plops into a cab to Mark’s house. He recognizes his own destructive behavior, aware Jaemin has already caught with it. He never misses, always one step ahead of Jeno. It might help that Jeno considers himself perfectly ordinary, which he longs to be.or so he thinks; Jaemin never misses being one step ahead of him as if he is predictably ordinary. In any case, Jaemin doesn't have any right to have a say in his life. Not if he’s far, not if Jeno cuts ties.
His heart skips a beat when he remembers about those texts. They were unexpected, a drastic turn that his whole act crumble the moment he saw his display name. He thought about him, probably typing in a tiny dressing room after finishing another concert in the Seoul leg. How easily Jaemin can fit himself in the hole he carved out of Jeno's life. It angers him, the audacity Jaemin has to even ask, reassured that no, he isn't home, and he won’t be all night. Hates the rush he gets from letting Jaemin know he is at someone else's place.
Mark opens the door. His black hair is unruly, and a large shirt is creased and way bigger for his frame. Looking sweet, his eyes are wide and lenient, taking in Jeno being disheveled as a result of his latest nights spent smoking in the kitchen, catching up with work under the weak ambience lamp, all to avoid the sudden flashes of Jaemin, unwanted and awaited at the same time.
Move on — he inwardly threatens.
Mark welcomes him inside, hands smoothing his shirt and stepping back in the living room, his bare feet cold against the floor. “Can I get you a glass of water? Maybe a snack?”
Jeno's shakes his head no, toeing off his shoes by the entrance. “I’m good.” He leans towards Mark’s palm pressing behind his nape, his mouth open for a slow kiss, arms moving under the oversized grey shirt looking for his smooth stomach. Mark's tongue is quick to respond. Jeno's eyes shut at the warmth between them.
“Ran out of condoms.” Jeno makes a tipsy chuckle when he pulls out, watching Mark taking his shirt off. He grabs his waist, guiding both to the bedroom.
“It’s okay I got you.” Mark replies softly. He takes a second look at Jeno, who can't hold eye contact, and his lighthearted grin fades. “You sure you’re good?”
It doesn't matter how he feels because as soon Mark's fists are full of the blanket, his teeth sinking to Jeno's collarbones to quiet down a moan, Jeno can forget. Mark’s hips meet Jeno's thrusts in, their bodies filling up the silence. Mark knows it will never be the same as what Jeno has lost, and he doesn't need to have a name or a face to get it. Jeno does everything in his will to make sure it can't be the same thing, seeking control, stopping Mark from hovering on top of him, to make him feel good too. He’s fine if Mark enjoys it, and he's fine as long as he breaths air that isn’t tainted by the ghost of Jaemin's presence.
The minute Mark peacefully knocks out in a tangle of blankets looking everything but comfortable, Jeno is locked in the bathroom, trying to hold back the awful sound of guilt. His inward voice tells him to move on, this time louder and less patiently, repeating the words so many times it's a chant, and yet he wishes it could turn into a spell, absolving his curse.
Curling up naked on the freezing floor, his skin shivers as the phone screen light burns his sore eyes. He thinks about how five months ago he was in the middle of his favourite club crying, how stupidly masochistic he is to entertain all the pain just to appease that tiny voice telling him Jaemin still wants the idea of him.
To: jaemin
i hate you
but you're still better than anyone else
at least you don’t lie to me
remember when you said we could never work out?
it was fucking cruel jaemin
but you were right
From: jaemin
shit jeno
you didn’t answer for hours
please get somewhere safe
i’m worried
To: jaemin
stop pretending you care
stop texting me
just stop all of this, you’re being unfair
do you think i like hooking up with someone different every time?
Dropping his phone on the floor and careless the screen might be broken, it's over when he hears himself sobbing, his lungs hurting by how much he has kept the crying in. Give me a reason to stop messing everything up, he begs.
He looks at the door again, hoping Mark is sleeping soundly.
Crying after searching for someone else when it was inevitable he would end up upset is pointless, as a child would over spilled milk. He's not ready to cope with the wall of insecurities Jaemin built up. Their relationship, or what’s left of it, is dirt at the bottom of a puddle. Jeno should turn his back and deem the damage done. Instead he soaks in it, rubbing roughly the back of his hand over his wet lashes.
Another terrible night, not surprised how deep into his fears he can get whenever Jaemin sticks around in his text inbox. There’s not an end to Jaemin, and it won't exist if he settles a comma where they need a full stop. Jeno blames himself for being terrified of letting go, even if it means he’s going to keep walking around the city torn apart.
