Archive of Our Own

Jeno has always been one for rational decisions. He made a smart decision to move to America for undergrad after high school. Applying to Columbia, with a one way track as a business major, hoping to please his family back home. His sister graduated a year early from SNU before attending the best graduate program that Duke has to offer. Now, she lives in Sacramento, married and the finest Neurosurgeon that pays over $746,000k a year — her first child on the way; it’s a girl. His parents keep asking about a girlfriend, if he would switch careers and apply for med school, if his new job would pay enough to send to their relatives, would he be around for the holidays or would work tie him up.

It’s a trick question, if he answers 1) “No, Eomma, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to the family dinner that emposses most of our cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents from both sides because work has me too busy, but I’ll be sure to make it up with the E-gift cards,” then maybe his parents would chide, clicking their tongues, over the phone as his mother holds it between her shoulder too tightly that he can hear the sound of her apron shifting against the microphone.

“Jeno-ya, we’re proud of you,” His mother would rattle on, a little saddened but happy that he’s busy, being paid well.

Or there’s 2) “I’ll be there Eomma, should I pick up a gift for the cousins on my way?” Then comes, “Jeno-ya, look at your cousin, and your sister — is your job not busy tonight? Young-hee has been working a 15-hour shift at the hospital before flying over here and still managed to arrive with the soju. Why don’t you try and be more like her?” She’d demand .

Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation for him. So when fresh out of undergrad, he’s lucky to have returned to Seoul, spending four years in New York: drunk every Thursday night with his tongue down the throat of a Sigma Nu frat boy, and cramming his essay every regular 3-to-5 business day. Granted he’s learned his lesson, that frats were a nuisance and he’s grown somewhat homesick. Donghyuck, his roommate was lucky enough to find a job right after the bat, a 9-to-5 corporate job at an office, answering phone calls and refilling the ink of the Xerox Phaser 7400DXF that would probably cost more than his mortgage. He doesn’t mind the desk duty, it’s good pay and his business degree does prove somewhat useful when attending to clients and sending out daily reports to his boss.

He buys his first house, 23 years old, single — you should put that as your bio for Tinder, ‘single and looking to mingle, gentle on the streets, freaky in the sheets,’ Dongyuck encourages. Jeno doesn’t listen to him, and he’s smart for that. Despite Donghyuck’s degree in Finance, he too, makes irrational decisions. Like accidentally sending a dirty voicemail to the wrong number, their boss’. Or enabling Jeno these days into reviving every single dating website known to mankind . “It’s time to get out there, seeing you lonely and single makes me want to hurl.” Donghyuck pleads.

“You’re going to eat up half my storage,” Jeno argues, usually the mayhem occurs during office hours, where the whole floor keeps their head above the cubicle to peer over towards the direction of noise. He ducks his head, apologetic.

“The only apps you’ve ever downloaded on your phone are KakaoTalk, which you rarely seem to be able to use, and two,” he holds a second finger, “PUBG MOBILE.”

“I’ll think about Tinder, and I don’t need any blind dates, the last one you set me with in Manhattan couldn’t stop talking about finances.”

“Almost like your mother, wasn’t that wonderful!” Donghyuck chirps.

“Keep my mother out of your mouth, otherwise you’re uninvited from coming over ever again.”

Donghyuck grins, “stop threatening me with a good time, now about that profile, I was thinking, how good do you think you look in a red flannel?“

“I think that’s the last of the boxes from the moving truck,” Jeno says, wiping his forehead, working up a good sweat. Hours later, most of his boxes are littered throughout the foyer and into the living room. He leans against the steps, hoping to catch his breath, as Doyoung emerges from the door, dusting off the dirt from his dad jeans. He was surprised to see that his brother made time out of his day, away from the firm, to help him move and unpack.

“I didn’t think you owned this much, otherwise I would’ve brought a few of my colleagues to come help with the move,” Doyoung laments, stretching his back.

“It’s most of my stuff and belongings from college hyung, half of it was in your storage unit,” he reminds him, as if it wasn’t last week that Doyoung hadn’t cornered him to sit down during dinner with Jaehhyun. The boyfriend; he likes him, he’s polite and rich and used to be his brother’s paralegal. It’s time that you start looking for your own place, you’re twenty-three and Eomma would hate to hear that you’re not living alone.

That was a lie, their mother would be downright ecstatic to hear that they’d become roommates in Doyoung's one and a half bedroom apartment in Daegu. The truth was that once Doyoung and Jaehyun started dating, he’d been around a lot more and Jeno kept on insisting for him to call the carpenter to do something about the thin walls between the guest room and the master bedroom.

In the politest way possible, Jeno was kicked out.

His house in Seodaemun-gu was on a smaller-scale compared to the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. It was a suburban area, on the outskirts of the city. Only a thirty minute commute to the office with no traffic if Jeno left a quarter before 7 am. It’s a good size, two story, single family painted gray, with white shutters and a large yard so Jeno’s dog, Duke could run freely in the backyard. Surrounded by other mid-size family homes, something of a simulation of one of the many American sci-fi movies that Donghyuck is fascinated with.

He’s heaving the last box; kitchen tupperware and tools, as he spots his new neighbors mailmax, printed letters plastered against as it reads, HUANG. An unfamiliar surname. He takes the box up the stairs, dropping it against the first pillar. “Worked up a sweat huh hyung, there’s not much inside, but I can offer you a room temperature beer,” Jeno proposes.

Doyoung shakes his head, “I’ll take a raincheck, I’ve got some work at the firm — and Jaehyun wants to go shopping for new paint colors.” His voice heightens at his name, like a girl and her first crush, something lasting, if Doyoung was a thirteen year old girl that giggled and twirled her hair, that isn’t a sight for sore eyes.

“Hyung, if I didn’t know any better I’d say that in the next year you’ll elope to Santorini without telling the family,” He jokes, but there’s a telling smile that keeps him from continuing his sentence.

With a happy hum, Doyoung says, “I’ll have to add that to our list, thank you Jeno-ya,” thoughtful, and genuine. Before he pats him on the head like he’s a toddler being rewarded for the first time he could ever walk and Doyung was four years older.

The house is awfully empty, he realizes, it’s so large for one person. Jeno starts sorting boxes, filling up spaces to make it seem smaller. He didn’t have too many things from his dorm that went into the storage unit, or didn’t take residence in his parent’s garage. Granted, disappointing that their youngest son wasn’t going to move back in to help take care of them, be sent on errands daily; feeding the cats, nor attending weekly parties at the neighborhood in search for a proper girlfriend. Saddening yes, but having Young-hee the furthest away, out of the country, doing her residency in California and far from their reach was probably their biggest worry.

Digging around for the kettle in the plastic storage bins labeled ‘kitchenware’ he sets it on the stove. Thankfully, it works, as he fills it to the brim with ease, the running of cold water laps against his hands. Crouching against the sofa, he runs the box cutter against the tape, and continues to unpack.

He invites Donghyuck over later that night, “Help me pack, I’ll let you play any reruns of Married at First Sight on the cable TV.”

‘That sounds tempting, you hate that show,” Donghyuck says, “Though I would love to come over, I can’t.”

Jeno frowns, “Why not, I even have that disgusting beer you always insist that I waste my money on,” He tries.

“Kronenbourg, and it’s French,” He purrs, then distastes at Jeno’s lack of apparent palate. Without trying, Donghyuck sounds like a pompous Columbia graduate that received a B.A in Culinary arts and spends his weekends gesturing with his fingers, and repeating 'oui oui!’ as if memorizing flashcards for his Econ lecture.

Alone, as pathetic as it sounds, Jeno grabs a beer (not the Kronenbourg brand, but Hite — simple and crisp). He flops on the couch, thinking that he should act, and drink responsibly because it was Sunday night.