Sleep has turned to a nightly prayer. When he gets back to bed, he admires the sunrise's light from a slit opening in Mark's curtains. Mark slowly wakes up, stretching his limbs and messing his hair to push it out of his forehead, taking a proper look up at Jeno, who decides to mimic him by lying down. His cheek is flat on the pillow, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Na Jaemin,” Mark says before a yawn, turning to one side so he can face Jeno. “Had no idea he was your type.”
“You figured.”
“I've had for a while. I thought it was a coincidence, your apartment looked the same as the one in his vlogs. I was a bit of a fan.” Mark raises his hands as though he's guilty.
“I’m not surprised.” Jeno spares the eye roll, bringing his knees higher, rustling under the fabric.
“He’s back on tour and you look miserable. How long have you guys dated?” Mark asks
Jeno rolls on his back, noticing a small stain in the ceiling as he stares at it for a long while. “Long enough to learn my flaws.”
“What about his?”
“Worse than mine,” he glances over Mark lounging closer to his side, a bitter smile lifting the corner of his lips. Jeno shrugs.
“Great to learn he can be an asshole. He has that seamless reputation, y'know.” Mark shakes his head. “But I have an idea you’re not the rancorous type of ex. Actually, you resemble a sad puppy right now.”
“Hey! Say it again and you’ll catch these lips,” he pushes Mark’s body to the bed’s end.
“We said no kisses if dicks aren’t touching.” Jeno cringes and Mark laughs harder, the nice loud giggle trademark of his, surprised by the strong nostalgia knocking him back to the bed.
He and Jaemin would bicker about their meaningless bad habits. The astonishing part was the process of missing them all. Jeno found a sort of charm hearing Jaemin singing awfully in the shower, the contrast neat from his beautiful vocals and the days he spent playing the piano accompanying his voice, snatching a tad of his presence threading through their neighbors’ walls. Jaemin liked to loosen up, the sound of water covering a playlist sang half off-key just to scream candidly the cheesiest pop songs ever.
From Jaemin's part, nagging above a whisper as to how they literally have a balcony for Jeno’s ashtray resting on the kitchen table was heard often it became routine. Jeno smokes there, his favorite spot by the consumed wood framing the window, dragging a chair there to sit for hours if he gets lost in his own head. Used to their stoves and the grocery lists taped on the fridge fogged in the thick clouds of smoke out of his lips.
Jaemin hated it, the smell he had to waft out through the open window even during the coldest days of winter, finding a hidden leisure watching the man’s eyebrows frown and sulk where you could rarely catch him in a bad mood. Jaemin was too nice to actually complain about anything, always smiling to hide his troubled days.
Before their first kiss, before trying not to crash under the consequences of dating. Jeno actually remembers many frowns since then, disappointed and dull anger behind Jaemin's doe-like eyes.
Same frown, albeit curious and harmless, when Jaemin wrapped his lips around one of Jeno's cigarettes. It was on their balcony meant for one person, squished next to each other. Jeno joked he should try before trashing his smoking habit, and Jaemin took him quite literally, his fingers brushing Jeno's knuckles to take the cigarette. He bent in a tough fit of coughs, pouting and repeating how horrible it was.
Jeno’s forehead creases watching shadows growing in Mark’s room. Jaemin started smoking months after the first balcony fiasco, as Jeno started drinking bitter coffee in the morning when he never liked it. His print is on him, is dwindling to Jaemin’s anecdotes for the media about their terrible apartment mentioned in many songs, getting vague if asked about a roommate he fell in love with completing that segment of his life.
Brand new packs of cigarettes placed on Jaemin’s nightstand were a promise he would come back. From his trips, award shows, fan encounters, the bits of his life outlining their differences.
Jaemin wasn’t just a simple smiley boy aiming for big things anymore — he was out there living them, becoming fully part of his life.
Away for longer; a weekend, a week, two months for the low budget tour of his first ep. Promising they would find a couple of hours to laze on the couch, stuck in the low quality furniture while Jaemin was experiencing incredible and deserved achievements. Jeno was happy for him, proud, his heart uneasy and ready to let Jaemin go the next day to another place.
It was lonely, more so when he nuzzled Jaemin’s neck under their blanket, nibbling his jaw and giggling stupidly as a movie they were supposed to watch went on devoid of their attention.
Honesty, Jaemin's brutal trait. He reminded them they couldn’t work, on the rainy days it felt right to hide inside their apartment.
Distances were getting too big, he felt far away even as Jeno stood by the kitchen table and Jaemin was perched on the couch on a phone call with his manager. He couldn’t say anything against those sharp truths, Jaemin was right.
Instead, they ignored it the easy way, because for a week if he was lucky, or sometimes less than a day, Jaemin was his. Yielding them in his bed on a wet kiss, sealing the promise they could be each other’s for the next half an hour.
Forgetting the leanings both had when alone, Jaemin’s prominent in not hiding them as much as Jeno regretfully did, crawling out the shame he felt the first time it happened. Giving him courage to do the same, finding the real vexation implied in the subtle possessiveness overwhelming them, as Jaemin held onto his hips tightly so they both could pretend they weren’t slipping away from the other, that it wasn’t too late. Weekly infidelity fading through the longed closeness no one else could replace.
From: jaemin
one hour
that's all i’m asking
“Had the decency to knock this time.”
Opening the door, his heart sinks in his lungs at the sight. Cheeks void of any youthful roundness, mask pulled down and a white cap tight in his fidgety hands. Jaemin doesn’t smile; he bites his teeth down reddened lips, his pocket tinkling as he rummages through it.
“Last time I visited I was still paying rent,” a dispirited voice follows the lithe legs walking inside, looking out of place plopping a pair of keys on the small dresser at the entrance. “Here,” Jaemin’s hand softens the hold around the pair of keys cluttering and scraping on wood.
Keys never returned, long overdue to finally stay where they should, along meaningless misplaced belongings he doesn’t keep count of. Jeno never asked them back, so Jaemin didn't when it comes to his favorite mint hoodie folded in the drawer.
Well, not as meaningless, watching in the darkening silence Jaemin’s hand lingering next to entry badges and train tickets for places and concerts Jeno never attended. Promises they were not going to maintain, white lies told to ease the stocky tension whenever he comes home. Some brand new tickets were a beg to come over trying to solve another fight, forget the hoarded cheating and everything blowing up on their faces.
“Make yourself home.” Hand gesturing towards the kitchen, he doesn’t have it in him to shrug at the patent glare Jaemin gives him.
He stares at his tensing broad shoulders reaching for a glass of water, as Jeno deflates on the first chair and hears the sound of the faucet running. Spotting his face up close when he sits across from him, Jaemin looks spent.
Consumed, a burnt candle wallowing at the thinnest width. His thumbs lurked on social media, seeing fights between worried fans trending hashtags for Jaemin and others asking to not meddle in his personal life. All he knows comes from what the media heard and saw, really. Finding a familiar stranger at the other side of his humble kitchen.
“I thought you would move out.”
“Just because this apartment wasn’t enough for you doesn’t mean it isn’t for me.” Just because I wasn’t enough for you, so our apartment wasn't, it doesn’t mean I have to erase every step you took my way.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Right, ‘s never what you mean, mh?” He crosses his arms, a petty eyebrow lifted.
Hoping Jaemin can’t see his fingers are shaking, as he hears him exhale softly.
“Jeno.” The glass in his hand thumps when he rests it on the table. Jeno raises his hands in defeat to slap them back on his thighs, the space between Jaemin’s eyebrows crimping.
“How’s your tour going?” He doesn't care asking, nor pretending to make an effort, staring at Jaemin’s untouched glass of water.
“Good,” the pad of Jaemin’s fingers drum onto the table. “My last show is tomorrow,” his throat clears loudly. “Missed Seoul.”
Missed you.
Jeno looks up, reading the implicit meaning as Jaemin looks at him. Na Jaemin can overall be a superstar nowadays, but to him he’s still the same young boy made of hazed eyes staring whenever he is insecure.
Standing up towards the kitchen cupboard is a better option than to reciprocate his deep gaze, genuinely having no clue what else he should say. A nervous huff leaves his mouth fumbling the yellow lighter, flame weak and unable to properly light up the cigarette. He sticks it between his lips desperate to distract, as Jaemin places right behind his defensively clenched shoulders peering at the bright lighter, fishing a new one out of his pocket. The singer steps next to him, touching his arm gingerly.
“I guess this is still your spot.” His view shuts out the image of his consumed kitchen to inhale the burning sensation in his throat, handing Jaemin a drag of his cigarette.
“A bad habit is still a habit, can’t change it.”
“True,” Jaemin’s hip jolts the kitchen counter, chest facing him. “When I first moved out it was odd not having my kitchen smelling like a full ashtray.”
“Must have been thriving without me, good for you.” He snatches the cigarette back, restraining a sarcastic round of applause finding Jaemin’s irked features.
“Really, Jeno? I’m doing my part to be civil. Just to refresh your memory, it could have been our place.”
“Oh, so thoughtful,” he strides away to the window, putting out the cigarette. He's tired. “You’re acting as if it didn’t take you a week to pack everything and disappear.”
“You never wanted to get down on compromises, Jeno.”
“Ever occurred to consider why, Jaemin,” he mocks the tone and it’s raging he easily spots Jaemin’s irritation in the slightest shift of his posture when he turns towards him. “Every single thing I was about to give up for you was only at my expense. You weren’t sacrificing anything, and you knew I was going to support your career.”