He was right, the house was too big for him, and being single at his age, the golden age where he turns left and right and every co-worker, colleague, even strangers at the supermarket, are getting engaged – married. It’s extremely inconvenient for Jeno while he’s trying to purchase his mother’s favorite brand from the local mart that he trips over a couple oozing their vows of everlasting love.

At the ripe age of 23 — people start asking questions. Do you think about settling down, you’re only twenty-three, any plans to start a business? Those questions are begged and sought from his close family; older cousins visiting from his hometown. If he wasn’t going to enter Med School, nor help his brother at the firm — that begs the other question — “Jeno-ya, do you ever think about opening a business with that degree of yours?”

That question is from his great-aunt, who is conservative and encourages him to invite a friend or two for Sunday services and post-services brunch. She’s also the same aunt who continuously asks Doyoung if he’s single, and that a friend of her granddaughter was available, like their family was some sort of speed-dating service. He declares Doyoung too nice, too polite — since he’s sure that he makes it obvious.

One bottle later, and slightly tipsy as the tv offers no desired interest for Jeno, he gazes out the window. Without curtains that have yet to be shipped through, ordered over a week in advance, the view is naked, vulnerable; any peeping stranger could simply walk over and take a good look inside. Shadows move slowly, across the way the house is lit dim, with one light casting overglow towards the whole living room. Blinds open, giving Jeno a good view from where he sat on the sofa. It’s not much, given that it’s still dark in the house, as someone flicks the light, and the foyer is lit up. Two figures, perhaps a couple, he has yet to meet any of his neighbors yet. It would be best of his luck that his neighbors weren’t awake at inhumane times and succeeded in waking up the whole neighborhood.

The shadows disappear, an upstairs bedroom light flashes on and off, figures swarm and linger near the window before the house goes dark and Jeno loses interest. Deciding that it’s best, he sets down his beer, locking the door before he throws himself back onto the sofa, turns on the first channel his finger hits on before knocking out fast asleep.

Like the responsible adult that Jeno is, he forgets to set his alarm.

It’s no problem, he’s usually on time for work, and with his luck it would only be an extra 10 minutes. The next morning is a rough start, considering that one for rational, pre-planned decision-making he did not lay out his clothes last night. But it’s alright, everyone makes honest mistakes. Locking the door behind him, checking it twice before he moves on, Jeno doesn’t stop to appreciate the morning sun, it’s cold these days in Seodaemun-gu. As he jogs down his driveway to his car, parked below he spots a couple walking alongside the sidewalk. That’s cute, he first thinks. Distracted easily, holding onto two leashes – he squints. Probably should’ve worn his contacts today.

Are they walking their cat? Still, from a distance, only recognizable being that one of them wore a blue fanny pack strapped across their check. It’s silly, like really silly in a way that the scene is comical-like and completely normal as if he would expect to see it peeking out of a healthy lifestyle magazine or a cartoon.

The perfect couple.

It’s a little odd, but nonetheless Jeno ducks into the car and starts to drive. It takes 45 minutes — and by 7:30 am, Donghyuck has called him four times urgently as he’s pulling into the lower garage. “You’re late,” Donghyuck greets him, not unfriendly,

“By 15 minutes, forgot to set my alarm,” Jeno begrudgingly mumbles, dumping his briefcase beside him and jamming a finger to the power button of his finger. “Who’s counting anyway.”

“Haha, very funny. There’s a pile of files on your desk that needs to be gone through.” He nudges the heeding stack of files, waiting to be typed up into their corresponding documents and sent to their Team Leader. “And you were happy to volunteer to take over my load of work for today three nights ago,” Donghyuck chirps, taking a sip of his coffee. He knows that their office serves the shittiest coffee in the instant pot brewed inside the kitchen, yet he insists on drinking it. It’s like putting poison in your body, and apparently he liked it, as he’s been told and Jeno quotes: This coffee could stop climate change, for whatever the fuck is in it.

Jeno frowns, “that’s not fair, I was drunk.” They were sitting at the little office bar right down the block that serves Donghyuck’s favorite happy hour drinks, three shots of soju and he was out like a light. Under persuadable circumstances, he might’ve been willing to cover some of his paperwork, feed his neighbor's cat — Subak while he was out on business trips. Reasonable yes, but while intoxicated, Jeno now feels a little — taken advantage of. “People are easier to manipulate while under the influence of alcohol.”

“Well look at you, you sound like a walking page taken from an encyclopedia,” Donghyuck claps his hands brightly, like he’s applauding a newborn’s first few steps.

He gets to typing a few emails, contacting his office manager the list of customers — it’s a pain, confirming stock sheets with the Finance floor. An hour later, his computer glitches, as Jeno shakes his monitor, shoving the power button on and off in hopes that it just needed a simple reboot. Frustrated, he calls IT — and is happy to be met with the sappy, muffled ringtone of some dishwater disco song. “Did you call someone from IT to come fix it for you?” Chenle asks, shoving his glasses above the bridge of his nose. Smart-ass.

Fighting back the urge to throw his monitor to the floor, and causing a tantrum was severe, “I’ve been on hold for 15 minutes.” Jamming a finger with an overly exaggerated gesture he mumbles, as Chenle glances back with his hands behind his neck, grinning foolishly.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out hyung, you always do,” he says, oddly confident.

Given that Chenle — 21 years old, part-time intern and full-time student at Cornell. He had his own desk on the same floor that Jeno works on, access to three fully-working printers that only the Team Leader could give to him. Running around providing endless coffee runs from the kitchen and back to the desk. He wore those tacky lanyards strapped to his lip with his ID, sometimes flocked around his neck with those ‘taste the rainbow’ lanyards if he was feeling something different. Oftentimes, bothering him with his insatiable ability to torment Jeno leaves him a bit starstruck. Young, younger than Jeno, or even Qian Kun, their Project Manager from the 5th floor, who often visits Donghyuck in reminder to turn in his reports on time (because Donghyuck tends to be a bit forgetful).

He also happens to be fucking the Administrative Assistant, and likes to charm his way at the receptionist desk on his lunch breaks. Is it just me, or is it like watching your dad try and flirt? It’s cringy, Donghyuck says one day, while glancing over his shoulder, retrieving tax returns from the printer, eyeing Kun across the way, one elbow on the desk counter.

“Do you see sunbae as a father figure?” He asks, feigning to stick his finger down his throat and wrinkles his nose.

Beyond that, Chenle likes to gossip. He’s good at it, using the company's standard provided email to reach out to Jeno at convenient times, ie; meeting with a client in person,online or over the phone. It’s unprofessional and extremely embarrassing when his monitor starts to chime loudly and it’s an email from Chenle informing him that Xiaojun’s shirt had popped and a button flung across the room to claim the single life of their Executive Assistant, Yuta Nakamoto in the middle an important meeting. A very important business meeting.

“Hey hyung, I received the files that Mark-hyung asked for, could you do me a favor and forward it for me?” Chenle sing-songs, leaning back for Jeno to acknowledge him. He clears his throat, rubbing his temples from keeping himself from being distracted, daydreaming has always been one of his worst habits.

“Yeah, sure.” He busies him with work, and gets back to typing his 15th email of the day. It would never get old.

He receives a text from Doyoung. Frowning, he picks up his phone from the kitchen where he set it upon arriving home. Usually, around this hour, his brother would be too swamped with work, busy with clients, or even in court.

Two seconds later, his phone buzzes, and he swipes right, pressing it close to his ear. “Hyung, this is certainly a surprise, aren’t you at work?” And seemingly, the rhetorical question that it is, he hears the quiet chatter of the office, the busier parts of Seoul he recognizes.

“Well, I just thought I’d check up on you, see how you were — how’s work, Duke, is he adjusting well —”

“Firstly, I’m fine. A little tired, thank you for asking,” He answers, “Secondly, you only do that when you’re nervous, or want something. No offense hyung.” He can hear the bite of shock as he continues, “And lastly, you’re deathly allergic to Duke. So what is it really?”