“I came out in a country that would spit on me for being gay. For you, to let you see I was going to choose you first and it could work between us.”
“Did they?” His voice raises up and it’s out of his control, ears unprepared for the empty silence coming as Jaemin stays quiet a couple of beats longer. “No, honestly, tell me. Did they spit on you, Jaemin?!”
Marching closer to the man, his heart stutters. Jaemin looks down, lips folded tightly to a straight line.
“No.” He whispers. Jeno knows Jaemin hates when he raises his voice.
“See our differences? I would have lost my job. I fucking risked it because you had to tell everyone you fell in love with your ex roommate.”
“And I am terribly sorry for acting impulsively. I made a mistake. Honestly, I’m also sorry I don’t regret it.” Jaemin looks up, teary eyed, his same endearing eyes never any less brave to not stare intensely. “I always wondered if you ever truly acknowledged I love you. Now, not in the past, not only when I wrote the album.”
“Not enough Jaemin,” his voice breaks, mouth quivering faintly. “You said it yourself in a stupid parking lot, remember?”
From the guilty look he sports, there’s no doubt Jaemin remembers. Jeno in two years of relationship became a professional at fist fighting his own pride to meet Jaemin’s insecurities, reassuring them it was going to be fine. They rarely gave up, basking a calming pause in between their fights getting out of hand to then talk things through and make up.
But you can beat and shake something fragile for as long as a first crack appears, risking to destroy it at every other hit. Learning the damage a couple of words worded wrongly at the worst time can be final.
The night Jaemin picked him up from work, as if risking to be seen together could have changed things or prove anything they already hadn’t discussed. They started arguing as Jeno knew Jaemin was cheating on him, guilty of doing the same, wondering how on earth they could have worked if every weekend Jaemin was next to him – and he could soak his fragrance close – he felt more distant than the rest of the month he was physically away.
The night Jaemin screamed Jeno wasn’t enough, stopping his car abruptly in the middle of their dangerous conversation at a sketchy parking lot next to the train station. Jaemin's fingers firmly gripping on the steering wheel apologizing, babbling he actually meant the distance, the secrecy their relationship had and the different paces their lives took weren’t enough if they wanted to imagine a future together.
Shattered to the lowest drop of his stomach when he opened the car door, he cursed at Jaemin more than he rationally did in their previous arguments. Jeno remembers Jaemin’s voice hushed, unsettled and trying to tame the damage of his words Jeno couldn't hear from his whistling ears.
Utterly bitter when he thought it was over, sitting inside the first train destined to nowhere he had a clue, leaving that parking lot where he could have kept hurting another month for him. Then the next one, and the one after the next so he could love Jaemin a little longer. They saw it coming, he could feel it in his clumped throat waking up to see Jaemin had left for a schedule of his flashy career, yet Jeno kept delaying their breakup to have more time; their thing.
An hour more, a week more, months spent fearing the day Jaemin was coming back to Seoul as it brought heartbreaks to heal by the end of his visits. Specifically when they were good to fake a smile and stop discussing problems clouding up their heads as a storm.
Reorganizing their closet tuning to Jaemin’s live concerts on the laptop screen, cleaning every dusty piece of furniture and drawers all week to the point of obsession — finally he understood their terrible apartment wasn’t the problem. The only haywire part of his daily routine was Jaemin.
Jeno and Jaemin, to be precise. Two pieces of the same puzzles misplaced inside a different composition that didn't work.
“We were going to break up. I’m sure you were waiting for it.”
Jeno’s gaze flees at the words; he isn’t wrong.
“So you.”
“Then what’s the point of fighting the only occasion I have to see you?”
His palms press on the counter’s edge, head tilting to sulk at Jaemin.
“You said one hour, you should go.” He doesn’t move, Jaemin’s fingers tapping gently on top of his hand. “Bet the luxury hotel you’re staying at has a better bed than your old one.”
There’s no hesitation to be the first to intertwine their hands on top of the counter, Jaemin’s thumb brushing through his knuckles.
“I’d rather stay here for another hour. Can I?”
“It’s late.” Jaemin’s hair is soft when he combs it through his free hand, the painful burden of emotions hardly swallowed as the man lingers to the contact.
“I can stay in my old bed-”
“I mean it’s too late for this,” his hand drops to Jaemin’s chest, their faces an upset mirroring game. “Five months late.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Jaemin nods, almost frantically, palm sweaty and cold where they’re holding hands.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he follows the prominent curve of Jaemin’s cheekbone, the hold he settles around his nape awfully familiar as he pulls him closer.
“Push me away and I’m going.”
“You know I won’t.”
Soft. Jaemin’s lips are still addictively soft.
Answering their bold press, his hands sliding through Jeno's sides as his body shifts against the counter to kiss him better. For so long he firmly believed at his age he could go on without forgiving, bottling his anger and never considering quitting his spiteful behavior. He does now to take Jaemin’s shirt off, tired when he slips his tongue the way Jaemin likes and it has him groan.
Counting each step Jaemin takes forward to the bed, Jeno’s heart crushes at the same pace, a bird gone mad in its cage being familiar to Jaemin after months of distance.
Room dim, the poor lighting welcomes another shadow dancing on the walls, casted during similar and past nights of breathy noises when they were younger, happier, sometimes stained with tears. Jaemin’s skin shivers cold and burns under his hands. Jeno grips his shoulders, smooths his palms down his stomach, chin locked in the crook of his neck.
Lips could be bleeding at the harsh scraping of teeth peeling his bottom lip, rolling his hips eagerly to Jaemin’s, straddling him on the creaky bed. A rich memory alive in the present, their chests glueing, Jeno nuzzling Jaemin’s neck as a hand wraps around his length. Close and intimate, as if the apartment walls could finally crumble down with them.
Tilting Jaemin’s chin up with his thumb, his mouth sealed and void of Jaemin’s as it finds his jaw, sucking strips of skin aware Mark’s hickeys are visible, starting to fade out. He lets him cover them with his, craning his neck to push him closer. Jaemin smudges his lips across his throat, head thrown back in a long whine when he lifts Jeno’s hips and delicately guides him to sink on his cock.
They’re fast after catching his thighs slippery, scared to slow down to anything hoarding a deeper meaning, pretending it’s just a random hookup and Jaemin will grab his clothes to leave once they’re done. Jaemin’s labored breath echoes in his ears, as his palms spread on Jeno's lower back wider, his own moaning voice bouncing at the rushed pace.
His lashes feel heavy when Jaemin frames his cheek; brushing away his humid hair, kissing the corner of his mouth. Lazy and given up to the caring touches, he brings the man’s muss of brown strands to his sweaty chest, marked from his collarbones up to the most visible spots of his jawline; he’ll figure out how to cover the fact he’s drowning in Jaemin’s presence tomorrow morning.
“You’ve never been this tight…” Jaemin jabbers to his skin, glancing up worried when Jeno starts huffing distressed. His forehead is full of sticking black hair as it knocks with his, the man’s labored breath falling onto his glossy lips. “I’m confused.”
“Has been long. I don’t wanna talk about it,” the tip of his tongue collects the salty taste of Jaemin’s bottom lip as he parts his mouth open. “You said you love me earlier. Do you mean it?”
“Do you?” He decides to lull in Jaemin's musk instead of replying, chest inflating under his fondling digits.
Afraid of a simple question, the positive answer abiding the longer he stays comfortable around the safest arms he’s ever experienced. Same ones that could lock him in a chokehold considering the long list of pain they inflicted to each other.
“Tell me you don’t, Jeno.” Jaemin’s eyes are pleading. Jeno has never been a good liar.
He silently moves to kiss Jaemin’s jaw, careful of mapping his lips to his neck mindless of collecting droplets of sweat, not if they belong to him. Jaemin’s nails twiddling with his pierced ear is extremely fond, listening to the hushed breathing and the filling inside him at every helped movement of hips deeper down Jaemin’s crotch.
Resting his tense spine to the mattress, a leg curled around Jaemin’s waist, the white ceilings and those long lashes staring down at him — it's a sight he has memorized by heart, familiar and still completely different. It’s Jaemin, the smiley boy with big dreams and bigger smiles Jeno now grips at his shoulders.
Listening to him panting to his ear, “I’m tired looking for someone else who isn’t you, Jeno. I love you. Please don’t say you don’t.”
“I do, Jaemin. But you can’t ask me to say it. Be fair,” he mewls out of breath, arching his spine as Jaemin pounds inside him harder.
Their kisses melted to gape in each other’s mouths, harsh digits bruising the man’s hips when they come.
Outside it is past midnight and their voices are broken, his thighs sore and Jaemin’s shoulder blades ruined with red scrapes.
Darkness looks as close as the water rapids trapped in his irises, about to dash out of his eyes. And Jeno won’t fall for Jaemin’s, full and thick in the glimpse of his face twisting sadly. Curling on the same mattress, choosing to be hurt inside out.
Darkness is defeat and anger. He's naked next to Jaemin, entirely covered in visible purplish marks. Darkness is the sound of Jaemin’s clearing throat, strongly occupying his side of the bed Jeno tries not to turn towards and find the next thing breaking his heart.
“Can I shower?” The raspy voice asks, sniffling the following second.
“Sure. You know the way,” his face starts stuffing on the pillow, pursuing his lips as his nose itches not to cry.