Doyoung nervously laughs, “How about coming over for dinner?”

So this was it? To sit around and have a meal with the man that his brother has been, well,dating for a good 3 months now. Have small talk, give a few compliments to the chef, then sit around after with cold beers and discuss the weather like middle-age fathers. “Is this your way of making up for the er, awkward times, if so, it’s fine. I’ve moved out.”

“No, no!” Doyoung says, insistent, giving his deep, convincing lawyer voice. “Jaehyun-ah thought it would be a nice time to celebrate your new job, with drinks.”

“Hyung, I’ve been working at this job for five months.”

“An even better reason then, an overdue celebration — we’ve been renovating apartment we’d love to have your company,” Just as his brother rattles on, attempting to convince him that he wasn’t trying to make sure that Jeno was yet to have a nervous breakdown and lament over his single, male life. Yet.

The doorbell rings, strange, he hasn’t made any payments or ordered to be delivered to his new address, and the neighborhood didn’t seem to have too many loiters or salespersons knocking from door to door asking if you’d like to purchase one of their sketchy products sold from the dark web.

The first knock is gentle, the second is more persistent as Jeno scrambles for the door, “sorry, I’ll call you later,” He says to Doyoung before quickly hanging up. Stripping the door wide open, for all he knew it could be some random attacker, or a pre-planned burglary. Then he would make Donghyuck pay his medical bills in compensation for leading him to believe this was a safe and protected neighborhood as advertised.

However, it was neither a burglary, or serial killer at his door, but instead two unfamiliar figures standing at his doorstep, both very attractive. Like very, very attractive. There is one, standing a bit shorter, maybe around Donghyuck’s height — earthy brown hair that stumbles around his forehead like a neat frame. Every puncture of his face, like a fresh manicure, thick eyebrows that arch in surprise, and something of delight. He smiles, and it’s pretty. Very pretty.

The other man, taller, with broad, thick shoulders the width of an earthquake as he smiles, broader than his body. With a thinner framed expression, like he was held on a leash, submissive but as equally surprised. “Hello, can I help you?” He asks, breaking the silence. As the shorter male, clears his throat, continuing to smile. He smells of his mother’s favorite perfume.

“I’m Renjun, and this is my husband,” something of his heart sinks, odd. What the hell was he thinking? To think that Renjun — his new neighbor was single like him. The fat wedding ring sat on his left hand like a diamond, or a rock. “Jaemin, we live next door and we wanted to welcome you into our neighborhood.” That was kind of them, Jeno thinks. As he wonders what an awfully attractive, married couple happens to be doing at his doorstep. He smiles, pretty and delicate as he holds a large plastic container.

“Here, some freshly baked goods, we wanted to stop by earlier, but it appeared we’d just missed you.” His eyes glitter, maybe curiosity. Renjun smirks, it’s subtle — the way his lips curl, thick and lush like he applies moisturizer, pink.

“Ah, yeah I was pretty late this morning,” he laughs, sheepishly. Accepting the container, as their fingers graze against the top, soft, man-made. He lingers around behind the door, half ajar as Renjun peeks inside, eyes withdrawn and calculative.

Sultry. “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” He asks, like a murmur — lips pursued, even more curious. Jeno chokes, laughing away the embarrassment. Jaemin gasps, endearingly pulling Renjun close to his waist, leaning towards his ear with a grin. Almost possessive.

“Now, now that’s no way to speak to him. We wouldn’t want him to think we’re too nosy.” He dips his head, smiling. His smile is sharp, a mouthful of teeth into the lion’s den. Angular, like an audience in a theater.

He coughs, tucking the container (?) under his arm, “I would love to have you inside but I’m afraid it’s a bit too messy for company right now.”

What has he gotten himself into?

He brings the leftover baked goods into the office. Leaving them in the kitchen, by lunchtime when Jeno swings by for his fourth coffee run of the day, and to pick up the plastic container it’s empty. If he slaps them on the nice porcelain dish plate that he bought Mark for their New Year’s gift exchange, and because Mark, their boss, was a nice guy and wouldn’t let his fragility be emasculated by Donghyuck’s porcelain plate probably stolen from his grandmother’s cupboards.

“Lee, I didn’t know you could bake,” Chenle praises, between bites of dasik, reaching into the dish for an oatmeal raisin cookie.

“I don’t.” Donghyuck had assigned him to the pasta salad for the office’s annual potluck and it’s safe to say that Jeno at the last minute bought a pre-prepped meal from the deli aisle. It was convincing enough. “It was kindly given to me by my new neighbors.”

Donghyuck happens to be peeking over from the other side of the cubicle, earbuds in and listening to his morning podcast of Self-Love: best motivational speeches to boost your confidence! “I haven’t been informed about this,” he leans over, one earbud out. “That was awfully nice of them, isn’t this a lot for one person though?” He asks.

It was a good point, a huge Tupperware of freshly assorted baked cookies for one person did seem like a lot. He decides not to ponder over it, as it was probably with good intention, and Jeno knew better than to ask instead of accepting the gift. “It’s not a big deal, they probably made a big batch and wanted to give them away.”

Unsatisfied, Donghyuck’s expression contorts with confusion. And he can see the light-bulb of undeniable creativity protrude a flare on top of his head. Clearly Jeno’s answer wasn’t enough, “but it is a big deal Jeno-ya,” He gets this frilly whine in his voice, like he’s talking to a stranger for the first time in the food service industry. He also calls it his customer service voice that he’s refined over the few month’s of taking Mark’s phone calls. And when he worked in retail at Macy's for a month. “There’s only one possible reason for this,”

“And that is….” He trails off, indulging him — seeing that watching Sherlock Holmes on rerun before it was taken down on Netflix, had reduced Donghyuck to a wannabe Holmes-Watson detective play.

“They obviously think you’re not living alone.” And when he blinks twice, confused. But not appalled by Donghyuck’s logic, he gives a drastic sigh in defeat. “Do I need to spell it out for you? They think you’re dating someone.”

“I don’t think so, that would be silly.” He argues, spotting Mark sending confused looks from his office, probably wondering where Donghyuck’s report for the week was and why it wasn’t in his inbox already. “They’re just being nice, that’s it,” and he glares, “don’t even think about getting the wrong idea here.”

Donghyuck shrugs, ambiguous. Before returning to his computer, and blasting his podcast even louder that he could hear it from across the cubicle. Two minutes later, Mark gives Donghyuck a reminder that he needs to see that report in his inbox before his lunch break.

He orders a pizza. It’s pretty good, from one of the fast food chains that thankfully have Uber Eats so that Jeno didn’t have to go out of his way to drive late at night for two boxes of Chicken BBQ Garlic Pizza. He pops open a beer from the fridge, laptop propped open on his lap, the Outlook tab on standby for any incoming, unwelcoming emails and Mr. Byun — their Chief Executive Officer’s itinerary documents for the month. Suit jacket thrown on the sofa, only worn on Monday’s per the office’s dress code. Not that Jeno has ever encountered something as silly, and serious, since Primary school.

Sorting through documents, slathered across his table in an unorthodox manner, he lets the tv whine at low volume, the evening forecast playing some recap of a recent lottery winner on the news. Huh, he thinks, how much luck could he get to win a sum of money. Rolling his sleeve in the way while he types on his keyboard, a little pizza grease sticks to his fingers, but he’s unbothered to wash his hands. Lethargic, he slumps into the sofa, reclining further into the cushions, rubbing the grease on his fingers, the brunt of his knee, scrubbing against his pants’ material.

The ideal night for Jeno to finish sending out a few more emails before the night, informs the dry cleaner that he’d be picking up his clothes in the afternoon, but instead he does the opposite. Now, are those emails going to type themselves? No, but being the responsible adult, he pushes himself off the sofa, tossing the empty pizza box into the trash, and the other into his empty fridge, though not so empty residing alongside the dozen packs of Cass Light.