He waits during overworked breathing, the mattress softening off the weight of Jaemin’s body welcomed back for tonight. Jaemin cares, it isn’t up to question he does, loosely tucking the light sheets on Jeno before moving around the room. Jeno brings the blanket further to cover his wet cheeks, focusing on the singer’s naked spine. His peripheral vision scours Jaemin, finding everything exactly where it was the day he moved out, crouching to the last drawer for clean towels and spare items. Meant for guests they rarely had.
Recently the only person visiting is Mark, who usually doesn’t stay for the night, babbling his mind out over Johnny, his ex, and a pack of cigarettes. Shitty relationships ended in even shittier ways shared after hooking up. At least Mark shares, glad he can vent out piece after piece Jeno could almost say he witnessed their bond blowing up.
Finding the door closing silently a neat slap to his guts, he slowly stirs hearing the shower muffled sound. Jaemin inside his bathroom, the small thumps of shampoo bottles falling and what he’s scared to address as a faint sob. Knees hiking higher to his chest, fists closing to the mattress forcing himself up, wearily pushing air out in a sigh.
Jeno tonight had no idea he would stare at his clock in hope the ticking dart could erase Jaemin’s bed drenching in warmth and the painful waves hitting his ribcage, his rough fingertips running over his livid collarbones.
The door creaks weakly, his bare feet adjusting to the soapy ground when he steps inside the shower box, his body one with the wall. Jaemin’s brown locks fall to the side lead by the water’s pressure, rubbing the shower gel in his hands. As if he was waiting for him, as if Jeno only had to anticipate Jaemin would collapse in his arms.
Welcomes him on his neck, because he also needs to be closer, forgetting how far Jaemin can get even if he’s just standing by the other side of the same room. Despite his wide shoulders and the arms firmer around Jeno's waist, Jaemin feels small; or it’s his heart that’s small and squeezed like a paper ready to be thrown as a basketball at the first bin.
“You took him to our bed.” Jaemin whispers and his voice tickles his neck.
“What are you talking about,” his head retreats to look at him better, Jaemin’s nose grazing his. “Who's him?”
“The guy you're seeing, or sleeping with. I shouldn’t say anything, it’s not my bed anymore.” Jaemin sighs, wiping a hand over his face. “I saw a cigarette burn, and your hickeys- so I figured-”
“The cigarette burn was on me,” he titters sheepishly, albeit gloomy. “Um, the bed is empty so I sit there sometimes and- the point is there’s no him on your bed. My bed, it’s mine now.”
“Forget I said anything. You can sleep with anyone.” His hushed groan strokes Jeno’s lips, lacking space.
“It’s okay,” he watches Jaemin’s eyes thawing at the gentleness they use to speak. “Though I don’t bring anyone there. I can’t.”
Let water wash away every sound belonging to Jaemin from his apartment once and for all, playing with his dripping hair as the man stays frozen against him.
Possibly mask their tears from water drops, afraid one of them would do something as stupid as falling for them and suggest they make it work this time. This is when he misses him the most; no one hugs like Jaemin, no one seeks and finds the same amount of comfort in a hug.
Mint colored and folded in his drawer for months. Jaemin’s hoodie is there, smelling of the fabric softener the singer bought stating it was the best ever.
Tempted to wear it many times, large and cozy when he stole it from Jaemin flaunting it in the house to get an eye roll and if he was lucky, it never took long to be locked in his arms and have Jaemin's fingers stroking his waist underneath the shirt.
If there is something Jaemin obviously enjoyed, noticing Jeno was wearing his clothes was the one. He now takes the hoodie in his hands, after hearing the shuffling sounds behind him where Jaemin was going to wear the clothes previously discarded on the floor. Jaemin has only got to zip a pair of washed out jeans, glancing up at him confused as Jeno tosses the hoodie his way from the other side of the bed. Divided by the mattress’ inches of space.
“Change shirt,” his bottom lip juts out, a touch of harmless irony twitching an eyebrow. “And your manners while you’re at it.”
Incredibly fit on him wearing the shirt in a swift movement, the spotless light green hides Jaemin's hands snagged in the pockets. He also curls his mouth to a soft smile, white and bright despite the dim room.
“Can we talk?”
“Sex and make up? Doesn’t work like that anymore, Jaemin.”
“About anything else. I wanna hear your voice,” Jaemin looks down, cheeks dusted pink like he hardly ever shows. “And stay here for longer, nothing more. I promise.”
Forefinger bitten between his teeth, his other arm is crossed seizing him. Jaemin looks sincere, could say shy as he takes a glimpse of red hands. Jeno gives in, wringing a kitchen corner at past midnight, absently peering at Jaemin delving coffee powder. He reaches for a mug, a pastel one belonging to the man he never bothered to take with him, smiling unconsciously at the hidden excitement for the pink object.
Neighbors asleep, Jeno is also about to close his eyes, bending his head towards the propped arm to the table. He relaxes on the white noises of Jaemin drinking coffee, early birds chirping outside, the clock ticking. Sure for a moment it’s three years ago and they’re up on a sleepless night, asking questions to help getting to know the other better. Although Jeno knows Jaemin in ways the words of his music could never expose, and a part of him is satisfied it will stay that way.
“Want some?” Jaemin lets the mug glide his way, gulping a generous sip.
“We need something stronger than coffee,” he murmurs, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “By the way, this still sucks.”
Jaemin chuckles, giving him the cup back gladly, head turning back to Jeno as he gets up.
“Have anything in mind?” The singer’s eyebrows raise up so high he looks silly, Jeno taking a bottle of soju and two shot glasses. “Oh.”
Two mere strides are also how long it takes to reach the second hand bright orange couch, having a full view of the kitchen as they plop there, pouring alcohol and toasting a first shot. He hisses for the pang of pain up his bones sitting abruptly, subtle goosebumps he’s rapid to cover as Jaemin automatically soothes his forearm and asks if he’s okay.
Loosening up with Jaemin has always come easy, and he hasn’t heard genuine laughter for long.
When he does it sounds strange to his ears, fuzzy, increasing the number of shots pleasantly burning his sternum he leans over Jaemin’s shoulder. It’s so nice recalling old days without a reason to ignite a fight for once, afraid of when their lighthearted laughs will end.
Here and now, Jeno can giggle about their terrible experience dog-sitting for their neighbor, accepting as they had moved for less than two months in the block and they were giving their best to not appear rude to the kind and old lady who's still Jeno's neighbor. When Jeno got home and Jaemin was soaking wet after attempting a bath, Coco wiggled her tail happily dirtying their floors with paw prints, jumping and staining Jeno’s new suit.
Like melted ice cream, he abandons his head on the headrest, answering Jaemin’s socked foot playfully stepping his. He yawns, cheeks sore from smiling, as their bodies have shifted to the end of the couch, their arms touching and their hands daring to stroke the other’s limbs.
“Aren’t we too old to play footsies.”
“I’m young,” Jaemin proves his point and tickles his calves, Jeno bringing his knees closer to his face, lazily hanging on one side to rest his chin on top.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, I’m seeing wrinkles,” he mumbles amused, painlessly kicking Jaemin’s stomach as he keeps tickling him.
“Literally where?” Jaemin hooks his arm around Jeno’s thigh, not complaining as he brings it around his waist.
Crossing the line again, and for tonight it seems the right thing to do.
“Here,” he strokes Jaemin’s dark circles, imagining he must be distraught touring for a whole month non stop.
Will be tomorrow for his last concert, too, pulling an all-nighter. Hair too short to tuck behind his ears when combing it away, Jeno's arm settles behind his nape twiddling with the green hood and the strings. His thumb parts Jaemin’s lips, sharing a numb kiss tasting of soju, his tongue a hot flicker twirling with his.
Short and enough to start a riot in his body, pulling at a safe distance to not kiss again, albeit he’s able to perceive the graze of Jaemin’s lashes on the highest point of his right cheek. Jaemin pecks the spot marked by a mole, heart jumping right then.
“A whole album about you to see if I could move on and writing it only worsened things. I knew the risks, and I should have protected you instead of telling everyone we were dating. The consequences are all on me, and I’m sorry you had to panic because I was trying to– I honestly have no idea, Jen. Get your attention? We never truly ended it, I mean, I should have done more to not make you leave five months ago.”
Jaemin’s voice is low and fragile. A pure confession, yet it has the power to crush him, watching his flushed face and nervous glances waiting for his reaction.
“I hoped you would be the right person so much I felt crazy.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Jaemin don’t start it,” his eyes flood up with tears quickly and he’s thankful Jaemin actually refrains from going on. “Please.”
“Jeno,” he sniffles a couple of times and before he knows it he’s crying in Jaemin’s face, shaking his head frantically when he drops it down to wipe his face. “Don’t beg me, you don’t have to. I won’t- hey, look at me.”
Jeno looks, vision fogged. Practically useless to stare, his head heavy between Jaemin’s palms cupping his face.
“It’s nothing, Jaem. I’m drunk, you know how I get when I drink.”
“You’re angry. You cry when you’re angry, and we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to, I think it’d be good though. Our relationship has only been misunderstandings, and–”
“You’re here and it’s fucking right but as soon as you get out of that door I’m not sure anymore. I am mad, because I don’t deserve to be lost in your career, your schedule and other hookups. This is why you can’t be that person. Being in love isn’t all it takes. Sometimes I wish I was capable of resetting everything to start again. I can’t,” he sits further from Jaemin, staring at his fridge, arms crossed to protect himself from his words.