He tosses his work clothes onto the back of the couch, given that he has yet to buy suitable laundry baskets, nor has he unpacked most of his clothes. Smart of Jeno clearly, as he dips away from the window, reaching for the first shirt in sight, as he’s turned off most of the lights in the living room.

Wrestling his shirt over his shoulders, he returns to peek a glimpse of outside, spotting a gray Genesis roll up his neighbors driveway. By now, it’s a little past nine, as he sees them both step out of the car, Jaemin stepping out from the driver’s seat, as Renjun smiles to join him from the other side. Flinging his arms around, spinning in circles around the hood of the car. Drunk, clearly. Or maybe just tipsy. Curious, nothing else. He leans against his shoulder, making their way to the doorstep as Jaemin rustles in his coat pockets for presumably the key. Given that there’s nothing to shield Jeno from looking like the world’s biggest fucking creep — not for the first, but for the second time – the habit would be looking a little grisly on his track record.

He notices a shift, the moment they step through their door. One light flickers, as Renjun takes one step closer, damp, forming a darker silhouette into the foyer and kisses Jaemin. It was a gentle kiss, nothing but filled with sweetness, the saccharine sweet of marital blessing that even a plain, brown door could tell of. A kiss grows steady, more passionate, and Jeno feels like it’s horribly invasive.

But he can’t stop. It’s magnetic, and he’s entranced.

Watching them, as Jaemin kisses him back with such force, desire fruitful from stemming love. He hangs by the window, mouth slightly ajar, the front seat of the theater smacked with a name label of his name in the front. Reserved, just for him.

They move through the first floor, as if they’re dancing, Renjun’s fingers buried in his hair, combing through resiliently, grasping onto something, as Jeno sees them stumble into the dining area.

God, he feels itchy all over, like his skin is on fire, he fumbles his way back to the sofa. Everything is so tender, as Jaemin leans over, whispers a few things into his ear, as he giggles, Jeno wonders what sound he would make — would it be light, like a pinkened gasp, or deeper shudder as he leans back, couple in view.

Shoving his sweatpants below his waist, he feels his hand creep into the waistband of his underwear, where it stays. Observing, did he crank up the heat in here? He watches, as Renjun hastily assists him in tossing his jacket off his shoulders, desperate, almost in a soft whine. Beyond the window, he sees them, in the moonlight, he can imagine the desperate, dirty moans, Renjun begging for more. Would he beg for him, beg and whine for him to put it in or would he play dirty, flirt and make him flustered?

Eyes glued to the window, the middle of a scene from a movie as he slowly begins to stroke himself – god he hasn’t masturbated in a while, it was difficult to do it where Doyoung roamed around the apartment most hours of the day, no time by himself.

But now, he has all the time in the world. And it feels really fucking good.

In a large house, eerily empty, as his body feels hot and his cock heavy in his hand as Renjun brings his legs around his bare waist, as Jaemin starts to fuck him, slow and steady. Like tempered, but not that Renjun could break. One finger inside, as if he can hear the whimper, “More,” he withers, “I can take it.”

Jaemin looks insane, sweat dripping down his neck, thick broad shoulders ready to fuck him upside down. He wants that too, so badly. Maybe it’s the horny teenager side of him, or maybe he feels deprived. Touch-starved. “I know you can, sweetheart.”

Jeno thinks to himself, there’s nothing more than seeing his face break, morph into pleasure.

The pace grows faster, as Jeno follows a suit, and his skin burns like tiny embers, as he shudders, his body aches. He wants it, wants to feel him against his body, as his eyes cling to the window, tenderly as Jaemin’s hands circle around his cheeks, hollow, cradling him as he goes harder, harder.

Jeno tastes the sweat, mouth dry — Renjun’s chin drops, lips pink, bitten as it hangs limply, facing the window. Right where Jeno was, and he froze. Shit.

Bathing in moonlight, plastered against their dining table, like an absolute wreck,as Jaemin fucks him, three fingers in, and Renjun is a babbling mess. His fingers twitch with arousal, more, more. His hand slips, fixated on his mouth, amidst a moan as their eyes meet for a minute, desire clinging to his eyelashes. Do it, touch yourself, finish. Tossing his head back, Jeno listens. Like a good boy, Renjun whispers endearingly into his ear.

And he lets go.

Walking Duke at 7 am is always pleasant. He’s a pretty rowdy puppy, larger than the expected size when they’d visited the veterinarian a few months ago, an extremely unpleasant experience for both him and Duke. A few shots were given, and a few pathetic punches were thrown, as much as a 99 pound golden retriever could muster. Since then, he’s been a bit spiteful, and before he moved out of Doyoung’s apartment, living in smaller quarters where he couldn’t run around as freely, he proceeded to chew up everything in sight, including Doyoung’s fresh laundry. Jeno likes taking him on walks, he’s typically calmer when they’re out and about, roaming parks, going on hikes, even the cramped dog park three miles away from his brother’s apartment would have Duke chasing squirrels in a heartbeat.

Now, in an unfamiliar neighborhood, of course he has to sniff and mark everything in sight. Jeno, supporting a to-go cup of coffee in his hand, still wearing from last night. On impulse, his face burns. Last night, it almost felt like a dream, a really good one. Almost too good to be true. He’d immediately crashed, passing out on the sofa, and has yet to take a shower. He hasn’t been called to work, though by now he’d be receiving phone calls regarding Donghyuck and whatever nonsensical urgency he has up his sleeves. They make their rounds around the neighborhood, quiet, sipping his coffee without being chased around, or dragged by Duke’s leash every five seconds. He considers it to be a success.

As they make their way, returning back towards the direction of their street, Duke plops down near the streetlight and does his business. Rapidly checking his watch, reading 7:18, “C’mon Duke, I’ve got to get dressed for work soon, we don’t have all day.” He begs, as Duke glares, but returns to peeing, happily as ever. Crouching to scoop his poop, he hears the rustle of the door unlocking as he peers over to Renjun and Jaemin’s door.

Fuck. Was Jeno slightly embarrassed? Perhaps. Okay, yes he is. Does he regret it? It’s best to ask him later for a better convenience.

“Jeno-ya!” Renjun greets, gracing his way down their small set of porch steps. Dressed elegantly in a silken robe, sleepy doe-faced eyes as he waves. “Good morning,” as he nimbly makes his way down the driveway, eyes dropping towards Duke, “Oh my, who is this?” He coos, “Does he mind being petted?”

Thank god for the trash bin, with Duke’s poop in his hand as he throws it inside, laughing haughtily. An unattractive look at 7 in the morning with his stained sweatpants, contacts out, and his mother’s stolen house slippers. Casually speaking, two neighbors rose in the morning, the slip of the robe’s collar exposing a thin veil of his collarbone, damp in the sunlight. Thickly, he swallows, “He does, when he’s not busy biting your ankles.”

Renjun laughs, and oh my, he has a very nice laugh that he could probably bathe in. So fucking embarrassing. “I’ll take that as a challenge then,” as Duke happily sits on his hide properly and his voice grows lighter, like he’s speaking to a toddler. Soft, and pretty to hear for ages. “Aren’t you a good puppy, so cute,” He gushes, bowing to give Duke a couple good scratches and he goes feral.

“Good boy,” He praises, and Jeno throws his head upward, stunned. What the fuck? He shouldn’t panic, it was towards Duke, everyone says that to dogs, pet names are nothing of the ordinary. “Aren’t you such a good boy,” Renjun beckons, tone soft to tempting, deeper, almost sultry-like. As he stares right at Jeno, and the latter dies right on the spot. Like his coffee fumbles from his fingers and sloshes against his old COLUMBIA thread-bare sweatshirt, as he staggers, mumbling not so nice words.

“Fuck!” He mumbles, apologizing to Renjun who looks worried, a softened gaze of concern.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, obviously in distress, Renjun laughs a little, shy and behind the hand. “Goodness, you should get that cleaned up. It was nice seeing you Jeno-ya.”

Tugging on Duke, who mournfully is pulled away, parting ways as he follows Renjun as he returns back inside, closing the door firmly. Duke whines, and with a sigh Jeno gives him a good scratch behind the ear and that keeps him in a good mood as they make their way back up their own doorstep. Easy to please. “You and me both buddy,” He says distantly, before letting Duke inside and starts getting ready for the day.

It’s like a curse. After the ‘incident’ as he’s decided to name it, Jeno sees them everywhere. Running into the couple while at the market, finding them between the meat aisle, Jaemin ducking down to inspect the pork belly on the shelves while Renjun teases at his arm, clinging to his side. At the register, Renjun runs his hands through Jaemin’s hair sweetly, chin on his shoulder as he whispers to him. It’s tenderly intimate— fingers combing between thin strands playfully as Renjun laughs into his ear, and Jaemin kisses his hand.

Under normal circumstances — as a selfish, single young man – the sight of PDA disgusts him. But however, this does not call for normalcy. Not even close to it.

It doesn’t stop there, he sees them on walks during his afternoons, returning home from the office chatting closely while walking their cat. Then, he runs into Jaemin at the gym, the new one that Mark recommends — given that it’s only a few blocks between work and home. Running into him on his way out, “Jeno-ya!” Calling out, and he winces. Somehow, they both managed to say his name the same way; sultry, deep, almost flirtatious. Jogging up to Jeno, and god his mouth almost waters on the spot. Sweat, a sword against his collarbones, shining marble-like a towel around his neck as he stands tall, taller than Jeno by a good inch or two. Rocking on his heels, eyes like soot, dark and refined but unreadable. He’s handsome, the way his biceps flex when he crosses his arms, wrestling an enigmatic smile. “I didn’t know you went to this gym.”

“I didn’t, until now, at least. A co-worker recommended it to me since it’s close nearby,” He’s polite, they’re neighbors, and it’s like he’s foolishly admiring his muscles, lean but muscular. Oh, to be man-handled. From one gym-rat to another, he’s respectfully admiring the competition.

Jaemin frowns, forming a childish pout, “Now that you’re here, we got to be each other’s spotters at the bench press. I’d love to see your form,” he says, ravenous, eyes peering down a mile of his figure.

He swallows thickly, maintaining his gaze, polite, friendly. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

They’re ready to part ways, when Jaemin says his name once more — rolling on the tongue, fluent, benign. “Oh, I almost forgot, Injunnie would love to have you over for a housewarming dinner tonight,” And his eyes skirt, ravish its late meal, and Jeno breaks loose of eye contact, missing the stare to his shoulder. By Injunnie, the unfamiliar nickname he assumes to be Renjun — every word out of his mouth, deep except for his name, soft and sore. God, they were so in love. “We’d love to get to know you better over drinks.”

He didn’t have a choice, and it’s not that his brain was begging to say no, “Sure, I’d love to. What time?”

“Wonderful!” and he claps his hands together, before throwing over Jeno’s shoulder. “Injunnie will be delighted, and around seven is a good time,” Jaemin says, smiling widely.

Patting his shoulder once more, he gives a wave before wandering back into the gym and Jeno wonders what the hell he just signed up for.

He doesn’t even drink. And he’s lying already.

“They definitely want to fuck you,” Donghyuck announces. It's a poor attempt at a whisper, but everyone knows that the ammunition levels of his voice only range from loud and louder. Chenle peeks over the cubicle, ripped away from his game of Solitaire.

"Oh god, don’t be so vulgar we’re in a work space,” and he promptly ignores him, “and we’re just good neighbors.” He tries his best to contain a smile, before the thought of strangling Donghyuck of pure embarrassment overcomes his ability to make rational decisions.

“Just good neighbors,” He mocks, “that’s exactly what someone would say when they want to fuck someone.”

Jeno chokes on air, like a fool seeing Donghyuck’s content grin from the corner of his eye before he passes out from asphyxiation. “Enough,” he pleads, “And since when have you been so interested in my love life?”

Shrugging, “since it appears you have one.I’m quite offended that I haven’t been told more about it,” Donghyuck glumly answers, pencil twirling around his fingers. Oscillating back and forth. Back and forth.

“And that is exactly why I don’t tell you anything,” And Jeno returns to his computer screen, stuck on the same sentence reading an email from corporate.

“Can I get a name at least,” and when Jeno doesn’t respond immediately he gasps, “Two names? Aren’t you ballsy Jeno-ya, I respect that. Are they married?”

Dinner goes great. He opens the door, guilty for showing up empty-handed but as seeing his house is a bit bare for giving gifts Renjun and Jaemin reassure him that his presence was plentiful. Both of them say it to him, before gliding him through the foyer seating him down onto the sofa, Toscano Swan. Jeno knows this because he saw it while window shopping for furniture, beyond his expenses. And he is sitting comfortably on something worth $2,319k and more than what he earns weekly. Drinks are served, unnamed wine, it tastes good he’s never been a wine type of person — always a sturdy Hite beer to keep him going. As Renjun pours him his third glass, just a bit tipsy as he is and speaking briefly of his sister-in-law vineyard in Tuscany.

He discovers that Renjun has a habit of flirting, under the influence of alcohol. It’s cute, watching him be a good host, offering Jeno more wine, more Hors d'Oeuvres as Jaemin each time takes the time to kiss him on the forehead and return to the kitchen. He flirts bashfully, a hand laced with the fingers apologetically when he sits on the same sofa as Jeno and asks him where he went to college. “Columbia,” he tells them, impressed, in a drunken manner as Jaemin raises a glass from the kitchen, bringing another bottle of wine from the cellar. He learns that Renjun worked as Senior Executive Assistant, undergrad at Tsinghua University before he moved to Korea. He likes authority, heeds to everyone’s needs, but his own — alike is Jaemin; who is attentive, pliable and currently doing his residency at Asan Medical Center for Pediatrics.

“What can I say, I’m a family kind of guy,” he says, proudly. The Romanson wrist watch on his left hand — probably from a patron, or patient. Or even bought as an anniversary gift. It’s nicely snug around his wrist, clicking with the light in a metallic taste in his mouth, as he asks Renjun distantly to take it off for him.

He can tell he’s being genuine. He keeps a printed photo of his cats in his outer wallet, and Renjun on the inside.

(Seen last week running into each other at the grocery store: Jeno purchases a six pack of cigarettes, and Jaemin pulls out his wallet for a pack of gum; neatly rested in the seamless, transparent but noticeable. Like he wanted it to be seen).

Renjun with his glass of wine, leaning against his husband as he excuses himself to join Jaemin in the kitchen. Gently rubbing a finger against his cheek, lifting a gaze through Jeno. He knew he was there, nor did he care — he feasts on the sheer image of intimacy, nurtures it. Renjun holds him fairly, and he takes it in before reaching for a nearly empty glass of wine and takes another sip. And another, until he sets it down back on the table.

But he’s not finished. Not yet.

Work distracts him. He doesn’t see them too much this week, between early morning runs with Duke, and spotting Renjun on occasion stepping outside to gather the morning paper. They exchange friendly waves, discuss the weather. Nothing but civil conversation, and when it’s really early, like 5 am he sees Jaemin heading out of the house to the hospital, or when Renjun kisses him to welcome him home, and lets him be fucked nice and slow. Kissing away the fatigue, and Jeno sits by his window idly.

He gets busy at work, sending email after email to the Director, checking documents from Mark before being sent over. Running back and forth to the printer, picking up files, dropping them off on his desk. Bless Mark, sweet, sweet Mark and his lax personality when Jeno sends his files two hours behind schedule and he doesn’t send out an email two minutes later reminding the whole floor to get their shit together essentially like he does with Donghyuck.