Silence growing thicker, frustrated as they were having such a good time. Maybe it’s for the better, he thinks, otherwise it would be unbearable to step home tomorrow and recall a fresh memory of him and Jaemin laughing and actually enjoying themselves. Jaemin’s back meets the backrest, head adjusting where he’s looking. Jeno flees from his bashfulness at what he’s seeing.
Movie tickets, old and getting daily sunlight for years they’re illegible, pinned under a magnet on their fridge. Rubbish Jeno didn’t have the heart to throw away, not the hoarding type of person. Unlike Jaemin who insisted on hanging every paper good, also the first grocery list they made as roommates. Somehow sharing the sight of those tickets has Jaemin visibly relaxed, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Remember our first movie date? I was so happy you asked me out.”
Jeno doesn’t remember much of the movie. He remembers the seats black leather, screening room dark and emptier during a regular day of the week, and how he snuggled closer with fallen popcorn stuck around the seat and his thighs. Lips bruised and Jaemin’s tongue rolling to short-cut breathing, timidly realizing it could be heard during quieter scenes.
“The ending song was pretty damn good.”
They start chuckling, he figures more than they normally would as the atmosphere finally eases his troubled mind.
“And those ending credits were endless,” Jaemin’s boyish laugh dies down calmly, posture slumped and a fond grin. “Good thing I thought I could kiss you forever. I seriously considered paying rent for our seats at some point.”
Their first date out, wavering around each other in the apartment for weeks until Jeno got annoyed and took the first step.
Hesitating to choose their seats, they opted for the highest row of seats to simply make out like a gross new couple does. Jaemin was far from being a big name, not yet familiar to the world, regretting being so cautious when it actually was their chance to hold hands in public and live their silly, mundane date. It's the last string helping Jeno to stop reminiscing and be nostalgic. Keeping the worst of himself inside a chrysalis, so he won’t argue about the past — so he won’t hurt Jaemin any longer.
Head resting on top of Jaemin’s, he finally leans on the crook of his neck as they stare at nothing and they let their minds reminisce quietly.
“We eventually left the movies.” He says mostly to himself rather than Jaemin.
It eventually all ends, he means as he takes the man’s invitation to hold his hand for countless times tonight.
“We did,” Jaemin sighs, and he knows better it’s defeated.
They lie on the couch, a light bender going through his senses, staring at Jaemin with absent eyes and a stupid smile to prevent looking as empty as he feels. Jaemin stares back, for long, indefinite minutes and hours, delaying closing his eyelids and deem their encounter over.
Jeno is still idling under movie credits, the next morning when Jaemin stands by the doorframe packing a load of words he didn’t say, wondering if in that secret list of rehearsed phrases there’s one able to give them a reason to try again. The next morning, waking up next to him fuzzy and warm, he is twenty three and kissing Jaemin in a dark movie theatre again, people leaving as the film ends, trailing outside chatters about their favorite parts or complaining they wasted money.
Young and haphazardly sure he is in love with his roommate again, as Jaemin nods and pulls his flatten cheek from the doorway, biting his bottom lip harshly when Jeno steps in to fix a rebel strand of hair for him.
Nodding back, unsure if it means anything, his view stays fixed on the door Jaemin closes gently.
Jeno has learned his lesson; they stop saying goodbye as it doesn’t refrain them from drawing an ending line. Jaemin doesn’t fade on his skin after a timeless shower, poor sleep threatened by the grueling sound of his phone reminding his life didn’t end with a closed door and he has to prepare for work. Tiny – and this time weaker – voice whispering to move on back in place.
*
Not longer than a week later he jumps in his pants to wear them as fast as he can, a black tie casually thrown around his neck, a bite of bread chewing in his mouth and about to trip in front of the door when he startles by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
Opening it to a package waiting for him, bowing his thanks puzzled as he shakes the light and broad box he places on the kitchen aisle.
No address from the sender, genuinely wondering if he should call Doyoung and ask if anyone in the building hates their company enough to drop a bomb or kill poor staff members such as him. He’d sound silly, and completely out of his mind, finally grabbing a knife to cut through the package.
Doesn’t take him long to recognize it is Jaemin’s mint hoodie, smelling of their night — of him. He blushes alone for dipping his nose in the fabric as a first response, lashes fluttering and sitting on the kitchen chair. The movement has a sticky note falling in his lap, thumb caressing the colorful paper.
“whenever you feel like sleeping on the couch during movie credits. i’m sure this will keep you warmer.
- jaem
ps. i whined a lot it is my favorite sweater, but it belongs to you since the first time you borrowed it”