Mark Lee — 23 years old, another Columbia graduate and also Jeno’s college ex'-fuck buddy. It was a good time, he helped him with his Business Management class, and in return they fucked against Mark’s Spider-man sheets. It was a simple affair that went on for over a year, nothing too serious. It was his first time, something substantial and while it’s a little embarrassing that Mark – ex-”friends with benefits” as Donghyuck likes to label it to this day – works alongside him at the office. As his boss. They’re good friends, gym buddies, co-workers.

Mark Lee also pities him, as he’s now the one getting laid post-9 to 5, with his fiancee. Look how the tables have turned.

He gets a call on his office phone, only two people use it: Mark or Donghyuck when his phone dies after playing too many rounds of Hay Day. “Jeno-ya, please report to my office,” Mark says, people-pleasant tone and Jeno knows he’s not in any sort of trouble.

Opening the frosted glass doors, he sees two figures behind it, before knocking twice. Mark is smiling, his lanyard looped around his neck with his I.D dangling close to his belt as he leans over his desk, relaxed. "Jeno, there’s someone I wanted you to meet!” He greets, as the second figure turns.

Oh. And Renjun is just as surprised to see him — only it’s glee, the sultry flutter of his eyes beckoning towards him as he greets him with an even gaze. He appears elated, not one bit surprised to see him as he reaches over to exchange a handshake, “Meet Huang Renjun, he’s our Senior Executive Assistant, up on the tenth floor.” Mark introduces, as Renjun spares him no lack of familiarity, perhaps plays along for a split second.

He knew of Renjun’s occupation, he’d mentioned over drinks that he works a corporate job, however there are hundreds of offices scattered around Seoul – he didn’t expect him to be here. In the same office that Jeno works at. “We’re quite familiar with each other,” he says pleasantly, accepting the handshake. The inner part of his palm is smooth, like he applies baby lotion every night as his nightly routine.

“We’re very good neighbors,” Renjun says, in a soft purr as he lets go of Jeno’s hand gently.

Jeno swallows thickly, Mark cocks his head, a little out of it and confused. Best it be that way, as he adds, “I didn’t know you worked here,” His voice three octaves higher in pure embarrassment, as he coughs.

Renjun smiles thickly, “Oh, I work at home most days of the week, but today I thought I would visit the office.” Ah, that explains it.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Jeno asks.

Putting a finger to his lip, thinking deeply for a moment as he traces the outline of his mouth, every crevice of his pink lips. Renjun finally says, “If you don’t mind that I steal Jeno-ya here for a bit, I have a few monthly employee assessment questions to ask him.” As he winks, meant for Mark, not for him. “He won’t be gone for long.”

“Oh, yeah it’s cool. It’s no big deal.” Mark stutters, a bit taken back by his brazenness. Happily, as Renjun leads the way, and Jeno the gentleman he is – but also because he’s fucking scared – as Renjun smiles diplomatically.

“Where are we going?” He implores, two steps behind, eyes trailing the pair of oxford’s, Vince Camuto Lawson as they click and clack softly through the carpeted floors. Renjun doesn’t turn back, and Jeno quickens his pace. They steer through the cubicles, passing by his space as he walks by Donghyuck’s cubicle and he peeks over. Who is that? He mouths.

He opens the door to an empty conference room, “Somewhere private.”

“I shouldn’t be away for too long, I have work to do,” Jeno panics, because he’s a fool and he bites more than he can chew. And he’s now stuck, voluntarily in a room with the most beautiful man in the world.

He finds Renjun leaning against the table, relaxed, arms crossed but not serious. He looks ethereal in his charcoal gray suit, legs slender and long, and he wants them wrapped around his waist,as he feels his eyes peel away thinking of his small waist, fit into the palm of his hand perfectly. “So eager to get away Jeno-ya,” He scolds, he wants to hold his waist so badly. It nearly kills him. His button-up slightly untucked from his pants, his body curves under the shitty lights, good god he could’ve sworn he’d told Baekhyun to call maintenance to repair the lights on this floor. Daring, as Renjun takes a step forward with his hands pushing away from the table. “And yet so eager to please,” He whispers, sending a single shiver of excitement down his spine.

“That’s not true,” He argues, as Renjun slyly lets his hand crawl down his arm, dancing until it lands deftly on his hip. His words turn into slush, and his head in the gutter. He lets him, like the gravitational push and pull of polar opposites, Jeno lets himself succumb.

“It’s not?” Renjun laments, fingers looping through his belt. Oh god, Jeno dies inside. Was he being seduced? Sure people have flirted with him before, and he’s flirted back. But now it’s different, he’s under a spell. “Like a puppy…you liked it when I called you good boy?” He freezes, as Renjun’s other hand travels up his back and Jeno lets his hands wander, splayed messily against the hem of his shirt, tracing his bicep and each nook and cranny from his suit jacket. Nudging his way between his legs, and —

“Jen —,” Renjun whispers thickly, from his throat and god he wants to drown in it. Laying a hand on his thigh, “good boy,” he murmurs into his hair, petting the nap of his neck soothingly.

There’s a knock, as they leap apart and Renjun readjusts his pants. It’s Xiaojun, prepping for his next conference meeting and in use of the room. Thankful for the sweep of folders he’d brought with him, as he flashes Renjun a coworker smile — “it was good seeing you Renjun-nim, I will send you next week’s itinerary.”

Renjun pats his back, almost dotingly with a curved smile. Mischievous. “Thank you, if you ever need any assistance, don’t be afraid to reach out.”

“I certainly will,” as Renjun is the first to leave, nodding generously at Xiaojun as he passes by and slips out.

Jeno collapses against the chair, folding over the table. He was so fucking screwed, wasnt he?

He receives a text from an unknown number. Sitting down on the couch with Duke, enjoying the sports channel and after a while it gets boring. There’s a quiet buzz of his phone, turned on silent during the weekend in the hopes that Donghyuck would receive the memo not to text nor call unless it was a deathly emergency. Like their office building burning in smoking flames, or Kun balding overnight due to premarital, mid-crisis stress. Picking up his phone, the text message lights up in a bright daze, as he swipes, Are you free tonight?

It’s not a number in his contacts, as he frowns, before typing back — I’m sorry, but who is this? He sees the three dots of a bubble, whoever it was did not waste any time replying fast. Renjun, your neighbor from next door, silly (⌒‿⌒). And, oh my god, oh my god, he kind of wants to die inside, a repetitive habit of his as of now.

How did Renjun get his number? nd of course he uses fucking kaomojis, he’s so fucking cute and Jeno feels like he could marry the guy. He’s already married, how comedic. Oh! My bad, I didn't recognize the number. And hits send, but because curiosity gets the best of him, he continues, How’d you get my number?

He’s never been a big texter, for one he’s always been a slow typer and it’s Donghyuck’s personal conquest to mention his snail pace typing skills whenever he’s typing an email, filling out documents. But now, he’s nervous for some reason. I had asked Mark when I stopped by the office, he’d given me both your business and home number! He figured it’d been Mark, he’s one of the few with a composite list of every employee's contact information, both a blessing and a curse.

I hope you don’t mind. He swallows, he’s gonna be the death of him isn’t he? Jaemin and I want to invite you to dinner, are you free tonight? It was a rhetorical question, because Sunday was Jeno’s lazy day and it was the weekend.

I am! Should I bring anything over? Oh lord, does he sound too chipper, it’s just a dinner, like the previous night over drinks, salivating in the warm spaces of Renjun and Jaemin, tracing their steps, a hand on the waist, a kiss to the cheek as he feels his face burn.

It takes a minute or two for him to respond this time, a little longer. Maybe hesitant, Jeno would feel like a horrible guest if he appeared empty-handed. His mother had always raised him well, and frankly if she ever found out, and he did bring absolutely nothing but himself, he wouldn’t live to survive and tell his story.

Bringing yourself is more than enough, see you tonight <3

Somehow, he manages to convince Mark and Donghyuck to be his plus-two. On the bribery of the surplus wine that Renjun has to offer (a free excuse to get plastered in a high fashion) for Donghyuck. As for Mark, he’s a people person, and any excuse to get on the good side of his boss is an easy way to rope him in. They arrive on time, a bottle of Chardonnay steady in Donghyuck’s arms, “What? This costed me this week’s paycheck, this is an investment.” He insists.

“Yeah, an investment in becoming in debt, dude, how much does that shit cost?” Mark whistles, eyes bouncing between the front door and flipping his cuff links in and out. Jeno rings the doorbell, standing back as immediately the door rips open, almost excitedly, impatient.

It’s Renjun, looking wonderfully splendid, pretty — Jeno’s brain is a jumbled mess of a thesaurus coming up with different adjectives to describe how stunning he looks. Simplistic, an ivory collared shirt, tight around his waist, shoved underneath the belted waist of his pants, pleated and his legs look even longer. He opens his mouth, a grin stretching eagerly from ear to ear, as he first notices Jeno, and says, “Hello Jeno, —” before he notices the other two, standing only a teensy bit awkwardly behind him, like a group of pop back-up dancers. “And hello other friends. Is that you Mark-ya? What a pleasant surprise.” He seems caught a bit off guard, but recovers well, “And who is this?” He nudges to Donghyuck, as he takes a step forward, a funny smile on his face. And it only means trouble.

“Lee Donghyuck, a co-worker of Jeno-ya. Just friends.” He introduces, sliding a hand over Jeno’s shoulder. Renjun blinks, then twice, an o-shaped expression running across his expression as he claps his hands nonetheless.

“It’s always great to meet another of Jeno’s friends, well, there’s more than enough food to feed an army. Please come inside, and watch your step.” Renjun says, leading them into the foyer.

If Jeno thought his house was decently large, spacious even — then their house interior made his look mid-size. It’s not his first time here either, but it’s so luscious, expensively placed, they must’ve hired an interior designer — but it’s his friend's first time as Donghyuck lingers over near the large set of stairs, twining into the second floor. “Who’s the interior designer you hired, I must know.” He gasps, fingers prancing over the wood, and Jeno knows that look.

Renjun seems over the moon, as he accepts Donghyuck’s bottle of wine, and pauses at Jeno, up close he’s even more handsome, flecks of golden ash, an ordinary eye color like brown becomes extraordinary before taking his 12-pack of Hite beer. Pathetic, he’s aware but it was last minute and he’d run out somehow at home, so rushing over a half hour over to Lotte Plaza was not what Jeno imagined.

Dinner goes better than expected. Not as awkward as he anticipated. Donghyuck and Renjun naturally bond over their shared love of overly priced foreign wines, meanwhile Mark takes interest in Jaemin’s regimen asking how many kilos he lifts. They talk about work, a lot of work — “Renjun-ah, I had no idea that you worked in our office,” Donghyuck starts, taking a large bite. “How’d you come across marketing?”

He seems elated, not quite tipsy. “It paid well,” Renjun blatantly answers, shrugging. “We’re both busy people,” he sighs wistfully, reaching for Jaemin’s hand on the table. “And it’s been difficult, due to him being away at the hospital for so long, but we always find a way.” Their eyes meet, to the naked eye, anyone else would gag, maybe yell get a room you two! But the three of them are caught by surprise, there was raw emotion in his voice, thickening the more he spoke. He waves his hand, still clinging to Jaemin’s, and he gleams before leaning over the table. “Now enough about us, how did you all meet?”

“Columbia, Jeno-ya stole my favorite seat, second row, three seats to the left, on our second day of Intro to Economics freshman year.” Donghyuck sneers, as he rolls his eyes, followed by a laxed sip of wine. “And the rest is history. After college, we both returned back to Korea and landed a job as corporates.”

Renjun nods, understandably, involved in the conversation. His eyes glow, stretch and insightful as he follows along, like he enjoys it. Still attached by the hip to Jaemin, whose eyebrows wiggle, nodding off every so often, as he stands up to refill everyone’s glasses. “And what about you, Mark-ya? How do you know Jeno?” With heavy, doe-like eyes, reproachful, sleepy as Renjun swings his fork around curiously.

“We were good friends in college, err, that’s it really.” His eyes grow flighty, digging around his empty plate.

Donghyuck snores, “they fucked junior year, but hey don’t kiss and tell?” He winks.

The table goes still, the fork once in Renjun’s unsteady hands now clatters to his plate. Mark’s face goes ghostly pale, and Jeno nearly spills wine into his lap. “Is that so?” Renjun asks carefully. “How interesting.”

“What’d we say about oversharing"?” Jeno screams, but really it’s a hoarse whisper of pure embarrassment. Jaemin is smiling, freakishly, but handsomely, as he takes time to notice the flex of his bicep curling when he reaches over the table to eat.

Now’s not the time dammit. Mark happily, recovering slightly, opens his mouth even wider, “uh, well if you were wondering, it was really good, like incredibly good, actually like —” This is so fucking embarrassing, crawling into a hole and burying himself wouldn’t do his non-existent love life justice. What’s even worse, is that Mark is genuine about it, as if he’s writing a yelp review.

“You too,” He hushes, clapping his hand over Mark’s mouth. “Let’s move on now, please.” He begs.

Jaemin returns, two more bottles of wine. Just in time, as Renjun bounces away from his seat, airborne. “More drinks?” He offers.

A chorus of pleads fill the dining room, desperate. “Yes please.”

It’s around 11 pm by the time they leave. After the dinner table fiasco, it goes smoothly the rest of the night. They leave with more than enough leftovers for two able-bodied single men to store in their refrigerator for weeks. When Jeno is the last to leave, Renjun calls him, “Feel free to stay, I’ll bring out the real wine,” He says, with Jaemin, and his wildly sexy, dimpled smile rinsing the dishes. They’re both incredibly irresistible, and he is incredibly horny, and kind of drunk. Good riddance to sober, healthy ideas.

Sitting around on the sofa, Renjun and him on one, and Jaemin on the smaller loveseat, sipping one of Jeno’s beer cans he brought. “What is this,” Jeno starts, shaking around his glass. Deeply red, like the color of viciousness, bloody.

Renjun reaches over, pretty finger decorating the glass, holding it up the bottle to the light, “Cabernet Franc,” lips pursued, ready to devour. “Do you know what it represents?” Shaking his head, enticed by his articulation, evoking and passionate the way he speaks of it. Decadent even. “Sensuality,” he purrs, hands rubbing the side of the glass, tracing it’s very obtuse outline. “Warm and inviting, every sensual desire, that's what it tastes like.”

Inviting, as he beckons Jeno for a second taste, encouragement, feeding a bottle of milk to a baby. Eyes drawn, sleepy as he leans an elbow on the sofa cushion, with nowhere else to look but at him. “It’s —” oh god, they’re both staring at him now. "Delicate,”

Renjun smiles, almost teeth-like, and baring innocently. “Exactly what I was thinking, now try this.” He says, handing his own glass, "Malbec, like a lover’s dance in your mouth, a closed embrace.” He can feel a hand glide over his knee. He panics, raking his eyes upward to spot Jaemin in a neutral state of gaze, fair and even a peeking grin emerges. The room feels so stuffy, hot as if someone cranked the heater to 100 degrees. He’s scorching. Pained with pleasure and greed. What does he want the most?

“When did you become so interested in winery?” That’s it, he thinks. Making friendly conversation. Renjun sits back, contemplative.

“Wine is like love, you can find it tasting sweeter, dry, or even bitter. Depending on how you taste it Jeno-ya.” He fumbles with a button, finger etching away, until it becomes undone. A hiss of breath, cautious, as Jeno can taste the sweetness on his breath. “Can you taste it, a lover’s embrace Jeno?” Each syllable of his name torn apart, roaming hungrily, sweet and dry. So hungry.

“I —” He stumbles. Renjun lowers his gaze, it’s humiliating how beautiful he finds him, raw and prodded open, drunker than him. The drag of his red-pink flushed lips, poking open, between the seam of the glass.

“You seem nervous — do I make you nervous?” Renjun asks, as he giggles. His eyes swarm like the crimson red, perched between his fingers is Sangiovese wine. A different glass, a different kind of love. Held delicately, like something of a lover. Rinsing his fingers, massaging the glass after a tired day at work.

Jeno swallows, tracing the slight of his finger tip, and how he wants to devour each part of his hands, pretty to keep and to kiss. “Mmhmm, is this a trick question?” He mumbles between the sips of wine.

“Jeno-ya, I’m afraid you’re going to have to spell it out,” Renjun croons, as he moans softly.

Meanwhile, Jaemin eyes from across the couch, observing. Intrigued, as if he’s entertained by such a thought, as he purrs, “I’m afraid you’ve come across too strong now,” He wants them both. Desperately. “Now, Jeno-ya, tell us what you need, not what you want.”

“I need—“ he gasps, as he feels the butterfly grace of Renjun’s fingers peeking like fruit, juice sticky from the wine roaming his face. “you — both of you.”

Another button becomes undone, as Jeno lays helplessly, letting himself be poked and prodded, everything he could’ve ever wanted. Needed. “I need you so badly,” He mumbles into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t be shy, tell us exactly what you want.” Jaemin says, from the other side, legs spread out and attentive. Fuck.

He remembers his first kiss, it was in 9th grade, with a pretty faceless, nameless girl. It wasn’t a good first kiss, clumsy and left a funny feeling, something of the weight of a pit left in his stomach. But kissing Renjun, it’s like a dream. It feels good, small kisses as Jeno gently brings a free hand to cup his neck, brushing over the side of his face. He wants it all to himself. He moans lightly between each kiss, keeping Jeno on his toes, and Renjun is an amazing kisser just as he dreamed of, knowing where and when he kisses, a kiss on his cheek, making its way down to his bottom lip. His tongue, hot and messy as he kisses him open-mouthed and dazed. It’s sensual, every bit of him tastes like wine, Renjun’s hand grips at his waist, until he’s breathless.

They break apart, grinning deliriously, combing bits of his hair, while giggling at Jaemin, “How was that?”

Renjun gently traces his cheek, following each groove, until his thumb lands near his mouth. “Be a good boy, and open your mouth?” Renjun asks, and he moans, as he scopes his thumb into the flesh of his mouth, and Jeno bites down lightly, sucking as he grows deeper and Renjun is mesmerizing, focused on him like he’s the only person in the entire world. And Jeno wants to fuck him so badly. “That’s it, do it again, I want you to see you. All of you.” He praises.

He wants more of it, he knows Jaemin is watching, as he kisses him again, biting until his lips feel raw. Tongue wet, rushing through his lungs and he’s so close to him. He sees a figure stand, staggering over, before they seperate. “My turn,” He says, in a thick whine as he holds Renjun gently between his hands. His stomach growls, pleasure bellowing in his belly as they kiss and kiss, a hand creeping into the waistband of one’s pants.

“May I —” He croaks, his voice obliterated. "I want to fuck you.” He mumbles, the absence of Renjun’s thin, long fingers painful.

They pause, interrupted, as Renjun giggles, laughing more. “Where are your manners Jeno-ya?” He scolds.

“Please,” He corrects, drunk enough. “Please, let me fuck you.”

“So obedient, I like it.” As he turns to Jaemin, insightful of his opinion, “Don’t you think so sweetheart?”

"Just the way we like it,” he hums. “Tell him what he’s thinking,”

Renjun clicks his tongue, bending down, one hand unbuckling his belt, as Jeno nods, pleading, begging. Yes, yes, he chants inside his head. “You think of me don’t you, even masturbate to me.” His eyes widened, he already knew didn’t he. About that night, when their eyes met as Jeno climaxed, he knew since then. “How many times a day, twice, thrice?”

“Once,” he chokes, as Jaemin smiles, kissing him, two fingers in the mouth. Craving for more. More.

“Say it once more, what do you want?” It’s no longer an incessant need, because all three of them knew exactly the correct answer. Renjun looks beautiful, staring down at him, like a worthy prize, he wonders what it would be like, for his fingers to graze each point at the end of his teeth. Would it be smooth, or would it ache. Either way, he wants to explore, wants as much as he can take.

"Both of you.”

Renjun stands, one hand extended forward, oh. “Good answer.”

He likes the push and pull of their dynamics, how Renjun teaches him new things, and Jaemin invites him over to learn how to cook gamjatang, and by the time lunch is ready to serve Jaemin is on his knees. He learns that Renjun is powerful, he likes order, and chaos — and Jeno likes that about him. He’s initiative, and razor-sharp and a pretty face to stare at. Jeno doesn’t know too much about sex, but having sex with them, it’s a new discovery every time.

The pro’s, con’s like when he spots Renjun outside, in the middle of a jog. Bowed down in the middle of his garden, whistling to himself, busy with potting flowers. “Come inside, you must be thirsty — I’ll pour you a freshly squeezed glass of lemonade.” He’s irresistible, so Jeno follows him inside. Is poured a glass of lemonade, before he fucks him against the kitchen table, susquently letting the lemonade slip over the counter. Neither of them pay attention, “Jen — Jeno,” He mumbles into his neck, three fingers opening him wide, thrusted deep inside as he begs. Renjun is a beggar, begs for what he can take, and knows how to give back. “Fuck me already,” he hisses, arm wrapped around his back, fingers, pretty and matted against his skin like decoration.

He fucks him twice, they come twice. It’s hot, sweaty, a humid afternoon, and one after the other, sweaty and tired. Before he pours him a third glass of lemonade, he takes a sip thirstily. “Would you like to stay for lunch?” Renjun suggests.

It’s Tuesday, and by noon it’s already hectic. Through the glass doors of the other side, he spots someone familiar. Standing up abruptly, almost startling Donghyuck across from him, as he meets him halfway. “Renjun, what are you doing here? Don’t you have work?”

Holding up a cute bento box, wrapped in dog-decorated paper as Renjun frowns, a little out of breath. “Honey, you forgot your lunch this morning, I was worried. I want you to be eating well, okay?” As he leans over, giving him a chaste kiss, sweet — he must’ve been baking since early. The office goes silent. The drop of a pin could even be heard, as he pauses. Donghyuck’s pen drops onto his desk, as he shoves his chair.

“What the fuck? What’d he just call you?” Renjun looks over, uninterested. “Honey?”

“Oh, hello Donghyuck-ah, how can we help you?”

“You — and,” He shakes his finger, back and forth, “and Jaemin, you —” Speechless, as Chenle breaks open a bag of chips.

“Good for him,” Chenle echoes, as Mark sighs — today would not cover his paygrade, he almost, just almost pities him. Unfortunately.

“Don’t be late,” Renjun sings, returning back to him, “We’ll be waiting home patiently, it’s lasagna tonight.” He grins, before winking at Donghyuck. Jeno accepts his lunch, simply something of pride and slight humility. “Good seeing you Donghyuck-ah, have a good day baobei,” He kisses him once more, more sensually, lasting a little longer. Donghyuck groans, and not in a sexy way. Chenle gives him a single fist bump. Bromance.

“So, how’d you do it? Manage to get them both?” Donghyuck asks.

He likes to think it was something of a miracle, or just another good decision. One of the best decisions he’s ever made. That’s one thing for sure.